A rainy day out
by Mehek Mehta
I look through the clear glass of my window,
Watching the raindrops fall,
It’s sad and gloomy,
But when you come talk to me,
It seems alright after all.
We hold in our hands a cup of hot coffee,
Thinking about our dreams, oh, so jolly!
The clouds start to hover,
And people race for cover,
But we dance right through it all.
The falling of raindrops now seems soothing
and as we rush outside, we see the flowers blooming,
The water so rejuvenating,
My lungs are finally breathing,
And it makes me love it all.
The ground beneath us has a fragrance,
The canopies above us shake with impatience,
letting the water drops fall.
I hum a song and you sing along,
Appreciating the beauty of it all.
We spend our day frolicking in the rain,
forgetting about all of our pain.
It seems so easy to be so free,
and I finally agree,
the rain isn’t bad at all.
Realization dawns upon me,
and I look to you and say,
“If it wasn’t for you, this day would be so blue!
and I’m so glad that you came.”
I smile, you smile,
and look up to the sky,
Letting the rain pour over your face.
Then you run ahead and I follow behind,
Trying to keep up with your pace.
We run and run to the top of the hill
just as the sun begins to dim,
And you take my hand as we begin to dance,
Enjoying the last of the rain.
The rain is now gone,
But still I smile,
now knowing it wasn’t the rain.
It was your company that made it alright
for the rainfall to begin.
Watching the raindrops fall,
It’s sad and gloomy,
But when you come talk to me,
It seems alright after all.
We hold in our hands a cup of hot coffee,
Thinking about our dreams, oh, so jolly!
The clouds start to hover,
And people race for cover,
But we dance right through it all.
The falling of raindrops now seems soothing
and as we rush outside, we see the flowers blooming,
The water so rejuvenating,
My lungs are finally breathing,
And it makes me love it all.
The ground beneath us has a fragrance,
The canopies above us shake with impatience,
letting the water drops fall.
I hum a song and you sing along,
Appreciating the beauty of it all.
We spend our day frolicking in the rain,
forgetting about all of our pain.
It seems so easy to be so free,
and I finally agree,
the rain isn’t bad at all.
Realization dawns upon me,
and I look to you and say,
“If it wasn’t for you, this day would be so blue!
and I’m so glad that you came.”
I smile, you smile,
and look up to the sky,
Letting the rain pour over your face.
Then you run ahead and I follow behind,
Trying to keep up with your pace.
We run and run to the top of the hill
just as the sun begins to dim,
And you take my hand as we begin to dance,
Enjoying the last of the rain.
The rain is now gone,
But still I smile,
now knowing it wasn’t the rain.
It was your company that made it alright
for the rainfall to begin.
What dad thinks
by Katelyn Pan
I once watched a baby bird take its first few hops
Into the arms of a big wide world
pudgy, expectant, and hopeful
feathers trembling with excitement and hope
To take on life, alone
When a baby bird-
leaves its nest
What do his parents do?
Left wondering how those years full of
joyful, angry, hilarious, poignant memories
Flew by
His first tooth lost (crying, yelling- then a gap-toothed smile)
His first suit - starchy and scratchy, he complained
When he first learned
What gravity was
From a home-sewn parachute, a barn roof, and a fractured femur
His first kiss and the elation
His first broken heart and the tears
And, that warm spring night of his first realization
when he solemnly announced
With all the bravado of a boy
That he wanted to move to the city
The first hello to warbling laughter and fat baby feet and ruddy cheeks
and now,
the last goodbye
Into the arms of a big wide world
pudgy, expectant, and hopeful
feathers trembling with excitement and hope
To take on life, alone
When a baby bird-
leaves its nest
What do his parents do?
Left wondering how those years full of
joyful, angry, hilarious, poignant memories
Flew by
His first tooth lost (crying, yelling- then a gap-toothed smile)
His first suit - starchy and scratchy, he complained
When he first learned
What gravity was
From a home-sewn parachute, a barn roof, and a fractured femur
His first kiss and the elation
His first broken heart and the tears
And, that warm spring night of his first realization
when he solemnly announced
With all the bravado of a boy
That he wanted to move to the city
The first hello to warbling laughter and fat baby feet and ruddy cheeks
and now,
the last goodbye
A Personal Psalm
by Katelyn Blachley
Lord,
how could you let this happen to me?
All day long I hear of your love,
but could this be true?
For these past months, my eyes have lost their light.
They brim easily with tears, and wretched sobs abruptly rip from me;
I have no control over either.
Every minute of every day, I grieve my losses.
I wait wearily for the relief you promise.
I bring my broken heart to you,
but you feel far, and my pain deepens.
How could you leave me, loving Father,
in a world so filled with sorrow?
These were the cries of my heart, God.
I trust that you remember each one.
But how eased I would have been,
knowing you could bring me to the place I am today!
Just as faithful followers in your Word,
I can now sing in times of trouble, for you had mercy on me:
In my self-pity,
you were patient.
In my pain,
you were compassionate.
In my lowest place,
you did not abandon me,
but lifted me out of confusion and did not give up on me.
You granted me greater understanding of your Son, Jesus;
How vast are the things he suffered,
and how deep is the heartbreak he endured.
You forsake him,
to eliminate the necessity of forsaking me.
You brought onto him the ultimate loss,
all,
so that I might be reconciled to you, my perfect Father.
Through hearing this good news with not just my ears,
but with my heart,
you replaced heavy sadness with lasting comfort,
utter despair with beautiful hope,
consuming darkness with freeing light.
No longer do my sorrows overwhelm me;
No longer do I question your love.
You have given me all that I thought was impossible.
Thanks be to you for ever and ever.
how could you let this happen to me?
All day long I hear of your love,
but could this be true?
For these past months, my eyes have lost their light.
They brim easily with tears, and wretched sobs abruptly rip from me;
I have no control over either.
Every minute of every day, I grieve my losses.
I wait wearily for the relief you promise.
I bring my broken heart to you,
but you feel far, and my pain deepens.
How could you leave me, loving Father,
in a world so filled with sorrow?
These were the cries of my heart, God.
I trust that you remember each one.
But how eased I would have been,
knowing you could bring me to the place I am today!
Just as faithful followers in your Word,
I can now sing in times of trouble, for you had mercy on me:
In my self-pity,
you were patient.
In my pain,
you were compassionate.
In my lowest place,
you did not abandon me,
but lifted me out of confusion and did not give up on me.
You granted me greater understanding of your Son, Jesus;
How vast are the things he suffered,
and how deep is the heartbreak he endured.
You forsake him,
to eliminate the necessity of forsaking me.
You brought onto him the ultimate loss,
all,
so that I might be reconciled to you, my perfect Father.
Through hearing this good news with not just my ears,
but with my heart,
you replaced heavy sadness with lasting comfort,
utter despair with beautiful hope,
consuming darkness with freeing light.
No longer do my sorrows overwhelm me;
No longer do I question your love.
You have given me all that I thought was impossible.
Thanks be to you for ever and ever.
The human minds
by Nika Bondar
Staring at the opaque wall in front of her, Aliena could hear herself breathing--no, sobbing louder with every passing minute. There was no sound resembling footsteps, when one shadowy figure appeared on the opposite side of the glass. The girl bit her cheek, the silence burned. The emptiness of the room was engulfing her whole, yet she could not take her eyes off the silhouette.
“Where am I?” she uttered in a strained whisper.
There was a long pause before a high-pitched, resounding machine voice answered:
“Eng-lish, you speak, English?”
“Yes,” Aliena breathed out shakily.
The voice spoke slowly, pausing between every word, almost as if it was translating the response word-by-word.
“You are Earth-land-er?”
“I departed from there just this morning.”
“You know Spirituose?”
“No.”
“Commoneir?”
“No.”
Silence.
“You are, hu-u-man”
“And you…?”
No response.
“How you come here?”
“I was taking an aviator exam.” Her eyes started to water again. “I got disoriented by a blob of dark matter… you know how dark matter it distorts the light so I,” she took a second to compose herself again, “I went the wrong way and... I think we crashed.”
“We?”
“My instructor and I.”
There was a buzzing sound before the opaque wall vanished, like a cloud of thick fog.
Behind it was standing a tall, humanoid man.
He spoke in a soft baritone but the words didn’t make any sense to the girl, until after he finished, and she heard the familiar robotic voice.
“You aren’t like him.”
Aliena looked up in surprise,
“My instructor?”
“He is commoneir, you are spiritouse, like me”
“We are both human! Aren’t you too?”
“Humans as a species, existed solely before the Cosmolization. Now there are two. Two separate homes, minds, people - Spiritouse and Commoneires.”
She felt adrenaline making her heart jump.
“Two minds?”
“Correct, when the space exploration just began and curiosity easily overpowered gravity; one mind decided to leave, while the other, lazy and flooding with fears, stayed. Now the foolish mind saw power behind our success, so it wants us back.”
“What’s wrong with humans reuniting?”
“We tried. We tried to share knowledge, but the greedy mind wants it not. Their jealousy wants nothing but war. They would enslave our minds to serve their laziness”
“Can you fight?”
“We mustn’t support violence! We follow a model, unrealistic for the time being, but we believe in change, and so we must become better, to teach our children of peace, which we cannot do in war. So we run. We spread our model and pick up students along the way, for all the wars will stop, when all the people are educated.”
At that moment Aliena couldn’t feel anything but the warmth of this strange human in front of her. Finally, she asked:
“How am I different from the other Earthlander?”
The guy looked into her eyes smiling:
“I have your ship ready, you can depart home anytime you wish, as your instructor already did.”
He stretched out his hand offering her the keys.
The girl looked at the keys and smirked.
“I hope you’re in need of pilot.”
“Where am I?” she uttered in a strained whisper.
There was a long pause before a high-pitched, resounding machine voice answered:
“Eng-lish, you speak, English?”
“Yes,” Aliena breathed out shakily.
The voice spoke slowly, pausing between every word, almost as if it was translating the response word-by-word.
“You are Earth-land-er?”
“I departed from there just this morning.”
“You know Spirituose?”
“No.”
“Commoneir?”
“No.”
Silence.
“You are, hu-u-man”
“And you…?”
No response.
“How you come here?”
“I was taking an aviator exam.” Her eyes started to water again. “I got disoriented by a blob of dark matter… you know how dark matter it distorts the light so I,” she took a second to compose herself again, “I went the wrong way and... I think we crashed.”
“We?”
“My instructor and I.”
There was a buzzing sound before the opaque wall vanished, like a cloud of thick fog.
Behind it was standing a tall, humanoid man.
He spoke in a soft baritone but the words didn’t make any sense to the girl, until after he finished, and she heard the familiar robotic voice.
“You aren’t like him.”
Aliena looked up in surprise,
“My instructor?”
“He is commoneir, you are spiritouse, like me”
“We are both human! Aren’t you too?”
“Humans as a species, existed solely before the Cosmolization. Now there are two. Two separate homes, minds, people - Spiritouse and Commoneires.”
She felt adrenaline making her heart jump.
“Two minds?”
“Correct, when the space exploration just began and curiosity easily overpowered gravity; one mind decided to leave, while the other, lazy and flooding with fears, stayed. Now the foolish mind saw power behind our success, so it wants us back.”
“What’s wrong with humans reuniting?”
“We tried. We tried to share knowledge, but the greedy mind wants it not. Their jealousy wants nothing but war. They would enslave our minds to serve their laziness”
“Can you fight?”
“We mustn’t support violence! We follow a model, unrealistic for the time being, but we believe in change, and so we must become better, to teach our children of peace, which we cannot do in war. So we run. We spread our model and pick up students along the way, for all the wars will stop, when all the people are educated.”
At that moment Aliena couldn’t feel anything but the warmth of this strange human in front of her. Finally, she asked:
“How am I different from the other Earthlander?”
The guy looked into her eyes smiling:
“I have your ship ready, you can depart home anytime you wish, as your instructor already did.”
He stretched out his hand offering her the keys.
The girl looked at the keys and smirked.
“I hope you’re in need of pilot.”
The Tempest's Fire
by Melody Chen
Intimately the waves swell up
Grasping on...Catching on
The glittering gems of the sun
Brightly it beholds the heart’s key
And lock of the dark blue sea
The sporadic episodes of wane
And wax and aching heart
Reflected the covetousness of
The clandestine blue moon
Rage - it is never too soon
Inconsistent and tempestuous
The sea swell silently sifts
Building upon past wrath
Like cold fire
Cloaking the sea’s liar
Reluctant to surrender
From its bosom prison
Raging yet raging on
It thus unmasks its seductiveness
Of the feigned purity of the sea’s twilight-ness
Grasping on...Catching on
The glittering gems of the sun
Brightly it beholds the heart’s key
And lock of the dark blue sea
The sporadic episodes of wane
And wax and aching heart
Reflected the covetousness of
The clandestine blue moon
Rage - it is never too soon
Inconsistent and tempestuous
The sea swell silently sifts
Building upon past wrath
Like cold fire
Cloaking the sea’s liar
Reluctant to surrender
From its bosom prison
Raging yet raging on
It thus unmasks its seductiveness
Of the feigned purity of the sea’s twilight-ness
Keep
by Melody Chen
The tempest clashes. A gale of wispy clouds wail and thunder strikes in discordant chords. The trail ahead is sinking rapidly, as if the fist of the mist is choking the final frontier. The last of the last. I run. I run. The rain splatters in conflicting directions like a paintbrush all in clear. My red umbrella is fading. All of a sudden, a sweep of heaviness downpours and my umbrella shrivels like a damped tulip. A wave of tumult swell and heave down. Almost there. Almost. I run. The vessel blares and black mists pour out. The sailors cry out and metals clang. Please. The words ride with the gale, but drown before reaching...the port. I run. With soaked socks and bleached skirt, I carry on. A blinding light slices the ink-blotted sky in half and the earth rumbled. Please. “Last minute dockers,” the voice blared, “Come on up...Last minute dockers.” My heart throbs and the stars blur. “Rounding up final goers.” A once. The night peels like tangerines. Bittersweet it is. Twice. The constellation shifts as the rain slows down. Clang. The sky collapses. I was the only one to keep.
Caffeine
by Tyler Deuel
Ecstasy on a pin prick
rolled in a dollar bill
hot condensation on a glass wall-
Taste of jubilance
in a flaking fish bowl,
indulgence to subdue uniformity-
head palpitations,
temple quivers,
hemorrhaging plasma
collapsing artery.
Switches click
cigarettes are packed.
rolled in a dollar bill
hot condensation on a glass wall-
Taste of jubilance
in a flaking fish bowl,
indulgence to subdue uniformity-
head palpitations,
temple quivers,
hemorrhaging plasma
collapsing artery.
Switches click
cigarettes are packed.
My Youth and My Now
by Tyler Deuel
He relinquished a single silver dollar to The Boy
leaving a reverberation in his doorways.
The Pornographer circumcised my innocence away
The Cigarette's taste tainted my tongue
The Shepard goads his beloved black sheep
The Apple tree shines tasteful abundance,
All the while Cerberus gnaws on his squeaky chew toy.
leaving a reverberation in his doorways.
The Pornographer circumcised my innocence away
The Cigarette's taste tainted my tongue
The Shepard goads his beloved black sheep
The Apple tree shines tasteful abundance,
All the while Cerberus gnaws on his squeaky chew toy.
Hold Onto the Hat
by Dan Cohen
hold onto the hat
Hold onto the hat
Hold onto the Hat
The Clock is ticking ticking ticking
Breathing on our necks
Knowing that were next -
But what if it stopped,
Just for a moment nothing more
Like a painting with unknown lore.
Just you and I sitting
With a silence that is fitting
For no birds will be singing
when at last you walk through that door-
The painting is cruel
for it's not dark or cool,
It’s sunny outside
With a sandwich whos taste only mom could have supplied
Yet I'm still sitting
Not even looking
For if I turn my head around
For a moment nothing more
It would chase off the moment
That was there just a moment before
Hold on to the Hat
Hold on to the hat
hold on to the hat
to its smell
to its feeling
Hold on with clutch
For the moment lasting forever
Is losing its touch.
Inspired by Breaking Home Ties, a painting by Norman Rockwell
Hold onto the hat
Hold onto the Hat
The Clock is ticking ticking ticking
Breathing on our necks
Knowing that were next -
But what if it stopped,
Just for a moment nothing more
Like a painting with unknown lore.
Just you and I sitting
With a silence that is fitting
For no birds will be singing
when at last you walk through that door-
The painting is cruel
for it's not dark or cool,
It’s sunny outside
With a sandwich whos taste only mom could have supplied
Yet I'm still sitting
Not even looking
For if I turn my head around
For a moment nothing more
It would chase off the moment
That was there just a moment before
Hold on to the Hat
Hold on to the hat
hold on to the hat
to its smell
to its feeling
Hold on with clutch
For the moment lasting forever
Is losing its touch.
Inspired by Breaking Home Ties, a painting by Norman Rockwell
We're the Same All Over
by Cassandra Phan
Anyone who happened upon this alien planet would call it crude, shrivel, dying. It was one of those godforsaken places, and its inhabitants will tell you it happened after the sky fell.
Martha and George Kenneth (who were very much human) both wore silver protective suits as they scurried across the barren, alien landscape.
“George stay away from that thing,” Martha barked, gesturing to a mysterious, glowing, fuschia mound, “you don’t know what it could do to you. And be careful! The ground’s littered with them.”
George was shaking and the only thing keeping him from collapsing was the adrenaline of what he might encounter. Martha was calmer, and she knew they had to find shelter, somewhere to hide. Soon they came upon a deep trench lined with granite and dirt.
“Does that look like a grave to you,” George asked, peering over the edge, “or is that just my paranoia?”
Whatever it is, Martha thought, it’s good enough.
“Don’t scream,” Martha whispered to George before giving him a shove. George was too surprised to shriek before his face hit the dirt. Martha expected him to whirl around with a certain finger extended; however, he froze, and after Martha followed his gaze, her breathing shortened.
A few feet from George was another human curled in the fetal position. George felt a confusing flood of relief and fear take over his body. It wasn’t an alien, he thought, but it was still a creature that would kill for survival. Immediately, the human sat up and introduced himself as Myers.
“So,” Myers started, “Where do you reckon we are.” The three were interrupted by an earth shattering boom. They glanced over to witness boulders tumbe to the ground from what once was a mountain.
“Well,” Martha sighed, “we’re in what used to be Yosemite.” Before anyone could respond to this tragedy, the trio dove into the trench. The aliens were coming.
Two aliens with upturned noses and glittering, pale skin walked by.
“I think this planet was one of the easiest conquests that I remember,” the first alien remarked, “the whole population was easily thrown into hysteria, and they were just so divided. Remember that first country we took over, no one would help them because they were Russians. What’s a Russian?”
“I don’t know what makes them different,” the second replied as the pair walked away, “but I can tell you they all blow up the same.” Myers hunched his shoulders and began to weep.
“Demons are supposed to come from hell,” he sniveled, “why would God send them from the sky.” George sat on the ground, and after a long silence, he spoke.
“They’re not the devil...they’re us.” Myers face writhed with disbelief and horror.
“You don’t think we wouldn’t have done the same thing,” George snapped, “Hell we have done the same thing on this very planet. We’re the same all over.” George glared at the open sky.
“All over the damn universe.”
Martha and George Kenneth (who were very much human) both wore silver protective suits as they scurried across the barren, alien landscape.
“George stay away from that thing,” Martha barked, gesturing to a mysterious, glowing, fuschia mound, “you don’t know what it could do to you. And be careful! The ground’s littered with them.”
George was shaking and the only thing keeping him from collapsing was the adrenaline of what he might encounter. Martha was calmer, and she knew they had to find shelter, somewhere to hide. Soon they came upon a deep trench lined with granite and dirt.
“Does that look like a grave to you,” George asked, peering over the edge, “or is that just my paranoia?”
Whatever it is, Martha thought, it’s good enough.
“Don’t scream,” Martha whispered to George before giving him a shove. George was too surprised to shriek before his face hit the dirt. Martha expected him to whirl around with a certain finger extended; however, he froze, and after Martha followed his gaze, her breathing shortened.
A few feet from George was another human curled in the fetal position. George felt a confusing flood of relief and fear take over his body. It wasn’t an alien, he thought, but it was still a creature that would kill for survival. Immediately, the human sat up and introduced himself as Myers.
“So,” Myers started, “Where do you reckon we are.” The three were interrupted by an earth shattering boom. They glanced over to witness boulders tumbe to the ground from what once was a mountain.
“Well,” Martha sighed, “we’re in what used to be Yosemite.” Before anyone could respond to this tragedy, the trio dove into the trench. The aliens were coming.
Two aliens with upturned noses and glittering, pale skin walked by.
“I think this planet was one of the easiest conquests that I remember,” the first alien remarked, “the whole population was easily thrown into hysteria, and they were just so divided. Remember that first country we took over, no one would help them because they were Russians. What’s a Russian?”
“I don’t know what makes them different,” the second replied as the pair walked away, “but I can tell you they all blow up the same.” Myers hunched his shoulders and began to weep.
“Demons are supposed to come from hell,” he sniveled, “why would God send them from the sky.” George sat on the ground, and after a long silence, he spoke.
“They’re not the devil...they’re us.” Myers face writhed with disbelief and horror.
“You don’t think we wouldn’t have done the same thing,” George snapped, “Hell we have done the same thing on this very planet. We’re the same all over.” George glared at the open sky.
“All over the damn universe.”
It was Altogether... Unexpected
by Cassandra Phan
Mr. Blaine Sterling IX of the Sterling family was a recluse, like all the Sterlings before him, thanks to Mr. Blaine Sterling III, the man who made all the money. Ever so appreciated, (the money not the man), it allowed the family to live in their preferred solidarity. Yet Mr. Sterling sat in his plush, velvet chair in one of 180 rooms and wondered how he, a Sterling, had ended up with an orphan, a thief, and a dragon. Mind you it is a baby dragon, still small enough to hold; although it had recently burn down Mr. Sterling’s ballroom and that had put him in quite the mood.
Suddenly an automated shriek rang throughout the house. Mr. Sterling sighed, without panic, and stretched his legs before wandering through his home, searching for the shrieks.
He soon came to the library where all of his greatest treasures were. Books covered the walls from ceiling to floor, and spread across the room were ancient artifacts displayed on pedestals. He opened the heavy oaken doors and stepped on iron netting, his newest security system.
“I see you’ve upgraded since last time,” chuckled an impish boy. He was pinned under the iron netting.
“Well you see I’ve recently adopted this pest, and he just won’t quit his nasty habits,” smirked Mr. Sterling, “thief.”
“Ex-thief,” chimed the boy, “I’m your head of security now. Just testing the adjustments you made. By the way, when do I get paid?”
“I let you live in this beautiful mansion that people would kill for, and you want more money?”
“Maybe just a small bonus.” The thief winked.
The pair was interrupted by a small girl with hair kissed by fire, it was the orphan. Nestled in her arms was a jet black dragon with gleaming golden horns.
“What was all that noise,” the girl asked.
“Just testing the new security system,” the thief replied as Mr. Sterling lifted the net, “though it still needs some improvements since I was able to get inside the house.”
“Well could you do it a little more softly,” the girl said, “you woke up Mr. Biggles.”
The thief scoffed, “We are not naming the dragon Mr. Biggles.”
The girl declared, “I found him so I can name him!”
“Well you wouldn’t have found him if I hadn’t solved the riddles,” the thief retorted.
“And no one would have had a chance of finding him if it wasn’t for my money,” interjected Mr. Sterling. He was ignored.
“What about Kingston,” offered the thief.
“Midnight,” replied the girl.
“Linus.”
“Merlin.”
“Jasper.”
Mr. Sterling left the two to their bickering and returned to his plush, velvet chair. He picked up a pen and paper and began to write. The story was to be about how the unlikeliest of people embarked on an adventure to find the unlikeliest of creatures. And if one day someone was to stumble upon Mr. Sterling’s pages, they may just understand everything he gained in the end.
Suddenly an automated shriek rang throughout the house. Mr. Sterling sighed, without panic, and stretched his legs before wandering through his home, searching for the shrieks.
He soon came to the library where all of his greatest treasures were. Books covered the walls from ceiling to floor, and spread across the room were ancient artifacts displayed on pedestals. He opened the heavy oaken doors and stepped on iron netting, his newest security system.
“I see you’ve upgraded since last time,” chuckled an impish boy. He was pinned under the iron netting.
“Well you see I’ve recently adopted this pest, and he just won’t quit his nasty habits,” smirked Mr. Sterling, “thief.”
“Ex-thief,” chimed the boy, “I’m your head of security now. Just testing the adjustments you made. By the way, when do I get paid?”
“I let you live in this beautiful mansion that people would kill for, and you want more money?”
“Maybe just a small bonus.” The thief winked.
The pair was interrupted by a small girl with hair kissed by fire, it was the orphan. Nestled in her arms was a jet black dragon with gleaming golden horns.
“What was all that noise,” the girl asked.
“Just testing the new security system,” the thief replied as Mr. Sterling lifted the net, “though it still needs some improvements since I was able to get inside the house.”
“Well could you do it a little more softly,” the girl said, “you woke up Mr. Biggles.”
The thief scoffed, “We are not naming the dragon Mr. Biggles.”
The girl declared, “I found him so I can name him!”
“Well you wouldn’t have found him if I hadn’t solved the riddles,” the thief retorted.
“And no one would have had a chance of finding him if it wasn’t for my money,” interjected Mr. Sterling. He was ignored.
“What about Kingston,” offered the thief.
“Midnight,” replied the girl.
“Linus.”
“Merlin.”
“Jasper.”
Mr. Sterling left the two to their bickering and returned to his plush, velvet chair. He picked up a pen and paper and began to write. The story was to be about how the unlikeliest of people embarked on an adventure to find the unlikeliest of creatures. And if one day someone was to stumble upon Mr. Sterling’s pages, they may just understand everything he gained in the end.
A Message You Found in a Bottle
by Shelley Kim
"Yeah, see, that's exactly the thing. Everyone thinks that saying they like long walks on the beach will make them seem contemplative and romantic, a-and, nature-loving, I guess. But the problem is that everyone says that. So it becomes a cliché, and tells nothing about you."
"Except maybe that you're not unique."
He laughed. "Yeah, I guess. So we're not unique."
You watch the wet sand squeezing your toes as you walk. "Yeah."
You didn't realize it then but that was the last time you talked with him. You never said why, but (a thousand reasons bottled up in your head, how you could read him like his skin was translucent, how you never found him a synonym for loneliness) sometimes you wonder if you should tell him. But the message would get lost, ineffably trapped behind glass, untouchable.
Sometimes you wonder where he is today. Maybe taking a walk on the beach. Maybe bearing a message in a bottle, thinking, saying,
"I always thought we were special. Or maybe not. Maybe we only fell in love with long walks on the beach."
He leaves the bottle half-buried in the sand and walks away, foam and the smell of seaweed rolling over the sunset captured in the roundness, the clearness of the glass, the note coiled inside, and maybe somehow it reaches you, maybe the message waves across salty expanses and too-bright cloudless days and stillborn nights to roll lazy, pure, untouched until it graces your toes on a fateful walk on the beach, and maybe you open the bottle to read the splayed-out undressed emotions of a boy you once loved. Or maybe not. Maybe the bottle remains half-in, half-out of the ground, forever unread. Maybe he didn't get up out of bed today to place it under the sand.
"Except maybe that you're not unique."
He laughed. "Yeah, I guess. So we're not unique."
You watch the wet sand squeezing your toes as you walk. "Yeah."
You didn't realize it then but that was the last time you talked with him. You never said why, but (a thousand reasons bottled up in your head, how you could read him like his skin was translucent, how you never found him a synonym for loneliness) sometimes you wonder if you should tell him. But the message would get lost, ineffably trapped behind glass, untouchable.
Sometimes you wonder where he is today. Maybe taking a walk on the beach. Maybe bearing a message in a bottle, thinking, saying,
"I always thought we were special. Or maybe not. Maybe we only fell in love with long walks on the beach."
He leaves the bottle half-buried in the sand and walks away, foam and the smell of seaweed rolling over the sunset captured in the roundness, the clearness of the glass, the note coiled inside, and maybe somehow it reaches you, maybe the message waves across salty expanses and too-bright cloudless days and stillborn nights to roll lazy, pure, untouched until it graces your toes on a fateful walk on the beach, and maybe you open the bottle to read the splayed-out undressed emotions of a boy you once loved. Or maybe not. Maybe the bottle remains half-in, half-out of the ground, forever unread. Maybe he didn't get up out of bed today to place it under the sand.
Why did you paint the sink red?
by REM
“Why did you paint the sink red?”
“Huh?”
“The sink. Why’d you paint it? Pretty sure it was white earlier…”
“Oh. I dunno…”
“You don’t know…”
I lifted my head from my screen momentarily to confront my...argumentative companion. I attempted (in vain of course) to burn through her velvety orange ears atop her head with my gaze. “Oh, don’t give me that look,” she hissed dismissively, like the hiss of doused flames.
“Mom’s gonna be mad,” she continued. “She paid good money for that sink.”
“The hell do I care?” I retorted, trying to continue browsing for something to watch in lieu of doing my homework. “If I cared, I wouldn’t have done it.”
“And if you had thought it through, you would have cared,” she fires back unsympathetically.
I rolled my eyes. At this point, I was tempted to rip her pretty fox tail clean off. At least then, she’d stop waving it around so proudly, like she had managed to pounce upon sizeable prey.
“The design doesn’t even look any good,” she spat. “All blotchy and uneven…”
“I don’t have to call you, you know.”
“Right. More like I don’t have to come when you call. Come on, we both know it’s true.”
“HEY! I brought to existence and I can take you out!!!”
“Go ahead then, why don’t ya?!”
“...”
“Well?”
“...ugh…”
“That’s what I thought. You can’t do it. You could never commit to something like that.”
“At least I went through with painting the sink.”
“Well...yeah, but that’s not a good thing to commit to.”
“I’m still alive. And I diced the vegetables for dinner before painting, so it should be fine.”
She peered through me with her fox-and-human-like eyes, sand-colored hair falling around her face. “You need help.” she breathed.
I sighed. “I know...that’s why I left the sink painted.”
“You could’ve just asked someone.”
“...What’s the point? I got help before and now I’m doing it again.”
“And you’ll keep doing it. That’s no reason to color the bathroom ink. You’ll just have to get help every time you need it.”
I closed my laptop and cracked open a Fayard comic book (Book 3, specifically. My personal favorite). My companion’s ear twitched as she read over my shoulder.
“Fayard seems nice, doesn’t it?
“Yeah. Wish I could live there sometimes…”
“You wouldn’t do so well. You can’t use magic.”
“I know, but still. Would be an escape from this. It’d be nice. Especially if...you know...things in this world go to hell, right?”
“...feels like you’re hiding from your fears -”
“Just sit down and read. I’m done arguing.”
“Ok…” She reluctantly plops down on the bed beside me, rolling her eyes.
The front door opens on hinges that haven’t been oiled in my entire lifetime. In walks Mom, still in her ever-so-slightly dressy work clothes and announcing her arrival with a loving “Hi dear! I’m home!” and “How was your day?”. She throws her purse down before walking into the bathroom. She turns on the light, stops in front of the mirror, looks down, and screams.
“Huh?”
“The sink. Why’d you paint it? Pretty sure it was white earlier…”
“Oh. I dunno…”
“You don’t know…”
I lifted my head from my screen momentarily to confront my...argumentative companion. I attempted (in vain of course) to burn through her velvety orange ears atop her head with my gaze. “Oh, don’t give me that look,” she hissed dismissively, like the hiss of doused flames.
“Mom’s gonna be mad,” she continued. “She paid good money for that sink.”
“The hell do I care?” I retorted, trying to continue browsing for something to watch in lieu of doing my homework. “If I cared, I wouldn’t have done it.”
“And if you had thought it through, you would have cared,” she fires back unsympathetically.
I rolled my eyes. At this point, I was tempted to rip her pretty fox tail clean off. At least then, she’d stop waving it around so proudly, like she had managed to pounce upon sizeable prey.
“The design doesn’t even look any good,” she spat. “All blotchy and uneven…”
“I don’t have to call you, you know.”
“Right. More like I don’t have to come when you call. Come on, we both know it’s true.”
“HEY! I brought to existence and I can take you out!!!”
“Go ahead then, why don’t ya?!”
“...”
“Well?”
“...ugh…”
“That’s what I thought. You can’t do it. You could never commit to something like that.”
“At least I went through with painting the sink.”
“Well...yeah, but that’s not a good thing to commit to.”
“I’m still alive. And I diced the vegetables for dinner before painting, so it should be fine.”
She peered through me with her fox-and-human-like eyes, sand-colored hair falling around her face. “You need help.” she breathed.
I sighed. “I know...that’s why I left the sink painted.”
“You could’ve just asked someone.”
“...What’s the point? I got help before and now I’m doing it again.”
“And you’ll keep doing it. That’s no reason to color the bathroom ink. You’ll just have to get help every time you need it.”
I closed my laptop and cracked open a Fayard comic book (Book 3, specifically. My personal favorite). My companion’s ear twitched as she read over my shoulder.
“Fayard seems nice, doesn’t it?
“Yeah. Wish I could live there sometimes…”
“You wouldn’t do so well. You can’t use magic.”
“I know, but still. Would be an escape from this. It’d be nice. Especially if...you know...things in this world go to hell, right?”
“...feels like you’re hiding from your fears -”
“Just sit down and read. I’m done arguing.”
“Ok…” She reluctantly plops down on the bed beside me, rolling her eyes.
The front door opens on hinges that haven’t been oiled in my entire lifetime. In walks Mom, still in her ever-so-slightly dressy work clothes and announcing her arrival with a loving “Hi dear! I’m home!” and “How was your day?”. She throws her purse down before walking into the bathroom. She turns on the light, stops in front of the mirror, looks down, and screams.
Distorted
by Jane Park
“You’ve been looking in a dirty mirror your entire life. Of course you’re going to hate your reflection.”
Holding On
by Sabrina Kim
If my city is the stormy paper of a pop-up book, then I am
only the cutout of a human, a tissue paper smile. Even thinner, more
watered out than you make me feel. I am far too
invisible. Look at me and I might crumble.
The unsaid words have worn me down, chewed
at the pink putty that lines my mouth.
We never talked about our years of silence, earbuds tangled
between us, third-choice calls. I always
thought I was getting closer, but I didn’t know what direction a tape rewinds,
goes back to the start: knocking on your door,
unknowing, unsure, cautious,
a stranger.
And you can laugh at the thought of a short person getting mad
but you will stop when I pour my cold-water words of frustration
over your straight spine in my dreams, remember that
you once wore baseball caps to cover your insecure hair,
tripped over words in between bites of wonder
bread. I may be
small, but I am proud to ask how you’re doing every week,
make a list of your acquaintances
and treat them like my own best friends: nausea, heartache, depression,
cold hands.
I may be invisible, but I am strong enough to look into your eyes and speak
to them as if they were still flitting reflections of the crystal sea.
You make me feel like zero, but I will pretend you still make me feel
infinite. You make me feel like I’m
watching my life through a looking glass, but I will be the main character
in this silver screen film;
look,
here I am holding onto my summer.
only the cutout of a human, a tissue paper smile. Even thinner, more
watered out than you make me feel. I am far too
invisible. Look at me and I might crumble.
The unsaid words have worn me down, chewed
at the pink putty that lines my mouth.
We never talked about our years of silence, earbuds tangled
between us, third-choice calls. I always
thought I was getting closer, but I didn’t know what direction a tape rewinds,
goes back to the start: knocking on your door,
unknowing, unsure, cautious,
a stranger.
And you can laugh at the thought of a short person getting mad
but you will stop when I pour my cold-water words of frustration
over your straight spine in my dreams, remember that
you once wore baseball caps to cover your insecure hair,
tripped over words in between bites of wonder
bread. I may be
small, but I am proud to ask how you’re doing every week,
make a list of your acquaintances
and treat them like my own best friends: nausea, heartache, depression,
cold hands.
I may be invisible, but I am strong enough to look into your eyes and speak
to them as if they were still flitting reflections of the crystal sea.
You make me feel like zero, but I will pretend you still make me feel
infinite. You make me feel like I’m
watching my life through a looking glass, but I will be the main character
in this silver screen film;
look,
here I am holding onto my summer.
Underwater
by Sabrina Kim
It’s okay
to take time, especially if you're sad. A few minutes, an hour. Maybe a few years.
Things are never as bad as they seem because there are old friends
and there are new friends
and there are people fiercely in love with you.
There are people you love too much, but at least you have something to love.
People are there. Sometimes it's not even the people that heal;
it's the time. It's the air. Breathe out
all the bad inside you, the parasites that fight for the reins of your well-being, every pebble in your throat that chokes tears and weighs you down. Flush them out with waterfall eyes and fill yourself with freshwater for your throat
because you are a waterway, full of good intention and earnest.
Sleep, and let dreams peel the grasp of night away from you. Let yourself be freed from haunting disappointment and darkening shadows. They disappear in the morning.
And if your eyes insist on staying open,
think about wonderful things, like how the twinkling city looks at night when it breaks into view on the highway. Think about how enormous trees are and how pure untouched snow is. Think about a new fiancé’s thousand-watt smile and all the other smiles everywhere, lighting up pockets of our world.
And when the world
strikes with a leather grip, sometimes you will be the shoulder leaned on,
a sponge dense with foreign tears.
Sometimes you will be the faucet of pain and emotion, splashing ashamed overflow onto the outstretched hands of warm-hearted people who love you and hold tears like liquid topaz.
Sometimes you will be the shining medal, your heart a destination someone dreams to reach.
Sometimes you will be the yearning novice, fingers clawing at empty air with the blind hope of grasping love.
Whoever you are, be thankful.
Life is not just okay—it's beautiful. Catch all that life pitches at you and throw back faster, harder with a glint in your eye.
It's frightening how simple life is; today you are here and tomorrow you will be there.
Yesterday is gone;
today you are moving forward.
to take time, especially if you're sad. A few minutes, an hour. Maybe a few years.
Things are never as bad as they seem because there are old friends
and there are new friends
and there are people fiercely in love with you.
There are people you love too much, but at least you have something to love.
People are there. Sometimes it's not even the people that heal;
it's the time. It's the air. Breathe out
all the bad inside you, the parasites that fight for the reins of your well-being, every pebble in your throat that chokes tears and weighs you down. Flush them out with waterfall eyes and fill yourself with freshwater for your throat
because you are a waterway, full of good intention and earnest.
Sleep, and let dreams peel the grasp of night away from you. Let yourself be freed from haunting disappointment and darkening shadows. They disappear in the morning.
And if your eyes insist on staying open,
think about wonderful things, like how the twinkling city looks at night when it breaks into view on the highway. Think about how enormous trees are and how pure untouched snow is. Think about a new fiancé’s thousand-watt smile and all the other smiles everywhere, lighting up pockets of our world.
And when the world
strikes with a leather grip, sometimes you will be the shoulder leaned on,
a sponge dense with foreign tears.
Sometimes you will be the faucet of pain and emotion, splashing ashamed overflow onto the outstretched hands of warm-hearted people who love you and hold tears like liquid topaz.
Sometimes you will be the shining medal, your heart a destination someone dreams to reach.
Sometimes you will be the yearning novice, fingers clawing at empty air with the blind hope of grasping love.
Whoever you are, be thankful.
Life is not just okay—it's beautiful. Catch all that life pitches at you and throw back faster, harder with a glint in your eye.
It's frightening how simple life is; today you are here and tomorrow you will be there.
Yesterday is gone;
today you are moving forward.
Lessons of the Heart
by Sarah Moll
Alone again- what is new?
Isolation catalyzes an insidious formation and in the withered heart
the speck of Tar lies crude.
I cannot hide
away from the dark. It finds me out, and roots itself deep
inside the mind.
Too often the Thorns return to stab;
uncertainty lets them in to lodge.
And they slumber, smirking, in the heart’s map.
So breathe the fresh air! Go outside!
The past self watches, with sympathy and longing
yet with a calmness that she will survive.
Ascend! Keep your face up!
And I listen, then stumble, the cycle will not be formed;
the lessons of the heart remind me enough.
Blood I share
returns faithfully with prick-marks, connecting and
fiercely calm, lays down its care.
Not alone, certainly not weak.
The sunrise is brilliant, casting itself into the shadows.
I rise up out of sleep.
Isolation catalyzes an insidious formation and in the withered heart
the speck of Tar lies crude.
I cannot hide
away from the dark. It finds me out, and roots itself deep
inside the mind.
Too often the Thorns return to stab;
uncertainty lets them in to lodge.
And they slumber, smirking, in the heart’s map.
So breathe the fresh air! Go outside!
The past self watches, with sympathy and longing
yet with a calmness that she will survive.
Ascend! Keep your face up!
And I listen, then stumble, the cycle will not be formed;
the lessons of the heart remind me enough.
Blood I share
returns faithfully with prick-marks, connecting and
fiercely calm, lays down its care.
Not alone, certainly not weak.
The sunrise is brilliant, casting itself into the shadows.
I rise up out of sleep.
a [w]rap
by 716
You wanted me to stay.
But you ain’t givin’ me an option
You ain’t tryin’ to make a way.
And yet,
you don’t want me to walk away.
And as I slowly decay.
As I sit here every single day,
I watch the moments slip by It’s like a buffet Of sick moments full of bits of child’s play.
And all this time I only tried to convey The words and thoughts I was tryin’ to say
And all this time I been tryin’ to obey The laws and the rules of this game that we play
And I been tryin’ to meet you halfway.
But you just kept wandering astray.
Cuz life ain’t straight like a hallway
It twists and turns like the transcontinental railway
And it gets all messed up into a puree
But it don’t end up pretty like a souffle
And as we try to survey
The costs and damages of this ballet
This dance whose story’s on replay
In hopes that we could find a break To break away and be free of this never-ending freeway that pushes us from day-to-day from monday to sunday causing us to cast away and disobey all the order
we hated anyway.
And I won’t let this be a cliche.
Cuz this ain’t common as stars in the milky way.
And if i have to become a Monet or hemingway
To have an effect that will ricochet
Into the minds of the new age,
Then I will accept that challenge with a hurray.
And all of these trials will outweigh.
The pain and suffering served as the entree.
Cuz dessert only comes after the payday.
But you ain’t givin’ me an option
You ain’t tryin’ to make a way.
And yet,
you don’t want me to walk away.
And as I slowly decay.
As I sit here every single day,
I watch the moments slip by It’s like a buffet Of sick moments full of bits of child’s play.
And all this time I only tried to convey The words and thoughts I was tryin’ to say
And all this time I been tryin’ to obey The laws and the rules of this game that we play
And I been tryin’ to meet you halfway.
But you just kept wandering astray.
Cuz life ain’t straight like a hallway
It twists and turns like the transcontinental railway
And it gets all messed up into a puree
But it don’t end up pretty like a souffle
And as we try to survey
The costs and damages of this ballet
This dance whose story’s on replay
In hopes that we could find a break To break away and be free of this never-ending freeway that pushes us from day-to-day from monday to sunday causing us to cast away and disobey all the order
we hated anyway.
And I won’t let this be a cliche.
Cuz this ain’t common as stars in the milky way.
And if i have to become a Monet or hemingway
To have an effect that will ricochet
Into the minds of the new age,
Then I will accept that challenge with a hurray.
And all of these trials will outweigh.
The pain and suffering served as the entree.
Cuz dessert only comes after the payday.
Outsiders
by Lina Zeng
A second-generation immigrant, I remain
beholden to parents flying across divides
to achieve the American Dream, possible
through the issue of a simple green card.
I grieve for others now trudging hundreds
of miles in dirt and desperation to escape
terrains where disobedience means death
by dismemberment. Reaching our threshold,
they beg for the break to follow the Dream
but lack the card that may never surface.
Around the globe, phantom listeners laugh
at unrest festering between Washington’s
red elephants and blue donkeys, stubborn
as animals from which they have robbed
their titles, these leaders sharing this place
we all by happy chance get to call home.
Instead, they build walls at our borders
as other walls rise among ourselves, think
it possible to wall out enemies when we
become enemies to each other and refugees.
History taught us to integrate, not segregate,
black and white; yet today we must select
red or blue. Is this not discrimination too?
A phrase from Walter de la Mare’s “The Listeners” inspired this poem and appears in line 1 of the second verse.
beholden to parents flying across divides
to achieve the American Dream, possible
through the issue of a simple green card.
I grieve for others now trudging hundreds
of miles in dirt and desperation to escape
terrains where disobedience means death
by dismemberment. Reaching our threshold,
they beg for the break to follow the Dream
but lack the card that may never surface.
Around the globe, phantom listeners laugh
at unrest festering between Washington’s
red elephants and blue donkeys, stubborn
as animals from which they have robbed
their titles, these leaders sharing this place
we all by happy chance get to call home.
Instead, they build walls at our borders
as other walls rise among ourselves, think
it possible to wall out enemies when we
become enemies to each other and refugees.
History taught us to integrate, not segregate,
black and white; yet today we must select
red or blue. Is this not discrimination too?
A phrase from Walter de la Mare’s “The Listeners” inspired this poem and appears in line 1 of the second verse.
Imposters
by Lina Zeng
"other women's bodies are not our battlegrounds" --rupi kaur
as i glare at my blotchy skin and pinch my pudgy stomach in the mirror, it whispers lies back to me. scrolling through my feed, countless girls with counterfeit complexions, brushed up bodies, and sham smiles taunt me. but in the moment, i forget social media distorts reality into utopia by posting carefully crafted photos with perfect lighting to make skin glow, angles to accentuate curves and to hide the unwanted, edits to wipe away any blemishes. i ache to hate these girls imposing a beauty standard i crave to fit.
but other girls' bodies are not my battleground. we forget about the human shielded beneath perfection. we try blocking our insecurities with iron skin and cool attitudes, but still insecurities breach our armor. i refuse to tear another girl down when we face the same enemy.
as i glare at my blotchy skin and pinch my pudgy stomach in the mirror, it whispers lies back to me. scrolling through my feed, countless girls with counterfeit complexions, brushed up bodies, and sham smiles taunt me. but in the moment, i forget social media distorts reality into utopia by posting carefully crafted photos with perfect lighting to make skin glow, angles to accentuate curves and to hide the unwanted, edits to wipe away any blemishes. i ache to hate these girls imposing a beauty standard i crave to fit.
but other girls' bodies are not my battleground. we forget about the human shielded beneath perfection. we try blocking our insecurities with iron skin and cool attitudes, but still insecurities breach our armor. i refuse to tear another girl down when we face the same enemy.