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Editor in Chief Misha Kydd
Director of Writing Bridget Iverson
Director of Art Ryan Peden-Spear
Directors of Layout, Design, & Not Building an
Orbital Laser in our Backyard. Really. We Promise Joe Adkisson, Will Adkisson
Director of Proof-Reading Sierra Makaris
Staff Extraordinaire:
Elizabeth Cummin
Eli Dorney
Braeden Hughes
Eric Iverson
Ashley James
Katelyn Jewell
Marissa Kelemen
Elizabeth Morris
Emily Mulvihill
Megan Reilly
Juliana Skelly
Ceilidh Peden-Spear
Marcia WhiteRebecca Young
MMuse Staf
AdvisorJennier Adkisson
Art & Photo Credits:
Cover & Inside Cover: Marcia White
Cover Design: Joe & Will Adkisson
Masthead: Dylan Sylvester
Page 1: Megan Reilly
Page 2: Lindsey Flanders
Page 3: Nichole Bergeron
Page 3: Christine Hallock
Page 4: Sylvia Esmay
Page 5: Emma Hartswick
Page 6: Marcia White
Page 7: Megan Reilly
Page 8: Ryan Peden-Spear
Page 8-9: Megan Reilly
Page 10-11: Maya Bower
Page 12: Ryan Peden-Spear
Page 13: Noelle Kichura
Page 14: Dakota Deady
Page 14: Annavitte RandPage 15: Meaghan Hughes
Page 15: Lindsey Flanders
Page 16-17: Victoria Mousely
Page 18: Sarah Buxton
Page 19: Ryan Peden-Spear
Page 20: Dylan Sylvester
Back Cover: Lisa MacKenzie
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1
Shall I, for tonight, think in fireflies,
morse code, condensed
inspiration, those tiny stars, this night
& the grass gone monochrome,
black, dirt; swings, songs
& voicesshall I, for tonight, just list
wordsshall I confess?
I write for peopletonight I write for you.
A toastthe mosquitoes drink
in our honor, they drink our honor
thicker than watera toast!
to this place, to this evening, seeds,
to fireflies! & pine needles,
to ears. to lips. to Who are you
to me so far? to Who are we but chance?
- Bridget Iverson
As the frigid gusts of autumn rage
The sun retires early in the sky.
A scene of sleep is set on natures stage
All things green will slumber and will die.
The leaves fly to the ground in sweet repose
And barren trunks are clothed in a fine frost.
In this crystal nightcap trees will doze
As flora flees and rocks become de-mossed.
So does autumn put the man to rest
And hair like leaves grow somnolent and fallAnd as the trees in frosty robes are dressed
Sickness shrouds the man in wintery pall.
Yet spring results from each autumn before
And so the man may yet be spry once more.
- Alli Green
Stars
Laying in the grass,
Of the field,
Behind my house,
The dark velvet of the sky,
Dips around the invisible curve of the earth.
These pinpoints,
These small pinpoints of light,
Fascinate me.
Entrance me.
Call to me.
Not in a way,
That makes me want to go up.
But in a way,
That makes me want to stay down,
And want to watch.The Dippers, big and small,
Slip towards me,
Asking to scoop me up.
Orion, waving his arms in battle,
Crying for help.
Ursa Major, the bear,
His jaws open in a fearsome roar.
Pegasus, his wings spread wide.
The Seven Sisters, dancing slowly around the sky.
Winter comes,
And Orion disappears,Taking Betelgeuse with him.
- Cami Douglas
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There is something
indescribable,
so despicable
in the way the waves
refused to hold me.
Tide-breakers
smashed against my wallsbut I refused to crack.
The dams in my lungs
did not shatter
& my chest did not flood.
But the mountains
mocked me
whilst I floated,
high & mighty
above their
grammatical imperfections.
The cliffs would not
echo the subjunctive
when I shouted your name,
always screaming,
If I were there
(if I was there),
you wouldnt be crying
(you wouldnt be crying).
If I could be an entitygreater than myself,
I would be the ocean,
steady, sure, & constant.
My words would form
saltwater waves
& youd cause my
ever-present tide.
This ink would prove
thicker than water
& Id immortalize you,
Selene, keep you aliveforever.
Can you see me
drifting through these walls,
these cement barriers
trapping me
between the lines
of my own poetry?
The Relocationist
Can you see me jaywalking
across the skyway?
My astrologer always told me
I was a being of the earth,
yet I yearned to fly,
to soar above the tormentthis body had offered me.
I wanted to be a source of light,
some far-off star
that you could only see
on the clear nights of autumn,
your telescope trained
where your eyes darent look.
Life was a leap of faith
Id never opted to take,
yet jump I did.I still havent hit rock-bottom
of this penniless well
& Ive grown accustomed
to the melancholy darkness
of grey-cloud skies.
There was a fire
on the horizon
years ago
that seared my irises.
They hadnt burned
in ages
& the beauty
wet my eyes
in a way this smoky fog
never had.
I once breathedflames
that were white-hot
& skin-scorching.
I dont think she everforgave me for that.
Burns are different
than cuts or scrapes.
The latter bleed & scab
& bleed again
until you teach yourself
to let them go.
Burns blister
& make yourfingers
Lindsey Flanders
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go numb.
I dont think I ever apologized.
I was & always have been
earthbound,
regardless of my craving
to taste the other elements.
Logic tells me that gravitywill keep me here
for as long as my atoms
retain this form.
This body is my cage
& only in freefall
can I believe
I have wings.
The blazing heat
of the supernovas
deep within my pupils
melts the wax
& I, Prince Icarus,
find myself crashing
towards my reflection,
my existence pooled
in an effervescent shadow
just beneath the waves.
I am suspended here
in this hellish limbo& I have never felt
so alive.
- Katelyn Jewell
Sky Games
I wish I couldfly.
I wouldfly high up above the clouds,
Gliding along rays of sweet sunshine.
I wish I couldfly.
I would hop-scotch across the rain clouds,
Jump-rope with daring birds,
Leap frog with commercial jets,
Patty-cake with spirits.
Let condensation bead on my lips,
Sweet butterfly kisses.
I wish I couldfly.I would dance across the wide expanse of blue,
Sing to fill the silence that is more alive
Than anything.
Harmonize with the song
That no one hears,
But everyone feels.
I wish I couldfly.
I would tap dance on the petals of the flowers in the sky,
Samba throughout the everlasting vastness.
Una fiesta en el cielo!
I wish I couldfly.
I wouldfill the air
With everything that is missing.
And when night falls,
I would kiss the stars goodnight
And tuck the moon into bed.
I would whisper through the fog
And refuse to go back home.
- Rebecca Young
Nichole Bergeron
Christine Hallock
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May Days
Circa 300 BCE
Romans break from work and war
To gather in praise of the goddess Flore
And celebrate the miracle of spring.
They sing; they sing.
Unbeknownst to the Romans,
Celts and Germans dance a wide girth
In fete of Natures verdant rebirth
Round Beltane and Walpurgis
From deep primal urges:
Cry, Make us whole
Maypole.
Circa 1300 CE
In England, each village dances into May
In Germany, Tanzen in den Mai
Where girls about the Maypole whirl
In a florid, visual delight
With the whole of the natural world to unfurl
To the light, to the light.
May Day!
1886
Natures choking a bit
In Chicagos Haymarket Square
Where Anarchists fight to make it fair.
Bombs burst,
Yet fail to
Slake the thirst
Of a million-man
Workforce wanting first
Hungry! Hungry for wages, hungry for land,
Hungry for a piece of the damn pie. Mayday, mayday!
2010
Now grown and glutted on more than pie,
A middle class refuses to die.
The burst of that 1886 day
Drinks heavily this May
From the growing ink spot in the Gulf sea
That I see on the flat-screen TV.
Then that night at the sports bar
The M&M mans M&M car
Drinks lustily, too, from that ink spot
With its gaping funnel and roils the plot
Magnified on HDTVs
Count em, sixty-oneThat also drink from
The ink spots well
In that gulf of Hell.
Mayday, mayday, mayday.
- Bucky Brandt
Sylvia Esmay
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Friday
It was Friday, late afternoon. I had just gotten
a ride home from a friend. I opened the front
door, dropped my stuff off, and went to get
the mail. A few minutes after, I saw my dadsbright red Saab pull into the driveway. He
parked and quickly got out of the car. I asked
him what was going on; he usually arrives
home around seven. He told me hed left a
message that said he was coming home early.
Annoyed that my afternoon alone had
been disrupted, I went inside. In the middle
of looking through the mail, I noticed my dad
lingering awkwardly in the dining room. He
turned to me and said, Nana is very sick. She
had a brain aneurism.I started racking my brain. I knew that
word; its bad, isnt it?
It looks like shes not going to make
it.
I instantly burst into tears. The next
hour was a blur. A blur of tears, phone calls,
and a hot chocolate with too much powder at
the bottom.
We went, my dad and I, to the hospital.
I tried to create a lighter atmosphere and stay
optimistic by singing along with the radio in
the car, but to no avail. When we got to the
hospital, it took about ten minutes to find the
Intensive Care Unit. Level four, room eleven.
We called to see if we could go in because the
ICU was behind locked doors. They said yes.
We walked in.
I saw Nana, red hair shining just as
bright as every other day. But she was lying
in a hospital bed, eyes closed, and white tape
securing some equipment to her mouth. Wewere summoned back into the hallway. A
doctor was in the room, and we couldnt go in.
We waited in the hallway for what seemed like
hours.
Seeing my nana like that was one of
the most difficult things Ive ever experi-
enced. She was one of the strongest people I
knew. And she was laying on a hospital bed, with a
machine breathing for her. It was taped to her face.
Distorting it.
I didnt know what to say. My mom said
Nana could hear us but couldnt acknowledge us;
my mom said we could hug her, kiss her, talk toher, hold her hand. I stood there awkwardly for a
bit, and then I stepped forward and rubbed her hand
through the blanket. Mom said I could hold her
hand, so I did. We were like that for a while, hand
in hand, while I thought of all the things I wanted to
tell her, hoping she would get my message telepath-
ically. I think that she did.
Once, ever so slightly, I thought I felt her
hand tighten on mine. I told her that I was there,
but the slight smile on her face told me that she
already knew.
Soon, it was time to say goodbye for the
day. I hugged her through the various wire con-
nected to her and kissed her. I told her I loved her
and I would see her tomorrow. I kissed her two
more times on the cheek, said a few more words,
and left. My mom pulled me aside and said that
they didnt know when she would pass away, and
that theyre might not be a tomorrow. I told her I
needed to go back once more to Nana. I hugged
her and told her repeatedly how much I loved her.I kissed her once more and stood up to get one last
full look at her. Then I saw her lips move, just
slightly. As if she was trying to give me her last
kiss. I leaned down and kissed her softly on the
chin.
I love you so much, I whispered.
- Justine Tibbits
Emma Hartswick
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Gross You Out
I woke up to shaved sandpaper
where my eyeballs used to be;
bones splintered by lunching mealworms;
brain liquefied by radioactive sludge
shining slime-green in my grey matter.
The universe took an eggbeater to my spleen
and bore forth something raw, something
middling between half-alive and mostly-dead.
Humanity souffl. I woke up to joints
twisted under oppressive gravity,
and its all I can do pick up my pen and write:
theyre coming for you, too.- Sierra Makaris
I Lie
I lie to keep myself alive, to keep myself awake.
I lie to make the dreams stay down and to continue to be fake.
I lie to keep him close to me, to keep him in the dark.
I lie to ensure that Cupid aims and shoots true to the mark.
I lie to hide who I really am and lie to beat her down.I lie to mask the pain and tears, to rise up from the ground.
My pain brings hope and grants me wings to fly so far away.
Running from my hopes and fears, keeping them at bay.
Im not who you suppose I am, Im not that girl at all.
The real true me, I push her down, laughing as she falls.
- Aiden Pichette
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The Writer Writes
Why does the writer write in prose?
because of its beauty I suppose
it is the beat of the music that you can not hear
but when the words are spoken theyre crystal clear
it is the painting brushed from the artists eyeso beautiful it sometimes makes you cry
it is the sculptor at the wheel, his hands in motion
his minds eye took shape with determined devotion.
-Marion Surprenant
You will find your courage
From deep within
To stay steady
As life throws all its got at you.
From new life to death,From relaxation to stress,
And yet you survive,
A shining light in a world of dark,
A beacon to lead the way for others
When they are lost.
You will find your strength
And help others find theirs.
Reach for the stars.
You have the courage to do anything
If only you try.
You will find your courageAs you live life strong and unstoppable
For you know
That dreams can come true
If only you try.
Dont hold back,
Let loose with all youve got,
Show you true self,
No one can stop you.
No matter how fast life flies by,
You have the power to slow it down.
You can control your path in life,
You can make it around those corners
And still survive to see what lies ahead.
- Ceilidh Peden-Spear
ill find yo r c
m deep within
o stay steady
s life throws all i
m new life to
Courage
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Three Hundred Years
Its been three hundred years now, I think, though it is hard to judge the passage of time when I
never sleep and never stray into the sun. Three hundred years since I ventured out boldly, rashly, armed
with a vial of holy water and a dug-up fence post, and the thing I sought turned me into what he was. I built
a castle in Romania, mostly for the style, but also so the rumors of a horror lurking on the moors would
bring a fearful solitude instead of the police. Sometimes people come out to the castle. They are clever,
having deciphered the riddles, but nave. Girls come, sometimes, seeking their Edward, or scholars lookingto run controlled experiments to determine details of my cravings. I send them away, if I can, before the
hunger overcomes what willpower I still possess after all this time. I am not a monster. I would not have
anyone live as I do.
For three hundred years I have lived here, alone in my lonely castle on the moors. And when the
mob finds me, armed as I once was with stakes and crosses and strings of garlic around every mans neck, I
will sadden. For although they are strong, a vampire is stronger; I will drink my fill that night.
- Will Adkisson
Im a vampire
Skin like snow and lips pure red
But Im no freaking Princess
I may be the fairest but to no one am I ever fair
Your blood is my drug
And I will possess your heart
Dont give me Twilight
I may not sparkleBut my bite is quite a brilliance
- Devon Preston
Vampire
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My Lover Lies in My Leaded Arms
My lover lies in my leaded arms. His pulse has beaten a tattoo in the base of his neck, a faint pur-
plish bruise that lies so sweetly still. The steady thrum of life that echoed throughout the cavernous pit in
my chest fled in the night like an ill-advised lover. His eyes, which had been molded with the sky itself, lie
fixed upon my face, the faintest trace of a smile on his perfect lips. Numbly I lean over, hoping to feel the
sweetness of his breath on my cheek, hoping for him to shiver and fold my arms around his being. But no
movement, not even a twitch to ease my aching, bleeding, needing soul. He lies dead, so far away, even ashe sleeps in my warm embrace. Goosebumps march along the base of my neck, almost like ghostly finger-
tips were grazing across my skin. The knife lays on the bed stand, almost within my grasp, but Im fearful
that if I move, he will fall and be gone from my hands. We lie there for an eternity, me stroking his face, his
hair, just like we used to. The comforting weight of him lulls me into believing that hes not dead, merely
sleeping. That he will awaken and smile and draw me closer to taste the passion that blooms on his lips.
But too much time has passed and I now cannot help but face the truth; hes gone and Im alone.
-Anonymous
Cold Blackness
I watch him lie there. He shifts in his
sleep. He turns, and each time he turns, another
whimper, another shudder, another tear escapes.
The moonlight seems to strike him at an odd
angle. Shadows shift, covering his back, his arm,
his wrist. He flings a hand over the dew-covered
night grass. The fingers uncurl, and there, upon his
palm, another shadow stirs to life. He twists, and
on his smooth bare chest there is an empty space
of stars and blackness, deep, deep, something fall-
ing in the cold blackness, crying to be heard. He,
himself, falling while I watch fascinated and do
not move even as those stars wheel suddenly into
the sky. I try to count them as they go, as they blur
past the trees dappling the sky.
I slowly and gently reach for his pale,
elegant hand and hold onto it as my only salvation,
as my only way to keep him safe. I sigh softly
and lay beside him, holding that hand close to
my heart, never wanting to release it. I uncurl hisfingers to fit mine perfectly between them. As I do
so, I again look upon his palm. There in his hand
rests a single star. I watch trembling as it splits to
form two, one gliding with a small tingling sen-
sation into my own palm. Then we are falling,
falling, into the cold blackness in his scarred sad
soul . . .
- Juliana Skelly
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The grass is green
The skies are blue
The clouds are grey
As I think of you
The hot summer heat beat down on the
theater. He worked, alone, in the dark behind
stage. Young, only an apprentice. He ran the
lighting board as the singers came and went
through the Cabaret. As the night came, the
songs got lonelier and sadder, mostly old smooth
jazz, speaking of lost loves and broken hearts.
Alone - in the world of dark, silently pacing
underneath the shadow strewn rafters, quickly
darting past patches of light from the old hole
lined curtain. As the night was drawing to a close,
he set the lights and silently disappeared into the
lobby, completely devoid of people, heard thebittersweet solo, sung beautifully by the young
actress on stage. How he longed for a partner to
dance with, but he was alone.
He danced by himself, sadly, lonely,
minuscule in the eye of the galaxy, of the
universe. He slowly walked back, through the
side door, into the dark. He slowly walked back,
occasionally peaking through the curtains at the
pretty actress. He slowly shuffled back to his seat
as the song drew to its heart wrenching climax.
The actress walked off stage, brushing past him,
giving him a nod with a sad look of compassion
in her eye.
As he sat down he looked out the window
to the right of him, out into the lonely darkness on
that hot summer night. As he gazed out, it began
to rain with a faint, distant boom of thunder. The
rain fell softly at first, as the last handful of songs
came to a close. The crowd slowly shuffled out of
the theater into the night, still unaware the lonely
man existed, and he cleaned up the back of the stage,
utterly alone, in the dark. The only sound was the
soft, slow swish of his broom as he swept away all
the memories.
He shut off the light of his lights, his
beautiful, beautiful lights, and began to cry as he
flipped the final breaker. He slumped in his chair as
the rain turned to torrent, his tears as numerous as
the drops of rain. He eventually stopped and peered
out into the black night. The rain came down and the
wind blew through the trees, almost as lonely as he.With a final, solem movement, he stood and
looked, one last time, at his beautiful lights. He
closed the door, picked up his coat, and put it on as
he walked through the dark, silent, deserted theater.
He got to the door and picked up the sign on the
floor, hanging it on the door. Closed Indefinitely, it
read. He turned, gazed one last time into the lonely,
sad theater. With the deed done, he locked the door
and walked out of the theater, the last man to ever be
there, the last caretaker, his last love.
And with that, he walked through the rainand wind, through the strife and silence, into the
dark, and you would have sworn you could hear the
smooth jazz playing on the night air.
- Shevla
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For Granted
Do you still take me
For that love stuffed teddy bear
Dusty on your shelf?
One buttons missing
I sit in my miseryFully neglected
My heart of stuffing
Has broken; bitterness seeps
Through moth eaten holes
Was I only your childhood plaything
A toy
To be thrown away?
- Elizabeth Cummin
Hunger,
We all know what it is.
We have all felt it before,
When you skip breakfast to try to shed that pound,
Or when dinner is later than usual.
But do we really know hunger.
The clawing, debilitating pain in your stomach,
The weakness that eclipses everything,The uncertainty of when the next meal will come,
If it will ever come,
The embarrassment of standing in line at the soup kitchen,
Feeling like everyone is looking down on you,
Your hungry children that look up to you
With questions written all over their faces,
Questions that you do not know how to answer or quench.
What is hunger, really?
Whenever I say that I am starving,
Because I only ate one bowl of cereal for breakfast,
I do not think of all those people,
Who cant remember when they last ate a bowl of anything.
If I am starving, then what are they?
-Ellie Pitmon
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Rain clouds
Though the sky is grey and indistinct,
It doesnt rain.
Everything looks sadder in the grey.
The tall trunked trees grow solemn,
The wicker chairs cold.
The cobblestones show their moss.The birds are off,
Hiding from the impending storm,
Wary of the sky,
So much like a sleek, grey cat.
The cats, too, are uninterested,
Lying near the door,
Making a show of keeping inside.
Andfinally,
When the rain clouds break down,
Drips at first,
Drops,
There is no relief from the disquiet,
From the tristesse du monde.
The rain is colder
Than it should be,
Too cold,
Too sad,
Too lonely for today.
Sitting and waiting for the storm to pass,
I hear just the ticking-tock of the rain,The clicking snap of the clock,
And the soft time keeping of my heart.
- Emma Hadden
Wings of Intangibility
Violet silk bleedslike ancient wine
across
flame-seared tapestries
of cobalt earth.
Charred remains
of sage brush and dark wood
drown
in rivers
of parched rocks,
thirsting in the umber sun.
The planes of rock split
where thin arches once lingered,
and moth-like,
her raven hairflits around her
shadowed countenance.
She shifts gracefully
in the smoke-steeped air,
traversing the length of imagination
just above
the memories of tangibility.
On her,
wings would be a mere
redundancy.
- Braeden Hughes
Dakota Deady
Annavitte Rand
School vs. Learning
An academic dilemna
To learn is the passion
School, the obstacle that
often gets in the way.
- Ariana Matthews-Salzman
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Take one look
These mirrors contort
They hate me
Degrade me
These mirrors deform
Take one look
Is that you in the glass?
Or is it a strangerWho keeps looking back?
You seize us
And tease us
Control us
To please us
I give into fear
Take one look
These mirrors surround me
I spin and I turn
But theyre still all around me
Look in the mirror
All that we see
All that we are
All we can be
I take one look
My reflection complete
I tear down these mirrors
Until my image is free.
- Gabby Mantone
Unchained She stands alone Watching and waiting
Knowingthere
sonlysomuchtimeThebattleth
athasbeengoingonforyearsIsc
omingtoanend.SheknowsandunderstandsWhatwillhappenWhatherworldwillbecome.
Thewavesofemotionswarm
Andflowover
herAsshestandstall Ready to continue the fight. The fight that she is chained
to.ThechainthatholdsherthereBindsher,holdinghercaptiveAndsoonthelinkswillshatter.SettingherfreeTobewhoshewants
to
be.-MeaghanHughes
Lindsey Flanders
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Smile
The sky is shrouded black;
a thick heavy mask that yields to no one.
Ahead of me lies a bomb shelter.
People are piling in by the dozen,
screaming and shouting, tumbling and kicking
and running over one another in their hustle.
They know whats coming.
I, too, am running. But I am so far away.
I can feel myself getting nearer with every footfall
and still, I know it is not enough.
And so I stop.
I fold over, my forehead scraping the cold concrete.
I reach up
touch the hideous yellow star emblazoned on my gray shirt.
My fingers curl around it, and I begin to rip it off.
But a hand touches mine.
I look up, quickly, and scramble to my feet away from the touch.
A woman stands there. She pushes a stroller.
And in that stroller is a baby, who is obviously malnourished and sick.
And the woman just stands there.
Her clothes are rags that hang off of her waif-like form.
And sure enough, a star just like mine sticks out like a sore thumb against the black of her dress.
She gazes at me with a look so piercing, I feel she can see right through me.
I find my voice.
What are you doing?! I scream at the top of my lungs,
Run! You have a baby with you!
And the woman smiles.
I am struck, dumbfounded.
For this smile is not a smile of malice, of conceit or contempt or hatred
which is the only smile I have seen since being forced to wear this star.
This is a real smile, a genuine smile, one which I myself have not been able to wear
ever since I can remember.
This time, my voice comes out as a whisper, and amid all of the chaos I dont expect her to hear.
You dare to smile?
And this woman, she throws back her head, and she laughs.
A full, hearty laugh.
My child, she says to me in a voice that is almost musical.
How can you not smile when there is so much beauty to behold in this world?
Beauty? I whisper. I look around me, and everywhere I see black and gray.
I see misshapen lumps of fabric pretending to be human
running towards the one bomb shelter we have in our town.
And around it, I see the bodies of those who were trampled to death.
There are children screaming and crying for their mommies
who lay dead at their feet while they wail.
Victoria Mousley
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I see no sky, only black clouds, and all of the trees around me, if not cut down, are bare and dead.
This is not beauty.
Oh, child. she says softy in her melodic voice.
Come see the world through my eyes.
She reaches out her small, frail, withered hand to me, and lays it over my own.
All of a sudden, the world is bright.The trees are in full bloom, and the world is filled with their splashes of color.
Red and orange and pink and green and brown and yellow.
And the sky. Oh, the sky.
The sky is blue, the clearest blue I have ever seen.
The radiant sun beats down on my face and warms me right to my soul.
The bomb shelter is an ice cream shop, and where there were screams there is now laughter.
Laughter! as children pick their favorite flavors,
and the parents eat the remains of what their kids cant finish.
They are hugging and smiling and laughing.
There are no skeletons, no darkness,
and no ugly yellow stars.
Here,
we are all people.Just people.
And then, I hear something I never expected to hear again.
A lark, perched in an oak tree nearby, opens its throat to sing.
Its song washes over me, and I cry out with joy.
Its call is answered by others in the trees surrounding.
The song swells and swells, and soon it is all I can hear.
My heart aches with longing, and I involuntarily take a step towards the sound.
But when I do, the womans hand falls off of my own.
The birds, those glorious birds,
they are no more.
Now I hear them for what they really are...the whistle of what we all knew was coming.My world had now returned to black and gray.
Beside me, the woman knelt down, picked up her baby, and cradled it to her.
The babys huge, chocolate brown eyes bored into mine.
A contented look was on her too-skinny face, and her eyes glistened.
And I knew she was seeing the world through her mothers eyes.
As the world around me changed from black and gray
to red and orange,
as everything I had ever known erupted where I stood,
I looked into that babys face, and I could hear the larks
song in my head.
And in those last few moments, when all was being lost
forever,
I smiled.
- Cassidy Thompson
Victoria Mousley
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7/30/2019 PDF issue 6
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Devils Decade
Time seems to slow
As it progressesThrough its never ending
Flow of math and
Words and battles and
Sciences and theories and
Laws and hypotheses and
Monotony.
The clocks hands
Begin to stopAs if the very
Molecules themselves haveHit their
Breaking point.
It is here,
Lost amongst the
Fallen chalk, that
It seems one can
Only truly become
A single object
Of complete stillness.
As the periods slowly
Shift to eras and eons
Andfinally super eons,
And the days get longer,
Becoming weeks and months
And years andfinally
Decades, it all begins to
Slowly sink in and
Create its own impression.
And just as you
Begin to grasp the theory of
Why hydrogen wants to be
Greedy and steal another
Valence electron, all for itself,
It happens.
,
The bell slowly whines out its
Monotonous screech, and oh how
It stings, but it signifies the
Freedom given to those who waitedAnd survived thus far into
The clutches of the demon of
Time and formulas and algebra
And grammar.
Their excursion from the
Depths of this icy hell sends them
Flying back to the residence of
Their kin, only to forget who
Conquered the Trojan City
Amongst the piles of music
And pizza and movies left
Behind from the party at
Joes house.
And when the yellow demon
Returns to steal the souls of
Those who succeed in
Making it through the previous
Decade of the hell,
Only to return for anotherRound with the caretakers of
This frozen garden of the
Devil himself.
-Brendon Giroux
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The Enforcer
- an excerpt -
Acidic rain pattered on the roof of the shut-
tle as it dove through the Venusian clouds toward
the immense dirigible-city of Persephone. As it
swooped over the balloon, Rukan saw a multitude
of workers scurrying atop the balloon like insects,racing against time to repair corrosion before their
own protective suits were breached by the relent-
less acid. The shuttle cleared the segmented tita-
nium, turned, and Rukan caught his first glimpse of
the gondola.
It was huge 5 miles long, 2 miles wide,
and a mile deep. Three stubby wings protruded
from each side, supplementing the balloons lift to
carry the citys 10 million inhabitants and provid-
ing a mount for the jet engines that propelled the
city through the atmosphere. An outer shell protect-
ed Persephone from the sulfuric acid. The shuttle
shuddered as the laser rockets turned off and the
jets on the wings turned on. It entered an aperture.
Rukan screamed and ducked.
If the autopilot hadnt been on, he would
have died in seconds. The computer wove the
shuttle through the dizzying array of catwalks,
buildings, and other vehicles. Roads only existed
for pedestrians and magtrains; flying vehicles fol-
lowed whatever route the onboard computer deter-mined was fastest and not going to result in injury.
Collisions were surprisingly uncommon, happening
only one out of perhaps ten flights when a vehicles
guidance beacon (which the computers used to
prevent collisions) did not take into account propel-
lers, wings, long tails, and the like. Obviously, all
the vehicles in Persephone were required by law to
be equipped with ejector seats.
Also the layout of the city wasnt what he
was used to. The buildings were heavily indus-
trial, putting out obscuring clouds of smoke andsparks. The city was built in three dimensions: in
addition to the standard grid pattern of buildings
one might expect on a planes surface, the pattern
continued along the vertical axis. The only connec-
tion between a building and the structure below it
was a massive pylon, probably with elevators and a
magtrain line.
At long last, the shuttle arrived at the City
Hall. It was located at the top of the gondola, befit-
ting its important position and preventing attacks
from above. The shuttle touched down gently, and
Rukan slowly lifted his head. An ambassador and
several guards were filing onto the landing pad.Rukan quickly made himself presentable, then
exited the shuttle, salvaging as much dignity as he
could.
Greetings! he called. Are you the am-
bassador from the Venusian government?
I am, said the ambassador. My name is
Hovalk. I suggest you come inside; as you are no
doubt aware, this is a fairly lawless planet despite
our best efforts, and an Interplanetary Enforcer
would make as tempting a target as I can imagine
visiting our rather inhospitable city.
You give yourselves too little credit,
Rukan said. Im sure there are some places that
are worth visiting here. You do make a good point,
however.
They proceeded indoors. They entered an
elevator, one wall of which was a large screen that
showed pastoral views of other planets. The eleva-
tor deposited them into an office.
The office had wood paneling on the walls,
an enormous oak desk, and upholstered furni-ture; this was clearly where important dignitaries
were met. Another huge screen replaced one of
the walls, this one showing a nebula somewhere.
Rukan supposed that these were used instead of
windows because the Venusian landscape was so
unappealing. Hovalk took his place behind the
desk. The guards took their places at the door. Ru-
kan sat at a chair across from Hovalk.
How should I begin? the ambassador
wondered aloud. How much do you already
know? he asked Rukan.Very little, Rukan replied. I know you
have a problem you cant solve on your own, or
I wouldnt have been called here. I know it must
be of a military nature, because you didnt re-
quest an Investigator or Diplomat. I know that the
cause must be moral, or in keeping with the Inter-
planetary Charter, or the Interplanetary Council
wouldnt have sent me.
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Correct on all counts, said Hovalk. Ac-
tually, its not entirely military, but an Investigator
would be ill-prepared for what we need.
Some time ago, a new band of smug-
glers calling themselves the Freed Coin formedin the Production Quarter. We didnt think much
of it at the time; smugglers arent exactly uncom-
mon here, and we had better things to do with our
manpower. But then one of our law enforcers,
who must have discovered them, was found dead.
He had a tattoo of a coin in the loop of a padlock,
which had a key in it. The autopsy determined
that the tattoo was added after death, like a calling
card.
Since then, the Freed Coin has become
more active bolder. Theyve added members
and taken more than a passing interest in theft,
assassination, kidnapping, forgery, and a dozen
other illicit ways to make money. Most of these
types of criminals wipe out their rivals, but the
Freed Coin has been absorbing theirs. Theyre the
first criminal group to become a real threat to the
government.
Every time we think weve tracked down
their headquarters, which isnt hard to do with a
group of this size, its either a false lead into anambush, or the headquarters are abandoned and
rigged with explosives and all manner of traps.
But not this time. This time, we have a
contact inside. She just wants to get on the right
side of the law without being hunted by both
the Freed Coin and us. She basically offered us
information on the Freed Coin, its location, and
help getting in if wed drop all charges against her
once the Freed Coin is dispersed.
Obviously, we took the opportunity. But
we dont know if our own forces will be able to
defeat the Freed Coin. So we sent for you qual-
ity over quantity.
To be continued. . .
- Jamie Duke
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So much depends
Upon
So little and
Yet
So much beauty
Comes
Forth
- Kellen Hopwood
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