Luca Fox Inner Workings

[Inner Workings]

Luca Fox

[Untitled]

Ceder Kendall

Shil slipped out of bed not bothering to fix his messy brown hair. Shil was a clumsy boy who can never get through the day with nothing going wrong. He walked down the stairs, the floorboards creaking under his bare feet. Shil continued out the door. “Good,” he said under his breath, “No tripping over rocks, no falling downstairs the per-” Suddenly he dropped to the ground mud splattering over his face. A red hen looked down at him, almost mocking him. “Stupid chicken,” he muttered. Shil dusted the dirt off his brown capris and headed to town with a basket in hand. Saturday was the worst day for the town folks. Two towns ladies were outside the bread shop spreading rumors as usual going about with their daily chores. “Shil’s coming to town today,” one muttered to the other. The second woman was Mrs. Finely. A sour woman, it’s hard to tell if she is a lady or a shriveled raisin. Mrs. Finely shook her head. “Disaster always follows with that boy.” “OH HI, MRS. FINELY!” Shil hollered through the streets and her face went blank. Both of the ladies of the town ran into their house slamming the door behind them. Shil proceeded down through the town, trampling over nicely trimmed lawns, stumbling over the flower beds and tripping over rocks. Yes, it was very known wherever Shil went disaster followed. All the stores in the small town had a closed sign over them except for one. A small sign hung above the entrance. It read “Store for the unwanted.” The sign was hanging from one string and the store itself looked deserted. A fat man stood in the entrance. wore brown overalls and had shagged brown hair; lips looking as if they would explode. “Well hello there son,” The fat storekeeper said to Shil.

“I’ve been expecting you, the townspeople said you’re quite the problem,” Shil nodded, starting his way into the store. He didn’t need much, just some chicken feed and a loaf of bread. Shil looked to his right, noticing most of the townsfolk were gathering under a gazebo. “What’s that?” Shil said, pointing to the gathering. The storekeeper’s blood went cold as if he was hiding something. “Don’t go over there,” He said, his hands clutching the few dollars bills more tightly now. Shil nodded, not too alarmed from the encounter. People were always looking at him like that after he blew up a building when he was 6. It was only an accident and he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but for some reason he did. Ever since that day, people tended to keep a distance. Slamming doors in his face, hiding their children. I suppose some days this made Shil rather sad, never being able to be a normal boy. But unlike most people, Shil was brave despite being hated. Shil pushed through the days as if nothing was wrong when in fact, everything was wrong; every single thing in his life was wrong. No matter how hard he tried he would always mess things up but for some odd reason he kept trying. The townspeople hated this, because the more he tried, the more disaster followed. And on this particular night, the townsfolk decided they were going to do something horrible. Something despicably horrible. In fact, if I said what they were doing I might just have a heart attack. Shil acted like nothing was wrong. Yes this was a sad fact, but inside, his heart was slowly cracking from always feeling alone. It was in Shil’s mind if he had just tried to be nice everything would be ok. But that will never happen for Shil. Never. Shil knew of the hatred that the townspeople had. Shil had the plan to march into town and surrender to the townspeople. Some might say this was a sad event that Shil might just bring out that revolver stored in the cabinet next to the sink behind the cans and in the hole in the wall. Yes, Shil was ready to surrender. Shil was tired of living, tired of messing things up, and was tired of his own life. Shil trotted into town, revolver in hand, clutching it tighter and

tighter as he made his fingers sore. But once he got to the town, he felt a warmth wash over him. Flames crested his eyes. While Shil was away, a fire had sprung up with no warning. The revolver clanked to the ground, the thudding ringing in his ears. Normally he would run. Normally he would hide. Normally he would act dumb, but a rage blew up from inside, a side no one had seen before. Shil closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. Small tears appeared in his eyes as he rushed into the fire. A red glow glistened on his face as he covered his nose and mouth with his arms. “HELP!” a little girl cried from behind the hall. For a moment he hesitated, for a moment he thought of turning back but instead, he scooped up the girl, rushing her out of the flames. While Shil was in the fire the whole town had been watching. “Let me go!” A mother screamed as the townspeople held her back. “My baby girl!” she yelled as she struggled to get free. The people watched with fear as the fire arose in front of their eyes. A few moments later Shil ran out of the fire, the girl scooped over his shoulder. His skin was covered in ash, and burn marks bombarded his body. Shil fell to the ground at his last breath. The townsfolk looked at each other with sadness wondering what to do, if they should do anything at all. “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!” a man called out from the crowd. There he was, the fat storekeeper had shown up to help Shil. A man nodded at another before running over to Shil. The doctor accompanied him along with two other townsfolk. They laid him down on Mrs. Finelys’s nicely trimmed lawn. Her eyes went wide as she imagined all the pieces of grass slowly bent into an unpleasing look. “Wait!” she yelled out all of a sudden, “Maybe we should lay him on Mrs. Huchan’s lawn.” “No, here is fine,” the doctor said, glancing away from her. As people huddled around him and Mrs. Finely scowled, it almost looked like a small smile spread across Shil’s face.

[Umoya: Creation Myth]

Elana Shae

The sky was everything, unbreaking in its blue expanse, and it was alone. Awake, it watched over an empty domain. But when it slipped into sleep the sky dreamt of every possible wonder. After eons of solitude, the sky dreamt of something apart from its previous visions; sound. When it woke, it brought its dream into reality with a newfound voice, the wind, and thus the silence pervading existence was broken. The sky used its voice to sing of all it had imagined. First was the song of clouds, giants that drifted into being upon the back of the wind, forming low valleys of white and billowing peaks of pitch. Next was the song of rain. Thousands of droplets descended from the new pastures and mountains, bringing with them thunder and lightning which danced within the peaks of the tallest clouds. Last came the song of dandelions. A single dandelion seed floated into reality in the embrace of a breeze. It landed in the center of the universe, and when hit with a drop of rain, the seed sprouted roots that dug deep into the clouds and hollowed out tunnels lined with crystal raindrops waiting to fall. As the roots grew, so too did the flower’s leaves. The wind snapped two from the stem, and when the sky sang of life they folded into the shapes of all creatures and plants. The dandelion grew until no cloud could reach its summit and its stem became as wide as a forest, and at its top bloomed a crown of white tufts. They caught on the wind and dispersed amongst the clusters of clouds. From their seeds emerged the First People, humankind. Everything brimmed with color and life as the sky sang

the songs of creation, and the beings of the universe rejoiced at the sight of it all. But the sky, in all of its infinite dreams, did not foresee a natural product of what it had created. For with life, there is always death. As the years passed, a boy named Iswe grew into a man, and that man slouched into a grey-haired elder. He was known for a kind heart and gentle laugh, but he waned with age. His bones became heavy and the wrinkles on his hands sunk as deep as rivers until he became the first to be greeted by death. All living beings wept at his loss. Every cloud became gray and warmth fell into a deep sleep. The people begged the sky to sing and return him, but it could not, as death was an inseparable reflection of life. So instead the sky sang of tears, of grief, and of peace. A song of swirling wind wrapped around Iswe’s body, and when it cleared nothing was left in its wake. The people were angered and confused before the wind blew once more, and within the sky’s song was the voice of their friend singing sweetly in tandem, gentle as a laugh. And so it was that death was not the end of life, but a welcome into the song of the sky, a chorus of all those who have passed that sings together, in harmony, eternally.

[the stillness]

Ian Lafontaine

i wither slowly in thine arms.

Here in this rotting wood In this decaying shed One summer’s day, Leaping over tree stumps A forager saw this shack A heap of broken woods Wrought with fruitless vines Sprouting half-bloomed thorns.

Inside, atop a crooked shelf A jar of flesh sat Tithonus here, millenia old Has not seen daylight for a hundred years He has sunken below the grave Forever dying, with a little patience.

“What happened to you?” the silence the stillness “They killed me.” “Hm? “You seem quite alive to me “What happened to you?” the silence

The flame does not extinguish The smoke rises forever

drip drop drip drop drip drop burning drip drop drip drop world without end

“They’re still killing me, yet “I’ve not been undone to death.” (O Lord thou pluckest me out) “I feared like you, and now I have nothing to fear anymore.” (O Lord thou pluckest me out) (O Lord thou pluckest) The forager shook a confused look off his face, And there was a great silence in these spaces. “What do you mean?”

(oh you who rule the sky, I’ve done all I can, thou pluckest me out) Lidless eyes on the verge of tears (oh you who turn the wheel of fate) (thou pluckest me out) (thou pluckest) yet nothing. eloi eloi lama sabachthani nothing.

“Why do you say nothing? “Do you know nothing? “Do you feel nothing anymore?” (I came from dust but did not return) “Are you living? Are you dead? Or are you “Nothing?”

Tithonus did not speak

But there he was Once as handsome as you Now a jar of rotted flesh, Sitting savagely still. He has forgotten the clamor of Troy And the voice of his father He now knows only The rotted wood and moss, and The stuffy scent of fogged glass, and the stench of his own corpse, the stillness

(O Hades, Zeus,— Christ, Brahma , , , thou pluckest me out)

nothing again nothing.

The forager glimpsed into the glass He did not see a man He saw something else No longer human A stew of what once Cast the same shadow as he Undone to a half-dead Jar of clotted fragments Strung by thoughtless threads, forgotten Within these long bygone ruins. Unreal

“Why won’t you ever speak? “What do you want? “What is it?”

“I want to die.”

[Starcatching]

Inked Tragedies

There once was a girl whose eyes were full of galaxies milky ways that turned slowly in her gaze but people have a love of stars and greed runs in blood So one by one they came and stole away the glittering pricks they left clutching a star heedless as she silently cried a spot in her galaxy empty

They all went star catching but she just needed someone who went stargazing