Literary Magazine (2014-2015)

NUAMES Literary and Arts Magazine
Spring 2015
Photo: Day at the Creekside
Table of Contents:
Short Stories
Mariah Neeley
03-04
Jasmin Reyes
40-42
Rachel Gillespie
05-06
Ms. Watson
43-44
Ammon Holt
07-08
Aidan Eggleston
45-46
Natalie Shivel
09-11
Shad McCauley
47-49
Michael Tene
12-14
Sarah Barowski
51-54
Logan Glover
15-17
Jocelyn Watts
18-19
Maddie White
20-22
Mikayla Surgeoner
24-34
Samantha Eller
24-26
Christian Kafton
27
Alexis Wendell
28-30
Kaiya Ingram
28
Taylor Cooper
31-33
Shaylie London
30
Kymira Jackson
34-37
Shaylie London
33
Ruby Ellis
38
KieryAuna Merkley 37
Mr. Ludlow
39
Poetry
Kaiya Ingram
04
Shaylie London
09
KieryAuna Merkley 11
Edited by Mr. Steven Ludlow and Ms. Amanda Watson
Layout by Ms. Amanda Watson
Photography by Ms. Amanda Watson
© Copyright NUAMES High School 2015
All content, including poetry, stories, and picture belong to their
creators and are not for use without written permission.
2
Short Story
By Mariah Neeley
It’s well after World War V. We have knowledge of the previous world, but it no longer exists.
They went nuclear, killing a good portion of the world. Electricity is scarce, and most of us live without it.
People have gone back to medieval type life. Women have mostly resumed the role of pretty things to
look at, and men think they need to protect them. We have lost the knowledge of how to make guns, so
we fight with swords.
…
I looked down at the ridiculous ensemble I had on. It consisted of my lucky archery boots that I’d
never go into battle without, black pants, a shirt, a cape, and a wide-brimmed hat with a mask attached to
it.
When the guy in charge of deciding what we wear to these raids showed me this, I flat out said no.
Stubborn old man that he was, didn’t take no for an answer and added a less form fitting over shirt.
My crew on the other hand were wearing black, form fitting clothes, and the tie around mask that a
superhero would wear. The one here to be tested, to see if he could fight in the actual war, was standing
next to me. He had to be at least two feet taller than me. His mask looked like the others, but he also had a
ridiculously small cape.
“Are you ready?” We were standing next to the road where thieves had knocked over a carriage,
and the obviously rich owner was being forced to kneel with her hands behind her head. She looked
around, desperate for some help, which was exactly what we were going to give her.
“Yea,” said the over-excited test subject. Then without warning or an order, he jumped out of the
bushes and into battle. I screamed for the rest to follow.
Watching the kid was my job; if he made a mistake, I needed to be able to rescue him, so he’d
lived long enough for me tell him he’d failed. As I watched I decided if he did pass I needed to remind
him to use his defense.
I noticed the thief fighting him started to get more aggressive with his moves, and the boy was
starting to lose the little advantage he had. He was barely blocking blows intended to kill. The kid had no
idea how to defend himself against the onslaught. I leapt into the road and yanked on his cape so hard his
tall figure stumbled and fell down about six feet away. I had just pulled him away from a killing blow.
The thief looked up, trying to figure out where his opponent had disappeared to. He saw my small
figure and started laughing. At least he underestimated me. I quickly disarmed him, slamming the hilt of
my sword onto his head, knocking him out.
I glanced around, feeling a bit triumphant. My soldiers were working in harmony. Like they were
all part of one show as opposed to each of them performing their own show. Then I realized we had
forgotten one very important component in this battle.
My gaze fell on the empty spot the girl had been kneeling only moments before. I searched for her
richly adorned dress, and as I did, I noted with satisfaction that most of the thieves were either knocked
out or fleeing. I had ordered them not to kill, as there would be plenty of time for that during the coming
war.
I caught her panicked expression, just as she disappeared into the woods, being dragged away by
one ambitious thief. I chased after them. I’d like to note that running with sword in hand in and oversized
shirt is not the easiest thing to do. I did catch up though.
“Come out, I know you’re there.” No response to my words, and I silently cursed myself for not
protecting the girl sooner. “I just want the girl, then you can go.”
This brought the response I had anticipated, but not the one I had hoped for. He stepped out of the
shadows, his rough knife held to her delicate neck.
“Why should I believe you?” I think the girl knew that I was just about as screwed as I sounded,
but her eyes pleaded me to not give up on her just yet.
3
Short Story by Mariah Neeley Continued
“All your buddies are alive. They’re knocked out, or have disappeared into the forest, but alive.” He thought
for a second and seemed to like the odds of him living. He pushed the girl towards me, so I had to catch the
helpless stumbling figure and he bolted for his life.
“Thanks.” She muttered as I tried to help her gain her balance back.
“Yea, let’s get back to my crew.” Came my response, not the most gracious one, but too late now. I let
go of her and started running back towards the road. When she refused to join me I grabbed her hand and
dragged her along, she complaining the whole time about how her feet hurt.
When we got back, I smiled at my motley crew and went around the carriage, leaving the noble girl
standing at the edge of the forest. As soon as I got behind it, I started shouting orders and peeling off the
sweltering layers of the costume. The first to go was the hat mask combo.
“At least let me see my hero,” Her voice came from around the side of the carriage. I moved to face
her, and she stood there staring at me astounded. I was in a tank top, skin tight stretchy black pants, and my
archery boots with my hair pulled back in a ponytail.
I smiled sheepishly, then ordered four of my strongest soldiers to escort her back to her carriage. Trex
came up, only distinguishable because he had taken his mask off.
“TJ, we need to get going, there is already someone else in sight.”
“Right, people we need to-”
“You’re a girl!” The noble teenager shouted.
I spun on my heel to face her, “The infamous TJ at your service, you get to choose which story to
believe, innocent, heroine, or murderer.” Then I gave her a very mocking bow.
“Right, ok. I’m Anna Wringly. The one and only Duke’s granddaughter betrothed to the throne.” She
gave a mocking bow back.
I’d have laughed or something if I wasn’t glued to the spot. Had she just said what I thought she said?
Trex did the same thing, but gathered his wits quicker than I did, he grabbed her hand and kissed it,
“Nice to meet you-”
She cut him off, “Yeah, right. The likes of you probably resent me.”
Thawing Fear
By Kaiya Ingram
Photo: Trees with Hoar Frost
Creating snow brings unspeakable joy
Until the power hurts those she cares for
Tries to conceal the fear that will destroy
She took the crown and protection she swore
Everything that happens next goes too fast
Anger conquered and she fled her fury
No one cares for the terrified outcast
Except her kind sister who came, worried
She had frozen the entire kingdom
And her strong powers would only advance
She goes back home but cannot grant freedom
Her sister gives up her last chance
Only love can thaw what has been frozen
There is no more fear for the one chosen
4
A Universal Theory
By Rachel Gillespie
“I’m finding it hard to believe you five control everything in the universe.” My yell of dismay wasn’t
heard over the roar of yet another argument, nearly the eighth today.
“Spreading out the planets will dissuade the lifeforms from travelling amongst them. We must keep
them in close proximity to each other, both to promote interstellar trade and to better society as a whole.”
Amelian’s comments were always the first (and the smartest, I realized. He seemed to be the only one who
made sense), but it was soon followed by critiques.
“They don’t need to travel to other planets. In fact, most intelligent beings simply can’t handle
meeting others who aren’t their species. I think it best to have them stay right where they are for now, until
the universe grows in maturity.” Boy, did that leave a door open for the others. True to my predictions,
Domeya took Cir’s argument and slammed it back at him.
“Speaking of maturity, how did the life forms turn out this time? Still can’t tell a tail from an arm?”
Eiran and Nia laughed hard enough to make themselves cry and Cir looked down to his tablet, where he drew
little figures. I rolled my eyes; nothing like hating your day job with such passion. I honestly felt sorry for
Amelian, sitting at the back of the table (the spot having been assigned by Domeya to ‘space out the group a
bit’), and getting no say in the decisions of the world. I know exactly how he felt; the last time they ever took
my advice was when I was first hired--I guess you could say--here.
I had been at a movie with Mackie, shoveling popcorn faster than I could take in a breath, when an
odd text came up on my phone. It said “job offering” and “interested in your skills.” I left the theater without
telling him. (Yeah, I regret it now. He called the cops thinking I was abducted. He wasn’t wrong.) As I read
through the message in the parking lot, I realized it sounded too good for reality.
“I’ll pay you anything you want if you can just keep them under control,” the text read. Apparently,
one of this company’s employees was exhausted with trying to reign in the others, so he was looking for
someone with good listening and persuading skills, as well as one who could follow an unpredictable
schedule. I was dialing the number before my mind really registered the words. When I came to my senses, it
connected before I could hang up.
“Variarcii’s Repairs and Tune-ups, manager speak….oh,” he paused, then began again. “Amelian
speaking. You must be Miranna.”
My eyes widened. “How do you…wait, did you send me the message?”
“Yes, what were you expecting?” His laughter and choice of words threw me. Just what kind of job
was this?
“Um…I would like to apply for your job then.”
“You’re hired. I’ll come pick you up.” The phone dropped from my hand.
From there, it turned from odd to what would have been a physicist’s Hellhole. I was taken to--no
kidding--a starship, and then to another dimension. Regardless, here I am, the babysitter of the Universe’s
team of children. The sanity within the team had dropped to only myself and Amelian, who was currently
stabilizing the power output in his guns using his body’s battery supply. Sparks sprayed over his end of the
table.
My head sunk further into my hands. “Why did I have to take this job?”
“Why not ask the human what she thinks?” That was Domeya’s best suggestion all day. I sat up,
straightened my uniform, and then stood.
“Expansion is what our race needs to continue existing,” I said. “It wouldn’t hurt to move the planets within
travelling space of each other and,” I glanced over to Domeya, “wars between species would give you
5
A Universal Theory, continued
a reason to start fights.” His face brightened as if he’d never thought of it before.
“You see! This is why we picked you. You manage to pull out only the good things in the
conversation.” He patted my shoulder and disappeared into the colorful darkness around the room. Nia
followed, her boredom catching up with her again, and Eiran asked if anyone wanted food. I got a cup of
shaved ice, and I went and sat in front of Cir.
“Why am I here?” I had asked this when I first got here, but don’t ever remember getting an answer.
Amelian, always one to side with me, took the seat beside me. “I’ve wondered the same thing,” he
said, “tell us, Cir.”
Cir put his drink down. “We need a mediator; none of us really get along. Other than that, there isn’t
any reason. Well, none of us are human, so I suppose you’re here for diversity and perhaps a new
perspective.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain why you chose me specifically. I had a normal life in a mundane
world. I can’t see how…”
He sighed, rolling his eyes.
“Listen, Human. You don’t see into
other dimensions like we do. You
can’t travel them on your own; you
don’t know the sheer enormity of the
universe. Explaining to you why we
chose you out of an infinite number of
other living things is impossible
because it was chance.”
“I don’t believe you.” I glanced
to Amelian. “Tell me he’s joking. That
has to be, what? A ten to infinity
chance?”
“He’s not joking. We literally
picked a planet from a hat.”
I think I stared at him for three
minutes before finally getting it. “So it
was random… that’s still hard to
believe.”
“You’re just unbelievably
lucky, Miranna. Go home; we’re done
for today.”
Photo: City Street in Miniature
I thanked him and pushed in my chair. As I waited by the exit to go home, I stared at my bowl of ice
and realized something funny. We may not be of the same species, any of us, or come from the same world,
but we still had things in common, like the little ice crystals with flavoring on them.
“Hey, Cir. I actually know the reason-- ” I turned to tell him, but found only an empty room.
“Hey, time to go.” Eiran pulled me towards the exit. I sighed. I doubted I’d remember to tell him next
time.
6
Short Story
By Ammon Holt
It was a reunion for the three of us, just the afternoon together. Katherine, David, and I sat in the mall
cafeteria just like we used to, enjoying our shakes from Finches. In the five years that had passed since we last
were together, Katherine had married and had a baby girl. David had toned down with his infamous comedic
behavior, realizing he was now in a more professional job setting as a secretary, not just a Saturday night club
joker. I was here to try to start things over.
“So what have you done Tyrell?” asked David, still chuckling from the joke he had told.
I shifted in my seat, I hadn’t had as much success as my life-long friends.
“I’ve hopped around from job to job, being a project manager hasn’t been very easy.” I didn’t want to
go into any details.
“Go ahead, we’re your friends. Tell us more,” said Katherine. Oh yeah, did I mention she’d become a
therapist?
“I was in Congo for a couple months overseeing the construction of a water treatment facility.” I
wanted the topic to change.
David appeared concerned, "That wouldn't happen to have been the one that was shut down after the
rebellion started?”
“Yeah it was.” The news had gotten it wrong, there was an outbreak and his bosses had refused to help
vaccinate the workers. It was a strike.
“Tyrell, sorry man, what you were doing was good.”
I didn’t want sympathy, I wanted to move on.
“Anyway onto greener pastures, any women in
your life?” W ow, thanks for changing the topic
David, in the wrong direction.
“No, I haven’t had much time.”
Katherine leaned forward, “Tyrell, we did
unanimously agree in high school that you do best
with someone at your side.”
“Maybe, but that was high school. Our brains
hadn’t fully developed yet.”
David glanced to Katherine and back, “Tyrell,
Katherine’s got a good point, when was the last
time you successfully saw a project through?”
I thought for a second, “When I oversaw the
restoring of the Brown Estate House.”
“And did you have a partner?”
Maybe they were right, “Yes I did. Working with
Mike wasn’t all that bad.”
Photo: Silver Lake, Utah
7
Short story by Ammon Holt, Continued
“See? Working as an equal with another person really grounds you. You’re more focused. You
should really find someone to date,” Katherine added.
“Fine then, set me up with a blind date. But I’m really here looking for a job.”
Apparently what I said sparked something in David, “Man, if you needed a job why didn’t you just
ask? I can hook you up with a long-term gig redesigning something for the city.”
“I’m here because Katherine set me up on a blind date. So why are you here?”
Jai bit her lip, and looked around the café, “I can honestly say the exact same thing.”
Without much thought I said, “Crap, what was Katherine thinking? She knows we really don’t get
along.”
"Yeah, you know you’re one of the reasons I left.”
“I’m sorry about that rumor. I started feeling like dirt when you left.”
“Kinda difficult to believe when you showed no remorse for months.”
“I really am sorry, I know it was wrong. You…”
“It was wrong!” and Jai walked out.
I sat there alone in the café for a minute before I walked out.
While I was on my way back to Harvey’s apartment, I stopped at one of the many city parks. I
wanted to prolong my return. Sitting on a bench overlooking the river, I thought about the disaster of a date I
just had. In turn, I thought of high school, and the rumor.
Every class has those people that everyone knows about, and Jai was that person. She was dating a
pariah and certain things got out into the school body. I had been the leak.
I stood up, grabbed some small rocks and began chucking them into the river, “I. Am. So. Stupid!” I
grabbed a larger rock and tossed it in.
“It’s about time you admitted it.”
I turned around to see Jai approaching me on the walkway.
“Jai, I am so sorry about what happened.”
She stopped next to me and began looking at ducks that were now gathering to find food.
“I can see that now, thanks.”
I felt a bit better, but still like dirt.
“Tyrell, while I really don’t know why Katherine set us up, I’m going to pretend it was for this.”
I thought for a second, “We’ll go with that for now.”
Jai started walking away before she stopped, “One more thing…”
“Yes?”
“She also mentioned we needed to stay together.”
8
Poem
By Shaylie London
They say I love you.
They kiss you with passion.
They cherish every moment with you.
You have fallen in love—
‘Til one day they slowly fade away,
And they no longer kiss you.
They say, “sorry,” but they don't mean it.
Now they have broken your heart,
They find another girl.
They try to replace you.
They can't find anyone
To love them as much as you.
They come back to you,
Wanting to get back with you.
They don't realize how much
They have hurt you.
Photo: Desert Flowers , Valley of Fire State Park, Nevada
Guard Your Heart
By Natalie Shivel
“Hey, you’re pretty cool. Thanks for checking out our page.” Emma’s phone lit up.
She had just received an online message from the admin of her favorite Harry Potter page on Facebook.
She glanced at the phone curiously and swiped open the message. Her mother always had told her not to talk to
strangers, but this guy seemed friendly enough.
She typed eagerly and replied, “Yeah definitely! I love Harry Potter and your newsfeed makes me
happy.”
From there on out, everything escalated and she began to learn many things about this guy. The first
thing she learned was that his name was Nate and that he lived in the UK. For a while she seemed to be
comfortable with the idea of talking to a complete stranger. He sent her a picture and he had hazel eyes that
would catch any girl’s attention and sandy blonde hair. She immediately was hooked on him. She sent a
picture of herself and revealed that she lived in New York. Nate adored her upon seeing the picture and began
to flirt with her.
Everything was perfect between the two until he said he was 20 years old. She was only 16 and he
wanted to pursue a relationship with her? She didn’t know if this was illegal in Britain, but it sure was in the
United States. From there she didn’t want to take her chances and after all they were long distance.
However, when she tried to escape the conversation Nate seemed hurt. He understood completely and
told her that she didn’t have to talk to him. She knew then that he couldn’t possibly be a creepy guy. If he was
a pedophile, he would have tried to make her stay and lure her in, right? She remembered what her mom had
told her about online predators and what she learned about it at school.
9
Guard Your Heart, continued
Even if they were four years apart in age, she was willing to take the risk. Carefully she talked to him
every day without her mother’s knowledge. The guilt filled her heart completely and she began to become
depressed. Aside from her depression, she continued to talk to Nate because he was the only thing in her life
that she thought could make her happy.
By day they would message each other over Facebook and by night they would quietly Skype.
Slowly, slowly, slowly they began to fall in love with each other. Not only was she attracted to him physically,
she was attracted to who he was. Most people described him as stuck up, but to her, he was beautiful. She saw
everything in him that nobody could see: his care and compassion towards her best interest. Everything that he
did was to make her happy. He was all she could have asked and hoped for in a guy. The only two things that
scared her were her mother and the distance between them.
***
Three months had passed and her mother had never discovered the truth behind her depression.
It was obvious there was something wrong with her daughter and she wanted to know what. Emma figured that
she hadn’t been caught by now and that she wouldn’t be in the future. Her caution towards interacting with
him was less and less over the time. This was
her worst mistake.
It was a casual summer night in
Emma’s bedroom when everything changed.
She was making her usual call with Nate, but
she was more open. On an average occasion,
she would wait for her mother to be asleep
before her call. This time her mother was in
the other room. The two of them were making
funny faces and she laughed profusely.
“What’s so funny?” her mom asked,
walking in.
Photo: Avalanche Creek, Glacier National Park
Immediately, her mother saw the iPod
in her hand and Nate on the bright little screen.
She began to scream at Emma. The emotions
from her mom were so intense that she was
almost surprised nobody called the cops on
them. Emma couldn’t blame her mother for
acting the way she did, but she was too afraid
to let her mom know the truth to begin with.
She had been afraid of just this happening.
After all, this guy was much older than her and
she had no outside connections with him.
All of Emma’s privileges were taken away and she felt as if she had nothing left. She didn’t
care what was taken away, she only cared about Nate. Then and there Emma was forced to go her separate
way from her sweet beloved. It was indeed difficult for her to comprehend. How could her mom take away her
pride and joy? She could never understand. The only thing that made her feel at all better was that her mom
told her she could talk to him when she moves out of the house. Even though her mother said this, Emma felt
like she was only saying things because she didn’t believe it would happen.
Nothing could kill the pain and sorrow that filled her heart for quite some time. She felt as if
she had no choice but to talk to him again. This time it was an even bigger risk. When she saw Nate’s face she
began to cry. There was nothing they could do but wait it out.
10
Guard Your Heart, continued
Over the course of the few years, the two of them faced this hardship together. It wasn’t an easy road
to face. They went through phases of breaking up and getting back together until it was finally enough. The
two of them remained together and Emma hoped by the end of this, her mother would allow her to be with
him since she was now older.
Sure enough, when she went away for college, her mother gave her the approval to meet him.
The excitement inside couldn’t be contained; however, she felt guilty. Her mother was not the least bit aware
that she had been talking to him this whole time. She couldn’t help it. People do dumb things that defy their
own logic when they are supposedly in love.
Was this love? Or was this mere infatuation? Her mind told her she was in love, but her heart well
knew this was nothing but bad news. Any time she had tried to date a guy during her last years of high school
she could only compare them to Nate. Every attempted relationship failed.
She finally stepped off the plane and walked towards her future. When she was embraced in his
arms, she knew that he loved her and the years of waiting were worth it. They got into his car and drove off to
a park. When they arrived, he looked into her eyes and began to passionately kiss her. Everything felt right
and after all this time got what she wanted.
***
Girl Found Dead Near London Eye, read the newspaper title a week later. Nate was not who
he seemed. Her mom’s intuition was correct, but her “love” for him got the best of her. On the other hand,
Nate’s skill of hiding who he truly was, was quite impressive.
There was no way of knowing who he was. She thought she knew him from the way he
presented himself and the way she thought she saw every side of him. She was fairly incorrect. It was not
merely the fact she had never met him, it was the fact she allowed him to get inside her head. It wasn’t Nate
himself that killed her, it was her heart.
It wasn’t until a couple weeks after that her mother got the news. Her heart shattered like a
million shards of glass. The only thing she cared about in life was gone. How could she have been so arrogant
to allow her daughter to do this?
True Friendship
By Kier yAuna Mer kley
Friendship is the greatest treasure on earth.
It cares little about your finances,
or your living arrangements,
or what kind of car you drive.
It is totally accepting of strange food choices,
bad eating habits,
and even allergies.
It tolerates the times you are late,
looks forward to the rare times you are early,
and is accepting of the times you forget all
together.
The words “I'm sorry” need never be spoken.
An apology is never expected and always
accepted.
True friends are not made, they just are.
Photo: Playground at Iosepa Ghost Town, Skull Valley, Utah
11
Highcliff Castle Hijinks
By Michael Tene
Prince Davion was having a fairly good day. He’d managed to finish negotiations with a baron, stop a
dispute between some of his men, help the court wizard finish a spell and even had time to actually prepare for
the next in the set of blind dates he was being forced to go on.
For the prince, ‘prepare’ actually translated to set-up-an-escape-plan-and-make-sure-I-don’t-end-upcovered-in-blood. He’d done that once, and managed to scare off the one princesses he might have been able
to put up being in a marriage with. As the sun set behind him, basking the gray stone of Castle Highcliff in
orange light, he trudged slowly over to the tower in which he’d meet the next person to whom his father was
trying to marry him off. As the heir to the throne, and his father’s only child, Valthus’ marriage was important
to the kingdom - solidifying ties with one of the many surrounding kingdoms. There were a whole slew of
people who wanted a royal marriage with the upcoming power that was the kingdom of Dalania - but the king
only had one dependent.
Valthus was one of the lucky ones in that regard, as it meant he had a semblance of choice of who he
married. As many of the marriages didn’t actually hold benefits over the others, the king had allowed Valthus
to pick from the list of candidates - after talking with each of them in these meetings that he had come to hate.
“Okay, Z’ll be telepathing me at nine thirty, so if things are going bad I can just say he’s having an
emergency...” Zevin, or Z as Valthus called him, was the master of the guard at the castle and Valthus’ best
friend. “Or if it’s actually going well for once, I can tell him I already took care of it…”
Valthus muttered to himself as he moved through the doors toward his meeting with the latest prospect.
He’d come to hate these doors because they led to the meetings. As he started to climb the spiral stairs to the
meeting balcony, his servant appeared beside him, listing off information about the next candidate.
“Princes Auralin, Crown Princess of…” The servant droned, reciprocating Valthus’ boredom with the
meetings, although Valthus had stopped listening. The prince ran his hand along the wall as he climbed,
wondering why he’d asked to have so much time.
When he reached the top of the stairs and rested his hands against the second set of doors, he took a
deep breath, preparing himself for another afternoon of boredom, formality, and feigned interest.
He was already counting the minutes until nine-thirty.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Valthus? Are you there, my Lord? Zevin’s voice telepathically rang in his head, interrupting his meal
with Auralin. Valthus tilted his head downward, placing two fingers to his temple to send back the message:
Yeah, one sec. Looking back up to Auralin, he tilted his head apologetically.
“Sorry, I have to get this. It won’t take long,” Valthus said, removing himself from the table and
moving over to the corner of the open-air room, before switching to the easier form of telepathy where one
spoke aloud.
Are you there, my Lord? Zevin’s voice asked again.
“Yeah, I’m here now. What did you want to say?” Valthus replied, before realizing he wasn’t sure
what he was going to do next. The ‘date’ was actually going fairly well, not even in relative terms like the all
of the other ‘better’ dates had done. He enjoyed the princess’s personality, and she seemed like she actually
cared about what he was like as a person, not just the wealth that he bought - though that was still probably the
primary reason for her visit.
12
Highcliff Castle Hijinks, continued
Sir, we’ve got an issue downsta— Zevin started to say before Valthus cut him off.
“I’ve already taken care of it,” He responded reflexively, despite not knowing what he was going to say
the second before.
Wait, what? It’s actually going well? Zevin asked, as surprised as Valthus had been that he didn’t want
to get out of the meeting as soon as possible. But that’s not the point“Hunh?” Valthus asked, confused.
Sir, we actually have an issue down here. Zevin replied, deadly serious, a tone that Valthus matched as
soon as he heard the words.
“What do you mean? What’s going on?”
It appears that we have an assassin in the castle, my Lor“How many times have I told you not to call me that? Besides, I thought the assassination attempts
stopped a while ago, after I killed the last four who tried to take me out,” Valthus responded, hand straying to
the sword that he had at his belt. As his last statement had implied, he knew how to use the blade, being the
premier swordsman in the realm.
Old habits die hard, my L-Sir. And that’s just it: The assassin isn’t after you, or even your father. He
seems to be after our guest. Zevin said, prompting Valthus took look over his shoulder at the princess sitting at
the table, red hair and white dress flowing in the wind as she seemed blissfully unaware of the entire situation.
“Are you sure?” Valthus asked in a hushed voice to
avoid alarming said princess.
Yes, I’m sure. I think we can catch this guy if given
time, can you see if you can get the target somewhere
safer than a completely open balcony? Zevin asked.
“Yeah, I’ll try,” Valthus said, before starting to move
his fingers from his temple. “Telepath me again if you
have more news, okay?”
Of course, my Lord. Zevin said before the distinct buzz
in Valthus’ head that came from telepathic
communication shut off. Valthus moved back toward
the table, not exactly sure how to proceed. As he
approached her, the princess looked up. Her head tilted
to the side slightly as though asking a question.
Photo: Bigfoot Visit
“It wasn’t anything too important,” Valthus said, again
having his words decide his course of action for him.
He started to take a seat, before stopping and offering
his hand to Auralin. “You know, I’m tired of this
wind… Is it okay if we take this inside? There’s a room
just a floor up that we can stay in.”
The princess looked at him and raised an eyebrow slightly, pausing for a second before doing anything.
From her eyes Valthus could see her calculating, trying to understand his motivation. As Valthus searched for
something else to say, the princess took his hand and stood up from the table.
“Of course. The cold was starting to bother me, anyway,” Auralin said, motioning at the sun that had
dipped below the horizon.
13
Highcliff Castle Hijinks, continued
“Thanks. It’s right through here,” Valthus replied, leading her toward a door on the side of the balcony,
much smaller than the grand ones they’d both entered through.
As they ducked through and began to climb a cramped flight of stairs, Valthus started to realize the
implications of his actions. Oh, wow, that came out wrong… . W ell, not really, but it can be interpreted in so
many ways… He thought, realizing that he’d just invited the princess into a room with him - that, now that he
thought about it, was going to be unchaperoned. Great. Just great. W ell done, V althus. A lthough… I guess so
long as she thinks it’s just a display of favor it might not be that bad…
His thoughts trailed off as he went through another small door, the princess becoming more suspicious
as she followed him through what was obviously a servant access. Soon, however, he had found their
destination, and they walked in.
The room was large, nearly the size of the entire ten meter wide tower, and furnished in a way that
shown it was intended for nobility to stay in it, though it lacked the embroidered tapestries that would signify a
Prince’s or King’s room. The most notable feature of the room, however, was its lack of entrances. Normally, a
room like this would have doors to allow servants to access the room without being obtrusive. It would at least
have windows. This room had neither of those things. The only apparent way in or out was the door they had
just walked through.
Valthus finally let go of the
princess’s hand once they walked
in. He moved to inspect the wall
near the door and flicked a discrete
switch. He smiled as he turned back
to face the room, shoulders relaxing.
The room’s lack of entrances was
intentional. He had led them into
what functioned as a safe-house.
The only way in or out was the
single door - which also had a trap
attached, one that he had just
armed.
“So… Was there any reason
in particular you brought me…
Here?” the princess asked, turning
to Valthus.
“No, not really…” Valthus
started to stay, before his voice died
in his throat as he noticed yet
another flaw in his plan.
Oh, great…
Photo: A Book
14
Short Story
By Logan Glover
“Going dark, Frank,” Malik muttered in his soft deep voice before flicking the switch on his
communicator. Moments later the device had folded up and tucked itself behind Malik’s ear, shrouded by his
black hair. The black car slowed to a halt beside a moist stone walkway leading to an impressive mansion.
‘This was it,’ he thought grimly. This was dangerous work, but it paid well.
“We’ll be at the rendezvous point, you know the emergency code?” asked the driver.
“I need some fresh air,” Malik recited before closing the door of the sedan. He smoothed out his jacket
and set down the path to the metallic double-doors. A tall man, muscular and wearing all black narrowed his
eyes at Malik’s fox-like small frame.
“ID?” he said in a dangerous, if calm voice.
“Oh, yeah,” Malik acted, searching a few pockets before drawing a card, its holograms glinting
rainbow in the porch light.
The guard took it, and scanned it. “Lewis Jones?”
“That’s right. 825686197,”Malik answered quickly.
The door guard looked at his scanner for a moment, confirming the passcode. “Alright, ballroom’s
down the hall, enjoy your evening.”
Inside the foyer, a few suited guests sipped colorful drinks and chattered to one another, ‘white noise,’
Malik thought, ‘better get used to it for the night.’ Down the hall, white doors to a too-bright room were
wedged open. The nearer he got, the more Malik’s head hurt.
“Welcome Mister— “ A deep, happy voice came from his
right side as he entered the ballroom.
“Jones,” Malik supplied, almost sweating and turning red
in the presence of Mr. Stone, the CEO of DNU Global.
“Ah yes, I don’t get down to the R&D department often
enough, too busy with the board of directors rabble, yes?”
Malik forced a grin at the joke and nodded.
“We have a very special guest tonight,” Stones continued.
He motioned to the green-suited man at the buffet, “General
Nolan there is interested in the project your team’s been working
on. Do be respectful around him, a deal this huge could propel us
to the very top. And enjoy the party!” he patted Malik heavily on
the shoulder before walking off.
Photo: A Risky Game
‘So this is what all the fuss is about…’ Malik wondered what this project was,. He had thought
it was heavily guarded for a party. He looked around the edges of the room, more black-clad men stood at
most of the doors, they all wore sunglasses, making Malik a bit jealous. ‘The dossier said Stone kept lightly
armed security, so it would be best to slip out of the party elsewhere…’ Malik only then realized he had stood
like a statue talking to nobody for the past three minutes, and several partygoers were looking over to him. He
15
Short story by Logan Glover, continued
started toward the bar, feeling his joints come back to motion. The bartender was away, but Malik didn’t
mind. Alcohol would definitely ruin that night’s “festivities,” he could wait for water or juice.
“Howdy,” said a calm, extremely un-southern guy to Malik’s right. “Name’s Thomas, here to get
plastered?” Turning, Malik saw this man was bored and quite young looking. He had his hand extended.
“Lewis. And no, I don’t drink, just thirsty.” Malik grabbed it and shook, his grip was much stronger
than Thomas’s.
“Hmmf… Smart boy. Don’t break my hand,” he said coyly, sliding his hand from Malik’s. “I’ve never
seen you around, but I suppose you look the same as any other guy here,” Thomas looked down at Malik’s
plain black suit, then to his, scoffing, “don’t worry, I hate this room as much as you do,” his tone mildly
worried Malik. Something about this man was sinister, as if he were an angler fish, and Malik could only see
its Luciferase.
Malik looked away from the man, thankful that the bartender had returned. “What’ll you have?” he
asked in a friendly tone.
“Just mix something up, sour, no alcohol.” The bartender nodded and began pouring the few juices he had.
Malik ignored Thomas’s continued comments and focused instead on sipping and planning. Soon, Malik rose
and carried his shining glass on a short walk around the ballroom. ‘Now I’ll look less suspicious.’ He decided
it was time to move. Turning to the nearest partygoer, he asked “do you know where the bathroom is?”
“Over there, by the buffet,” she said.
Nodding to her, Malik turned on his heels and
continued. The noise in the room seemed to be growing as
more guests arrived. Loud electronic music began playing
from great thumping speakers throughout the chamber.
Malik noticed a few dancers warming up on a small stage
as he opened the door to the restroom and then locked
himself inside. It was comfortably lit inside, only a weak
blue lamp was on, lighting up the marble fixtures and
granite walls. He desperately looked around for a path to
the rest of the house, with no luck. Feeling silly in such a
tight suit, Malik wondered what options there were, until it
hit him.
Fifteen minutes later, the dancers had begun, and
the infernal lights in the ballroom had been dimmed. The
roar of the guests had lessened tremendously. Malik
wandered over toward the stage and waded through the
Photo: Vintage Sign, Pocatello Idaho
crowd. It was much too easy to draw a small needle from his
inner pocket and sink it into a thick wire running to the stage. ‘My only chance,’ he mused, wondering how
this became his best option ‘is it even worth the pay?” He returned to the bar and set his empty glass on the
counter, then stalked tentatively toward the important-looking double doors blocked by a security guard and a
red theater stanchion.
16
`
Short story by Logan Glover, continued
Malik reached for his phone and smoothly pressed a small detonator button. He unlocked the device
and tapped on the screen. A vicious cascade of static sounds came from a speaker near the stage and the music
stopped. The tiny EMP emitter had done its work. It successfully diverted the crowd’s attention. A few people
screamed, and the guard by the door stepped forward to calm everybody down. Malik snuck forward and
turned the handle, stepping over the rope and into the hall. He held the knob, and closed it behind he. He
slowly releasing it.
He was in.
The hall was just as dimly lit as the bathrooms were. The carpet muffled the sound of his footsteps,
making it easier for Malik to move quickly. The office was on the third floor in the front, with a balcony
overlooking the yard and the city in the valley. ‘Nobody’s following me, I should be fine, and I’ll get paid,’
Malik repeated to himself several times.
“WHAT?” A voice echoed through the halls, Mr. Stone’s voice. “Have you caught the person
responsible? I WANT A NAME, THEY WILL NEVER WORK IN THIS COMPANY AGAIN!” Malik froze,
he peered around the next corner, sure enough, Stone was on his phone, looking red-faced. He hung up and
growled, stomping toward the staircase. Malik crouched against a corner behind a fern until the CEO had
passed.
The office was unlocked when Malik reached it. He entered it quickly and locked the door behind him,
sure that his time was limited. Mr. Stone’s office was roomy, and his desk cluttered. Malik saw the mysterious
briefcase he had been told to grab, but curiosity got the better of his greed and his fear. He looked over a few
documents that littered the table. One was titled: “HERACLES PROJECT.” Malik turned his head to read it
without moving it, “…developed and tested prosthetic limbs capable of all human functionality… synthetic
nerves tested effectively in rats… Maximum load per-arm in excess of 22 kN…”
Malik looked at the case and rounded the desk to examine its contents. A hand grabbed Malik’s ankle
like a snake lunging at prey. “You really are dreadful at this aren’t you?” Thomas was lying under the desk,
sipping his drink and smiling playfully. “How about you tell me your real name, spy boy,” he giggled.
Malik stumbled and fell onto his bottom, shocked and barely suppressing his cry of surprise. “Y-you
tell me your real name!”
“Luca,” he yawned, taking Malik aback.
“Malik,” he gave in moments later.
“So, you want to steal a medical breakthrough. Who do ya work for?”
“H-how did you...? MilSec Corporation,” Luca’s hypnotically casual nature was defeating Malik.
“Hmm. What would they want with prosthetics I wonder?”
Malik shifted on the floor uncomfortably, thinking about this. ‘What other secrets have I stolen?’ he
thought to himself.
“Weren’t you ever told what was in the case?” Luca sounded like a patient mother.
“Why are you up here?”
“Oh, I always sneak up here during parties, it’s good fun playing with dad’s security team.” Malik’s
eyes widened as voices suddenly came from the hall, security was catching up with him. “You have to decide
now, should be able to escape if you leave.”
Malik stood up tapped his communicator, it unfolded. “Frank,” he woke his colleague on the other end,
“I quit.”
17
And Then There Were None
By Jocelyn Watts
I stood.
The rain poured down. Every drop felt like a bullet.
I stood.
Everyone else had left hours ago. Days, I think it might have been. Time
for me had all but blurred together.
I stood.
Staring at the four stones. I’m fairly certain I wasn’t breathing. If I was, I
couldn’t hear it. Or feel it. I couldn’t hear or feel my heartbeat either.
I just… stood.
The names reverberated in my head. Eric… Elizabeth… Emily
Lane… Josh…
Their father: a good man with an accidental end.
The sweetest mother you could ever meet.
Photo: Iron Scrollwork , Iosepa Ghost Town
Em… I choked on her name. She had only been eight. She was an angel,
pure and innocent. Loving. It was because of her I met…
Josh. Josh McCalister. Part of me, a tiny, tiny part deep, deep down inside, hated him for never telling me. For never
even giving a simple warning until it was far, far too late.
It was the four of them together, until I came in. And then there were five.
And everyone else, I truly hated them. They knew. They all knew. They knew about him, and they knew that one day,
every dream I had about us would shatter because of that one fact.
And no one told me.
Not a single soul told me about Josh. Not even Josh himself. Until it was far, far too late…
Eric and Elizabeth had left first. It was a car crash a week before Christmas. All five of us had been in the car. Eric was
driving, Elizabeth in the passenger seat, Em squished between me and Josh. We were all buckled up. Eric was a safe
driver. Some other driver hit the ice on the road wrong.
Eric died on contact. Elizabeth was completely paralyzed. Josh and I had wrapped ourselves around Emily to keep her
from getting hurt. The most the two of us got were some cuts from flying glass. She made it out unscathed.
And then there were four.
The week after Christmas, Elizabeth died. She was paralyzed, in constant pain, and had a number of internal things
going wrong.
And then there were three.
For the next year, it was just the three of us. Just me, Josh, and Emily. I moved into the guest room, because I wasn’t
already spending far too much time with them anyways, right? I helped Josh with housework, and bills, and Emily. Just
basic ordinary things. The first real catastrophe came during a wind storm one night. Winds were going somewhere
around 50 miles an hour. A large tree branch broke off and crashed through Emily’s window. That was when the idea
was sparked in our minds.
Josh and I, late at night, we completely re-did her room. She was always obsessed with princesses. While she was busy
at school, or out with friends, or just not paying attention, we would sneak up there and work a little more. It took the
majority of the year, but we finally finished it. It was originally going to be a birthday present, but Christmas seemed
more appropriate. And closer.
And then, Christmas Eve, she disappeared.
We panicked. No one had seen her. We kept thinking, she couldn’t have gotten far. She’s young and she’s a good kid.
We searched all day, and long into the night, until finally, we found her.
Lying on the ground. Her face frozen in fear. Tears streaked down her precious face. A large puddle of red around her,
not another being in sight. She was ghostly pale.
She was still warm.
She was eight. And it was Christmas...
18
And Then There Were None, continued
Josh and I buried her next to her parents. Her finished room, fit for a princess, was locked. Never to be opened again.
And then there were two.
Josh. It was because of Emily Lane that I had met Josh. She had accidentally bumped into me at the store, causing me to
trip and fall and spill everything in my basket. Josh immediately started apologizing and helped me clean up. We both
reached for the macaroni at the same time, and our hands accidentally touched, and we looked up…
He had the deepest, greenest eyes I had ever seen. They were like emeralds.
And Emily, of course, being the fairy tale girl she is, immediately said that we were going to get married someday. We
both turned fifty shades of red.
Josh and I were never seen apart then. We were together always: at school, at random places around town. I was often
invited over for dinner at their house. Josh, he made the best seven cheese lasagna in the world. I was addicted to that
stuff.
I was there for him when his parents died. I was there for him when Emily died. It was just the two of us. For his
birthday in the summer, I planned a little dinner for us at our favorite spot: a little clearing in the forest around his house.
We had had our first date there, our first kiss there, multiple birthday celebrations for us there.
During dinner, I apologized for not having a birthday present for him. He smiled and shook it off, saying all he wanted
for his birthday was to spend the rest of his life with me.
There was a velvet box at the bottom of the bread basket, and in it was a ring.
We couldn’t have been happier.
We planned the wedding just a week after my birthday that year. Three months seemed okay. But he started getting
distant. Pushing me away. I couldn’t understand it. The wedding was getting closer and closer and he was barely talking
to me.
Then it happened.
He was making dinner for us, and for whatever reason he fell down. He couldn’t get up. I tried helping him, but he
couldn’t stay up. Then he passed out. His heartbeat and breathing were erratic. In a panic, I called the hospital. No one
said a word to me about what was happening as they took him away.
I followed in desperate pursuit. They wouldn’t let me in the room while they operated on him, or whatever they were
doing. I sat outside the door, waiting for someone, anyone, to tell me what was going on. I saw people I knew, friends of
ours, and asked them what was happening. They merely gave me looks of pity.
I stayed out there an entire day before he was conscience again. I asked to see him, but he said he didn’t want any
visitors. Not even me.
So I sat. For a week. My birthday passed, and he still wouldn’t let me in, and still nobody would tell me what was going
on.
I sat. And I sat. And I sat. The hospital started getting worried about me because I didn’t move or eat or drink or
anything. I just… sat.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Josh let me in. The doctor told me what had happened to him, and what was
wrong with him, and that he had about two hours left.
Two hours. What do you say to the one person you love when you only have two hours left with them?
I laid with him on the bed. We stayed silent. Tears slowly leaked out my eyes. The minutes ticked by, some felt like
seconds, others like hours. And with every moment that passed I felt him slipping away from me a little bit more.
The time was almost up. He was almost gone. His very last request to me was to sing.
Sing him to sleep, the way we used to with Emily Lane.
And then there was one...
Now I stood. I stood in front of their tombstones, a family that never did anything wrong, that didn’t deserve to die the
ways they did.
Car accident. Extreme paralysis. Murder. Cancer.
Heartbreak.
And then there were none.
19
Stalker Tendencies
By Maddie White
"Hey, Diane. So, I need you to look after my second cousin's friend's foreign sister's adoptive uncle's
adopted nephew while I go shopping because he was caught stalking some chick and he's not allowed to go
anywhere without adult supervision because of that and please try to teach him how to behave because his
culture is a bit different, okay? Bye!"
The line went dead before I had a chance to even get a word in edgewise. As I arrived at my aunt's
place, I had expected a weekend full of girl talk, shopping, and movie nights. Not... whatever that phone call
was.
I couldn't muster enough energy to knock
on the door or ring the doorbell. Any excitement
I'd had fled with that quick, two second message.
Instead of relaxing for the weekend, I was stuck
babysitting. Not taking away stressors, but piling
them on. Thank you, life. I definitely appreciate
that. I couldn't ever get a break, it seemed.
I sighed as the door opened, revealing a
man. I say "man" instead of "boy" because his
shoulders looked wide enough to hold one of me
each shoulder and the size of his muscles told me
he worked out more than was considered
healthy. He looked strong enough for it, too. His
skin was dark, either from his ethnicity or a gift
from the sun. His eyes were even darker. He
looked older than me by a few years, though still
looked like he was a teenager.
"Um, who are you?" I asked him,
dumbstruck. It took me a second to remember
the phone call. "Wait. You're my aunt's second
cousin's... uncle... friend person, right?"
"Yes. My name is Adnyr Habakra," he
Photo: Parrot Confectionary, Helena Montana
said slowly.
"Okay, Adnyr, I'm Diane. Here's the deal. I'm
stuck here for the weekend, and while I'm here, you're not allowed to come within five feet of me. I also have a
taser in my bag in case you do and I'm trained in Tai Kwon Do. Got it?"
"I see."
He stepped aside and let me in. I immediately walked over to the television and plopped down on the
couch, expertly flipping to my favorite soap opera. Adnyr, true to his word, stayed far away from me, choosing
to sit cross-legged on the floor by the far side of the couch.
I had to admit, this was not how I expected to spend the weekend. How in the world did I end up
babysitting a stalker? I glanced at Adnyr. He didn't look like a stalker, but then again, I didn't have much
experience in the area (thankfully). He didn't say a word about my romantic show. In fact, I realized after a
while, his eyes were glued to the screen with even more interest than I had. I thought that was strange, but then
I remembered his stalker incident and I shuddered.
The couple on the screen moved closer together, sweetly holding each other’s' hands as they left the
restaurant. Adnyr's eyes narrowed.
"Is that proper courtship?" he said so suddenly that I just about jumped through the ceiling.
"Uh, what?" I asked, scooting as far away from him as I could.
He pointed to the screen, where the two characters walked hand in hand. "Grasping hands. Is that
considered courtship in this country?" he repeated. I gave him a weird look, but he seemed oddly serious. Then
again, this guy was a stalker.
20
Stalker Tendencies, continued
I raised my eyebrow, reaching into my bag. My fingers curled around the taser for comfort. "Is that a
pick up line?"
He frowned and held up a piece of string lying on the carpet. "Pick up line?"
I stared at the piece of string. He picked up a "line." What was he doing? "You're joking," I said flatly.
"I am?" he tilted his head in what seemed to be genuine confusion.
I stared at him blankly for a moment, the soap opera forgotten. Was this guy for real? His eyes glanced
at the screen, then he jumped up, visibly flustered.
"That is-- how can--?" he spluttered, turning his eyes from the screen. I looked at the drama, where the
leads were kissing, then looked at him again. Pieces began gathering in my mind.
"Remind me, where are you from?" I asked.
"M'khaandra," he said, eyes on the floor. His face was tinted red in embarrassment. This guy was
supposed to be a stalker, right? How could he be embarrassed over something like this?
Then the pieces clicked together. Courting. Dating. Foreign dude. Foreign rules. My aunt's message
tumbled around in my head. His country is a bit different...
Uh-oh.
"So, Adnyr," I said slowly, massaging my temples. "How would you date-- I mean, court-- a woman in
Micandra?"
"For one," he began in agitation, gesturing to the screen, "that is something done only between engaged
couples."
That explained the fluster. I nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. Go on."
He stared at me warily, then settled back to his spot on the floor. "Only people who are close in their
relationships call each other by given names," he continued. I held up a hand.
"Wait, wait," I interrupted. "So what about me calling you Adnyr?"
He looked at me in confusion for a moment, then understanding dawned in his eyes. "I see. It is
different here. In M'khaandra, our names are... reversed, you could say. Adnyr is my family name. Habakra is
my given name."
"Okay. Go on."
"A metram is considered a loving touch, while here--"
"Metram?" I interrupted again. "What's that?"
He paused for a moment in thought. "There is no translation in your language."
"Show me, then."
His eyes darted away nervously. "That is..."
"You don't have to touch me," I said strongly. I may have understood the dark-skinned teen a little
more, but I was by no means comfortable around him. Hence I was still sitting far, far away. "You can
demonstrate on something else."
Adnyr seemed relieved and nodded. He held out his left arm and right hand, his fingers balling into a
fist with the pointer finger out straight. Slowly, he touched the finger to his arm. "It is this."
His face flushed in discomfort while I was left feeling underwhelmed.
"Alright," I said, regarding the teen like he was a strange new animal. "So poking is romantic to you.
I'll keep that in mind."
"The last one is when courting a woman, it is a sign of devotion to watch over her through a night."
I stared at him, blinking. Okay, this is where the stalking problem came from. Got it. I opened my
mouth, choosing my words carefully. "Well, here in America, it's considered stalking."
He tilted his head. "Stalking?"
"Yeah, stalking." I folded my arms to show him this was serious. Hopefully body language was the
same in his country. "In other words, while you thought you were courting some poor girl, you creeped her out
and made her feel unsafe."
"Unsafe." He frowned, mulling over my words. "In M'khaandra, it makes women feel more safe."
I was beginning to understand Adnyr's issues now. He had no idea how to flirt. His upbringing had
failed in preparing him how to get a girlfriend in America. "Here's the thing, Addy. Holding hands is pretty
21
Stalker Tendencies, continued
much the equivalent of your "metram" or whatever. Kissing isn't as uncommon here, though it's still pretty
important. When 'courting' a girl, you give her gifts and tell her she looks nice and stuff. Also, watching a girl
sleep is a huge do-not-do. Got it?"
He nodded with that serious expression on his face like I was telling him how to survive in a war zone.
"I see."
"You won't follow girls around at night?"
"I will not." Then he smiled. "You are very kind, Diane."
I smiled at the compliment, then frowned. "Isn't calling girls by their first name something your people
do when they're close?"
"I didn't..." His eyes widened, and he leapt to his feet in alarm. "Is that your given name? I deeply
apologize! I did not mean to assume-- I mean-- I forgot--"
He stumbled over words in a flustered attempt to apologize. I threw back my head and laughed at the
display. Adnyr flinched, looking at me with a worried expression. "Are you alright?"
I shook my head and continued to laugh. "You-- it's just, you-- a name-- oh, that's great. Really great."
I continued to giggle to myself as the foreign boy calmed down, though he continued to give me a
concerned look. When I finally collected myself, I looked at him in the eye, wiping the corner of mine.
"Sorry, sorry. I needed to laugh. Thank you for that, Addy."
"You are welcome?" he said slowly.
"I don't mind if you call me Diane, but you can call me Wane, if you're more comfortable with that.
Though if you get to call me Diane, I want to
call you Habakra," I teased.
His face flushed, and I smiled. This
was much more fun than it should have been.
My ex-boyfriend never acted like this. It was
refreshing to know that some boys could
actually act human.
"I will call you Wane," he muttered. I
started to say something else when the door
slammed open.
"Wonderful!"
We both jumped in unison as my aunt
barged through the door, tossing bags of
beauty products and clothes aside with a flair
only she could pull off. She smiled brightly.
My blood ran cold. A bright smile meant she
had thought up a terrible idea.
"Diane, dear," she said, clasping her
hands together in glee, "I just thought up the
most wonderful idea. Since you're single and
free, why don't you take Habakra around and
show him what it's like to date in America?
Oh, that will be perfect! Don't worry about it
Photo: Wildflowers, Sluice Boxes State Park, Montana
getting awkward-- you both know it's for
practice and whatnot-- so go out and have fun!
22
Zero Ascending
By Mikayla Surgeoner
March 25, 12105
I’m not sure exactly when we abandoned the Earth. Maybe it was when the original skyscraper went up
back in 6349. Maybe it was when the ground became toxic in 6722. Maybe it was in fact the day that the
oceanic bridge was built back in 7892. I’m not really sure why we abandoned it; I just know that we did.
The elevators still went all the way down to the Earth but nobody dared go that low out of fear.
Sometimes I feel like there’s something that they choose not to tell us, something that they keep hidden
in those dark shadows below. The Council of Elders oftentimes speaks in private without allowing the public
to gain that knowledge. In fact they banned the use of guns in the city after one such meeting, banned the use
of all the weapons.
Today the Elders had called a town meeting as they often did to discuss minimal issues. Water rations,
food rations, blah, blah, blah. Unfortunately, everyone was required to go which meant I had to reach the top
level of this building.
I always took the rickety elevator in one of the many alleyways in the city. Almost everyone else
though took the main elevators which took about ten times longer because you had to wait in line for the
longest time.
I was about to click the button to get on, instead the elevator rushed past me, descending further and
further. Finally after what seemed like an eternity it reached level zero. It began rising.
In a panic I hid behind a box and watched. Level zero, ascending, toxic, Earth… my thoughts raced a
million miles ahead of me. For the most part though two words dominated my thoughts. Zero ascending.
Someone was coming up from level zero. I realized that they may not have been coming to my level
and so I raced over and clicked the button. This way at least it was going to stop and I could see what or who
was inside. Racing back over to my box I ducked just barely but enough so that I could see over.
The elevator stopped and slid open. A group of teenagers came out with a variety of guns and other
weapons strapped to them. A shot rang off next to my head. I hadn’t hidden well enough.
“Get up.” A boy walked towards me and I carefully stood up.
“Please don’t shoot me,” I whimpered.
“Ash, grab her. She has to go down with us.”
“Little one like her may not survive Pierce,” the girl, Ash, answered.
“Ash, it isn’t like we have much of a choice—we can’t just leave her here.”
“The Elders are gonna be pissy,” the girl mumbled as she grabbed me.
“Time to descend,” one of the other teenagers laughed.
The elevator creaked and the ride got rougher as we descended to the ground—to level zero. Wasn’t
the ground toxic?
“Isn’t the ground toxic?” I asked as I looked at the faces near me.
“Toxic?” the boy, Pierce, laughed as he pulled close to me so he could whisper in my ear. “It’s not
toxic sweetie, oh no, but the monsters might get you. Before you say ‘What monsters,’ let me explain. We call
them crawlers, it’s dark down there minus the torches and lanterns, so the things that live underground have
come out to play. Look out the window, you’ll see.”
I pressed my face to the window there were, in fact, grotesque little creatures with pale pinkish-yellow
skin and glowing red, green, even purple eyes. They looked at the elevators and howled revealing rows upon
rows of sharp teeth.
“Those,” Pierce whispered, “are crawlers.”
The elevator stopped. We climbed out.
“Know how to shoot this?” A girl handed me a bow and a quiver with some arrows.
“Yeah, kinda.”
“Well it’s a just-in-case-all-Hades-breaks-lose measure.” She smiled sweetly and walked away.
“There’s a shield on the fifth floor, it keeps them down here with us. The monitor is in the Under City.
We guard it, the Elders put us down here to guard it. They did it a long time ago. It’s kinda like a job that’s
passed along families. Sometimes they rotate a couple of us but for the most part you’re born here and die
23
Zero Ascending, continued
here, most likely by gruesome means. The green ones eat flesh, red ones blood, purple for bone marrow. Get a
choice and if you know you’re gonna die, go for red. It will hurt the least,” Pierce mumbled.
We continued walking and suddenly Pierce pulled his gun out and held his hand up. The group
stopped. I grabbed an arrow out of the quiver, resting it gently on the string ready to draw and release.
A single crawler came out of the shadows. Pierce nudged me. I pulled the arrow back and released it.
The crawler collapsed, an arrow stuck right between its eyes.
“Not bad,” Ash said. She went forward and pulled the arrow out. Coming back, she wiped it off and
handed it to me. “How’d you know where to shoot it, and where’d you learn to shoot? No weapons allowed on
the Skyscraper.”
“Rose?” The voice sounded shocked, almost terrified. I turned towards the voice that had said my
name. “She was rotated out when she was nine, she grew up here,” an older woman stepped out of the
shadows. “How?”
“She saw us,” Pierce whispered, “We went up.”
“You idiots!” The woman shouted. She led us to the doors which were mere feet away now and we
went inside. “You know it’s forbidden and there is a reason for that.”
“So? You got your daughter back.”
“She doesn’t have the training you do, Pierce!” The woman, my mother it seemed, snapped.
“I’ll train her.”
“There’s no time for training!”
A boy ran to us, “The grid, it’s down. They’re already ascending!”
We ran to the elevator, they’d given me more arrows and we began our way up, the ascension.
“Zero ascending.” Pierce whispered to me. “I hope you’re ready.”
From the Eye of a Dancer
By Samantha Eller
Music. Music is what makes the world tick. It’s what brings light and happiness to our otherwise dark
and gloomy world. With music must come dance. Dance makes people sing and move to the music. Dance
brings people together for the better. That is why I am here in Rome. To make music. To listen. To dance to
the music made by the people and places in this ancient architectural world.
“Sabastian! Let’s go! We are going to be late! And on our second day of our senior year too!” MaryAnne yelled in her strong African accent.
“O.K. Coming!” I yelled back. I shut my camera off after filming and made my way over to her
through the crowd.
Il Accademia di Musica e Danza, located in Rome, was the most elite dancing academy in the world.
People of all races and backgrounds come from all over the globe to study and dance here. The teachers here
are equally diverse, coming from everywhere to teach at this monumental school. Everyone here has at least
one thing in common with each other, teachers and students alike, dance and a passion for music.
As we walked towards our first class of the day, which is World History, we met up with Carrie and
Josiah. At the Academy we don’t just focus on dance. We study normal classes, such as math and English, in
addition to our dance and music classes. Even though we are going to this school, we still have to pass high
school classes in order to go to college and then on to pursue professional careers.
“Did you get your film done for interpretive dance class, Sabastian?” asked Josiah.
“Yeah. Well, almost. I just need to get a few more action shots and some singing and people speaking
24
From the Eye of a Dancer, continued
and I should be through. I intend to make this the best dance experience video ever!” I replied, “O.K.
well, I forgot that I have dance first class this morning, not history. Sorry guys. I’ll meet up with you at
lunch?”
“Sure… have fun.” They all muttered as I sped off in the opposite direction towards the dance studio.
Step, step, point, step, step, step, jump, step, jump, step, step, end. These moves just kept flowing
through me as if I was born with this rhythm in my blood. This came so naturally to me. It was a second
nature.
In this class, we have been told to express ourselves in our movements.
“Try to make it look natural and easy, not forced and complicated. If you are here, you must know you
can do it. Prove it. Prove it to yourself and the rest of the world.” Our teacher, Mrs. Belinx, would tell us. This
advice had gone straight to my heart and my head, impacting the way I danced for the better. As I spun and
turn, jumped and leaned to one side, this quote from her kept running through my head. At the beginning of
the year, I had had no friends, no real experience. My parents looked down upon me for wanting to be a silly
dancer, instead of a neurosurgeon like my
older sister.
“Why dance? Why choose
something that won’t make enough money
for you to live off of? What did we do
wrong?” My parents would constantly ask
me after I got my acceptance letter to this
school three years ago.
“You have done NOTHING wrong!
I want to dance. Why? Because it makes
me happy. It makes me feel like I can give
people something to watch and that I can
change lives through emotion, dancing, and
music rather than operating on people or
poking their gums until they bleed.” I
would say back to my dad, the dentist, and
my mom, the neurosurgeon.
Before I came here the people in my
life were not the most supportive of my
career choice. That is mainly why I am
Photo: Motel at Sunset, Near Glacier National Park
here, because I want to prove them wrong. The other reason
is because I want to be. Dance is my passion and my life. I
couldn’t live without music and dance incorporated everywhere in my life.
“Listen up, everyone. At the end of this year, we are going to hold a school wide music and dance
exhibition. Now, the crowd this year is going to be bigger than any we have ever had in this school’s history.
There will be scouts from colleges, other academies, recording studios, and even professional dance studios.
25
From the Eye of a Dancer, continued
You all have until the end of the year to work on this. You may work as individuals or as a group, but
no more than four per group. You may work with anyone else who is a senior at this school. We want variety,
so don’t stick to the watered-down, cookie-cutter routines that people have done in the past. Make it different.
Make it count,” Mrs. Belinx told us.
“Yes, Ma’am,” the class, all 10 of us, said in unison.
“Now, get out of my class! Come prepared to dance your little hearts out tomorrow!” she said.
With that, I was done with my classes for the day! It was my only today. How exciting. I had done all
of my core credits during sophomore and junior years, as well as in Summer courses so that senior year I
could solely work on getting into the Balletto Nazionale, which is the best company to be with in Italy. They
had won major competitions, and had taught the best dancers. I wanted to be a part of that company.
“Hey guys!” I called out to my friends at lunch, “At the end of the year, there will be a senior music
and dance exhibition that all seniors are required to be in. Mrs. Belinx will explain it in her class. We can
work in groups up to four, which is perfect because there are four of us! What do you guys say? With Josiah’s
mad DJ skills and Carrie’s, Mary-Anne’s, and my amazing dancing skills, we could come up with a killer
routine that will help us get into the places we want to. What do you say?”
“Yeah. Totally!” they all said in unison, jumping up and down excitedly.
“Well, then we have eight or so months to come up with the best routine. What I was thinking is that
after you guys have Mrs. Belinx’s class and know all the details, we meet in one of the studios and come up
with something. I think we can do it!” They agreed and we all walked in opposite directions, them to their
classes and I to a practice studio.
If there is anything that I know for sure, it’s that the
four of us are connected in a way I can’t even begin
to describe. We always seem to know each other’s
emotions and can help when one is feeling sad or
depressed. Meeting them the first day of school
three years ago was the best thing to happen to me
except getting that acceptance letter. Life is a
mystery sometimes, but other times your fate is laid
out right under your nose. You just have to reach out
and grab it, or as the saying goes, wake up and smell
the roses. My future, my fate, my rose, is right in
front of my in the form of my four best friends, my
wonderful opportunity, and my stellar school
performance.
Photo: Taos Pueblo Ancient Village, Taos New Mexico
Music is what makes the world tick. Dance is what
makes the world move to a rhythm. I am just a piece
in the game of life. I will make a difference. I will
help people see the world from the eye of a
dancer.
26
The Thunderstorm
by Christian Kafton
Selena Lakeman was thinking about Damon Saavedra again. She sighed. Damon was a great friend
that must have been misinformed, which gave her more reason to be depressed because of the truth lying in
her heart.
Selena was a tall young woman, freshly seventeen with long, flowing brown hair, beautiful hazel
eyes, pursed lips, and a very smooth voice. She also enjoyed drinking hot chocolate. It’s no wonder Damon
was so attracted to her.
Selena walked over to the house’s window and reflected on her dark, cloudy surroundings. She
glanced at the sky as multiple strikes of lightning lit up the sky. It made her even more depressed. She had
always loved the safety of the spacious Lakeman Home with its mammoth, mutated mountains. Despite that
it was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel regretful because of the time when she would have to tell
Damon no, she wouldn’t date him. She didn’t feel they were compatible enough and she just could not
create the same feelings for him that he had for her.
Selena thought back to what could have led him to believe she had feelings for him. They had met in
a math class, and upon thinking about it, it must have been her looks and extreme intelligence that attracted
him, as nothing could stump Selena in that class. It was the only class they had together.
Selena also tutored Damon. They had spent a lot of time together. It must have made Damon think
that she liked him, when in fact, she did not.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the striking figure of Damon
Saavedra. Selena gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. Her friends saw her as a strong, valiant savior.
Once, she had even helped a kitten cross the road.
But not even a bright person, who had once helped a kitten cross the road, was prepared for what
Damon had in store today. Selena grabbed a glittering ring that had been lying nearby and started playing
with it nervously as she watched
Damon.
As Selena stepped outside and
Damon came closer, she could see the
green glint in his eye. She could also
feel the chill of the rain coming down
on her, but it helped her relax.
Damon gazed with soft
affection. He said, in hushed tones, "I
love you, and I want a kiss."
"Damon, I don't have the same
feelings for you as you do for me. I’m
sorry,” Selena looked back, even more
concerned and still playing with the
glittering ring, "but I don't feel the
same way, and I never will. I just don't
love you Damon."
Damon looked grieved. Selena
could practically hear Damon’s
emotions shatter into millions of little
Photo: Autumn Rain, Silver Lake, Utah
27
Midnight Run
By Kaiya Ingram
Songs bring her joy as chores constantly call
Rushing to finish a long list of tasks
Excitement flutters in wake of the ball
Her pretty dress torn to shreds when she asks
Defeat and despair threaten to consume
Til’ a fairy appears to grant her wish
Gorgeous gown, pumpkin coach, and perfume
This magic night she would always cherish
The smitten prince asks for her hand to dance
Twelve chimes echo to end the perfect night
Running and fleeing from her one last chance
Losing one slipper in her speedy flight
One day he came searching, and as it were
He held out a shoe meant only for her.
Photo: Forest at Silver Lake, Utah
Short Story
By Alexis Wendell
Cold shackles bound her feet to a stone wall. A ratted peasant’s dress clung comfortably to her
gaunt body. The olive-colored cotton was now stained and torn from the stress of wear. Her frail body was
cut and bruised and splattered with dirt. She had been submerged in total blackness for seven years.
Thrown in a small cell when she was just fourteen, she had been long forgotten.
Her little village was calm and usual. Most of the criminals had been run out of town or killed. The
rest were just like her: forgotten. There was no need for a jail, not yet anyway.
Her underground cage was without light, and the large iron door was securely locked. Because she
had not seen any light, she had developed a type of echolocation to sense where things were. She was fed
bread and water once a day. She had lost her sense of time and lost track of how old she was. She spent
most of her time talking to herself or drawing on the walls with pebbles that had become loose. She was
quite sure she had lost her mind. She could hear nothing from the outside world, and the silence she lived
in was deafening.
Quite often, she thought about crushing her head on one of the stone walls, or starving herself to
death, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it because she knew she was here for a reason, and she knew she
would eventually get out. She had forgotten why she was there many times, but the agonizing memory
always surfaced.
“Witch!” a childhood acquaintance yelled. She had travelled into the forest one too many times,
bringing back berries and fruit.
She’d noticed a succulent peach, hanging on a dying tree. She focused on her surroundings and
28
Short Story by Alexis Wendell, continued
realized that it was extremely different here. The grass was brown and crunchy and the trees were
sloped over, running out of life. She took in a deep breath and found the air to have a tinge of sulfur in it.
“Strange,” she thought out loud, but kept walking towards the perfect peach like nothing was wrong.
She noticed a small cabin further into an area with dense trees, but thought nothing of it. As she closed in on
the peach, she realized just how perfect the fruit was. Its soft skin was glowing with health. She plucked it
from the decaying tree, and started back to the village.
The annual farmer’s market was busy with vendors, and she thought she could sell some of the fruit
she had harvested. But no one wanted any fruit. She was ready to throw in the towel, when an acquaintance
decided she was hungry and gave the girl a silver shilling for the peach.
The girl gratefully thanked her customer as the woman walked away, perusing the rest of the market.
She stood with her basket, waiting for another customer.
The lady calmly lifted the fruit to her lips and ripped out a small bite from the ripe skin. She watched
the lady savor the delicious fruit and swallow, then the girl looked away. The lady collapsed. No
convulsions, no struggle for life. A few people around the lady stumbled to try to save her, but she was gone.
The people, traumatized, found the small sphere of life in her hand and set their minds to find the sadist who
had given it to her. Their eyes settled on the oblivious vendor, knowing she was to blame..
“Witch!” a childhood acquaintance yelled, standing above the lifeless body. He was shaking,
obviously afraid to stare into the eyes of a demon. The young lady dropped her basket, but was otherwise
frozen with fear, equal to his. She knew what would happen to her if she was accused, and now her greatest
fear was coming true. She didn't know whether to run or stay. She would be caught either way. Burly men
rushed to her, clamping her wrists in iron shackles and throwing a burlap sack onto her head.
Minutes later she was tossed carelessly into a cell, cold and silent. Not an hour later she had been
relocated and the bag that clung to her head was removed. She had been placed in a large room, still in a
cage though. Men and women of the village were crowded together in this warm building, judging her. Her
father, the baron of the village was standing absently behind a podium. After an hour of deliberating about
what should happen to the girl, they decided she would live in an underground prison for the rest of her life.
All because she had unknowingly stolen magic fruit from a witch.
So here she was in this dark room, struggling to keep her sanity. She hadn't seen another human for
years. They used to hand her the food directly, but she was thought to be too dangerous to do so. So now she
was fed through a small hole in the bottom of the door.
She didn't know how long she sat and thought about the past, but a soft, muted pounding came from
outside the massive door. The girl scooted her frail body to the corner opposite of the egress and waited. At
first nothing happened. Then, a sound of fiddling with the many locks placed to keep the people safe from
her. Then a pop and the creaky door was opened. The dim light coming from the hallway just outside her
room made her squint. The silhouette of a large man stood in place of the door. He yanked a torch from the
hallway and flashed it in the dark room. He vaguely saw the girl and quickly walked to her. He unlocked her
shackles then shined the light on her face and asked her to come with him. She wasn't going to stay in this
solitary hell, so she stumbled out of the room with the strange man by her side.
****
As she walked through the house she had grown up in, she had to stop to process the memories. In
tears, she fell behind. So the man yanked her towards a room at the front of the house. Her eyes lighted on an
horrific sight. Her body became limp, her knees hit the floor. Her mother, sister, and two brothers were
lifeless forms lying on the kitchen floor. She hoped they were only unconscious, but was in doubt of it.
There were no words for what had happened. The man gripped her by the waist and threw her over his
shoulder. She hung in shock, still not understanding.
29
Short Story by Alexis Wendell, continued
She blacked out and when she awoke, found herself lying in a beautiful meadow. Petite purple flowers
bloomed in accent to the tall grass and white blossoms of wildflowers. Her vision blurred as she sat up and
looked around. The man who had rescued her from her prison was leaning against a thick tree on the outskirts
of the meadow watching her. She stayed where she was because she didn't feel threatened by him. He
casually walked over to her and stood watching her. She stood and backed away a couple feet. Once again he
moved towards her, until only six inches of air separated them. She gasped at his audacity, but didn't retreat.
He spun her around one hundred and eighty degrees and slipped his sleeved arms around her waist, resting his
head at the nape of her neck. She was shocked, but didn't struggle or try to get away.
From his right sleeve, he smoothly removed a knife. He moved his hand away a few inches before
driving the blade into her abdomen. She gasped in pain and her body became weak. He was still behind her,
but now growling in her ear.
"I don't think you know me. I am Alastair, the son of the innocent woman you murdered seven years
ago. I have waited for so long to avenge her, but the timing was never right. I will set fire to that town to
teach them to never make any exceptions.
“Your village will think that you somehow escaped and killed your family, and that you are the one to
blame for the destruction of the town. When I get back, I will make sure to tell your father of how this was
your doing, and you fled after your massacre. So tell me, why did you do it? Why did you kill my mother?"
He asked.
She didn't answer so he agonizingly twisted the blade and with a cry of pain she said, "It was an
accident!"
"I don't believe you, Witch, but I hope you enjoy your stay in Hell," he yelled and drove the rest of the
knife into her. She screamed briefly, but soon the color left her eyes and her breathing slowed.
"I'm sorry..." she managed to squeak out before her heart stopped. He ripped out the blade and let her
body fall peacefully to the soft earth.
"So am I," he stated before transforming into the cursed form he had lived with since a small boy. His
muscles rippled and his bones cracked. Rust-colored fur appeared as he knelt down, razor-sharp teeth
replaced his dull human ones and tapered claws sprang from his paws. Once the transition was complete, he
roared with his mighty tiger battle cry and left, having fulfilled his promise.
Poem
by Shaylie London
I can't sleep at night
Because all I think about is you.
I get a text from you
And my heart races.
I smile when I see you walk,
And I stare when I hear you talk.
I get butterflies when I see you,
And when I kiss you too.
I see a cloud and you are
The first thought in my head.
I would do anything for you
And without you I'm nobody.
Photo: Officer’s Quarters, Fort Bridger Wyoming
30
Descent into Madness
By Cooper Taylor
I walked into the bank where my girlfriend, Caroline, works. I felt warm inside despite the chilly
March weather. I was elated, oblivious to the pain I'd soon endure. Aren't we always? She had asked me to go
there because she had needed to tell me something important.
The bank was busy, but eventually I neared Caroline. She looked at me with her piercing emerald eyes. Sudden
looked over my shoulder and then ducked under the counter. I turned to see a man approaching. I didn't notice anything
I woke up in a hospital room, the calendar stated that it was Friday, the twentieth. I had gone to the
bank on the thirteenth. A nurse soon came in to check on me. "Mr. Connors, you don't know how fortunate
you are. The bullet came within a centimeter of being inoperable. You should have bled out, so you must have
a reason to live." She walked away before I could respond.
A voice appeared in my head. It sounded happy. "Well, that nurse is beautiful. Wait, is that a light?"
My head involuntarily turned upward. Sure enough, the dim hospital light shone above me. "That is a light!"
Suddenly he whispered, "yay..."
An hour later, Caroline came to visit me. She sat on my bedside.
"Hi, Sugar...What did you want to tell me?" I asked her.
"I probably shouldn't say right now."
"Please, you said it was important."
"I don't think--"
"Tell me, now."
"If you insist... ok, I think we should break up."
Another voice spoke in my mind. "Don't leave me," it said in a quiet voice. My mouth moved of its
own accord:
"There is this demon called love,
Presented to be a dove,
But now that I know
It's truly a crow
My heart just fell from a shove."
"I'm sorry,” Caroline said, “I would say we could be friends, but I don't want to lie."
The sad, timid voice disappeared, and in its place was an angry, violent one. Within me, it said, "Die,
Witch!"
I don't remember anything else.
I woke up in a straight-jacket in a spongy room. A doctor came through a door.
"Mr. Andrew Connors, are you alright? Do you know where you are? Can you tell me any--"
I stopped paying attention. Behind him, a crimson-skinned figure materialized. He put his finger to his
black lips, and stared at me through pure black eyes. He wore a yellow tuxedo. Somehow, I recognized him as
Anger, the more violent voice in my head. Suddenly, he slammed the door shut, and it locked.
31
Descent into Madness, continued
The doctor turned around. He shouted for help. A navy-blue figure with sad, purple eyes and dark tear
tracks on his face materialized in front of me. I jumped, startled at the sudden appearance. He had a red tuxedo
on. He registered in my mind as Sadness, the poetic one. Without a word, my straight-jacket split.
In the corner, I saw a yellow figure in a blue tuxedo. He was poking the walls, "Soft..." He whispered.
It was the same voice as the one that seemed to be attracted to the light. I knew him as Happiness.
When I stood, the doctor was terrified. I laughed maniacally. He ran to the door and fumbled with the key. The
opened and he ran down the hall. Slowly, I pursued him. As I passed through the door, I heard guards shouting. I was a
pincushion for tranq darts. Anger, Sadness, and I fell asleep.
Happiness is all too willing to retell the story of skipping past the ranks of guards, enduring tasers,
darts, even a couple of bullets. He skipped out of the hospital to an abandoned mill and pulled out the bullets.
The rest of us woke up a day later.
"Good morning, Anger," Happiness said.
"Where are we?" Anger snapped.
"Not far from the mental hospital," I told him.
"Take me there. Got it?"
My legs moved on their own. I was pulled towards the place I had escaped what seemed like years ago.
It seemed hilarious now, dancing out of the insane asylum. Suddenly, my legs stopped. I was grateful for the
rest.
Anger appeared in front of me. He sprinted off toward the hospital. I watched as he slowed down. Then
he sauntered into the building, and the windows exploded.
Flames licked the walls of the hateful house. I stood and stared until it had finished consuming the
building. Surely, nobody could have survived, yet, somehow, I felt calm. As if nothing had just happened. My
silent peace was shattered by a loud scream of pain.
Happiness was hurting. "There is no room for good! You have had the body for years!"
Anger shouted. The screaming stopped.
Suddenly, I sprinted toward the nearby city. Once again, my body acted without my consent.
Flooding.
Boats were zipping about the canals. The water was rising. People panicked, obviously not used to the
flooding. Flames danced around these buildings, too.
In the water, I saw Sadness swimming in the canal near me. Water fountained from him. He was the
source.
Anger jumped from building to building with supernatural grace and power. Unfeeling, I knocked
people into the rising canals.
Most could swim.
I remember watching some sink like rocks, and watching the bubbles stop coming up. The ones who
could swim clambered into boats and rode them away to safety. I kept walking, even as the canals rose above
their banks.
As the water rose, my mind swam among the debris in the water. The cold didn’t affect me. I looked
down at the water that had risen above my ankles. Between my feet was a face. It seemed to have changed
since I saw it last. Whatever had changed, I couldn’t place it. My reflection was… off. I shrugged and
32
Descent into Madness, continued
resumed walking.
In the splashes made by my legs, I could hear the sounds of death. This brought me morbid pleasure.
By the time I reached my house, the water had risen above my head. I blinked and suddenly there was
Caroline’s copy of Peter Pan, floating in front of my face. The only phrase that wasn’t smudged or otherwise
ruined was “To die would be an awfully big adventure.”
Smiling at the circumstances, I allowed the cold and darkness to grip me. Then I opened my eyes.
Happiness stood over me, grass-green eyes sparkling, and said, "Hi, Confusion! Welcome!"
People say that drowning is the worst way to go, along with burning to death, but I experienced worse
many years ago; Andrew Connors died of a broken heart. I am but a fragment of him, trapped in his final
emotion.
I am Confusion.
Poem
by Shaylie London
I never actually realized
How much I would miss you
‘Til you were already gone.
I cry myself to sleep
Thinking of you,
Wishing you were
Here, beside me,
Where you belong.
Nothing can ever
Replace you
No matter what happens.
Photo: Desert Cactus, New Mexico
I never imagined it
Would be this hard
To say goodbye, and
Watch you walk out
The door.
I miss you more
Than you could
Ever imagine.
I wish you missed me, too.
It hurts so bad
To know that I will
Never look at
You the same way.
33
Power Revealed
By Kymira Jackson
Celebrations were overwhelming. No chores, just a day of fun. As the sun began to slowly get low, the
chief called a big tribal meeting.
“My people!” the chief started out. “We have chosen three to help us build a new community,
somewhere far away from here.” He smiled and pointed to a five year old girl, a six-month baby and me,
Maria, a sixteen year old girl. We stood with pride and were soon escorted to a windy path.
It made me sad to have to leave my tribe forever, but I was honored to have been chosen to create this
new community. After a long climb up the steep walk, we came to a stop.
“It is really hot up here.” I panted. Agreeing, the chief took me by the hand, following the two women
around the boulder. What I saw as we rounded the stone, caused me to turn pale.
A huge opening to a volcano stood in front. The two women stood near the edge of the boiling pit,
holding the children out over the gaping mouth of the volcano. I felt weak, but tried to get to the crying
children. The chief held me tight.
The poor baby was flung into the bubbling liquid, followed by the five year old. One of the women
shrieked as she slipped and fell into the inferno. Dizziness fell over me as I was dragged toward the boiling
hole.
“Why?” I squeaked. The chief paused.
“Why? It makes me powerful! Besides, you’re too pretty to live.” Without another word, he pushed
me over the edge, letting me fall to my death.
********************************
My burnt body started to tingle. Cool sensations ran through my veins, healing me. I was in a wet and
putrid place, unknown to me. A groan echoed in the chambers followed by the movement of the walls; I had to
duck and keep my arms in, to avoid them being crushed. Then the walls jerked, pushing me forward through a
small opening.
A small ray of light shot in my direction, revealing the mouth of a cave covered in stalagmites and
stalactites. As I walked toward the light, the entrance opened wider and I stumbled between each stalagmite
before I fell through the opening. The brightness of the sun blinded me, so it took me a while to open my eyes.
When I was finally able to squint, I looked from whence I came and saw a huge monster staring in my
direction. I screamed, backing into an armored person who was laughing.
“Don’t be frightened, silly. Ferno is the one who saved your life.”
I looked back at the creature. It was a very large dragon. I became disgusted at the realization that the
walls which I had been enclosed in were his stomach, and the stalagmites were his teeth! Slowly I walked up
to the friendly dragon and expressed my appreciation. He grumbled and flew away. I looked back at the
soldier.
His long, muscly arms reached up and took off his helmet, revealing a long mop of hair which he shook
to straighten it out. He began to chuckle again and placed the helmet under his arm.
“You’re not a youngin’ like I’s expectin.’” He smiled, revealing his straight white teeth. “My name is
34
Power Revealed , continued
Derik, and I’m a warrior.” He made a dramatic bow. “You’re in the Kingdom of Magic.”
“I’m Maria.” I replied, pulling a strand of hair over my shoulder and started to comb my fingers
through it.
His irises glowed with amusement.
“Very pretty.” He stood up taller. “I have been instructed to take you to the nursery. Please follow
me.” His voice was deep and sarcastic.
I giggled, scrunching up my nose. He smiled and pointed to my strand of hair.
“Ah, a Mood Revealer. Haven’t seen one in years.” My hair had changed to a soft pink; my eyes
widened in bewilderment. His chuckle echoed in my ears.
"Everyone finds the magic within them when they arrive here,” he explained, making sparks of flame
to come from in between his hands. Then he rubbed his fingers together, making them disappear again. He
reached for my hand. His felt warm. “I can make fire within my body.”
I proceeded to comb my fingers through my hair, getting all of the dragon saliva out. Derik stopped
talking and looked at my slime-covered body.
“I think we better go and get the Royal cleaners.” He began again in his deep, playful voice. “You need
to reduce your number of snail friends, my lady. It looks as though they won a game of tackle.” I burst into
laughter. I had never felt so wonderful in my life.
**************************************
After bathing, I wore fresh clothing, meant for a princess. I let my hair fall down my back and to my
knees, enjoying the feel of my silky black hair blowing in the summer breeze. I sat on a large rock, near the
waterfall. It was incredible here. I was grateful that I didn’t die in the bubbling lava. I owed my life to this
kingdom and to the people and creatures who lived here. I breathed a sigh of peace.
“You look ravishing.” Startled, I turned. Derik stood behind me. I smiled. He had been very kind to
me. I loved the way he made me laugh.
“I’m glad you gave up your snail friends.” I giggled at his words. His teeth gleamed white as he walked
towards me. He sat near me and watched the sky turn to a pink color, mixed with oranges and reds.
He looked me with crystal blue eyes before offering me his hand. “May I?”
My eyes sparkled as I accepted his offer. We walked through a grove of trees and a flower garden.
Butterflies fluttered around the hedges to find a comfortable place to sleep. Pixies flew into the closing flowers
to rest their weary eyes.
We walked into a clearing and watched as the stars came out, glittering like gems on dark fabric.
Fireflies flashed their lights as they danced around us, causing my magic strand to sparkle purple. I was in love
with that place. I could have walked forever, feeling that bliss.
*************************************
We greeted other warriors along the path. Derik had told me that we (as humans) were to become either
a caretaker or a warrior when we reached the age of sixteen. I went to a quiet place to contemplate my choices.
35
Power Revealed , continued
To be a caretaker was to watch out for the toddlers, helping them grow and become ready to choose a
role of their own. Being a warrior sounded free and full of adventure, yet one had to face fear when and if
there was any evil.
I decided that I would be a warrior, as I owed my life to this kingdom. I was about to announce my
decision to Derik, when something came to my mind. How would I fit my hair into one of those helmets? The
only conclusion was to chop it off. I took a deep breath and knew that it would all grow back. I grabbed the
sword from the sheath that Derik had left beside me. I closed my eyes and cut all the way up to my ears. One
strand, filled with magic, would not cut through it. I began to braid it, using twine-like blades of grass to tie the
bottom.
I looked at my reflection in the lake. It was hard to recognize that it was me who was staring at myself.
I started to gather all the scraps of hair off the ground when I saw Derik trotting in my direction. He stopped in
mid-step when he saw me. He looked very lost.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am. Have you seen…?” He stopped talking when I held up the hair that I had
gathered in my arms. He gasped. “Maria?”
I shrugged my shoulders, answering “I decided that all my hair won’t fit in a helmet.” He smiled, trying
to recover from shock. I felt like it would take me a while to recover as well.
*******************************************
“Focus!” Derik commanded. He looked me in the eye and forced me to concentrate. I had been given
armor and a shining sword; symbols of my decision. The armor was light, making it easy to move swiftly
around in. I stood my ground, waiting for him to make a move. He feinted right and left, but I remained still.
He lunged forward at my legs, and I pushed off his shoulders, rolling down his back and regaining balance. He
performed a few more turns which I easily avoided. At last, he stopped and removed his helmet.
“I’ve gotta say, you impress me. I wasn’t expectin’ much to come from a girl.” I pretended to gasp,
punching his arm. He smiled. I shifted out of his range before he had the chance to punch me back. He seemed
to glow with pride at my performance. “I really think that you’re ready. You have done magnificent.”
He lunged for me, drawing shrieks out of my mouth. Then quick as a flash, he grabbed me in a big hug.
I hugged him back. I raised an eyebrow at the sound of his chuckle. He pointed at my braid, which was a deep
purple. I blushed. Purple was the sign of affection. He kissed me on the cheek, my face turning crimson and
causing him to burst with laughter. We began to tackle each other once more until we heard a horn blow.
We stood up, listening and watching. Again, we heard a low sound of a horn being blown. Something
was wrong. Seeing my distress, Derik put his hand on my shoulder and took a deep breath.
“War has begun.” He told me, under his breath. We both began forward, dodging trees and rocks,
guiding each other to the battle cries. Once in the clearing, we were able to see the battle commencing. Strange
creatures I had never set eye upon before were fighting viciously.
Dragores, Dragenas, and Drageels were all over the battle field. (Dragon-Eels, Dragon-Bores, and
Dragon-Hyenas.) Warriors were desperately trying to hold them off.
We ran boldly toward the battle, ready to protect all living creatures. Side by side we fought until we
were torn apart and forced to fight elsewhere in order to protect those around us.
36
Power Revealed , continued
In an instant, I felt something tugging at my magic. The nursery! White and green colors spread
down my braid. I hid behind a tree to keep Derik from noticing it. When I felt like I was not going to be
followed by human or beast, I ran towards the nursery. Smoke! I exerted all my energy to force my legs
to go faster. I arrived at the scene, scared and exhausted. The entrance was all flames. There was only
one other door, but that was blocked by a fallen tree. There was only one way to get them all out.
I began grabbing all of the burning branches and tossing them aside. I swallowed the scorching
pain my hands felt and rubbed my hair in the ashes, concealing the bright yellow magic.
When there was enough room, I rushed in, looking for the care takers and children. They were
huddled in a corner, coughing and crying. Two warriors were trying to make a new entry way. I
beckoned for them to follow me. Together, we were able to grab all the young out of the burning nursery
and follow me to a place I knew was safe.
Ferno was there, like I had hoped, having been disturbed by all the noise and brutality of the war.
The young ones, along with their care takers, hopped into the cool mouth of Ferno. I thanked him and
then ran with all my might back to the field, praying I wasn’t too late to save the brave warriors.
A Friend
By KieryAuna Merkley
A friend picks you up,
when you are down—
Makes you laugh,
when you have a frown—
Steps in to help you
choose the right.
A friend takes your side,
when you're in a fight.
A friend comes in,
when others leave—
Wipes your tears,
when you need to grieve—
Holds your hand,
when you are scared.
And a friend has your back,
as proof they care.
Photo: Shiprock, Arizona
37
Photo: Rural Highway, Montana
Short Story
By Ruby Elllis
A front door swung open in the cool, crisp morning, and a child shut it behind him in all seriousness.
The dog lying beside the porch steps perked up.
“C’mon, Oscar!” The boy cheered as he hopped down the porch steps and bent over to clumsily pet
the dog. The dog obliged, remaining still even when childish hands snagged at his fur.
The boy led Oscar through the gate and down the street, overlarge backpack smacking against his
back. They ran down to the corner all the way to a bench at the end. The boy sat proudly down on the bench.
Oscar’s head lolled on his lap. The boy scratched him behind the ears.
Minutes later, a yellow school bus pulled up and opened its doors. The boy jumped up and scrambled
onto the bus and into a seat. He pulled down the window, “I’ll see you after school, Oscar!”
The bus pulled away and Oscar waited faithfully for his boy to come home from school, when they
would play ball and fetch and chase and other games. He lifted his head every time a car passed, looking for
that yellow bus that his boy would come back in.
He waited until it got dark, until his stomach rumbled with hunger. Regretfully, Oscar got up and
stretched his legs, slinking back to the house and nosing the gate open, where he ate dinner and fell into a
fitful sleep.
Oscar was startled awake with the sound of a newspaper hitting the porch. He shook out his dewdamp fur and scampered off the porch. Paws clicked at the concrete, as Oscar nosed the gate open and left
the yard, planning to head to the corner bench to wait for his wayward boy. The gate swung shut behind him.
The newspaper on the porch read, “School Shooting: Twelve Dead.”
38
Late One Evening
by Mr. Ludlow
Arthur Alverson stared out the door of the small, two-bedroom apartment at the trees across the street.
A deep ravine cut through the earth beyond the trees where the city had access tunnels for the waste
management system. He could faintly hear the cars on Washington beyond the large hill that was on the
western side of the ravine and the cemetery on it. But the silence in the little pocket of the city struck the father
as strange. The night birds were quiet and even the possums and raccoons that rummaged around in the trees
for the garbage left by vagrants or so casually tossed from the windows of passing cars.
Something didn’t feel right. The feeling settled in the bottom of his stomach like a rock. Arthur wish
that he owned something that was meant for home protection. The feeling had saved lives from the earliest
days of humankind, when the world was still new and the world had not been tamed by the highways, air
travel, and the trappings of civilization. A feeling most ignored, knowing better in the modern times and not
fearing the dark the way humanity once had when fire was all the protection there was.
“Just nerves after a long day.” Arthur shrugged away the feeling. “Anna’s watching TV, and the kids
are tucked away. And now I am talking to myself. I must really be losing it.”
With that he shut the door, locked the door and the bolt as well. Finally he turned on the porch light and
went to the back room to watch television with the love of his life. Life was good.
*
*
*
It stared out of the trees across the street at the small, brick apartment building across the street. What it
wanted so badly was inside. The blood, the essence of life, the fear, they were all things that it would feast
upon. Few so very few were there anymore who carried inside them what would provide the sustenance it
needed. Only by chance had it come upon the people of this place.
The male stood in the doorway. It would tear through the man and feast on what waited inside the
apartment. It slithered out of the trees, moving towards doorway. It tittered silently. The man didn’t even
notice it.
Then the man stepped back inside and shut the door. It had been four thousand years since human ears
heard the language the being cursed in. The stairwell beneath the stairs to the upper apartment remained dark.
The need to feed drove it on.
The stairwell was filled with illumination from the porch light and the being screeched in pain and
rage. Power anathema to creature and just as ancient lashed out, burning, forcing it back into the darkness.
Foolish, foolish, foolish. The old way of checking the home and then sealing the door still holds all the
power that it ever did. Another night, another night they will be mine. I shall wait.
39
Photo: Promontory Point, Utah
Rāƙṣāƨā
By Jasmine Reyes
Breathe…
Inhale and hold it.
Tight chest. Tight from a heavy heart that struggles to beat.
Dead in Life.
Jaw shut tight. Hollow soul. Eyes glued closed. Nervous thoughts.
A quiver went up her spine to her brain. Her chest threatened to explode. She chewed on the inside of
her cheeks, then bit her quivering lip.
She found darkness in the palms of her hands.
Her head spinning, she pulled her knees close to her chest. Clawing at her cheeks, she shivered.
The dark closet she sat in shrunk smaller with every second. Breathing was no longer possible, and
she dug her nails deep into her ankles.
No, she thought. Then she listened, again, to her parents speak.
“She’s only fourteen,” her mother, Nāyveen, said to her husband, “and she is my daughter.”
There was a pause.
“She is also mine,” her husband spoke, “Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh. I seek for what is best
for her and all my children. Nāda will accept her future to be married off, for her good.”
Inside the closet, still curled up, Nāda’s head and heart throbbed with pain.
Next week, she thought, next week I will be married.
The idea was so revolting to her, that it sickened her to throw up her empty stomach. Her focus was so
unclear, she felt the world fall out from underneath her. Who was she?
I am Nāda Singh, she said in her mind.
I am fourteen years of age.
I live in the village of Dhārakar, in Punjab, India.
My father is arranging to marry me off.
“She is too young for love,” her mother said in the other room.
“Love will come after the wedding,” her husband responded, “and it will grow strong eventually, with time.”
“Rāƙṣaƨa...” Nāda whispered in the closet.
Rāƙṣaƨa was the Hindu word for monster. Demon her father was, a monster. Evil he sees, evil he
learns, evil he thinks, and evil he does.
Nāda clenched her fist, to feel something.
Monster! She thought again, how should I feel?
She pressed her ear up against the closet door and listened to her father speak.
“There are three steps in an arranged marriage: first you marry, then you meet, then you become close
and fall in love.” he said
Can love be arranged? Nāda thought. The idea of having to devote her life to a stranger was far too
much for her to handle. The mere thought inflicted a silent pain inside of her.
40
Rāƙṣaƨa, continued
Nāda always dreamed of being a teacher, but now she would be nothing more than a house-wife,
or house slave. Not many girls in the village got arranged marriages, but the ones who did had horrible
stories to tell.
“Must we make our daughter go through with this?” Nāda’s mother asked her husband.
“Of course!” he replied, “first the marriage will be solely based on gifts and desires, without emotional
bias. Then, once married, let emotions get involved…it is just as tradition.”
Nāda gritted her teeth and ran her shaky hands through her long black hair.
Tradition is often a bad thing, she thought. Not something to be cherished without any thought.
But she knew this tradition too well. Arranged marriages were a part of her faith. They were made
jointly by two families. Forced marriages, forced love. Tradition.
Somewhere in Punjab, a father and mother had permitted their son to find and choose a girl, one with
the virtues of a wife. Eligible and suitable for marriage. Then this boy would go to Central India and place an
advertisement in the newspaper on his behalf, stating that he was searching for a wife.
Then Nāda remembered seeing the newspaper in the eating room. She had read the ad that stated:
28-YEAR-OLD HINDU MAN SEARCHING FOR WIFE!
REQUIREMENTS:
Must come from family with compatible values and background
Willing to have children
Little to no education required
Attractive
Must willing to live in same household as mother-in-law, brother-in-law and sister-in-law
INTERESTED FAMILIES CONTACT JABON ANTAL TO MEET WITHOUT THE BRIDE.
Nāda always liked the name Jabon, for a boy. Now, she cursed that name.
“Nāda Antal…” she whispered, barely audible. It sounded so unfamiliar on her tongue. She liked her
last name; Singh. She didn’t want a new one.
But she understood why her parents were making her marry. The vase her mother usually kept full of
money was empty. There was only one scrawny chicken left in the old hen house. Nāda and her seven
younger siblings had eaten nothing but rice for the past month. Her family had not been so poor since her
brother Harisman died.
Even when Nāda and her mother had run away to avoid persecution, they still had their bellies fuller
than now. After Nāda’s grandfather, Nāna-ji, was murdered, Nāda’s father had started spending more time in
the village bar drinking. He gambled money the family did not have. But in an arranged marriage in India, the
groom’s family paid a dowry, an amount of money for the girl, as if she had been bought.
And now, sitting in her parents’ closet, next to their bedroom, overhearing a conversation she
shouldn’t be, she could only come to one conclusion: her life had just ended. It’d been cut short by her own
parents. She would have to spend the rest of her days pleasing a man she’d never met. Words could not
describe how she was feeling, as if she was a flower who someone had plucked off its petals and trampled on.
I’ll have no life, no education, she thought.
The idea terrified her. Nāda was smart, smart enough to study beyond grade school, if her family had
41
Rāƙṣaƨa, continued
the money for it. But now, she would not have the money, nor the opportunity to go to school.
Their husbands would beat them if the soup was too cold or too hot. If the girls refused to bathe them
then they would get their hair pulled. And worst of all, when husbands came home drunk, and young wives
refused to comply with their desires, they would get beaten with metal chains.
An arranged marriage was the equivalent to dying, or more accurately, being murdered.
“This will be a great blessing for the family, a real gift.” Nāda’s father said, reassuring her mother.
This is a curse, not a gift, Nāda thought. Will I ever be able to exhale? Do they not have any
compassion, these monsters?
What about the innocence of childhood? I’m better off dead. I’d rather die, than marry. I must give
him more than my pure body, also my pure mind.
They are monsters.
They are taking everything.
My life, my future, my sanity…my freedom.
Every inch of Nāda’s body was screaming with an inflicted pain.
Now I can slowly see, as if the morning mist was lifting over my eyes; that my nightmares are their
dreams.
I’ve always wondered what it’s like to touch and feel something, something sweet like real love.
That’s all I ask for; Love me, love me.
I don’t want to be a monster, you become a monster if you have no love in your life.
I’ve always been a glass child, invisible to everyone.
I do not want to marry this man, for he will steal me.
I want to fly, never come down. I want to live life, free as a songbird.
Nāda’s throat felt full of ash, as a strong silent pain swept over her. Her dark thoughts continued.
I’d rather bathe in kerosene than let him steal me.
Marriage will cage me, bruise me and break me.
Still curled up in the closet, she ducked her head
and sealed her eyes shut. She sat there hopeless, for what
seemed like years.
Then suddenly, she remembered what she had once
seen, and what once her ears had heard.
Her eyes flew open. Now she knew, in her own
small undefeated way, that she had found her form of
escape. Escape from her
MΦΝϨТERS,
her Rāƙṣaƨa.
Photo: Spiral Jetty, The Great Salt Lake
42
Straight-Jacket for Sale
By Miss Watson
It's fairly well-used. But it is comfortable and will keep you feeling secure. I don't need it anymore.
There was a time when I thought that I did need it, deserved it even. I knew, or thought I knew, my
worth--and that I wasn't worth much. But that's not quite the case anymore.
I was stuck in a life that made me unhappy. But I thought that my life was my fate. My raison d'être, if
you will, was my routine.
Every day I got up. I went to work for ten hours or so at a job I didn’t like. I came home and watched
action -packed or romantic movies on Netflix. I went to sleep. I got up.
But isn't it pitiful that I was willing to exist mired in something less-than merely because I wouldn't
pursue something more-than? Did I think watching movies was a good substitute for really living?
Fortunately, everything changed one day.
It was a crisp Autumn afternoon. I sat in my dusty front room, looking out through my spotted
windows.
"I need to leave the house today," I told the window. Before I could tell myself that I was better off at
home, I thrust my feet into shoes and my arms into a sweater. I pocketed my keys and my debit card, and I
pushed myself over the threshold.
But then, there I was, standing on the porch. I blinked at the sunlight. The scent of falling leaves tickled
at my nose. My left shoe pinched at my heel.
I had nowhere to go. I had nothing to do. I turned to go back into my house. I decided to find
something on Netflix.
Then I thought of the library. "I'll go look for a book or something, that'll take a little while!"
So I walked down the front path, turned onto the main sidewalk, and headed to the library.
I absolutely love the library. It's quiet, and there are books. I don't need money to go there, and I can
stay as long as I want. To top it off, I don't have to talk to anyone if I don't want.
Sometimes though, when I'm feeling lonely, I'll take a book to the front desk and ask the library clerks
a question. It doesn't matter what the question is, nor the answer. It's their voices I want to hear. It's my voice I
want to hear.
And that was what I needed that particular Saturday afternoon.
So it was, five minutes after leaving my porch, I was pushing open the heavy glass door to my
neighborhood’s branch of the library. It's a small little branch, but I like it there. The building is on a little
corner lot. It's just one floor. I passed through the security bar and found myself in the lobby area, near the
librarian's desk. And, just like I had five minutes ago on my porch, I stood there purposelessly.
I didn't have any book or anything in mind. I was only here to waste time. So, where should I go?
While I thought it over, I was jarred from behind. It took me by such surprise that I nearly fell over.
But only nearly. The guy who had run into me wasn't quite so fortunate, there was a series of loud thuds as
first he, then the stack of books he had been carrying to the return bin, fell to the ground.
"Oomph!" we said together.
I looked down at him in wonder. He sat crumpled under his heap of books. But he wasn't upset.
Surprisingly, he burst into uproarious laughter instead. His hair needed cutting and his sandy curls bounced a
little as he laughed. His belly contracted and expanded, and his worn University of Washington sweatshirt
moved up and down with it.
I looked around the room, other library patrons were staring. Some in curiosity, but more in disgust at
his noise. I looked to the librarian's desk. She was fuming.
"Sssssh!" I urged the man. "You're going to get us both in trouble! They might kick us out! Ban us for
life! Yell at us!"
The rogue on the floor closed his mouth but continued to laugh. Now it was coming out of his mouth
and nose in a sort of snort.
"Stop it!" I hissed.
He frowned. "You're right," he said. "It would be utterly unthinkable to be yelled at by the librarian."
He actually did say that last part in italics. Then he snorted again.
43
Photo: Ceiling Utah State Capitol Building
AIDAN
By KieryAuna Merkley
Aidan J ames, Heaven’s kindest gift.
Sent to earth my spirits to lift.
Integr ity will be the message you shar e,
an example to all, a quality so rare.
Devastatingly dr eamy in a dor ky kind of way
with darling dimples, what more can I say?
An amazing young man, one of a kind
a truer friend you will never find.
Never ending laughter with you by my side,
Best Friends forever, a title I won't hide.
Straight-Jacket for Sale, continued
Glancing over at the librarian, I saw her take off her glasses. She folded in the arms and set her glasses carefully
next to her keyboard. She pushed back her rolling chair and lifted herself out of it.
"Come on," I said and I hurried to pick as many of the books up from the floor as I could. "She's on her way."
Laden with books, I reached down, grabbed the man's arm and heaved him from the floor. He was looking at me
with a half grin and a little cock-eyed.
"Let's move!" I said, then I turned to the rapidly approaching woman in an old sweater and soft-soled shoes. "I'm
so sorry about--err--my friend. He's a bit high strung and doesn't know when enough is enough! I'll shut him up, I
swear."
"Please do it soon," she said with a scowl and turned abruptly around. She walked away.
He snorted again. The librarian stopped walking, turned her head and gave a look that would scare the meanest street
thug. The man's eyes grew wide, and he fell silent. He bent over to gather the rest of the books.
"Come on," I said again. I pulled him by the sleeve to the book drop and shoved in all his books. There was a
wide variety: a Scandinavian cookbook, a book on dialects in America, several mystery novels, a DVD of
Wagner's Ring cycle featuring Bryn Terfel, and a copy of Coding for Idiots.
Down they all went into the canvas bin parked behind the counter. Whoosh, thud, whoosh, thud.
"Hey, I'm really sorry for bumping into you," he said. His hazel eyes twinkled at me from under chunky
glasses. He was entertained by the whole situation.
"And for getting me in trouble, right?" I said. I tucked my hair behind my ear and tugged on my sweater.
"That too," he said. He was trying to look serious.
I couldn't help it anymore. It WAS funny. I chuckled once, then quickly looked to the librarian. She was helping
a young boy register for his first library card. I didn't think she heard.
I stood there a moment, looking at him. Our interchange was complete.
"Well, goodbye," I said and headed toward the stacks.
I stopped suddenly after rounding the corner. I was trying to recall the name of a fantasy novel I'd wanted to
read.
It happened again. Thwack. He ran into me. Again. This time neither of us fell.
But we did both burst into a series of closed-mouthed, snorty laughs. This time it was he who grabbed me by the
sleeve. He pulled me into an empty reading room and shut the door. We collapsed into guffaws that resulted in tears of
hilarity.
When we had laughed until our bellies ached and we were out of breath, we wiped our tears and tried to catch
our breath.
"I'm Greg," he told me. "I needed to make sure I met you."
"Martine," I said. I pointed at myself and smiled.
So, you see, now I don't need my straight-jacketed routine. I've found a better way. It's filled with random
adventures, chance encounters, and belly laughs with like-minded men named Greg.
$25.00 or Best Offer
Contact Seller: [email protected]
44
The Void
By Aidan Eggleston
The crisp morning air smelled of sagebrush and pine trees, yet the looming threat of the camp faced
overwhelmed the pleasant scent and turned it sour.
Ivan sat on the balcony of a wooden cabin looking out over the valley, directly across from him he saw
the other side of valley covered in a pine forest with a marsh wetland in-between. To the west the mouth of the
valley met what used to be a highway, but was now a mangled mess of asphalt. From the black strip, a dirt
road ran along the northern side of the valley directly below the balcony. Littered along the valley’s dirt road
were multiple cabins, each now inhabited by the people who called him Leader. He had consolidated and
protected these people from the threat that wiped out almost all of mankind, when he said he was going north
to Wyoming, they followed.
The screen door behind him opened and Ivan was joined by a thin young man. His blond hair was in a
mess and he had bags under his piercing blue eyes. He was Ivan's second in command and one of the best
scouts he had.
"Didn't sleep either Ivan?" asked Joey.
"How can I sleep when the lives of at least fifty people rest in my hands?" answered Ivan, his deep
gravelly voice shaking the air.
"I know how you feel, the Voids have been getting more and more daring with their attacks and if what
I saw was true their numbers have more than doubled in size."
“Then we had better hope we can fend them off yet again. Have you spread word of the plan through
the camp?”
"I have, these people might not be fighters, but they will give you everything they got."
Looking down at his half-eaten breakfast, Ivan decided to give the rest to Joey and he proceeded into
the cabin to finish getting dressed.
It was ten years ago that the Voids first appeared, a shadow of a species bent upon the eradication of
humans. They look like a man from a distance, but once you got close you realized they were nothing but a
living silhouette, whose touch would stop your heart and dull your brain. In the first few years they took the
lives of people as they pleased, and soon the only people remaining were those who could actually fight them.
Ivan was one of these few who could defend himself against and even kill the Voids. His brain waves were so
strong that he was able to satisfy the Voids’ hunger for knowledge and even make them vanish from reality.
The Voids craved knowledge and took it from anything they could, their touch would drain the memories and
thoughts of people, leaving their brains an empty husk.
Ivan had finished putting on his combat boots when the people of the camp finally showed up.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the cabin’s front door and walked out onto the battlefield, ready to give his
troops motivation.
"As you all know, the Voids will be attacking with a great force." Ivan's voice echoed out over
the valley as he looked over the solemn faces of those he would protect. "That being said, Joey has all told you
the plan, correct?"
A few murmurs of agreement and many head nods told Ivan the word had gotten around. "You will all
lend your energy to me, and I should be able to fend off the Voids. Now, I want all of you to get your packs
and go into the cabin behind me, we will have to work quickly as the Voids are already coming and will be
here soon."
At a flick of his wrist, the entirety of his camp shuffled into the small cabin and were spread
throughout it. Just as the last person entered the cabin and the door closed, the sound of drums could be heard
off in the distance. They were coming. Ivan looked over to Joey and told him to tell the people exactly what
they needed to do.
The people had to give Ivan as much brain power as they could, their thoughts a fuel for the dangerous
brain he contained. After Joey scampered into the cabin, Ivan could do nothing but wait. For an hour he stood
on the balcony feeling the power of the people inside filling his mind with all it needed. He couldn’t think and
couldn’t move or the energy would be released. So he stood, and waited; eyes closed, face turned up to the
sky, arms out, and hands open to the sky, which were turning gray with clouds.
45
The Void, continued
A small trickle fell from the monochrome sky, wetting the balcony’s surface, amplifying the smell of
sagebrush and pine. Finally, a wave of black filled the valley. The Voids moved with such inhuman speed that
in merely a few seconds they were closing in on the cabin. Ivan turned his head back down to the approaching
wave of darkness and opened his dark brown eyes, releasing the full force of his mind.
"I WILL PROTECT THESE PEOPLE I WILL STOP THE VOIDS I WILL DO WHATEVER IN MY
POWER TO SAFEGUARD THIS VALLEY AND ALL THOSE WHO CALL IT HOME I WILL
STOP AT NOTHING NOT EVEN MY OWN DEATH TO MAKE SURE THAT THESE PEOPLE
LIVE."
Ivan's thoughts echoed throughout the valley, ripping apart the wave of black approaching the cabin
now housing the helpless people. The shockwave of brainwaves was so intense that thousands of the Voids
dissolved into the air, leaving no trace of their existence. Ivan's face contorted with silent rage. His eyes were
nothing more than white marbles in their sockets. The final remains of the Voids’ assault was dissolved,
washed away back into the nonexistence their name describes.
The final threads of Ivan’s borrowed power faded, exhaustion quickly filled Ivan and he
stumbled forward, propping himself up on the guard rail of the balcony. His vision blurred and his mind began
to grow foggy.
Then he was met with a terrible sight. A second wave of Voids filled the valley.
Ivan once again opened up his mind, blasting out a force fueled with all that kept him alive. The Voids
were blasted back, but their approach was not stopped this time. The wave of darkness pressed on. Ivan
stumbled over and hit the ground with a thud. His brain was silent, all was quiet in his mind.
Ivan was dead.
With nothing to stand in the Voids’ path, the followers of Ivan met their end. It was administered
quickly and mercilessly, and the survivors of Wyoming were no more.
Lasting Dreams
By Kaiya Ingram
Raised by three mystical but loving maids
Born with beauty and wisdom that had grown
Singing in the woods by cover of shade
All of the sudden she isn’t alone
Dancing with a kind sir she had just met
Her sixteenth year brings secrets and danger
She’s a princess forced to return content
Fear consumes while betrothed to a stranger
Then a promising light leads her away
Touching a spindle curses all the land
Photo: Rustic Bridge on the Missouri
One hundred years gone, the prince wins the fray
He fights his way out of the witch’s hand
Finally waking from a state of bliss
The curse is broken by true love’s first kiss
46
What Does it Mean to Die?
By Shad McCauley
They always portray Death as a reaper, cloaked in shadow, and ready to take the innocent souls with
his silver scythe. They call Him evil, cruel, the painful truth, the enemy. The list goes on.
My experience says differently. Death isn’t always a grand murderer. He’s quiet, subtle. He slips in
through the cracks of your happiness and reaches your soul.
People say Death is physical. That’s not always true either. A person can be warm, breathing, even
smiling, but in their hearts, Death has already done His job.
Ñ × × N × × Ð
“’Ryker, honey, I have something to tell you.’ she said.
‘Sure!’ I had exclaimed. I was happy, playing in the mud with my friend Drake. ‘Is Daddy coming
home?’
My mother choked on her words, but my eyes were wandering to Drake making a massive mud pie.
‘Yes, dear, daddy is coming home! Isn’t that wonderful?’ she said with tears in her eyes.
‘Yay!’ I had yelled, running back to Drake. ‘My daddy is coming home from the war!’
He scoffed. ‘Why does your dad get to come home?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, watching the distant lightning.
‘My mom said my dad would come home a few months ago, but he hasn’t come home yet.’ He
pouted.
I shrugged.”
Ñ × × N × × Ð
Another one fallen; I am remembering the week before today. I am vaguely reminded of that song by
Queen: “Another One Bites the Dust”. It used to be humorous. But as their blood stained the soil red…
I no longer found it funny.
Ñ × × N × × Ð
“’I saw something strange at school today.’ I said to my mother. She had bags under her eyes, and a
nearly empty bottle of “magic grape juice”.
‘What was that darling?’ she asked, her voice heavy.
‘My friend Matt was holding hands with another boy today. I thought only girls did that. I didn’t
think anything of it, but he started getting made fun of. Why is that?’ I asked.
Her eyes widened. ‘You’re friends with one of them?’ She seemed aghast. ‘Don’t play with him
anymore, okay?’
‘Oh, okay…’ I muttered.
Why not?
Ñ × × N × × Ð
Turns out Matt was later placed in the same squad as me. I still don’t quite understand the hatred my
mother had for him. He’s nice, polite, and a good enough soldier.
I never did listen to her warning.
Why hate someone because they feel differently?
47
What Does it Mean to Die, continued
Ñ × × N × × Ð
“Why is she crying? I had asked myself, standing in a seemingly eternal rain. It always seemed as
though the sky were heavy with grief. ‘Where is daddy?’ I asked, pulling on her black dress.
She looked at me, her brown eyes full of a despair I didn’t understand. ‘He’s in a better place.’ was all
she could mutter as she closed her fist around a small, metal cross.
‘I thought you said he was coming home?’ I asked.
‘He did, darling.’ She said as a casket with an American flag draped over it passed by. Soldiers with
tears in their eyes carried it along. There were dozens of others like them; their eyes were all heavy too. One
man, upon noticing my mother, walked over and handed her a metal tag that said Donovitch, and said simply,
‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ I recognized him somewhere… maybe from a picture that daddy sent home.
But… I didn’t understand. What did my mommy lose?”
Ñ × × N × × Ð
The hummer bounces left and right across the terrain. Drake holds a picture of Sue, his fiancée. Her
gorgeous blonde hair and startling green eyes… I understand why Drake went after her. Her fiery personality
suits his witty one perfectly. When we were younger, I always gagged at their relationship. They were so
adorable together it was nauseating at times. But they make a good pair. The most important thing is Drake’s
happy.
Matt is staring out the window, his dull, grey eyes watching the featureless sand roll by. He asks me
what I’m thinking about. I wink, telling him I’m not thinking
about hot men in magazines. Blushing, he returns his eyes
out the window, giving me a small, embarrassed smile.
I laugh, telling him to just relax. We’re not to the fighting
just yet. Drake joins in, his loud voice ridiculing Matt even
further; we both chuckle as Matt’s face grows redder than a
tomato. As the laughter dies down, I tell Matt I’m simply
thinking about my childhood. He laughs, telling me that’s a
sign I’m about to die, as the movies say. Something about
getting blown to bits, he says.
He’s not as bad as everyone said he’s supposed to be.
Photo: Wildflowers
Ñ × × N × × Ð
“’I’m sorry kid.’ said the police officer, as he placed his hand on my
shoulder.
My heart was faint. What was my mother doing, with that dirty, metal gun by her side? She’s bleeding
really badly. Won’t someone save her? I’m screaming, but I can’t exactly hear what I’m saying.
After I calm down, which was a very long time later, or so it seemed, I overhear them giving the report.
“Depressed and suicidal”, they say. “After her husband died she was never the same”, they whisper.
Why had she never told me that my father died? Was that what she was crying over all those months
ago? The tags she got from that soldier… they’re in her hands.
War is evil, I claimed. War should be stopped, I said. I was going to find whoever did this, and they’re
going to pay. My parents were good people. Sure, they had some strange beliefs about certain people, but they
were still good people!
Why did they have to die?”
48
What Does it Mean to Die, continued
Ñ × × N × × Ð
They say war is for the glory of your country. Others say it’s a game played by idiots in the
government’s pocket. I don’t understand either side. Where is the glory in dying on a desert battlefield from a
misplaced mine? Where is the glory in slaughtering innocent children because they’re “the enemy”?
Why do they say that war is necessary?
Ñ × × N × × Ð
“’I don’t believe in war.’ Nickolas had said.
‘What makes you think that?’ Drake asked, his brown eyes flashing.
‘War is just a game. Only idiots play it.’ He replied, adjusting his glasses.
‘Who told you that?’ I asked angrily.
‘My daddy. At least I still have one, unlike you two.’ Nickolas mocked.
Drake punched him in the mouth. ‘War is not a game! I can’t believe this country’s soldiers, like my
father, sacrifice their lives on disgusting whelps like you.’”
Ñ × × N × × Ð
My blood is on the floor. I don’t even remember getting hit, but the hummer is overturned, and almost
everyone else is unconscious. Drake is above me, telling me to hold on. Tears are in his eyes, and I’m
suddenly… screaming in agony. He wants me to hold on? But the pain… the sudden, excruciating… but
glorious pain that tells me my time is up; it’s calling Death.
There He is, in His humble glory…
To take me away…
I hope my death meant something.
I truly do.
The kid that Drake punched a long time ago… I can forgive him. He doesn’t know what war means.
Nickolas is misunderstood, living in his own blissful ignorance. It doesn’t justify his words… he’s still a
whelp. But does that mean that I can’t respect him? No. It means I’ll make sure he understands one day. I
don’t agree that war is a game. No, I now know the meaning of war, having experienced it myself. Hopefully,
you can find the answer too.
To Sue… I didn’t know you that well, but I can tell you and Drake were meant to be together. You
make each other so happy; I can see it in my friend’s eyes as my vision fades.
To Matt… I’m sorry for the grief I put you through. It was in all fun, but it seemed to have a lasting
effect. I’m sorry if it did. If not, I’m glad we were friends. You’ll find a great guy someday… I’m sure of it.
Oh, and by the way, you were right, after all.
To Drake… my dear friend, don’t cry. You were always so strong and carefree. I am leaving to a better
place; to be with my parents once more. Through thick and thin, you were there by my side, making me feel
like my father died for something great. He may have not gone in a noble manner, but he still passed for the
greater good. So don’t you cry; wipe those tears off your face. Don’t worry…
We’re free.
49
Stone Heart
by Lydia Zentz
“Jeff, are you paying attention?” Brenda asked after several minutes of her dull explanation of how to
find the dot product of two vectors. She believed sharing was a better way to understand a topic and felt he
would agree. He answered in the affirmative, but she didn’t really believe him. He’d probably understood it
long ago, and she was simply jabbering away for no apparent reason. Well, if she was going for ‘apparent’
reasons, all of her talking was unnecessary—Jeffery, or Jeff, was a small sandstone rock she’d had in her rock
collection for years.
He sat motionless on her open math textbook and listened patiently as she moved on to the next
concept. He’d promised to be a good pet rock, and was determined to keep that promise no matter how many
lectures he had to sit through. Besides, learning all this stuff could even be fun.
He didn’t miss the dusty display shelf at all, and the little square cubicle that used to be his home was
still vacant. He called to Leo, a polished tiger’s eye and one of his old neighbors, to see if he would respond.
Silence.
Leo was tired, depressed even. Before last year, in Brenda’s elementary school, he had always been her
favorite rock. He was the one she came to when she was sad or needed someone to explain things to. He’d
always been there for her. There were lots of other rocks in her
collection, but he was the one she relied on the most.
The next morning, Brenda greeted Jeff cheerily “Hey, want to
come to school with me today?” The brown and red sandstone sat
quietly on the card table. The question made him a bit
uncomfortable—of course he wanted to, but was it okay? Would he
be allowed there? His anxiousness died down as he realized she
didn’t mean it—she wouldn’t take him even if it were okay. He was
too plain and she worried that her friends would think she was
weird. “See you after school! Maybe I can tell you some of my
History stories,” she called as she hurried out the door.
Leo felt the annoyance building in him. Brenda talked with
Jeffery every day, now, shared all of her school experiences with
Photo: Wildflowers
him, and involved him in her decisions. Leo was just gathering dust and missed
the good old days.
The current situation suggested he was less important than a chunk of sandstone —a plain old rock! It
was almost humiliating. Something had to change. He was Leo, the tiger’s eye, the coolest rock in the
collection. No sandstone was going to have it better than him.
“Leo?” Jeff called again. “Are you listening? Is everything okay?”
“Yes, Jeffery. Is there something you need help with?” he responded, trying to hide his annoyance
“I’m bored,” Jeffery replied. “I miss talking to you.”
Leo’s annoyance returned in full force. Why couldn’t he talk with someone else? “Jeffery, you’ve been
a rock for millions of years and probably never had more attention than you have now. I’m sure you’ll be just
fine for a few more hours,” he said in an attempt to reason with his former friend.
“Yeah”, Jeff replied, “But that’s not the same as talking to you. You’re a lot more fun than equations.”
Leo considered. It was true, after all being lectured at wasn’t the same as having a conversation with
someone. He humored Jeff with small-talk for an hour or so. Jeff wasn’t unpleasant to talk to, and even made
Leo laugh a couple times.
The door opened and Brenda burst in excitedly. “Guys! In geology today, I told them I’ve kept a rock
collection since elementary school, and my geology teacher just gave us a cool assignment: I get to bring
different types of rocks and tell about how they were formed. Jeff, you’re easy to explain--sedimentary rock.”
She skipped over to the others on the display shelf and gazed at them happily. “Here’s Lulu, my little lava
rock. I remember you—you’re igneous. Oh my goodness! Leo! I haven’t thought about you in forever! Of
course I’ll need a metamorphic rock. This will be so fun.” Brenda’s contagious excitement put them all in a
good mood.
She set them on her table together before going down to dinner.
50
Stone Hearts, continued
“Wow, Lulu, it feels like forever since we did anything together.” Jeff exclaimed as soon as Brenda
had gone. “How have you been?”
“I’m doing well, and I feel the same way about both of you.” she nodded. “When was the last time we did
anything together? It must’ve been a show-and-tell day, right?” They laughed as memories of show-and-tells
from years ago came flooding back.
“Remember that one time you got jam all over you right before she was going to take us and then she
had to take Felix instead?” Leo asked Lulu.
“It wasn’t my fault Brenda spilled jam on me! And that’s not how it happened,” she said defensively.
They all laughed. It was like elementary all over again. They kept talking even when Brenda came and put
them into her backpack. They had so many stories, so many inside jokes, so many memories; they couldn’t
keep it in any longer.
The next day seemed to crawl by more slowly than a dead snail swims upstream, but finally it was time
for geology—the last period of the day. Brenda took out the rocks and began her presentation. It was more
formal than what they’d done for show and tell and the rocks behaved their very best. When she finished
talking, her fellow students came forward to admire the stones. They ‘ooh’ed and ‘aah’ed at all of them, and
three of the students thought it was so cool they said they wanted to start collecting rocks.
The Storm
by Sarah Barowski
Drip. Drip. Drip. The rain pounded down on the roof and dripped off of the roof’s eaves onto the
soaking pavement below. The wind howled like a wolf and bombarded the weathered farmhouse, causing a
nearby tree’s twisted branches to strike the window in the way of a jockey urging his horse to go faster, faster,
faster. Lightning painted the dark, gray sky while thunder boomed in a resounding echo. It was shaping up to
be one hell of a storm.
Inside, John flipped the channel on the old TV, straining to get a decent picture as the storm caused the
bad horror movie he was streaming to keep cutting in and out. Katie, wrapped in a thick quilt, snuggled up
against her boyfriend. The movie cut out just as the serial killer was hoisting the knife to slash downward on a
screaming blonde. John let loose a loud stream of impressive curse words and smacked the remote against the
table.
“Calm down,” Katie said, “it’s only a movie.”
“Yeah, but it’s my favorite and I wanted to show it to you. This is the best part!” the seventeen-yearold boy complained.
“We should probably go downstairs or something, in case the wind gets worse. It might not be safe.”
“We can’t, it’s locked. Parents are doing renovations in the basement. Stupid thing!” he said, smacking
the remote harder against the table. Katie stilled his hands and then pressed the off button. The TV screen
turned into a black mirror.
“Hey, how about we do something else instead? You have any games?”
“Nah, my Xbox’s disc drive is broken. This sucks.”
“We could play, I don’t know, Monopoly or something.”
John gave her a wry grin.
“We’re alone in the house and you want to play Monopoly?”
“Oh, shut up,” Katie said, blushing furiously, “it’s been what, a couple of months or so? I still haven’t
even met your family yet. By the way, where are they?”
51
The Storm , continued
The rain, as if in response, pounded still harder against the roof. The effect was deafening.
“Still in town, probably, because of the storm and all--” He stopped abruptly, seized by a gasping,
shuddering fit.
Katie pounded him on the back, eyes wide with confusion. “Oh my God, are you okay? Do I need to
call 911?”
“N-no,” he managed to stutter out, “it’s the storm. I don’t like the storm, Katie, I don’t like it at all.
Bad things happen in storms.”
Katie stared at him.
“You’re not making sense. What kind of bad things? Are you, like, allergic to rain? Scared of thunder?
Talk to me!”
“G-g-g-“ he fumbled for words as another set of convulsions shook his body. Katie stood up and gave
him space. Did he have asthma and the storm affected it somehow? Katie couldn’t recall him ever mentioning
it.
“G? God, grapes, goose, what are you trying to say?”
“Get out! W hile you still can!” he screamed. There was a
flash of lightning illuminating the sky, a loud clap of thunder, and
the power snapped off, plunging them into darkness.
Katie reached out and, sensing nothing in front of her,
shuffled toward the couch. She banged her shins on the coffee table
and cursed.
“John? Johnny, where are you?” she whispered, not
knowing why her voice was hushed. They were alone in the house,
but an icicle of fear was stabbing her like a dagger in the heart. The
rain continued to pound in an unceasing drumbeat like the heart of a
giant. Katie, for her part, was desperately trying to stay calm. John
Photo: Amargosa Hotel, Death Valley
wasn’t responding to her and she was afraid that he had collapsed and
hit his head. She felt around in the dark for her phone to call an
ambulance. After scooping it off of the table by the couch, she pressed the on button and was greeted with the
buzz of it dying. Fantastic.
“John, this isn’t funny, where are you? Please, you’re scaring me,” she pleaded. A tiny, high-pitched
sound from the opposite corner made her jump. It happened again, louder this time, and continued. It was a
giggle. Hysterical, shrieking giggling from the corner. The horrible sound of it went on for several minutes as
the storm blew itself into a wild frenzy. Katie could hardly breathe, but she tried to reason with him.
“L-let’s go upstairs, Johnny. We’ll sit in, um, the bathtub until the storm ends, okay?” She used all of
her courage to walk over to the corner. The shrieking peals halted and she breathed a sigh of relief which
turned into a sharp gasp of revulsion as something slimy trailed up her arm; it was a tongue. She jerked her
arm away as if it had been burned and stumbled back. She turned to try to find the door when a large hand
gripped her shoulder like an iron vise. She felt hot breath against her neck and bit back a scream.
“Let’s play a little game, shall we, Katie?” A voice that was John’s but wasn’t John’s at the same time
oozed into her ear. “Here are the rules. You’re going to try to leave, isn’t that fun? And I’m going to try to
catch you, hehehe. I’ll even give you a head start. You have two minutes and then the real fun begins.”
The grip loosened and Katie bolted toward the door. She frantically stroked the walls, trying to find
the doorknob in the dark and cutting her hand on one of John’s stupid paintings in the process. She found the
52
The Storm, continued
knob and flung open the door to the landing. She slammed it behind her, never mind the noise; John
knew the room had only one exit. Now she had two choices: up or down. If she went up, she could be
trapped on the second floor of the house. If she went down, she could try the front door, but would the
electronic locks have engaged until the power came back on? Would going downstairs be a waste of time?
Katie needed to think fast; time was running out until her head start was up. She decided it was less risky to
go upstairs and find someplace to hide until the storm ended; perhaps John would come to his senses by then.
She pushed the ornamental vase at the top of the stairs down them in the hope that John would think
she had tried to go downstairs and fallen in the process. Sticking to the sides of the stairs so that they
wouldn’t creak, she crept up the stairs and down the hall into the master bedroom.
Here, at least, there was a tiny amount of light, albeit from the lightning outside. She could just about
make out the outline of the bed and, in total silence, she dropped down to her belly and slid under the bed,
careful not to disturb the covers. The only sound she could hear was her hammering heartbeat as she
attempted to get her rapid breathing under control. She estimated that she had about thirty seconds until her
head start was up and John came looking for her. Thirty. Twenty-Nine. Twenty-eight. She counted down with
mounting terror. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. She closed her eyes and focused on listening for any sounds; the
storm made it hard to hear anything. Five. Four. Three. Two.
One.
She pressed her ear to the wooden floor. She heard a creaking, whining sound, then the thud of the
boy’s footfalls. The hinges on the door squeaked as it slowly swung open and her eyelids flicked up. A beam
of light swept across the room. A flashlight. He had a damn flashlight. So her eyes’ glassy reflection wouldn’t
be seen by the predator, the prey closed them tightly and prayed that he wouldn’t notice her. She heard him
opening the wardrobe and rifling inside the clothes. Nothing. She was acutely aware of the blood from her
wounded hand forming a puddle on the floor and wondered wildly if he could possibly smell it. That’s
impossible, her rational mind tried to ease her panicking heart, he’s still human. She didn’t know exactly
what had happened in the living room, but she knew that though John’s physical form was there, it wasn’t
John who was trying to hurt her. It couldn’t be.
“Oh, Katieeeeee,” he teased, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” The tone was slick, mocking,
and not at all like the boy she loved. Was this the gentle artist who had shyly asked her to watch a movie with
him for the first time all those months ago?
When she thought that he was otherwise occupied, she quickly opened her eyes, took a glance as the
light swept the room, and shut them again. He had left the door open, which meant she might have a chance
to slip out before he thought to check under the bed. She was astonished that he hadn’t already; it seemed like
the most obvious place. When she heard him go into the attached bathroom to poke around, she army-crawled
out of her hiding place and out the door.
Katie stood and slipped down the stairs to the vestibule and kitchen. She had a rough idea of the
layout of John’s house, so she turned left toward where she hoped the front door was. She walked a couple of
steps, hands outstretched and feet searching in front of her. She toed a coffee table and circled around it, still
going to the left of the stairs. She had almost made it to the door when a loud crack of thunder shook the
farmhouse. Katie stumbled and nearly crashed into the coat rack. She froze in terror as she listened for any
sound to indicate that John was coming down the stairs. Hearing nothing, she let out a shaky breath. She felt
out for the doorknob and tried it, hoping upon hope that it would open. It was locked, the dead bolt holding
the door flush against the frame. She held back a scream of frustration.
“I know where you areeee….” sang the voice from not the top of the stairs but closer. Much closer.
Screw it, she thought, I’m getting a knife or something from the kitchen. Sticking to the edges of the room, she
snuck into the kitchen and slid a chef’s knife out of its wooden sheath. Gripping it tightly in her left hand, she
was turning when she felt a hand seize her wrist and spin her around until she was face-to-face with the
maniac.
53
The Storm , continued
“I win.” John’s voice was a sinuous slither in her ear. The last thing Katie saw was the knife forming a
graceful arc as she screamed and the storm blew itself into a wild frenzy.
Drip. Drip. Drip. John hummed a bit of the Phantom of the Opera overture to himself as he washed out
an old pickle jar in the basement sink, the lights on full brightness. Of course, a power outage was easily fixed
once you’ve turned the circuits back on. The river of scarlet coming from the chest of the body hanging upside
down above the washing tub was beginning to ebb. Changing his tune to a cheery whistle, John whipped out a
Sharpie and careful inscribed KATIE, WI on the jar’s glassy surface. He would put it with the others, of
course, but not until he was done with it.
Eleven identical jars sat in two neat rows upon his bookshelf.
Julia, GA.
Elizabeth, PA.
Stephanie, OR.
Adam, UT.
Christina, TX .
Summer, NY.
Andrea, IN.
Hernando, CA.
Yolanda, Washington D.C, where it all began.
What could John say? He was a charmer. And oh,
they had all been lovely, very kind, very attractive, very
loving. And oh, to paint them was a privilege! He’d had to
keep it quiet, of course, but that wouldn’t be a problem
anymore. The gas and matches were ready; all he had to
do was wait for the storm to end, take his beauteous,
Photo: Forest Trail, Glacier National Park
carmine paintings, jars, and money, and skip town. Easy. He’d done it six
times before, totally alone since New York. For a government in charge of millions of people, it was
astonishingly stupid at times. He almost pitied them.
He picked up Katie’s phone and pulled it off the wall charger. He turned it on, entered her contacts,
scrolled down to MOM and texted
Staying at John’s tonight. Storm flooded road and I can’t get into town. Love you.
At the reply, Alright, be good. Love you too, John smiled and ripped the battery from the back. The
body of the phone would be the first thing on top of the blaze. The body of the dead girl would be next; any
traces of him would call the police down on his head, so it all had to be burned away. He had it down to an art
by this point.
He took Katie’s jar over to the washtub. This was his favorite part of the process of preparation for his
art. He took a deep breath and sunk the jar into the tub, coating it and filling it with the ruby liquid. Satisfied,
he pulled it out and wiped the jar with a towel until KATIE, WI was visible once more. Now he could go to his
studio in an offshoot room of the warm basement.
He entered the room and sat down on his stool by the easel with the prepared canvas. Savoring the
sweet moment of a clean paintbrush becoming doused in lifeblood, he slowly dipped the brush into the jar and
looked around the room. Eleven portraits smiled down at him, his nine muses and his beloved parents,
immortalized in their blood. John loved every single one of them and now he would have another.
54