YWC Literary Magazine 2022 (1)

Mercersburg Academy’s YWC Summer 2022 Staff “Around the World” Director… Bethany Errickson Assistant Director… Violet Kertis Instructor / Counselor… Emily Bell Counselor… Mel Cort Counselor… Eric Liu Counselor… Finn Sipes Counselor… Avedis Reid Literary Magazine Lead Editor… Violet Kertis Director of Summer Programs… Peter Kallin Fiction Submissions Moa Maeda Violet Chidester Clara Palmer Xavier Frazier Melissa Hao Christabelle Kirkham JD Robledo Addison Findlay Ben Galioto Zoe Johnson Zoe Conti Poetry Submissions Isaiah Owolabi Owen Stouffer Towa Maeda Ellie Katz Isabella Rodriguez Caroline James David Rothwell Lauren Shilling Ava Daily

Naomi Limann Zoe Johnson Lara DiPietro Zoe Conti Kidd O’Hara Murray Brauner Elle Albert Madelyne Hatfield Elena Arbelaez Maya Pendleton Sophie Houpt Visual Art Submissions Elena Arbelaez Violet Chidester Zoe Conti Lara DiPietro Madelyn Hatfield Sophie Houpt Caroline James Zoe Johnson Moa Maeda Towa Maeda Kidd O’Hara JD Robledo Isabella Rodriguez Front Cover Design Zoe Conti Back Cover Design David Rothwell



fic·tion /ˈfikSH(ə)n/ Noun literature in the form of prose, especially short stories and novels, that describes imaginary events and people.

Loving Cars Moa Maeda Love that car, its sleek body, youthful speed, and ruby-red smile gleaming under the fierce sun; the way it would zoom off with a roar and disappear into clouds of dust and gravel and rubber flying into eyes, the smell of burning diesel tingling noses, only to appear moments later on the other side of the road; how you’d be left grinning ear-to-ear and waving and reaching through the wired fence as though you could just snatch it and make it yours― Love its tough lumbering body, the windows ornating it glittering with hope of seeing different worlds, the scratches and rust patches symbolizing its history; the way it would come by regularly (or sometimes not), heaving its heavy body up the steep hill, chugging and coughing billows of black smoke, and when passing would toot thunderingly but affectionately and go creaking back down the hill, its shadow lingering long enough for a pleasant goodbye; how you’d yell at its retreating shape through the picket fence knowing, believing she would come around again tomorrow― Love its smooth surface, large blinking headlights and strong muscled tires that would take you away on secret night adventures after curfew; the way it would growl and lightly tremble underneath you during the ride, its heartbeat coming deep within the dashboard vibrating through the body; how the wind would whip your carefully slicked hair as you run away from the police, speeding through the night while you would laugh for no particular reason and she’d join in― Love its wide space, openness, the familiarity of its purr over the excited chatter and bubbly giggles and snarl over hawk-like screeches and heaving sobs; how it would tirelessly work, running from school to work to home to back to school and barely complain, but as time flies would gradually show new creases in its ripped leather seat, fresh stains on the walls and spots on the rearview mirror; how it would smile at you at the start of the day and, despite everything, smile at you again as the sun went down― Love the soothing whiteness, cool air, beeping sounds, blinking lights and murmuring low voices, and ugly siren sounds from above muffled by the walls; the way she would whisper how you’re going to be all right over and over while rain slithered down the windows of her face; how she would desperately try to hide the truth when there it is, clear and plain as a beautiful blue sky in an open meadow. Love her, Loved.

“Loving Cars,” Moa Maeda

All the Things Between the Stars and Me (Excerpt) Violet Chidester Sometimes, when I lay in bed at night, I stare through the small crack in the curtains next to me, through the old, slightly warped glass window panes, and look up at the stars. Twinkling up there. They have a purpose, and I like to think they know it. There are so many, and although some of them may be composed of the same elements, they are all different, just like people. I lay there, and I think to myself, how nice it would be to be a star, to have a definitive purpose, and not to be questioning constantly what it truly is. Once, on a trip to visit Aunt Helga in Arizona, she blindfolded me. She helped me out onto her small, dusty back porch, and out into the garden. The cool summer air stirred the wind chimes, making them burst into a chorus of beautiful clangs and bells. The cactus flower’s scent rode on the breeze, and a neighborhood dog barked, making us both laugh. Then when we had gotten to the edge of the garden, as far away from the house as possible, she untied the blindfold. “Look up, Kris…” she said, rubbing my back gently. I looked up to see the most stars I have ever seen in my life. Aunt Helga lives far out in the desert, in a community called Desert View. I know, the name fits. Recently, a rule was made in her neighborhood. No outdoor lights past 10:30pm. This made the stars even more vibrant. I looked up into the expanse of stars, and thought about all the stars that were out there that weren’t even visible then, and almost lost it. Some may call me an astronomy nerd, but they just don’t know the true feeling of knowing a little more about things beyond this planet. Knowing a little more than just you and me. The grass and the trees. The way the wind blows, or the way your shoes crunch on the freshly fallen snow. More than when a baby cries, and a parent whispers, “I love you.” and holds the child tight. To know what is beyond all of that is a feeling almost impossible to explain, but it is a spectacular one. Signing off ― this is Kris Langston. Today is Thursday, December 8th, 1983. The sky is clear, and it is 12 degrees fahrenheit after sundown. The moon phase is a waxing crescent. Thank you for listening to tonight’s log. Goodnight.

“All the Things Between the Stars and Me,” Violet Chidester

RED FOUNTAIN Clara Palmer Benson screamed as he watched Gonzo’s blood spill out over the calm blue lake. “Gonzo!” he sobbed. He snapped into reality suddenly and saw his hands trembling, his sheets and blankets thrown everywhere. Gonzo’s spot on the bed was empty. Benson jumped out of bed immediately, his mullet drenched in sweat. He threw open the bedroom door and sprinted into the kitchen. He slid to a stop as he saw Gonzo frying some eggs. “In a rush for breakfast?” he smiled. Benson didn’t respond and sat down on the floor in a daze. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Gonzo asked in concern. He turned off the stove and squatted down beside him. “I- I- the- the-” Benson began. “Woah there slow down.” Gonzo soothed, placing his hand on Benson’s back. Benson hugged him until he stopped crying. “Now would you like to tell me what happened?” Gonzo asked slowly. His partner nodded and took a deep breath. “I had that- that dream again.” he stammered. “Oh…” Gonzo sighed. He put his arm around him. “Tell me what happened.” “Uh- uh- you- died! Your blood- it was… everywhere!” Benson stuttered as he wheeled into more crying. Gonzo turned to look his boyfriend in the eyes. “I’m right here. I’m okay. I’m right here. I don’t even have a scratch on me!” Gonzo eased. “Then why is there a bandaid on your thumb?” sniffed Benson. “Meh. I burned myself when I was cooking.” Gonzo replied. Benson smiled and wiped his eyes. “Clumsy.” he giggled. Gonzo grinned and helped him up. “Let’s go eat.” Benson tried not to flinch as he ate his fried egg. He stared at it as the yoke splattered and spilled all over his plate. Gonzo looked at him with an anxious gaze. “I’ll clear your plate.” he blurted. Benson watched as his boyfriend grabbed the plate and shuffled away. Benson then put on his lucky t-shirt and favorite pair of ripped jeans. Then he quickly looked in the mirror and brushed his hair over his pointy ears. Gonzo had Bellamy on the tiny leash made of twine. The tarantula’s eight legs were stretching with excitement. Gonzo opened the door and they were off. They sat by the lake on that walk. Benson stared at the water that rippled so calmly like it had in his dream. “Hey, man. Try not to think about it.” Gonzo helped. “How can I not think about you dying?” whispered Benson. “Because I won’t die. I’ll only die when you get sick of me.” teased Gonzo. “Don’t say that ever again!” laughed Benson.

Later that night Benson and Gonzo drove to the city in the pitch black night. Benson stepped out cautiously and stealthy wandered into the abandoned grocery store. Shelves were lazily toppled over and cans of chicken noodle soup exploded on the floor. “You know,” Benson began. “I’d never get sick of you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Gonzo smiled then and laughed, “Same here, Benny.” Benson smiled as he saw the striking love in his eyes. “Aww! So romantic.” snickered a voice. Benson and Gonzo turned to see the immortal wizard who had been chasing the pair of elves forever. Cyfrin the Knife Thrower. As Cyfrin entered the store Gonzo backed up and scrambled to grab some kind of defensive weapon. “Gonzo watch out!” Benson yelled as Cyfrin dashed a dagger at his boyfriend’s head. As Gonzo ducked he tripped on the puddle formed by a leaking water fountain. “Gonzo!” Benson cried. He leaped forward to help but Cyfrin made it first. He quickly stabbed a knife into Gonzo’s side and turned to Benson. Benson ducked under the first knife and grabbed a crowbar that was lying by his foot. He managed to use it as a great weapon. He deflected many daggers and even struck Cyfrin in the head! As the knife thrower whimpered in self pity, Benson rushed to Gonzo. “My love…” Gonzo sputtered. “I’m so sorry… I have no regrets except for my leaving you.” “No… no, no no…” Benson weeped as tears began to form. Gonzo’s eyes focused on him for a moment and then went dull. As Benson stood up shakily he stared at the puddle which was now red with Gonzo’s blood. He turned to see Cyfrin. “Time to die you stupid excuse for a being.” Cyfrin growled. As the wizard stomped his foot ten freshly sharpened daggers rushed out at Benson. The last elf kneeled down and stretched his arms out to block himself with the crowbar. He deflected every knife except the one. The one that hit him… square in the stomach. “May my ancestors approve!” He heard Cyfrin howl as his spirit drifted away. When The World Is Wider Than You Think

Xavier Frazier Let me ask you, can a fish in a bowl truly know the ocean? Can a rattlesnake trapped in a cage know about the great desert? Maybe I should ask the question from your standpoint as a human. Can a child born in a state, having never left it, truly know more about the whole world than a well traveled explorer? The answer is no. In life we all learn from experience. How will you act when you hear about destinations you have never been? How will you act when a new dish is put on your plate? How can you know the meaning of your life, when it has only just begun. In this world, there is one answer: find out for yourself. If a parent told a child about basic addition they would not learn until they got their first question wrong, and when they got their first question right. Nobody else can answer the great questions about the world for you. And I am not going to lie to any of you, from a person who has, and is still learning more about the world, I must say: the experience is breathtaking. So for the prompt of when the world is wider than you think, the answer is to dive into the world and find out how deep it goes. Life will be much less terrifying, and much more mystical than you think. Satirical Guide to Surviving Camp

Melissa Hao Note to Reader: This is purely for entertainment and should not be taken seriously. All actions described here are not endorsed by the author and should not be demonstrated. When in your life you find that you are being pushed against your will to go to an overnight camp, please remember this guide. Anybody who reads this will be able to survive camp. I have successfully coached four hundred people, all of whom went home crying. Surely this can confirm the effectiveness of the guide. 1. Never communicate what you want. At camp, your goal should be to be a nobody. This means that under no circumstances should you talk to anybody, even if it means that you suffer from dehydration. Being a nobody means that the spotlight will never be on you, so you don’t need to worry about embarrassing moments that will haunt you forever, unless you place yourself in such an uncomfortable situation that everybody’s attention is on you. In those cases, I suggest you wing it. 2. Make no friends. You’re at camp. This means that you should be focusing on surviving. You should never have time to socialize and make friends. Friends let you share the good things in life, have people to talk to in case of stress, complain about bad things, and further develop your social skills. There is no reason to need friendships. All of your attention should be on deciding what you want to eat at every meal. Food is a crucial part of life. Time in between meals should be spent completing activities. 3. Don’t participate in ANY activities. As mentioned above, you should spend your excess time busying yourself with activities. However, that’s only if you want to NOT be a nobody, and, as I have repeatedly said (at least once), YOU SHOULD BE A NOBODY. This means that you should NOT BE DOING ACTIVITIES. Completing those activities is only going to draw attention to you, especially if you suddenly find that you excel at certain things. Now, if you want to know what kinds of things you should do to fill the time, that’s up to you to figure out. Note about the next section: If you intend on going to a sleepaway camp that happens to be based upon writing, this is a section you CANNOT miss. If you aren’t, go ahead and skip to the next section, which also may not apply to you. If that occurs, just read the ending, which may or may not exist. 4. Write for five hours straight.

At writing camp, it’s always a good idea to write for long periods of time without resting. That will give your hand some good cramps, and possibly slow down the circulation in your fingers. When you get home, you can show off your hands. You might even be able to play a new instrument that requires strong fingers… but that’s if they survive. If you want more information, don’t look here because there’s nothing I can do about it. Your fingers going numb is more of a you problem than a me problem. 5. Ask what you’re doing next. At certain camps, counselors are instructed that they aren’t allowed to tell you what you’ll be doing next. If you’re in one of those camps, a suggestion I have for you is to constantly pester the counselors and ask them what you’ll be doing next, because if you annoy them enough, they’ll eventually give in and tell you- if you don’t face consequences (bad ones, I assure you) first. Sometimes you just have to risk a lot for a small piece of information that won’t help you later in life at all, you know? I hope you enjoy camp! Have a nice life! Don’t die!

Fix This Christabelle Kirkham About three miles from Sliver Lake, there is a small town by the name of Glenfell. It is an ordinary small town by many standards, with a couple of quaint shops and about one nice restaurant. A place where you know everyone and everyone else knows you. A place where the entire town shows up to school plays and hospital fundraisers. A place where the biggest excitement was when Jeffery won the spelling bee and continued on to the States. Yet, this is also a town that, like in any other town, things break. In most towns, if something breaks, it is thrown out, or fixed by a repairman… if it can be fixed. Not in this town. In this town, when anything breaks, whether it be a vase or a window; a shoe or a piano, whether it be fixable or not, the owner of this broken item travels 10 miles South… to Sam. They travel past the chocolate brown gate, marking the edge of the garden attached to the sky blue house. They travel past the rolling hills, dotted with the seldom trees, their branches dancing in the wind. Past the strawberry fields with the long grass that tickles the legs of small children stealing ripe red fruits under the watchful eye of a golden sun. Past the rushing stream, in a constant hurry and the lily pond with the frogs that sing out to visitors, begging them to come closer… only to disappear into the water, shattering a surface as still as glass. They travel past the edge of the forest and down a path bathed in slivers of light peeking through a canopy of trees. Past the elephant rock, named long ago for its weathered skin and immense size. Past the tangles of roots, poking out of the cinnamon sprinkled earth, carefully camouflaged, a trap intended to catch unattentive travelers. Past the thinning of the trees opening up into a dazzlingly lucent clearing. Sam’s clearing. An elegant, exquisite, expanse surrounded by a thicket of trees, 10 miles South of that little town called Glenfell. A place where rays of light dance through the gaps in the greenery, casting away shadows. A place where the luscious lime green grass is dotted with daisies and dandelions. A place where the emerald green trees sway in the breeze as if keeping time to the beat of the wind. Winding through the middle of this captivating clearing is a pathway. A pathway composed of broken glass, upon which rays of sunlight dance, bouncing off their shattered surfaces. The pathway is a painting, with the glass as the paint. Each piece, a different color ranging from jade greens to dusty pinks, bright corals to starry blues. A couple of pieces have designs, of flowers or messages, etched into their surfaces, meanings lost long ago when they first broke. Sam calls these pieces The Unrepairables, items too far gone to be retrieved.

At the end of The Pathway of Unrepairables stands a tree, the only one stripped bare of all its leaves. This tree used to hold all sorts of items, from books draped over its branches, to a piano wrapped around the base of its trunk. Items brought to the tree by villagers, fixed by Sam. Sometimes they got their items back, sometimes they didn’t. Those who did would find their repaired items on The Tree of New Life. For that’s what Sam did, he breathed new life into the old and broken. The tree did not just act as a lost and found. It was also a guard, still is I suppose. Standing sentry, protecting the house behind it. No one knows exactly what Sam’s house looks like. Some claim to have seen it, others can only begin to wonder. Whispered rumors claim there is a door the color of molasses with a small lantern next to it, spilling golden light onto a garden full of mysteries. It is promised in these rumors that the house is composed of lost items, broken items, puzzle pieces joined to create a final image of a home too eccentric for even dreams to capture. But who knows what the house looks like, for dreams are all this place is now. It disappeared long ago, like the sun behind a raincloud. Why, you ask? Let me tell you, youngling. Let me tell you the story of how a repairman… broke.

Food War 1 JD Robledo “Food War,” JD Robledo

Part 1: Veggie Valley Echoes of a Life Unknown: V10 I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know where to turn or look. But it hurt, did it not? All I saw was him. Trian. My best friend. I trusted him with my life. I knew he was causing himself harm. He was being irrational, psychotic even… My gut told me to go away… But I was his friend. It was my duty to help him out. But I never thought it could escalate that quickly. He looked hurt, distraught, emotionless… I shouldn’t have done it… It was irresponsible of me… Very much so… His eyes stared me down, blazing with rage and sorrow. Then he clenched his hands, the very same things that had created wonderful stuff… And used them to destroy… My body shoved, powerless against him… Made glass shatter, screeching in agony… My eyes flew open, seeing the whole world spiral upwards… And as the world grew black, and psychotic flames flared with hunger… I saw him… His hands jerked back, his feet stumbled, his mouth grew agape… His eyes lost that touch of flaming anger… And gained another emotion entirely… Regret…

Chapter 1: The Day “What in the actual h*ll…” What a weird dream. Course it was. Were my dreams ever something not unusual, like, ever? Always some unknown gibberish that always makes my vegetable brain twist in pain. And this time I finally got a name… Trian… that name alone makes my head hurt… It’s all just… strangely familiar… Ugh, best not to overthink it. After all, the bed calls… And my pillow feels extra soft at this very moment… Wait a minute… I lifted my clumsy carrot body up the bed, trying to grab the clock. Just some squirming in the darkness and… Clank! There we go. I pulled the clock so close that my eye was practically kissing the numbers in the machine. After all, its pitch black here, I can't see a thing. Better turn the clock’s light- Click! There we go. Once again. The good thing about this clock is that not only does it show the time, but the date as we- It's 5:07 on the 14th of June. The Day has Come. The day has finally come! “THE DAY HAS COME!” The scream ricocheted against the walls of my room, pure joy incarnate. Who cares about weird ass dreams when the day has finally come!? My feet practically were fired off the bed. One can be surprised how fast carrots are. I flicked the light switch faster than a grape can count to ten, and proceeded to break the dresser open; unleashing a barrage of unorganized clothes. “Quick quick, where is this!” My hands jumped from shirt to shirt, cloth to cloth, overpriced piece of fabric to god damn why do I have so many overpriced pieces of fabric? Oh right… My brother can’t help but buy too many overpriced pieces of fabric for me. I don't even use them, WHY DOES HE EVEN BUY THEM!? I will never comprehend the fashion industry. Life decisions aside, it should only take a while before I reach the- AHA! “My set of armor!” The box lid flew open, my eye quickly glancing at the contents. (Also yes I talk to myself, like I am right now) 2 elbow pads lay front and center, made of bronze and clad in an orange coloring. Perfect fit more carrots. Or for me, at the very least. The pair of knee pads lay further in the box, also made with bronze, but with no jade detailing. A crack ran through one of them. I would have to fix that later… Lastly a pair of shoulder pads (Once again made of bronze, you get the pattern) were put near the left side, each with jade detailing. They looked as timeless as ever. Perfect for the carrot swordsman I am to become. It took a little while, but it was worth it. I was clad in bronze armor with jade highlights colored over the edges. I looked like a true knight. I couldn’t contain my excitement… I was all ready, the day had come! I tore the curtains down, and shrieked to the top of my lungs! “THE DAY HAS COME!!!” The sound echoed through Vistri Villa. “Kid shut up! IT'S 5 IN THE MORNING!” “I DO NOT CARE BECAUSE THE DAY HAS CO-” SMASH! I fell backwards. “Ow…” The remains of a pot fell down to the street below. “Okay, I kind of deserved that to be honest…” “HMPH!” A window slammed shut.

Oh well, that's what I get for not containing my excitement. But what can when THE DAY HAS CO- Okay yeah I sound like a brat now. Well, better start going to the- My feet stopped on the tip of the stairway. What did that grumpy food say? “Kid shut up!” No not that. “HMPH!” No, before that. “Hey kid, stop waking the GOD DAMN TOWN EVERY DAMN MORNING!” Darn that's yesterday! Why’s my brain so bad at remembering the right things!? I’ve always had this problem, along with my weird dreams. They are both pretty similar, in a way. They always try to make my brain become an unintelligent pile of goop. Quirks of being me I guess. Ugh, focus Joey, focus. You’re a carrot that has THE DAY in front of him. Your name is Joey. You CAN remember 1 simple phrase that was said mere moments ago… Just, concentrate, CONCENTRATE! “IT’S 5 IN THE MORNING!” Bingo! He said it's 5 in the morning! Wait, it's 5 in the morning. My clock even said it was 5am! I guess one pays it no mind when they have THE DAY- I mean, when they have such an event ahead of them. (There, no more brat-i-ness!) Well then, I still have time before “This event” happens (7am to be exact), so I guess I could read a book. I trotted down the staircase and reached the ground floor. Carrior seems to have already left. I thought, which was to be expected. Being the leader of the village (And my caretaker as well) always makes him have to leave early to do duties. Sometimes he calls me to help and tells me it's training for me. I always enjoyed them, yes, but from what I’ve read in the books these “training sessions” aren’t supposed to be like that. Moreover, I should be in military school to do my training… But I respect Carrior decisions. He probably knows best, doesn't he? Oh well, at least I can wonder if I’ll get to do the harder ones soon. Maybe next time I’ll get to duel him? Nah, I’d get crus- “SNORE…!” And Jami is still sleeping. Also to be expected. Jami… is an interesting carrot. Like me, he was adopted by Carrior (I forget that sometimes…) at an early age, and he had always had an… Overactive Imagination to put it lightly. He always daydreamed and everytime he got the chance he would draw all of it down till the paper on his hand was nothing more than dust. The papers that survived this massacre were always put in the wall of his own room. Kind of like a child. Well, he is like a child. Even though he’s roughly my age, his personality has always remained childish and playful. Carrior was worried at first, (The amount of times he went to the hospi-garden was outstanding… I still remember all those days spent in the doctor waiting room, that old squash-lady in the front desk always scared me…) But we never found out what condition Jami had in the end. After a while, Carrior just started to let it slide. If it makes Jami happy, then why change it? Didn’t stop him from being overprotective though- “SNORE…!” Right, reading. My feet finally exited the still state and I started walking to the right room. The door creaked a little before opening up. There lay the house’s library. My gaze went upwards. This library has always been an enormous place, yet I still can’t stop admiring it every time I enter its prestigious room. It’s just beautiful. Knowledge is beautiful, books are beautiful, and libraries are beautiful TENFOLD. The walls are all made out of a pristine marble, with windows that shine in all colors before dazzling you blind. Well then, what should I read about? Carrot Anatomy? Fooderia History? Sword play? Hmm, I can’t decide… You know what? I’ll do all of them! Never hurts to know more.

My Roommate is From Hell Addison Findlay Chapter 1: Lulu Lulu was just kicked out of her apartment, but that’s not all. Her boyfriend decided to break up with her, too. However, for now she has to find a new apartment to live in. On the way home from work she sees a flier for an apartment, but the kicker is… there is a roommate she will have to deal with. Lulu thinks about it long and hard on the way back to her old apartment and finally decides that she can handle a roommate. Who knows? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to live with a stranger. As she gets home she decides to order pizza. When she gets to her current apartment, she is struck by how bland it looks now that she has begun to clear out her things, such as the Supernatural poster of Dean and Sam Winchester and the fairy twinkle lights that her pictures were clipped to. She puts the paintings her best friend Nikki made for her in a box. Then she takes her plants off of the balcony and slowly starts to take apart her furniture When she looks around her current apartment, all she sees is a bare lilac wall where her pictures used to be and a cream wall that still has her TV and couch. The kitchen still has some life to it, but not much. Lulu snaps out of her daze and goes to her room with the flier. She sets down her bag on her fluffy pink rug and sits on her purple comforter with her soft blanket covered bed. She kicks off her shoes and puts the flier on the bed while she goes to her dresser to pick out some comfy clothes. She called the pizza place, got her comfy clothes, and went to the bathroom to do her nightly routine. When she finishes she goes into the living room, even though it’s not much of one anymore. As she sits on her white couch with her black pillows and waits for the pizza, she turns on the TV and clicks on Netflix to put on Supernatural then she hears a knock at the door. “Yay, pizza,” she says as she walks to the door. She opens it. The pizza man smiles and says, “Did you order a pepperoni pizza with mushrooms?” Lulu nods her head as he continues, “That will be $16.23 please.” Lulu handed the pizza man the money and nodded her head in thanks and the pizza man left with a wave while she closed the door. She goes back to the couch and puts the pizza on the table in front of her while she hits the play button on the remote. As she watches TV, her mind wanders and she finds herself thinking about the flier again. She decides that tomorrow she will call the landlord about the apartment and if everything goes to plan she will be able to see the apartment tomorrow and she might even have a new apartment. All these thoughts run through her head as she eats her pizza and watches her favorite TV show.

Chapter 2: Damon Damon gets home from work and finds a piece of paper taped to his door. Max must not be home, he thinks as he takes off the paper and opens the door, placing his keys in the little bowl. He goes to the kitchen and there he sits at the island to look at the piece of paper. Perhaps it’s a party invite. Or not. It is from his landlord saying that he is now required to have another roommate besides Max. His landlord has already posted fliers looking for someone to take up the space in his loft since Max has his own room. After he finishes reading the letter he gets up and heads to the landlord’s apartment/office. When he gets there he doesn’t knock, he just walks in and says, “You at least have to talk to me or Max about having someone in the apartment that I am renting or something and maybe just ask me and I may have consented to it.” The landlord looks up from his paperwork and says, “Look, I know that I should have talked to you guys and all, but in the moment I didn’t have time and you guys weren’t here and I needed more money and then I remembered that you had that room so I had to move quickly so no time to ask you or anything like that.” Damon rolls his eyes and mumbles, “Fine, if I have to deal with someone else.” The landlord then says, “See that wasn’t that hard now was it.” Damon starts to walk to the door as he says, “Just let me know ahead of time before someone comes to look at it because we have been using it for storage. I was really hoping not to have two roommates and the stuff that comes with it.” He walks out of the room and to the elevator instead of using the stairs. He gets back to his apartment and decides to start cleaning just in case someone comes tomorrow. When he is done he goes to bed because he has a feeling that tomorrow is going to be a long day. Chapter 3: Lulu The next morning Lulu calls the landlord to see what time he is free today to see the apartment. After the call she goes to make breakfast and gets ready for the day. She is supposed to be at the building by 12:30 and she was planning to grab lunch after with Niki around one so she would have plenty of time to do what she needed to do. She finishes breakfast and puts on Supernatural as she begins to take apart her couch. By the time she has to get going, her couch is in packable pieces. She had also gotten through 4 to 5 ep of Supernatural and did a little crying in the process of all that. On her way out, she sees her ex-boyfriend, Justin. His arm is around a girl maybe a year younger than he is. Lulu keeps her head down and looks at the building to her left because he is to her right. Even that doesn’t help when she hears her nickname. She turns her head to the sound of Justin's voice and when she looks him in the eyes she sees a sparkle there that makes her sick. She fights the urge to do something stupid like slap him or kiss him. Instead she acts surprised to see him and says, “Oh my god Justin! What are you doing here? Who’s this?”

“Hey, Lu. We were just walking and I saw you and I thought we’d say hi. Oh, and this is Kimberly or Kim for short.” Lulu presses her lips into a thin line that only just manages to impersonate a smile. “Oh, it’s very n-n-nice to meet you Kimberly.” She then looks at Justin and her smile drops as she says, “I hope to never see you again my dear ex-boyfriend.” She walks away without saying so much as a goodbye. “SHE’S YOUR EX?!” When she is not more than ten feet away, Lulu starts giggling when she hears, “Thank you so much LULU F**KING BERKSHIRE!” Lulu then flips him off and walks away as the tears slowly fall down her face. While she is walking up to the door of the new apartment building, she wipes away the tears. There is a man coming out of the building and she is embarrassed that a hottie with his blonde hair tousled to the side and you could see his ripped muscles in his white T-shirt and flannel unbuttoned shirt and ripped jeans and converse, saw her wiping her tears and saw how pathetic she was. While he is walking by he stops and gives her a tissue. “I know today was a bad day, but there is always tomorrow to have a better one,” he says. He walks away without another word. Lulu is stunned. After a few minutes of standing there, she finally walks inside and wipes her drying tears, and heads to the bathroom to make sure she doesn’t have mascara all over her face. After her little break she is on her way to the landlord’s office. She passes a clock on the wall that tells her she’s right on time. She gets to the door and knocks, and she hears, “I’m coming, I’m coming, hold your horses.’’ She hears stumbling footsteps coming and when the door finally opens she sees a big man with a receding hairline and baggy clothes. He steps aside and says, “Oh, you must be Lulu. It’s very nice to meet you. My name is Jerry, please come in and have a seat. Don’t mind the mess.” Lulu walks in and looks around. As she sits down she says, “Thank you for having me here and for letting me come see the apartment, Jerry.”

A World Hidden Ben Galioto The goblins had come out of nowhere, emerging from a cave in the ground. They had attacked, killing one soldier after another. Unfortunately, Ravorus had been too slow, too cumbersome. He had put his entire troop at risk, and now he has paid the price. He had never seen so much death in his life until that moment. His comrades laid lifeless in front of him, their blood staining their chain-mail armor. He was the general, and yet he couldn’t save his own soldiers, his own brothers, from death? Now, the goblins had gone back to whence they came, and Ravorous was left with nothing but guilt. He came up beside one of his youngest soldiers, a young man named Hamar, who was still sputtering and gasping for breath, a dagger lodged in his chest. Ravorous began to weep. “I am so, so sorry.” He said, hands beginning to shake. “I have been a fool. I do not deserve to be the one to survive! Oh, Ezor my lord take me,” he shouted at the sky. Hamar glanced up. He saw his general, and in a moment of such sorrow, he smiled. “No,” he had said. With a weak, bloodied arm, he saluted. “You are…” before he could finish his sentence, his voice died out, and his eyes froze in their sockets. He did not move again. Ravorous was the only one left. As he stood, the thoughts were whirling around in his head. He felt the guilt tearing through his chest and making his head throb. It was the guilt all generals feel when they lead their troops into disaster. But now there was something different. A fire, burning deep in the pit of his stomach. It was a strong, ragelike emotion. Revenge. Ravorous got up and paced, taking off his helmet. His leg throbbed, for he had suffered an arrow wound. The sharp projectile was stuck in his flesh, and there were no doctors to remove it. He knew what to do. He made his way over to a tree near the field where the battle had occurred, and cut out a chunk of wood. He placed it between his teeth, and as quickly as he dared, pulled the arrow out. The pain was immense, and a significant amount of blood spilled out with the arrow. He tossed it away, and made his way back to the field. The goblin tribe had ambushed them so fast that Ravorous barely had time to draw his sword before two of his soldiers lay dead. He was traveling with a small group, only around ten men, and the goblins had upwards of 20. Ravorous had immediately sprang into action but the goblin archers picked off Ravorous’s soldiers one by one. The only reason Ravorous had survived was by playing dead. Then, the goblins burned the carriages and slaughtered the horses, and retreated back to their lair. Ravorous was no stranger to death, or to having to live on his own in the wilderness. He knew that King Fero would want to see him immediately, but Ravorous wanted his revenge. And he wouldn’t return to the king without having gotten it.

He grabbed one of his fallen soldier’s swords, and put on his heavy metal helmet, and slowly walked into the cave. It was very damp, and he almost slipped on the slippery, rocky ground. The cave was large, and there were massive stalagmites and stalactites sprouting from the floor and ceiling. Ravorous inspected them closely, and moved deeper into the cavern. As he moved further and further away from the entrance, the light began to dim, and the cave came to life. There were small, fluorescent insects that buzzed around the cave, lighting it up in shades of bright blue and violet. Ravorous paid them no heed, swatting them away as they approached him. He had no time for such creatures. Only the goblins were at the forefront of his mind. After an hour of walking, the cave started gradually thinning until it was a narrow passageway. Not soon after, Ravorous came to a fork in the path. He listened carefully, and upon hearing a loud thumping from the left path in the fork, he turned that way. Ravorous followed the path until it opened up into a larger cavern. However, what the presumed could be the sounds of a goblin camp, was actually the sound of foul and disgustingly wretched creatures. What he was when he entered the cavern was so stomach-churning that it made his blood boil. He was greeted by hundreds of huge insects, all with massive pichers and teeth. They all had long, hooked mandibles to snag their prey, and possessed sharp teeth to eat their prey with. Upon seeing them, Ravorous sprinted back down the passageway, many of the strange creatures following. He pulled his sword and swung wildly at the beasts, severing their heads. One bit on Ravorous's shoulder, tearing a chunk of his skin away. Dozens more began to cover him, but upon hearing a large roar from somewhere else in the cave system, they scampered away. Ravorous got up and felt his wounds, wincing in pain as he pulled his fingers away, met with the metallic tang of blood. He looked around the passageway and saw that the ground was slick with the slimy insides of the insects, and carefully made his way down the corridor to the right. This time, he was ready for whatever he would find. He stood in a battle stance, sword firmy drawn, and slowly creeped towards the larger cavern. When he entered the grotto, he heard the deafening, thunderlike roar again. Out of nowhere, a giant lizard that could eat Ravorous in one bite crashed towards him. The animal had many large, razor sharp teeth that could tear flesh from bone. It was slender, standing at around fifty feet long and twenty tall, black scales covering its reptilian body, which boasted long, talon-like claws and serpentine eyes. Ravorous dove out of the way, the lizard scampering around to follow him. The creature whipped Ravorous with its long tail, sending him flying. Ravorous hefted his heavy broadsword and sliced the creature’s tail clean off making the lizard hiss in pain. Ravorous lunged forward, but the creature batted him away, roaring in fury.

The lizard stood before Ravorous, its mouth wide, showing off its teeth. It hovered its head over him, eyes wide with triumph. It reared back, claws ready to snatch up Ravorous and end his life in a single moment. Come on, Ravorous, you can survive this, he thought to himself. You’ve gone through worse. Remember that time the ice dragon killed all the others in Northshaven? You killed the beast yourself, with nothing but a spear and a prayer. When the bandits killed Father, what did you do? You hunted them down and sent them to the Deepshire. In a moment of pure courage, Ravorous hefted his sword and stabbed it through the creature’s eye, and without much of a protest, it fell to the ground, dead.

The Beast Zoe Johnson When Mom and Dad told me we would be bringing him back, I didn’t know he would come back different. Two years ago, my brother Liam was killed in a car accident. I was thirteen. It was really hard for me the first six months after his death, but I came to terms with it. So when my parents sat me down in the kitchen, I had not suspected that they would tell me we would be resurrecting my brother. Mom had never been the same since Liam died, and Dad had resorted to working away the pain. Most of the time it was like losing all of my family. But there I was, sitting in a strange waiting room, preparing myself to see a dead man. Dad explained that scientists had some sort of new technology that could completely bring people back to life, and 80% of the time they would retain their memories. We were that 20% minority. I was sitting in the waiting room, reading a new book I had just bought. I glanced over to Mom and Dad smiling and gazing at pictures of Liam, they were so excited. But not me. When we first lost him I would have begged anything for him to come back to life, but this felt so unnatural. He was dead. He is not supposed to come back, that’s how life works. “Emmy! Are you excited?” I looked up from my book to see the face of my mom. The bags under her eyes were a deep purple, and her honey blonde hair had started to go gray. I wanted to say no, but I couldn’t break her heart like that. When Liam died Mom was crushed; she locked herself in my parents room and didn’t come out for two days. I had locked myself in my room as well, I cried and cried. But after seeing my mom so devastated, I knew deep down I wouldn’t have much time to mourn. Once Mom shut down and mostly resorted to staying in her and Dad’s room, and Dad just stayed in his office, I had to run the house. I learned to cook and clean, to wash and dry. I brought my dad coffee and my mom pain pills. I kept up with my grades and got a job at fourteen since mom had quit teaching. What was I supposed to say? “Yeah, of course,” I tried to say enthusiastically. I failed, but she didn’t notice.

A man wearing a lab coat came in, then. “Doctor Abraham,” my father said, practically jumping out of his seat. “I have very good news. He is awake and verbal,” the man said. He indicated for us to follow him. Mom looked at me, tucked my dark brown hair behind my ear and said, “Here we go.” She had tears in her eyes, I gave her a weak smile and followed the man. When we got to the room, Mom and Dad immediately burst into tears, they ran towards my brother. He was sitting up before being smothered by my parents. It was a surreal experience, seeing him again, but it was so unsettling. That person, that THING, was not my brother. My brother was dead, all I saw was an imposter. After a few minutes of hugging and crying my parents told me to go and say hi while they talked to the doctors. I slowly walked over to the bed he was on. I kept my distance. “Hello,” I said, rather uncomfortably. “Hello,” said the creature. He was staring at me with unnatural blue eyes. Liam’s eyes were green. But before I coud freak out, the thing asked me a question so unsettling and disturbing. “Who are you?” I paused, staring at him, at IT, my mouth hanging open. “Do you not remember me? I’m your sister. It’s me, Emmy.” It stared at me for a few seconds, before repeating a little more harshly: “Who. Are. You.” It started to look around frantically, like a scared animal trapped in a cage. It looked at the heart monitor, the needles everywhere, it stared at the doctors and my parents. Then it noticed the IV in its arm. Its eyes were fixated on the needle in its skin, it bared its teeth. Then the beast attacked.

Collection of Flash Fiction Zoe Conti “Daylight at Dawn,” Zoe Conti The soft rays of the rising sun traveled ever so slowly across the exterior of the green and white stone house. In an hour or so the inhabitants would see it peaking through the window as they began their early morning rush. But for the moment, the light remained in the garden, away from any and all human touch as it painted the daisies golden and washed the sorrow of night off of the neatly trimmed foliage. The birds seemed to cheer at the sight of the yellow light as they followed it away into the vibrant multicolored sky. Daylight had finally arrived.

“Highway 16” With the window ever so slightly cracked open, the young woman enjoyed the light breeze on her face and the golden illumination of sunset warming her skin. The empty road ahead seemed endless in both length and opportunity. She kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the car door. There were only rolling fields of tall grass as far as the eye could see, in addition to the occasional roaming cow. It would be dark in an hour or two and Maisie was still as far from any other person as possible. Her road trip was on the verge of dragging into the third week, but Maisie didn’t mind. Some time alone was just what she had needed and she wasn’t too keen on giving it up any time soon. Maybe at some point she would return to society, but for the moment, it was just her, the road, and that sunset. And she was perfectly fine with that. Maisie moved the arm that had been resting on the edge of the car door to the steering wheel, and moved the other to the radio. She fiddled with the nobs, flipping through channels and listening for something road trip appropriate, not taking her eyes away from the road. She was finally able to tune into a classic rock station. She smiled in content as she listened to songs by all of the greats, the sounds of guitar solos and iconic baselines flooding her ears. Maisie nodded along to the beat and continued looking through the windshield, where she saw tiny water droplets hit the glass. The road seemed to go on forever but she kept driving, no destination in mind as she began to even forget the location from whence she came. It began to rain harder. Maisie turned on the windshield wipers and sat up straight, turning her full attention to the road. She squinted as a dark shape came up in the horizon. As she got closer, the shape started to resemble a house. Soon, features like broken and boarded windows, and spray paint graffiti on the outer walls were prevalent as she neared the house. It

was almost dark out and the lights inside were off. Maisie’s common sense was warring with her dangerously strong curiosity as she drew closer to the house. Before she knew it, Maisie was in the driveway. She turned down the music and stepped out of the car. Patches of the grass had turned brown and the stepping stones leading up to the beat up and abandoned house were cracked and no longer in the right place, strewn all over the lawn. She reached the doorknob, which was cold to the touch, and twisted it. The door opened easily. “This is the universe telling me to go in,” she whispered to herself. “...I think.” Maisie disregarded any negative thoughts when she passed through the doorway like it was some mystical portal to a fantasy world. Doubts would not do her any good. There were ferns and flowers growing through the cracks in the floorboards and some walls even had vines climbing up them, engulfing any photos or art hanging on the wall into a green hurricane. The house had only one floor plus a basement that itched at Maisie’s curiosity once again. “This is a bad idea…” Maisie said to herself as she looked down the dark stairwell. It was like something out of a horror movie. She couldn’t even see the bottom yet. The floorboards creaked as she carefully stepped down, holding onto the railing for dear life. Once she got down, she walked around, feeling broken glass crack even more under her shoes. She even felt some fallen furniture on the floor. The basement was small and cold and she still couldn’t see anything. She ran her hands along the rough concrete walls, feeling for a light switch but finding none. Maise finally stepped away from the wall, out into the unknown world of darkness that was confined to the ten by ten foot room. Maisie gave a gasp of relief when she found a string hanging from a light fixture. She pulled the string and- Heather smiled, reveling in the bliss of driving down the road in complete silence. She had driven through the entire night and had bags under her eyes but that didn’t mean she wanted to stop any time soon. The trees on either side of the road looked especially green after the rain. Heather sighed and turned the dial on the radio to listen to the morning news. The reporter’s voice sounded serious and stoic, like always. “Twenty Eight year old Maisie Williams was found in an abandoned house off the side of Highway 16…”

po·et·ry /ˈpōətrē/ noun literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm; poems collectively or as a genre of literature. \"he is chiefly famous for his love poetry\"

Collection of Poems Isaiah Owalabi Muse I awoke today To find my merry muse missing, not lost, but unfound My only drive, my do or die The one I strive for, out of place, out of sight, never out of mind My soul once drowned beneath an ocean of perpetual motion, Stuck in the liminal between But I learned to breathe, to pace myself, and relieve my trepidation for motivation renewed My toe taps with the ticking clock every hour gone an eternity passed, but a graphic resolve is what keeps my feet running, my pen flowing, and wee wisps whispering of my muse in my heart Everyday, I grow closer to finding My merry muse once more Farewell In Retrospective Before I came to camp I was a sorry someone

Stuck in the limbo of obscurity A pitiful plight I could not escape I came from Three meals a day spent Alone, consuming monotony Without seeing the irony And from Hours locked in my room Counting my failures To start anew I came from furious frustration, Fears that the page before me Would remain blank As my mind, forever And from dreams left dreamt, Cursed to be nothing more I had fought all my battles, Won those hardest fought, And achieved all I had set out to do All for naught yet I found something here, Something that sorry someone Holds dear I found friends Whom I shared Three meals a day spent together, feasting on stories and letting laughter unfold I found those who’d praise success, devoid of cruel common stress

I found noteworthy notebooks filled to the seams positively pristine, with poetry and prose hewn into every folio And I found My recurring dreamt dream, My once lofty goal, Was finally made whole By this unreal dream team I found a new someone inside myself, among you all, Glorious purpose, A reason to fall, And you all made me question, The home I call home Motivation through Monday Fifteen different birthdays And a reason to SLAY Each person inspired In their own unique way As I proceed Back to my old life, And you go away, Worry not, For that sorry someone too Will fade in your wake The Wasp Slayer There was a young lad who fought wasps All thought that he was quite lost He would lock the door tight And put up a fight With swarms of furious wasps

What You Think Owen Stouffer Think of all the things You hate about me Amplify them, Write them down, In a list And think in a way You’ve never thought before You’ll find everything wrong with me I’m a vegetarian impossible meat tastes the same I listen to jazz It helps me relax I hide Stephen King books from my teachers I like Tim Burton movies Johnny Depp is the best You could judge me For my writing. You could find a million ways To judge me Could you find anything good? No. Not you.

Night in New York City Towa Maeda the Big Apple is dotted in yellow a meadow of fireflies and my desperation grows the grapes in the supermarket: once bearing fruit, now still sickly sweet dark purple juice, stains “Night in New York City,” Towa Maeda

Collection of Poems Ellie Katz I Remember I remember when I first felt free When I was away from society all holed up not having to act all grown I remember the first time I wrote I tried my best though I was not very progressed I felt my proudest my creativity was at its loudest I remember the first time I performed I was scared at first Then I realized, I’m not going to be the worst, I’m not being judged my reputation isn’t being smudged I remember myself I’m a person I’m going to worsen But for now I’ll stay me Beauty in the dust A cento White mares scraping and creeping The fresh earth is reaching Animals compliant to instinct, Come to a city, Shoveled, Wrecked,

Broke, Planned. Under the smoke and dust, A tree amid the destruction This Repetitive Routine Sometimes I wonder sometimes I wander I wonder and wander in blissful unresistance Taking what I can Leaving what I must I want to care I want to stare I want to care and stare until the limited time runs out Taking what I can Leaving what I must I can’t wait I can’t be late I can’t wait or be late, willingly Taking what I can leaving what I must Until I find a reason A reason to stop To leave this repetitive routine To groom and preen To actually go and leave

Isabella Rodriguez “A Half-Cento Poem,” Isabella Rodriguez

Isabella Rodriguez “A Poem,” Isabella Rodriguez

Caroline James “Starry Night,” Caroline James

When Rain Falls David Rothwell It’s a curious time when the rain comes down People scurrying to stay inside Away from the cold and the eventual wet Only cars drift along the roads That wash away the remnants of the sky But why do we hide away from something We have become attached to? A population moving closer to each residing coast Hearing the harbors of boats Drifting goods and oil The body is a majority of the same Confined in water’s delicacy helping to guide flow While forcing our hand in consumption However when the rain falls We hide, we hide, and stare Looking at the rain as evil Coming to ruin our day of pleasure When good tidings lay away Under the cloudiness But nevertheless holds us tight Within the comforts of human indulgence Blankets or warm cocoa Or perhaps the nonchalant laziness that comes When the rain continues to fall I wonder where everyone went As this precious elixir Soothes the earth Cleaning its skin Like the showers we endure each day To cleanse ourselves We lose sight of the function we sit upon The normality to cleanse and purify A human association in this world can be seen Consequentially the disconnect is our ignorance

Out of Reach of All Mythology Lauren Shilling On the old road where all that passed are dead There’s a kind of restlessness The winds have ideas Gliding over the roads until a dream takes root Who should miss me here Boarded the train there’s no getting off One of my wishes is that those dark trees By being empty, like desire, Overtake me Into their vastness I should steal away Beyond my anxiety, beyond The emptiness that swells

MONDASHINZU Ava Daily A quiet village A town quite small A skip from the great city Savon Any traveller may pass it by As men forget that once a time This village was a city quite divine Pressed against the mighty mountain Majur A city, oh the beautiful city Majia once stood A city of music and bounty galore Envied by all the world For its treasure, you see Its glorious treasure Told by tongue of word Hidden beneath the mountain Majur Raiders came Pilligers too And Majia fell Its people slew The city tried to mount a defense But the onslaught was too intense So the invaders came and came to slaughter To torch To murder To find the treasure They searched the mountain far and wide For a place to find a way inside They found their path at the mountain’s base Where the temple of Majia pressed the face Cracked pillars and a sagging roof The temple was a ruin, in truth, It was there, my friends, the invaders sought The gold and gems their blood had bought

In the temple In the back Behind the curtain and the rack A door An arch Of enormous height It stretched on up Up to the night The invaders they chuckled to themselves Sure it was here they’d find their wealth They lit their torches and raised their swords Daring venture where none had ventured before For the people of Majia, you see, They knew Majur hid things Things that would frighten you or me Orange and stuttering light First emerged Showing the cavern for what it was Ginormous were the cavern’s sides So distant darkness could still hide But warm flickers did unveil Yellowed bones poised to impale The invaders didn’t know what to think This cave they thought must be a trick A way to scare wouldbe thieves But still their swords escaped their sheaths The group split up, three to a party But still there was nothing to find The group decided then as one One more hour then they’re done They crept and sidled Into the cave Where even the priests never braved And as the bones began to thin

Fear began sinking in The thought of treasure Kept them on But soon they noticed Some of them were gone The rest led the search High and low But the deserters Well, They never showed A rustle A breeze Like wind through reeds The rustle it raised to a roar A horrendous sound never heard before The invaders they whirled And called to their friends As they ran for the light Where the temple begins They ran faster and faster Boots slapping the floor Their cries drowned out Terror too complete to ignore It was in their fleeing light A shadow dark in the cave’s night Behind them it rose Prepared to strike A face! Oh, what a monstrous face Large as the mountain itself Alas!Alas! Scales large as plates Plates large as shields Stolen moons for eyes And horns!

Horns like a devil’s dual turrets The horror! Its mouth Like a frog’s flattened beak Yet full, so full, of sharp sharp teeth The face it raced It opened its maw And there What was left Was nothing at all The roar it faded The monster sated As the city burned outside Word came to Savon Majia is gone! By the angry hand of a god! A curse A curse! The people cried Caused the city to have died For when the city was put to rest The remains remembered blessed A low and mournful hum Shook the spectators and the sun For years Majur’s lonely peaks Cried and cried The way children weep For in the caves beneath the land A keening monster could barely stand Savon’s people got it wrong Majia had been strong No god’s wrath had brought it down The greed of man brought death to town

A curse A curse Now that was true But not as the people knew Deep in the caverns A hero slept Unable to fulfill his debt To bide his time he took the role To make up for the thing he stole Forever cursed to oppose the brave Forever haunted by those he couldn’t save Forever hated for his might Forever feared when in the light It is this, the tale I weave The tale of a man Once cursed for greed It was his vice that brought him low Forced to reap what he sew This is the tale I tell to you The tale of the beast Mondashinzu

Love Once Thought Correct (A Cento) Naomi Limann I feel an itchiness begin slowly How else might you return? I cut the last leaf; you were gone into a million threads of saffron into the darkness, I do not know My eyes mascara bats A surge of wet syllables After our discards, attempts, and mistakes The emptiness that swells Fills me whole Because of your absence, I want to tremble, to shudder Because of love once thought correct But instead, by you being gone The blood that once thrived when you were near Now withers and dries because you disappeared