Unease
by Chloe Wong
Stare into the midnight sky
Mind racing but heart pulsing slowly
Many thoughts but still feel lonely
It feels abstract but it’s still controlling
No rhyme, rhythm, or reason
Try to remember, try to forget
They tell me, “don’t be upset”
Brain always plagued with regret
I’m okay, it’s clearly a lie
Will this internal chaos ever end?
Is awareness a foe or a friend?
I dare not ask for a hand to lend
Remaining stagnant through the changing seasons
Useless actions to appease my pride
How do I know you’re on my side?
My mind chooses contrition over letting it slide
Mind racing but heart pulsing slowly
Many thoughts but still feel lonely
It feels abstract but it’s still controlling
No rhyme, rhythm, or reason
Try to remember, try to forget
They tell me, “don’t be upset”
Brain always plagued with regret
I’m okay, it’s clearly a lie
Will this internal chaos ever end?
Is awareness a foe or a friend?
I dare not ask for a hand to lend
Remaining stagnant through the changing seasons
Useless actions to appease my pride
How do I know you’re on my side?
My mind chooses contrition over letting it slide
A spark in a dark tunnel
by Hunter McDivitt
A water droplet fell with a plop.
A boy--who was not a boy--stared transfixed at a door.
“Hole” was a better fitting word; it was a looming blackness; a fissure in the world, a crack in the concrete beneath a bridge that one could slip through, if one were inclined to try.
The not-quite-a-boy stared at it, and for a moment the world seemed to flash white in panic, and his eyes turned dark, to match the door’s black hue. He waited a moment. A breath, a pause. A second later, the child slipped between two concrete walls.
He--though he is not the right word--shut his eyes, forcing them to adjust to the darkness. The concrete was cold and unforgiving, wet in places, as the never-ceasing drips continued to fall from the ceiling. Even as the sounds of the water falling echoed, there was silence. Sweet silence. The boy walked.
They took out their phone, switching on the flashlight as the last light from that other world--that world which was now as distant as if it had never been born--faded to nothing. The not-quite-a-boy had been here many times. They knew there was no light at the end of the tunnel.
The only light you got here was the light you brought yourself.
His light--ghostly white against the concrete--shone over a drawing of a cat, blue and black and menacing. A skull, smiling eerily back at them. A drawing of a frog. Words scribbled themselves on every square inch of space, as if vying to be the loudest among the bone-deaf silence. The drawings were angry at the world. Joyous, succeeding in their struggle to bring the sun of that world into this. Glee and pain and sorrow and ache and every emotion imaginable, untold stories hinted at like the corner of a smile, upturned, crystalized into paint on a wall that no one could see. The child felt his heart ease as his eyes glanced across them. He loved every single piece of art--for these were indeed art--that they had seen. The boy’s hand--though he was indeed not a boy--rested on one. Panic flared.
It wasn’t a big drawing. This graffiti was small, unnoticeable, unremarkable. Many would be unable to discern its subject, though perhaps they would appreciate the bright orange hue nonetheless. As his fingers brushed the art, there was a glint in his eye. An echo, reverberating in his mind as if someone had screamed in the tunnel, leaving the sound to bounce across the walls until some voice heard and gave it vain validation.
She had memories that made her bones ache to think of them.
She kept walking, forcing thoughts to remain unthought.
He came to a drain pipe, a crack to the world where light shone, and peered out. There was a couple, walking. The man moved his lips, speaking some clever line the child could not hear. The woman laughed, and put her arm around him. The way they stared at each other’s eyes made the child sick. There was a moment of panic, when she worried the woman’s eyes saw his own--their brown eyes, ankle-level. Then the pair continued on their way, never knowing the other world that watched them.
He kept walking.
The concrete pressed on her, suffocating her, enclosing its shadows behind him when she walked. The weight of her soul, heavy enough to crush her spine. “Let’s do another one,” a voice called with glee, echoing across the concrete.
The boy--who was perhaps a girl--turned their head for a moment, as if wondering if the voice were real.
But alas. It was nothing more than yet another echo.
The boy--why do we persist in calling them a boy?--continued further on their way. They came to a crossroads, where two paths in the darkness stretched their lengths and the old path ceased to be. For a moment, the child faltered. It was easy to lose one’s way in this dark place. They headed down the path to the left.
“The right goes back a few hundred feet,” a voice that had no right to speak told her. “The left one though, it goes back a mile. Lemme show you.”
No! The boy picked up her pace. Her mind was sent reeling now, the sides of the concrete walls tilting and making him dizzy. He tried to contain the thoughts. Tried to leave them buried. This place was hers! No one else’s! This was only half true.
Memories began their customary barrage.
A laugh, a smile. Red cheeks on her face, not matched by his because he was blind.
The drawing was two hands, holding. The child’s friend, who was not a friend. Not for a long time.
The anger came on white hot, and for a moment she was rendered blind by the intensity of her self loathing.
She had never trusted anyone before.
She might never again.
She kept walking, faster now. Trying to leave the memories behind her, the memories that followed her like harpies and stalked her in her sleep and made her wonder what point there was to living another day. Shove them away, shove them down, find something that can distract--
She stopped. Thank god.
A sound broke the perpetual silence of the tunnel: a bag, unzipping. A can, coming out with a metallic thud.
Her latest creation.
She rushed to begin, to continue this piece she began last time she came here. Her hands fumbled, turning over each other, trying to put paint on the wall fast enough to outpace the racing of her heart. She dropped the can, by accident. She was not usually so clumsy.
She took a breath. The drawing could take a moment. Wait, calm. Breathe. She was not calm--
She took out her most vivid red and sprayed it haphazardly on the wall, letting the scribbles and the wild untamed shape take on her wild untamed thoughts and feelings and identity. She let out a low moan. A sob. Something that started weary and old as the world and ground to dust. Then it transformed. She felt an anger rising in the pit of her stomach. A rage swarmed through her body. She started to punch the wall, pounding at it, kicking at it, slamming her shoulder into it until she was bleeding. That drawing wouldn’t get finished today.
She fell to the floor, collapsing into herself as she started to sob.
These were lonely days.
She lay there a long time, thinking thoughts blacker than the world she kept herself locked in. Her parents would learn, someday soon. She couldn’t hide it forever. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. Then, a moment. A rupture. A pause as energy and matter swarmed into cohesion. A consideration, as thoughts followed their course from hesitancy to a plan. She started to feel a little bit better. A sense of urgency took her.
A metallic clunk, as can slid into bag.
She prepared to leave.
The darkness felt freeing. No one could see you, there. No one could ridicule you, or hurt you, or have any thoughts about you at all.
In that darkness, an ember sparked, glowing orange.
A white hot fury met a coal.
The world trembled under the weight of secrets.
In that cavern where the sun didn’t shine. Where the water dripped like tears. Where no one would ever find you. A girl began to dance, and the freedom made her feel like ichor was flowing in her veins.
She went back to that other world, she crawled out of that crack in the earth. And when she did--
She didn’t leave as a boy.
A boy--who was not a boy--stared transfixed at a door.
“Hole” was a better fitting word; it was a looming blackness; a fissure in the world, a crack in the concrete beneath a bridge that one could slip through, if one were inclined to try.
The not-quite-a-boy stared at it, and for a moment the world seemed to flash white in panic, and his eyes turned dark, to match the door’s black hue. He waited a moment. A breath, a pause. A second later, the child slipped between two concrete walls.
He--though he is not the right word--shut his eyes, forcing them to adjust to the darkness. The concrete was cold and unforgiving, wet in places, as the never-ceasing drips continued to fall from the ceiling. Even as the sounds of the water falling echoed, there was silence. Sweet silence. The boy walked.
They took out their phone, switching on the flashlight as the last light from that other world--that world which was now as distant as if it had never been born--faded to nothing. The not-quite-a-boy had been here many times. They knew there was no light at the end of the tunnel.
The only light you got here was the light you brought yourself.
His light--ghostly white against the concrete--shone over a drawing of a cat, blue and black and menacing. A skull, smiling eerily back at them. A drawing of a frog. Words scribbled themselves on every square inch of space, as if vying to be the loudest among the bone-deaf silence. The drawings were angry at the world. Joyous, succeeding in their struggle to bring the sun of that world into this. Glee and pain and sorrow and ache and every emotion imaginable, untold stories hinted at like the corner of a smile, upturned, crystalized into paint on a wall that no one could see. The child felt his heart ease as his eyes glanced across them. He loved every single piece of art--for these were indeed art--that they had seen. The boy’s hand--though he was indeed not a boy--rested on one. Panic flared.
It wasn’t a big drawing. This graffiti was small, unnoticeable, unremarkable. Many would be unable to discern its subject, though perhaps they would appreciate the bright orange hue nonetheless. As his fingers brushed the art, there was a glint in his eye. An echo, reverberating in his mind as if someone had screamed in the tunnel, leaving the sound to bounce across the walls until some voice heard and gave it vain validation.
She had memories that made her bones ache to think of them.
She kept walking, forcing thoughts to remain unthought.
He came to a drain pipe, a crack to the world where light shone, and peered out. There was a couple, walking. The man moved his lips, speaking some clever line the child could not hear. The woman laughed, and put her arm around him. The way they stared at each other’s eyes made the child sick. There was a moment of panic, when she worried the woman’s eyes saw his own--their brown eyes, ankle-level. Then the pair continued on their way, never knowing the other world that watched them.
He kept walking.
The concrete pressed on her, suffocating her, enclosing its shadows behind him when she walked. The weight of her soul, heavy enough to crush her spine. “Let’s do another one,” a voice called with glee, echoing across the concrete.
The boy--who was perhaps a girl--turned their head for a moment, as if wondering if the voice were real.
But alas. It was nothing more than yet another echo.
The boy--why do we persist in calling them a boy?--continued further on their way. They came to a crossroads, where two paths in the darkness stretched their lengths and the old path ceased to be. For a moment, the child faltered. It was easy to lose one’s way in this dark place. They headed down the path to the left.
“The right goes back a few hundred feet,” a voice that had no right to speak told her. “The left one though, it goes back a mile. Lemme show you.”
No! The boy picked up her pace. Her mind was sent reeling now, the sides of the concrete walls tilting and making him dizzy. He tried to contain the thoughts. Tried to leave them buried. This place was hers! No one else’s! This was only half true.
Memories began their customary barrage.
A laugh, a smile. Red cheeks on her face, not matched by his because he was blind.
The drawing was two hands, holding. The child’s friend, who was not a friend. Not for a long time.
The anger came on white hot, and for a moment she was rendered blind by the intensity of her self loathing.
She had never trusted anyone before.
She might never again.
She kept walking, faster now. Trying to leave the memories behind her, the memories that followed her like harpies and stalked her in her sleep and made her wonder what point there was to living another day. Shove them away, shove them down, find something that can distract--
She stopped. Thank god.
A sound broke the perpetual silence of the tunnel: a bag, unzipping. A can, coming out with a metallic thud.
Her latest creation.
She rushed to begin, to continue this piece she began last time she came here. Her hands fumbled, turning over each other, trying to put paint on the wall fast enough to outpace the racing of her heart. She dropped the can, by accident. She was not usually so clumsy.
She took a breath. The drawing could take a moment. Wait, calm. Breathe. She was not calm--
She took out her most vivid red and sprayed it haphazardly on the wall, letting the scribbles and the wild untamed shape take on her wild untamed thoughts and feelings and identity. She let out a low moan. A sob. Something that started weary and old as the world and ground to dust. Then it transformed. She felt an anger rising in the pit of her stomach. A rage swarmed through her body. She started to punch the wall, pounding at it, kicking at it, slamming her shoulder into it until she was bleeding. That drawing wouldn’t get finished today.
She fell to the floor, collapsing into herself as she started to sob.
These were lonely days.
She lay there a long time, thinking thoughts blacker than the world she kept herself locked in. Her parents would learn, someday soon. She couldn’t hide it forever. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. Then, a moment. A rupture. A pause as energy and matter swarmed into cohesion. A consideration, as thoughts followed their course from hesitancy to a plan. She started to feel a little bit better. A sense of urgency took her.
A metallic clunk, as can slid into bag.
She prepared to leave.
The darkness felt freeing. No one could see you, there. No one could ridicule you, or hurt you, or have any thoughts about you at all.
In that darkness, an ember sparked, glowing orange.
A white hot fury met a coal.
The world trembled under the weight of secrets.
In that cavern where the sun didn’t shine. Where the water dripped like tears. Where no one would ever find you. A girl began to dance, and the freedom made her feel like ichor was flowing in her veins.
She went back to that other world, she crawled out of that crack in the earth. And when she did--
She didn’t leave as a boy.
Possibilities
by Chloe Wong
I suppress a smile
Senses in a rile
Feel just like a child
Because of him
Is this normal? I don’t care
Run my hands through my hair
My eyes soften from their glare
Because of him
Desolate heart now feels full
Fluctuating emotions obey no rule
My brain tells my heart that it’s a fool
Because of him
His message chills me to the bone
In a rage, I throw my phone
Once again, all alone
Because of him
Reminiscent of old memories
Down the drain go the possibilities
Hate and longing are my heart’s abilities
Because of him
Looking back, it felt like a sin
Shiver, tingles on my skin
In this game, I cannot win
Because of him
Is it him, or is it me?
In the realm that I can’t see
A future, now decimated, no possibility
Because of him
Senses in a rile
Feel just like a child
Because of him
Is this normal? I don’t care
Run my hands through my hair
My eyes soften from their glare
Because of him
Desolate heart now feels full
Fluctuating emotions obey no rule
My brain tells my heart that it’s a fool
Because of him
His message chills me to the bone
In a rage, I throw my phone
Once again, all alone
Because of him
Reminiscent of old memories
Down the drain go the possibilities
Hate and longing are my heart’s abilities
Because of him
Looking back, it felt like a sin
Shiver, tingles on my skin
In this game, I cannot win
Because of him
Is it him, or is it me?
In the realm that I can’t see
A future, now decimated, no possibility
Because of him
The Fable of the Indecisive Bear
by Matthew Yu
Fila was an indecisive bear. When the other cubs asked her what she wanted to play, her eyes would cloud over and her brain would stop working. When they asked Fila if she wanted to accompany her to the river to catch fish for supper, she would freeze up. Following orders was easy, but when it came to having her own opinion, all she found was a blank canvas, dense and suffocating.
One day, Seija, Fila's close friend, sat her down.
"Fila, you must learn to decide for yourself. In one week's time, you will enter the Trial, and you will learn to think for yourself or die."
"I... don't know how," Fila stammered.
Seija sighed and stalked out of the cave.
The day of the Trial arrived, bright and promising. The sun's golden rays beamed across the secluded glade, and the morning air was fresh and cool. Eyes wide with fear and trepidation, Fila walked to the center of the clearing where all the other cubs were already gathered. Their eyes shined with excitement and eagerness.
Finally, a rustling was heard among the dense foliage, and a massive adult bear emerged into the glade. He carried himself with a sense of purpose and regality, and his thick, brown fur coat glistened in the sunlight. The cubs gazed upon him with awe.
With a deep, booming growl, he said "I am Hazel, and I will be your Trial guide. My job is to lead you into your adult lives. I will now recite the rules. In an hour's time, you will depart from this glade and head due east. You will follow a narrow dirt road through the woods until you reach the wall of dreams. You will enter the wall and depart from cubhood forever. Whatever you do, remember: you each must enter the wall and you each must choose your own path. These woods are no longer for you. Farewell!
As Hazel turned to leave, Seija called out after him: "What if we don't do as you command?"
Hazel's piercing gaze rested upon Seija's form and regarded her for a moment, as if amused.
"Better not to find out. May you find happiness in the Great Beyond, young traveler."
With that, Hazel vanished among the dark boughs. For a minute, none of the young bears dared to move a muscle. Where once they had felt excitement, they now felt fear, for the woodland glade was all they had ever known. It was their entire existence, and they would never see it again. Finally, Ben, one of the more daring cubs, broke the tense silence.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" With a growl, he leapt into the shady woods and was lost to sight. Slowly, the other cubs followed him into the undergrowth. Last of all came Fila. With a mournful glance back, she said a silent farewell to her home and disappeared into the trees. Hesitant as she was to leave the peaceful glade, Hazel had commanded her, and a command had to be obeyed.
In a single file line, the cubs passed through the woods. There was a heavy silence in the air, and the ominous trees cast shadows across the path. Suddenly, Fila sensed a change in the air. The fur on her pelt felt electrified, and a tingling sensation overcame her senses. Next, she noticed a shimmer to the path ahead. Finally came the sound. It was a low buzzing, as of a hive of bees.
The cubs came to a halt beside what had to be the wall of dreams. It was as if the very fabric of reality had been spun into an opaque, glimmering curtain and draped across the path as far as the eye could see. Hues of pink, orange, and yellow spun about the watery surface in mesmerizing patterns.
With a tentative paw, Ben gently touched the surface of the wall. It passed right through as if nothing were barring the way. He glanced back with a grin, took a deep breath and trod forward, disappearing from view. One by one, the cubs filed after him. Finally only Seija and Fila were left. Fila was trembling from snout to paw. With an affectionate nudge, Seija whispered, "It's all right. I'm right behind you."
Fila nodded, squeezed her eyes tight, and walked through the veil. When she opened her eyes, she couldn't help but gasp. Upon a field of green, doors radiated away from her as far as she could see. Doors of all shapes and sizes, colors and designs. And they were all wide open. Curiously enough, it appeared that no door led anywhere. They were merely openings to nowhere. Beside her, Seija's eyes were wide. On a nearby hillside, Fila could see a sign with the disturbing words: Welcome to the other side - keep moving, or perish.
The other cubs were already moving towards the first set of doors. Seija gave her a gentle nudge. "Come on, I'll take the green one, you take the red one." With a bound, Seija entered the large green wooden door and was instantly lost to sight. Fila was tempted to follow, but remembered Hazel's warnings and decided against it.
Hesitantly, she approached a bright red door adjacent to the green one that Seija had leapt into and stepped through.
Cold. A frosty, biting wind slammed into Fila, cutting through her thick fur and seeming to freeze her very heart. She was standing upon a stony mountainside, and it was night. Looking up, she could not see any moon or stars. Amidst the darkness, the land below was shrouded in a deep shadow and it seemed that there were no trees or growing things on that mountainside—just more gray stone. Shivering, she turned around to try to go back, but the door had vanished! There was no way back, and she was alone. More than anything, she missed Seija and the peaceful glade. With a whimper, she found a shallow dip in the stony ground and laid down to wait for the morning if it came.
Morning dawned cold and gray. Fila could now make out that the land below was much the same as the mountain. Stretching away in all directions was a gray, ashen plain. She could spot no signs of life anywhere. With a sigh, she turned back to the shallow depression, and a dash of color appeared at the corner of her eye. Merely a stone's throw away was another door! This one was a deep dark purple hue and had an elegantly carved door handle of gold. Right beside it was a slightly larger door that was a plain white color and had a simple brass knob handle.
Cautiously, Fila approached the purple door and inspected its features. The purple color had an air of mystery and promise to it, and the golden handle was one of the most beautiful and wondrous things she had ever seen. However, Fila had doubts. What if such beauty was designed to be deceiving? What if this door led her into an even darker place? So she turned away.
The white door had a more homely air about it. Fila desperately wanted to trust it. It seemed to make none of the bold, majestic promises the purple door had. Instead, it hinted at contentment and simplicity. Something held her back, however. Why should she place so much trust on her feelings? It seemed wrong to make such a seemingly lofty decision based on the invisible sense she felt from the inanimate thing.
So she waited. And she pondered. And waited. And pondered. Finally, the sky darkened and the cold pierced her hide like needles. Curling up in the shallow dip, she fell asleep and resolved to decide in the morning.
In the morning, the doors were gone. No trace of them could be seen although she searched fruitlessly for hours and hours. They were truly gone.
Every day, she turned her gaze to the spot, yet the doors never reappeared. 20 long years passed, and weakness grew in Fila's limbs, and the tides of time claimed her. To this day, it is said that Fila's spirit roams that mountainside, ever searching for the doors and never finding them.
One day, Seija, Fila's close friend, sat her down.
"Fila, you must learn to decide for yourself. In one week's time, you will enter the Trial, and you will learn to think for yourself or die."
"I... don't know how," Fila stammered.
Seija sighed and stalked out of the cave.
The day of the Trial arrived, bright and promising. The sun's golden rays beamed across the secluded glade, and the morning air was fresh and cool. Eyes wide with fear and trepidation, Fila walked to the center of the clearing where all the other cubs were already gathered. Their eyes shined with excitement and eagerness.
Finally, a rustling was heard among the dense foliage, and a massive adult bear emerged into the glade. He carried himself with a sense of purpose and regality, and his thick, brown fur coat glistened in the sunlight. The cubs gazed upon him with awe.
With a deep, booming growl, he said "I am Hazel, and I will be your Trial guide. My job is to lead you into your adult lives. I will now recite the rules. In an hour's time, you will depart from this glade and head due east. You will follow a narrow dirt road through the woods until you reach the wall of dreams. You will enter the wall and depart from cubhood forever. Whatever you do, remember: you each must enter the wall and you each must choose your own path. These woods are no longer for you. Farewell!
As Hazel turned to leave, Seija called out after him: "What if we don't do as you command?"
Hazel's piercing gaze rested upon Seija's form and regarded her for a moment, as if amused.
"Better not to find out. May you find happiness in the Great Beyond, young traveler."
With that, Hazel vanished among the dark boughs. For a minute, none of the young bears dared to move a muscle. Where once they had felt excitement, they now felt fear, for the woodland glade was all they had ever known. It was their entire existence, and they would never see it again. Finally, Ben, one of the more daring cubs, broke the tense silence.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" With a growl, he leapt into the shady woods and was lost to sight. Slowly, the other cubs followed him into the undergrowth. Last of all came Fila. With a mournful glance back, she said a silent farewell to her home and disappeared into the trees. Hesitant as she was to leave the peaceful glade, Hazel had commanded her, and a command had to be obeyed.
In a single file line, the cubs passed through the woods. There was a heavy silence in the air, and the ominous trees cast shadows across the path. Suddenly, Fila sensed a change in the air. The fur on her pelt felt electrified, and a tingling sensation overcame her senses. Next, she noticed a shimmer to the path ahead. Finally came the sound. It was a low buzzing, as of a hive of bees.
The cubs came to a halt beside what had to be the wall of dreams. It was as if the very fabric of reality had been spun into an opaque, glimmering curtain and draped across the path as far as the eye could see. Hues of pink, orange, and yellow spun about the watery surface in mesmerizing patterns.
With a tentative paw, Ben gently touched the surface of the wall. It passed right through as if nothing were barring the way. He glanced back with a grin, took a deep breath and trod forward, disappearing from view. One by one, the cubs filed after him. Finally only Seija and Fila were left. Fila was trembling from snout to paw. With an affectionate nudge, Seija whispered, "It's all right. I'm right behind you."
Fila nodded, squeezed her eyes tight, and walked through the veil. When she opened her eyes, she couldn't help but gasp. Upon a field of green, doors radiated away from her as far as she could see. Doors of all shapes and sizes, colors and designs. And they were all wide open. Curiously enough, it appeared that no door led anywhere. They were merely openings to nowhere. Beside her, Seija's eyes were wide. On a nearby hillside, Fila could see a sign with the disturbing words: Welcome to the other side - keep moving, or perish.
The other cubs were already moving towards the first set of doors. Seija gave her a gentle nudge. "Come on, I'll take the green one, you take the red one." With a bound, Seija entered the large green wooden door and was instantly lost to sight. Fila was tempted to follow, but remembered Hazel's warnings and decided against it.
Hesitantly, she approached a bright red door adjacent to the green one that Seija had leapt into and stepped through.
Cold. A frosty, biting wind slammed into Fila, cutting through her thick fur and seeming to freeze her very heart. She was standing upon a stony mountainside, and it was night. Looking up, she could not see any moon or stars. Amidst the darkness, the land below was shrouded in a deep shadow and it seemed that there were no trees or growing things on that mountainside—just more gray stone. Shivering, she turned around to try to go back, but the door had vanished! There was no way back, and she was alone. More than anything, she missed Seija and the peaceful glade. With a whimper, she found a shallow dip in the stony ground and laid down to wait for the morning if it came.
Morning dawned cold and gray. Fila could now make out that the land below was much the same as the mountain. Stretching away in all directions was a gray, ashen plain. She could spot no signs of life anywhere. With a sigh, she turned back to the shallow depression, and a dash of color appeared at the corner of her eye. Merely a stone's throw away was another door! This one was a deep dark purple hue and had an elegantly carved door handle of gold. Right beside it was a slightly larger door that was a plain white color and had a simple brass knob handle.
Cautiously, Fila approached the purple door and inspected its features. The purple color had an air of mystery and promise to it, and the golden handle was one of the most beautiful and wondrous things she had ever seen. However, Fila had doubts. What if such beauty was designed to be deceiving? What if this door led her into an even darker place? So she turned away.
The white door had a more homely air about it. Fila desperately wanted to trust it. It seemed to make none of the bold, majestic promises the purple door had. Instead, it hinted at contentment and simplicity. Something held her back, however. Why should she place so much trust on her feelings? It seemed wrong to make such a seemingly lofty decision based on the invisible sense she felt from the inanimate thing.
So she waited. And she pondered. And waited. And pondered. Finally, the sky darkened and the cold pierced her hide like needles. Curling up in the shallow dip, she fell asleep and resolved to decide in the morning.
In the morning, the doors were gone. No trace of them could be seen although she searched fruitlessly for hours and hours. They were truly gone.
Every day, she turned her gaze to the spot, yet the doors never reappeared. 20 long years passed, and weakness grew in Fila's limbs, and the tides of time claimed her. To this day, it is said that Fila's spirit roams that mountainside, ever searching for the doors and never finding them.
Curse of the Dark
by Roshni Sudhakar
It desires to escape the curse of the dark
There’s impatience in the hopeless sky of midnight
Threats keep shrieking like banshees
To feel the ghastly glares when nobody’s truly around
A hope hears beyond the emotions described
It whispers that the door is the way
Powerful like the curse of the dark
Unlocking the truth that hasn’t been spoken
To answer all the questions
All in the name of hope
To smile all day with cheerful laughter ringing in the beyond
Each day passing with memories of adventurous delights
Just one turn of a doorknob to make the curse of the dark into moonlight
There’s impatience in the hopeless sky of midnight
Threats keep shrieking like banshees
To feel the ghastly glares when nobody’s truly around
A hope hears beyond the emotions described
It whispers that the door is the way
Powerful like the curse of the dark
Unlocking the truth that hasn’t been spoken
To answer all the questions
All in the name of hope
To smile all day with cheerful laughter ringing in the beyond
Each day passing with memories of adventurous delights
Just one turn of a doorknob to make the curse of the dark into moonlight
Effloresce
by Anna Dobbelaere
a break between two days.
a moment of reflection; of anticipation
the well known; the unknown
who has stayed; who will go
memories made
memories I am still yet to experience,
memories I will reminisce on for years to come
no telling of what will become of tomorrow
but will I even remember what became of today?
will this moment of confusion be immortally forgotten
last week, last month, last year
what has changed?
what is still waiting to effloresce into
something new
A Night in Two Parts
by Helen Li
At the Edge of the Night
At the edge of the night I stumbled and found myself free-falling through the ether In the darkness I saw memories and thoughts
that loomed like crags of rock and phantom ships
My body hit one and shattered into a thousand jagged pieces I tried to gather up the shards but they fell far and wide
and disappeared into the gloom
Then I was nothing, and no one.
Tarantella Dreams
In the shadow of the unborn moon my
dreams danced a spritely jig around my resting-place
They tapped their feet and waved their arms and caressed my dying face And when the sun started to peek its head up from under the distant shore My dreams fell to the ground in a restless sleep, a picture of mortis rigor When the sun rose up and spilled like egg yolk into the frozen valley
My dreams were gone; they danced no more.
At the edge of the night I stumbled and found myself free-falling through the ether In the darkness I saw memories and thoughts
that loomed like crags of rock and phantom ships
My body hit one and shattered into a thousand jagged pieces I tried to gather up the shards but they fell far and wide
and disappeared into the gloom
Then I was nothing, and no one.
Tarantella Dreams
In the shadow of the unborn moon my
dreams danced a spritely jig around my resting-place
They tapped their feet and waved their arms and caressed my dying face And when the sun started to peek its head up from under the distant shore My dreams fell to the ground in a restless sleep, a picture of mortis rigor When the sun rose up and spilled like egg yolk into the frozen valley
My dreams were gone; they danced no more.
The Burbs
by Helen Li
The suburbs are flat
So flat that you would hardly remember to look up
Cookie cutter houses that stretch on and on and on
Look up! I say
Look up!
See the sky smudged with acrylic clouds
See the yellow-bellied birds sprinkled like dewdrops among the trees Look up! I say
Look up!
The suburbs are dry
So dry that in the summertime the sidewalks shrivel up under the hard-boiled sun
But in the spring the rains come and go
and sprinklers spritz a ch-ch ch-ch percussion
that soak the sidewalks and rouse the mornings
Soon the slumberers and sleepwalkers will awaken
the sprinklers return to their places of modesty
and a hundred dragging, meandering feet
stamp the water out of the concrete―
the sun-baked suburbs are arid and crispy
Lately I’ve been racing the sun
I wake in the hazy before-dawn
Night! That’s what it should be called
For morning doesn’t begin till the birds start to sing
The suburbs are my own, my whole, my home
I dance with the birds and sing with the leaves
and though I hear the sounds of the sky up above
Do I really need to look?
The suburbs are a benevolent beast
sprawled out at eye level, flat enough that eventually I’ll forget
to lift my gaze to greater horizons.
So flat that you would hardly remember to look up
Cookie cutter houses that stretch on and on and on
Look up! I say
Look up!
See the sky smudged with acrylic clouds
See the yellow-bellied birds sprinkled like dewdrops among the trees Look up! I say
Look up!
The suburbs are dry
So dry that in the summertime the sidewalks shrivel up under the hard-boiled sun
But in the spring the rains come and go
and sprinklers spritz a ch-ch ch-ch percussion
that soak the sidewalks and rouse the mornings
Soon the slumberers and sleepwalkers will awaken
the sprinklers return to their places of modesty
and a hundred dragging, meandering feet
stamp the water out of the concrete―
the sun-baked suburbs are arid and crispy
Lately I’ve been racing the sun
I wake in the hazy before-dawn
Night! That’s what it should be called
For morning doesn’t begin till the birds start to sing
The suburbs are my own, my whole, my home
I dance with the birds and sing with the leaves
and though I hear the sounds of the sky up above
Do I really need to look?
The suburbs are a benevolent beast
sprawled out at eye level, flat enough that eventually I’ll forget
to lift my gaze to greater horizons.