Open Mic Readings 2019

Our students showcased the following works on May 1st at our annual open mic event.

"Where I’m From" by Rosemary Green
I’m from Disney channel and outer spaceI’m from bike rides and castles Scraped knees and sparklesI’m from Spiderman and Ariel Climbing trees and big dreamsI’m from doughnuts on Sundays and Wednesday expresses Saying prayers and puffy dressesI’m from holding my mama’s hand and singing Her voice “no drinking no drugs” and me noddingI’m from dragons and wagons Beatles and bald eaglesBut most importantly, I’m from love that stretches to the moon and double that.

"A Window Into I" by Rosemary Green
I am determined yet unmotivatedI wonder if the future is set or i'm able to choose my destinyI hear voices telling me I can't but I see the people in my life supporting meI want to do great things I am determined yet unmotivated
I pretend to be confident but I feel judgmental stares I touch the horizon with my imagination still I worry I’ll never be creative enough I cry but that keeps me humanI am determined yet unmotivated
I understand nothing in life comes easy I say that there are always second chances I dream that one day I'll get mineI try to see the good in my struggles I hope that one day I’ll see the legacy I leave behindI am determined yet unmotivated

"You Say" by Sara Catelli
You tell her you’ll be thereYou say, “I’m here”
You tell her don’t worryYou say, “We’ll play it by ear”
You tell her you careYou say, “Have no fear”
You tell her she can do itYou say, “For you I cheer”
You tell her be happyYou say, “I’ll wipe away your tears”
You tell her you love herYou say, “You’re beautiful, my dear”
But nowWhen she needs you the most
To Where Did You Disappear?

"Invisible or Invincible" by Sara Catelli

She walks and talks like everyone elseBut she’s differentShe’s specialWhen she walks, no one notices herWhen she talks, no one hears her
She loves and hates like everyone elseBut she’s divergentShe’s exceptional When she loves, no one sensesWhen she hates, no one is aware
She can see you, but you can’t see herShe wants to help you, but you can’t help herShe can care for you more than others, but you can’t even try to do the same
You don’t see her, hear her, or love herBut if she isn’t seen or heardCan she be broken or hurt?
Is she invisible or invincible?

"Sun in the Rain" by Sara Catelli
A boy And a girlYoungAnd full of lifeThe rainFalls slowly on themTheir feetSplash in the puddlesEven though the sky may be darkThere’s light in their eyesRadiating bright smilesThey shine in the rainTheir hands clasped tightAnd their fingers interlockTwo heartsIntertwinedBoth so obliviousTo what the world may bringKnow that they can face it all Together

You already know what the heck is going on (Pancakes) by Rosemary Green

A hot pancake rests on my faceIt feels so right, no other placeI’m in no rush, this is no raceWith a hot pancake that rests on my face
A bottle of hungry jacks is like a waterfallThe butter taste makes my knees fallRight into my mouth the syrp starts to crawlWith a bottle of hungry jacks is just like a waterfall

"The Jacket" by Ryann Yassin
Yesterday I sat in my room and I cried for half an hour,I sat and thought about all the ways I found myself a failure.The negative thoughts invaded my head and I couldn't keep them out,So I sat in my room and I cried for about half an hour.
I curled up in my jacket and wondered why this must be. Why sadness and tears were all I could see.As I curled up in my jacket I realized who it belonged to.And suddenly something else came into view.
I stare down at the sleeves and I finally find my smile,As I hug the jacket around me, a jacket the was very out of style. The ripped sleeves and fabric that was so worn out, But I still wear it because how it looks is not what loving the jacket is about.
The jacket that brings me comfort, no matter what I feel,Because it belonged to someone who always made me feel real.Someone who always brings me up when I feel devastated,Someone who makes me feel loved whenever I make myself feel hated.
Someone who makes me laugh and smile when I'm crying,Someone who, when I'm sobbing, can make me feel like I'm flying. Someone who brings me more comfort than any other human in the universe,Someone who takes care of me when I'm sick and feeling the worst.
Someone who I can talk to for hours and hours,And sometimes we talk about the stupidest things, like pancakes and flowers.Sometimes we talk serious, and it's never an awkward feat,I trust her more than anything and she is always so sweet.
My sister is the person I'm talking about of course,For most of my happiness comes from this source.She reminds me that no matter how much I want to cry,That if she can do it and continue fighting then so can I.
She brings me hope, strength, and happiness,And she continues to inspire me with her loveliness.So no matter how much we scream, yell, and fight,I will always come back to her and want to hug her all night.
My sister Sarah has always been my biggest inspiration and my biggest source of hope,And she will always be the person I will go to, to help me cope.My sister Sarah has been my role model since I was a little,And she will be until I'm old and brittle.I love her more than anything.

"Her" by Ryann Yassin
Hands can be used for so many different things,Like holding my nephew or playing with cousins and siblings.They can be used to draw my favorite trinkets,And for holding soft and silky things like blankets. Hands can be used for so many different things.They can be the holder of rings, And oh the happiness they can bring.By far my favorite thing that hands can do is holding hands with Her.
Her
How my hands itch to be in Hers,For it's a better feeling then petting a dog's beautiful fur. How my hands ache to be in Hers,So I can pull her to a time where we once were.
Me and Her
That's not the only things hands can do,For they let me touch Her beautiful hair that I love to run my hands through. Hours and hours spent playing with Her hair, and talking about nothing,Laughing and laughing as if there wasn't a thing to worry about, not a thing.It was just us, just Me and Her.
Me and Her
Hands that let me touch Her happy face,And hands that let Me pull Her into my embrace.Holding Her waist while we danced and danced,Watching Her while she missed my loving glance. My hands that helped Me learn what love felt like, And hoping that we felt alike.Hoping she loved me as I loved her.
Just Me and Her
Hands that held Her while she was sad,And helped Her through the days that were just oh so bad.Hands that held her cheeks as I thought about a kiss,Leaning closer, until we get pulled apart and my chance was missed.And at the point in time, I learned what pain felt like,And my face become ghostlike,It was then I realized it wasn't just me and her.
It became them and me.
Them and me.
My hands that have felt so much pain, As my tears poured down my face like rain.Hands that held my face while I cried and cried,Because I was losing Her, and my heart slowly died. My hands that once knew love, now only knew about feeling sad,And as I thought about the love that once was, I felt like I was mad.How could I think an amazing girl like Her could love Me,For that is an impossible feat.
Them and me
I lost Her, and I slowly distance myself because of the pain,But I put on a smile and I refrain,There's no need for Her to know about how I felt,As I continue to cry in the night as my heart melts.
Because how my hands still itch to be in Hers,For it's still a better feeling then petting a dog's beautiful fur. How my hands still ache to be in Hers,So I can pull her to a time where we once were, Me and Her.
Because no matter what I try to tell myself, The love I had for Her still lives within myselfIt refuses to leave, and continues to pull my heart apart,Even though I’m just wishing for a fresh start.
And as I sit here and cry I wonder how this came to be,How it went from Me and Her,To just me
Me
At least I still have Her hands to hold,Hands that are still more precious to me than gold.

"Won’t Let Go" by Jessica Alashoush
I’ll walk a tightrope in space with youI’ll hold your hand tooAnd if you fallI won’t let go
I’ll lasso you stars from the moonI’ll paint your face with Mars’ maroonAnd thank the Sun for your loveI won’t let go
I’ll hold you ‘til you sleep on the white fluffs in the skyI’ll kiss your head as we flyAnd watch your beautiful face glow in the soft lightI won’t let go
But they say to let go
Mothers say “Goodnight”Fathers say “It’s all right”And lovers say goodbyeSo that’s whyI won’t a say a thing andI won’t let go
I want more time,I want to see you — is that a crime?And I know you want to stay tooI can’t let go
Why can’t you stay?I want to see you grow and grayAnd become someone greatI can’t let go
You are my light,Your smile illuminates the night,And I can’t yet face the dark that draws nearerI can’t let goBut you won’t hold on
I don’t want to say goodnightI don’t want to say it’s all rightAnd I can’t say goodbye
But would you be happy?
Sure, I’d walk a tightrope in space with you,I’d lasso you stars from the moon,And I’d kiss your sleeping head on the white fluffs in the sky
But your beautiful face would not glow,Your love would be beyond the Sun’s reach,And your hand that I’d hold would be cold,And we wouldn’t be happy
So, I must say
Love you, goodnight.Calm your worries, it’s all right.Goodbye.

"Subtle Rise" by Jessica Alashoush
The first drop of dawn winks at me mysteriously, and a warm relief settles within me. It flows from my shoulders to my toes like a quiet, gentle breeze. And any wind has hushed from a whistle to a soft whisper, all trees have molded back into the pastel scenery, all blooming flowers have fully faced East. The world around me stops, save the few chirping birds, contemplating, awaiting a magnificent event.
As the old star rises, it yawns a great, glistening, golden yawn that never fails to touch everything it sees. The frozen world--the wind, the trees, the flowers--all wait with bated breath and open arms, all desiring the same taste of gold. And, with a sigh, the world is enveloped in a light, cozy blanket fresh out of the Sun, and it’s glittering, glittering, glittering.
I breathe in the frosty air around me, the smell of pine brushing past. I allow the warmth to grace my cold-bitten cheeks, and I let out my first smile of the morning. I and Nature’s children, Nature’s children and I--we embrace the Sun’s light, if for a moment, each and every morning. Where does that light go? It remains, all through the day, and the world remembers to move once more.We, as Nature’s children, all freeze in the Sun’s silent, powerful entrance, and we are reminded of our small size, our little time, our minimal impact with our decisions. So we, as humans abiding to our nature, hide from the light behind walls and distractions. We forget the Sun, its light, and its benefits.
But why do we forget the Sun? Why do we hide before we realize size has no hold on our worth? Are we not Nature’s children as that flaming star in the sky is? The simple answer to this question, which answers many pressing questions we ask ourselves, is human nature at its darkest.I think all this as I watch the sky settle to a peaceful, forgettable blue. And I, too, am guilty of standing from the chair in front of my house, brushing off my pants, and walking inside, whether it be from the frosty air or from boredom, as the world has moved once again.
Of course, we humans can’t quiet the wind, freeze the trees, and turn sunflowers, but we can still listen, feel, and grow. Like the Sun rises subtly every morning, we make different decisions every day. We choose daily to share our opinions on subjects we care about. We choose daily to make our loved ones happy. We choose daily to make our impact, no matter its size. This is human nature at its brightest.
Power is at our fingertips, and it comes in many forms—we have technology, a more open society, and brilliant minds to put forth our brilliant ideas. Don’t wait; now is the prime time to thrive past your size! As Nature’s children, we are gifted! We must use that gift!And then maybe, for a moment, we can make the world pause too.

"Meeting the Crescendo" by Juliette Kolbe
Fear pierces my heart like a bullet. I am alive, but barely. For a moment, the world is slowing down, and I wonder what is happening to me. Dread crawls down my spine like a spider, eight tiny little legs creeping across the inside of my skin. Following them is a cold sweat, barreling down behind it like a bull in a china shop. It makes me feel hot and cold and calm and terrified and horribly overwhelmed. Then, I notice the pit in my stomach. Something is going horribly wrong.
My breathing is ramping up to meet the crescendo of the cascading feeling of terror that washes over me. The pins and needles in my hands and my mind are deafening. I feel the need to sit down, unable to keep my balance on a floor that is unmoving, yet still somehow unbearably unsteady. The world around me is screeching to a halt and I am caught up in a mix of flying emotion and instinctual fear that comes from nowhere and threatens to drag me back into the nothingness with it. I wipe my face and my hand comes away wet. Nothing is happening, and yet, my fear remains. I know everything is fine but I feel like I’m dying, I feel like there’s an elephant on my chest squeezing the life out of me. I would wonder what I am to do, but the inside of my skull sounds like a broken radio, picking up bits and pieces of fragmented thoughts. I couldn’t make sense of them if my life depended on it. I hear a god-awful choking noise, like each breath I take aligns with a shrieking sob which comes from the same place as my deep-rooted panic: absolutely nowhere. And then I process that it’s coming out of my mouth, and I almost feel affronted that my body and my instincts would dare to betray me like this.
My hands shake, my world spins. I am barely keeping my head above the water of my psychological tsunami. I desperately wish it would end, and just as I think to myself that I would do anything to allow it to stop, it is over. I am left breathless and emotionally stripped to the core, unknowing of how or why. I suddenly feel as though I am an empty vessel, missing the chaotic feeling of terror and fear despite how awfully it treats me. Just as quickly as the panic came, it’s gone, and I feel like a tiny part of me has gone with it.

A Poem by Kaylee Lagler
There’s a saying that leaves my stomach in a knot.“You never know what you got, ‘till it’s gone.”I’ve only ever heard that about good things, though. He was what I got.
At first, our lives aligned like the stars on a clear night.Summer. The skies were full of sun. Things had just begun.My love for him multiplied like the freckles on our cheeks. It felt right.
Fall came around and things seemed fine.I met his friends, and he met mine.It seemed too good to be true.Me, him, and the leaves falling in perfect view.
Winter brought blizzards, but the snowflakes were a blur.This is when it started.Woosh.Two kids on a sled, we were.
Flowers bloomed tall that Spring,But he kept me small.I would never be the sunflower I thought I wasAnd he was cause.
Waves crashed upon our shores.Summer returned, but not like before.The sun didn’t feel as sweet, and my happiness went with the heat.
I heard ringing in my ears, but it wasn’t from the school bell.It felt like all I did that Autumn was listen to him yell. I had to say goodbye soon.I had become immune.
The belittling, the fighting, the crying, the abuse.He begged me to stay, but I let him loose. In Winter he texted me, never wanting to speak to me again. He was gone. And here I am, refusing to hang on.The words he said, again and again.Things I never want to explain.I have myself, and that’s all I need.And she feels really, really, freed.

“Laboring On” by Tara Daniel
The deep inhale of air through the chestAnd the strong exhale of sensitivity through the lips.Never satisfies the unfair that is compressedDeep inside the heart, memories become clips.
Searching for a quick escapeFrom the reality of the past and future. Laboring on the future to reshapeBut discovering the need for the intense amount of sutures.
Clips dig deeper with a sharp pierceNot wanting there to be a sense of relief. But listen to the quiet whisper, “you are fierce”.Believe it- in the grand scheme, the pierces are brief.

“Forever gone” by Tara Daniel
She searched for a sense of stability. Refuge, finally found;Only to be whisked away in a time of fragility.Time is unbound.Too soon, too soon.
Time is long lost;Forever gone, never to be made up?Waiting for the ball to be tossed;“Time!” she calls, “backup”;Too soon, too soon.
Continuance cannot be controlledAnymore than she can rewrite the past.She stopped fighting and decided to fold.Time ran steadfast…It’s here, it’s here.

“Sweet Surprise” by Tara Daniel
In a long, dark, dead field of grass liesA single sweet surprise.A red rose ripples with the breeze.Eyes lock and the body does freeze,
Hand stretches out,“No,no,no” you must go without,Just for a time. Wait until the red rose reaches its prime.
Spring seemed so far along;With me, does the red rose really belong?With added time, it’s ready to be pickedAnd it finally ended; perfect.

"Her Hardest Goodbye" by Cailin Zoltak
She hates saying goodbye.It’s understandable,Considering she’s only five.Being so young,She has not yet learned to smother her outcry.As she yells, he turns,He tries to hide it, but the tears glisten in his eye.He feels overwhelming guilt and despair,As he is letting his little girl’s years pass by.He is being shipped off to fight this war, the one he doesn’t agree with,But he can’t disobey, for he has forever and always will be the good guy.Instead he turns and gives her one last hug,This is not fair on her, he knows, but all he can manage is a sigh.His exit means that her new lullaby is her mother’s silent cries,And while he is halfway around the world, his lullaby is nothing but a battlecry.The entire time he is gone,He prays and prays that god will let him again see his little butterfly.He pictures her laugh, her smile, and her beauty,All as he lays on dirt and rock and glances to the night sky. Her image is the one that keeps him going,Her spirit allows him to be brave and to continue to try.Despite his tries and his courage,His entire life manages to change in the blink of an eye.He is no longer the man he once was.He watches the flag being taken to the door, and feels his heart break, as he realizes that he can never again say goodbye.His little girl is broken.He can no longer be her hero, her savior, her father; all he can do is faintly stand by.He is forced to watch her change and harden;She is no longer the gentle girl she once was, for now she hates the world for making her experience the hardest goodbye.

Monologue from a weed in the sidewalk, who envies over the beauty of the other flowers, by Olivia McLaughlin
"The Hopeful Ones"
Some people will tell you that the ultimate and most superior flower is the rose. Most of the people whom you will ask will say that Roses are better because they look the best. These people will say that only a few people will be good enough to be a Rose. I was told they are so ‘perfect’ and ‘elegant’. I am told that their shimmery texture was glorious and unbelievable. I am told... that I will never live up to the standards for a rose. Others will say that I’m only a Sunflower, just nothing and annoyingly in the way of everything. But, I don’t even think I deserve to be a sunflower. I’m most likely just a weed. A weed that is stuck on the side of a crooked sidewalk somewhere where no one would ever step foot. Though people will try and get rid of me, you know spray me with that toxic substance, I will always find a way to stay. But, I don’t even know why I come back in the first place. Maybe it’s because I want to stare at all of the other flowers across the way. Filled with colors and vibrate energy, people will just walk by to gaze among their beauty. I want to see what it looks like for people to not make fun of or push down something. Though, I am just a little strand of weed, with no purpose except for looking at some glorious flowers, I do have another motive. There’s this one flower, with the most beautiful petals and color scheme. It just looks too beautiful to even exist. I look at it from across the road, with people walking by filling it with compliments as they pass through. And it stares back.
I didn’t want to fall into its spell but I just stepped right in
But I guess this spell is not that bad
‘Cause now this little weed has a purpose
I am now waiting for you.

Actually written in real life by: Cailean CavanaughA Brief History of Shaldern, the Turtle and Shaldern, the Turtle-FortWritten: The Honourable Doctor Sir Cornelius V. Morell, PhD, M.D., B.A., Esq., resident historian of Shaldern, the TurtleEdited: Mark Hall, resident historian of Shaldern, the Turtle-Fort
I am The Honourable Doctor Sir Cornelius V. Morell. For those readers who don’t know me, I have been a Royal Cartographer, Captain of the Seacraft and Aircraft Shaldern, the turtle, and am currently resident historian of Shaldern, the turtle. This position is not to be confused with that of the resident historian of Shaldern, the fort, that sits atop Shaldern, the giant flying sea turtle. Shaldern’s resident historian has no idea what he’s doing. [1] I hope that you, curious but unenlightened reader, will find yourself edified by my perfectly accurate description of the events that led Shaldern to arise from humble origins to become the most intelligent, powerful, and famous [2] giant flying turtle in the world (much like yours truly, I might add [3]). It is truly a grand tale of wonder, love, military derring-do, and the triumph of the human (and turtle) spirit.
Shaldern’s adventures begins in the strange and wondrous days of yore, when the world was filled with magic [4] and our great kingdom was still making a name for itself. On a barren, lonely, desolate beach, a single young sea turtle hatched, the only one of his siblings to do so. Despite the odds stacked against him, he tried gamely to reach the sea. But alas! The fates conspired against him, and he was set upon on all sides by birds, dogs, wolves, hyenas, and lions. He would surely have perished in a valiant but pointless struggle were it not for the intervention of yours truly! I saw the great potential this seemingly small creature held, and so I fought off the beasts that assailed him with nothing but my trusty pocket knife! Vowing to always remember the spirit shown by the young and very cute turtle, I led him to the sea and watched as he left to face his destiny!
Editor’s Note: I swore when I took on the project of publishing Cornelius’s history that I wouldn’t call him out for his fantasies, but it’s just too much fun not to. He’s lying, of course: no one knows where Shaldern was hatched, or indeed if he hatched from an egg at all. Also, the chance of a single sea turtle attracting the attention of such a menagerie of predators is basically zero. Lions aren’t even native to the Midland coastlines where sea turtles live.
It is at this point, sadly, that the mists of time begin to shroud the truth5. I wasn’t there to witness many of Shaldern’s lost years in the open ocean, but, as fate intended, our paths crossed on several momentous occasions. I remember the first quite clearly; I was acting as a cartographer for the king’s navy as they explored the strange and exotic Southlands Sea (You can read a more thorough account of my travels in my memoir Cannibals, Canaries, and Crises in the Southlands Sea).
Editor’s Note: If you want to know what actually happened during the Navy’s exploration of the Southlands, I highly recommend The Southlands Expedition: An Overview. Strange things did happen, but none of them had to do with cannibals or canaries.
Following our narrow escape from a heavily-armed Southland Army, the expeditionary force continued exploring the Southlands coast (heading in the opposite direction the army had, of course) and hoping to find a more hospitable government6 to help us reach the fabled riches of the continent’s interior. Along the way, we encountered a strange sight: A pirate ship was travelling at full sail and blasting the water with cannonballs in pursuit of an unseen quarry. It was too late to avoid confrontation, so the Captain ordered us to prepare for battle.
Let me say, the battle was quite a fierce one! The pirate ship was armed to the teeth and carried far larger guns than our diplomatic and exploratory craft. Both ships were nearly destroyed in the fighting, but the battle turned out in our favor because an unseen force constantly pushed the pirate ship in the worst possible direction. After we had won the battle, and while the crew members were taking every coin and gemstone the pirates possessed in the name of cultural research, I saw an adorable face peering up through the murky seawater. It was Shaldern, already grown to almost half the size of our ship! With dismay, I saw the wounds he had suffered from the pirates’ cannons and resolved to once more be his savior. Had I known then of his unparalleled resilience and remarkable curative abilities, I wouldn’t have been nearly so concerned. As it was, I carefully removed the harpoon from his back and convinced the captain to lead him safely back to shore. After he had recovered, we swore to keep Shaldern’s existence a secret to protect him from future treasure hunters.
While I did cross Shaldern’s path many more times, there is only so much ink in the world to devote to recounting our great deeds8, so I will provide but one more stunning example of our bravery.
Being the excellent cartographer that I am, I was naturally invited on another of the King’s exploratory missions the very next year; this one brought me to the wild, untamed, and bitterly cold Northlands. After leaving our ship at the last friendly port, we began trekking north over the wind-scarred plains, hoping to find the mountains of gemstones that legends claimed existed in its barbarian9 kingdoms. Our brave expedition persevered through biting cold, screaming winds, and sadly unavoidable conflicts with the local nobles, but in the end, our heroic efforts were not enough. Our food gone, we wrote down as much of what we had learned as possible and prepared to die nobly in the grandest human pursuit of all: exploration and discovery.
But then! Across a massive expanse of flat ice, I saw the still-adorable head of the now very large Shaldern. We all tried to walk to him, but were too weak and collapsed before we could cross the ice. Oh, to have salvation so close and yet so far! Imagine our surprise, then, when Shaldern began to rise out of the frigid water, hovering in the air before flying, flying to save us! We rode on Shaldern’s back across miles of frozen wasteland to return home to the midlands, and I swore that day to do all I could to help the adorable turtle that had saved my life.
Editor’s Note: Ok, Cornelius doesn’t seem to know the difference between a history and a memoir, so it seems it falls to me explain the most likely theories about Shaldern’s life prior to his service in the royal navy.
Cornelius’s first story is totally uncorroborated. The temporary oath of secrecy that he and all his crewmates swore is quite a convenient way to ensure that we will never know the answer with certainty.
Shaldern was first seen when he rescued the crew of a merchant ship that had been ransacked by pirates, although he didn’t return to the Midlands afterwards. No one is sure where Shaldern lived prior to this, although most speculate that he lived off the coast of Midland like most sea turtles do. The fact that Shaldern grew so quickly and became so resilient suggests that he could have lived almost anywhere in between sightings, from the coldest Northland Sea to the Southland Tropics.
Soon after his first sightings, the royal navy began closely following the movements of this strange and benevolent creature, although the public wasn’t told about it until years afterward. It was no accident that the Northlands expedition knew where they would find Shaldern when their supplies were almost gone. Cornelius’s description of that specific event wasn’t exaggerated at all, for once in his life.
No one knows why Shaldern can fly. The Royal engineers and scientists can’t explain it with science, leaving magic as the only explanation. Unfortunately, no one understands how magic works, so it may be years before Shaldern’s flight is fully understood.
Well, I stayed true to my word, and brought Shaldern back with me when I10 returned to the Royal Navy’s headquarters. The scene when I returned was incredible; the people of the midlands came in out grand style to welcome the returning hero (yours truly) and his magnificent steed. My description of Shaldern’s heroism was so eloquent and laudatory11 that Shaldern was instituted as an agent of the Royal Navy mere hours after I spoke with Harold12. I spent the next decade working as the Royal Cartographer on board Shaldern, who carried a crew of thirty to fifty soldiers and sailors13. We went on many grand adventures during this time, both of wondrous exploration and brutal conquest.
Shaldern fought with distinction in the third and fourth Midland-Southland wars; the single greatest example of Shaldern’s heroism was certainly the hard-fought Battle of Jagged Fjord. The Royal Navy had been forced to dock in the Fjord for repairs when we were suddenly set upon by an incalculably large14 group of Southlands ships bristling with guns. We were cornered and facing utter destruction until I led Shaldern in a desperate attack to break through the enemy’s lines. Even though Shaldern was peppered with cannonballs, he charged forward unscathed and smashed several ships with his armored head while his cannons fired upon the others. What was supposed to be an ambush turned into a rout15, and the day was won because Shaldern’s (and my) bravery.
Sadly, though, Shaldern was rarely able to fly during this time. Despite my encouragement and constant practice, he wasn’t yet strong enough to carry weapons of war into the sky. That would have to wait for later, and the present stage of Shaldern’s long and illustrious career.
Editor’s Note: I’m impressed; Cornelius occasionally strays close to the truth with his account of Shaldern’s past service. Shaldern did serve as a vessel of both war and peace in the Royal Navy, and Cornelius held the post of head navigator during this time. He very quickly returns to exaggeration, however: while Shaldern did fight bravely, it was the timely arrival of reinforcements that prevented a crushing defeat. Also, it took Shaldern almost a month to recover from his injuries after the battle. His invulnerability is a myth spread by Midlands Navy; I expected more of Cornelius than to perpetuate it, but I suppose I’m not surprised.
What Cornelius neglected to mention in his excitement about military history was the ingenuity required to outfit Shaldern for use as a seagoing vessel at all. The primary challenge that had to be dealt with was how to attached anything permanently to his shell without injuring him; the solution that was eventually found was to simply build a platform that wrapped around Shaldern’s shell and floated on the water to be pulled by him. A system of ropes was used to direct him (much as reins are used to direct horses), and he was strong enough to move quickly even when carrying a heavy load of cargo (or guns, depending on the situation). The amount of effort the King’s engineers spent on Shaldern is a testament to his power as a tool of propaganda.
It is now that I have the honor and privilege of providing for you, dear reader, a firsthand account of Shaldern’s last and permanent [16] ascent into the clouds above. It was truly a magnificent and momentous moment in this nation’s history, and truly could only be properly appreciated when experienced in person; no other wonder of this earth, no other event ever witnessed by mortal eyes could compare to its awe-inspiring, sublime glory. [17]
I remember the day quite clearly. The weather was perfect; a strong tailwind and clear skies meant takeoff would be as easy as possible, even nature herself approved of Shaldern’s ascendency. Shaldern’s decks had been redesigned to be as light as possible, and I was the only crew member on board. [18] With great shouts, cheering crowds lined the shore to watch Shaldern’s first airborne voyage. Finally, when the time was right, Shaldern swam as fast as he could and lifted himself and his cargo into the air with one great stroke of his fins; he never stopped flying until after he had returned from the Northlands with almost a hundred thousand pounds [19] of diamonds.
After this first voyage, Shaldern’s primary role became that of an airship. He carried the most valuable goods and people (including once the King himself) to destinations across the continent and beyond. As he grew larger and stronger, Shaldern was eventually able to outfitted with specially-made cannons, and fought in the sixth Midland-Southland war as an airship with great success. The battle that best demonstrates Shaldern’s raw power (and the tactical brilliance of his head navigator) was certainly the Battle of Broken Ridge. While an enemy army watched helplessly from below, Shaldern’s troops assailed them with all manner of projectiles, eventually forcing their retreat and showing them the sheer hopelessness of their cause. Shaldern emerged without a scratch, and yours truly was promoted to the role of Shaldern’s Captain.
Editor’s Note: Even as an airship, Shaldern wasn’t invincible. Whatever Cornelius wants you to believe about his bravery, Shaldern’s decks were nearly set on fire several times during the battle. If they had burned, neither Shaldern nor his crew would have fared well.
Also, Cornelius has once again neglected the most important parts of Shaldern’s history in favor of tales of military glory. Far more notable than Shaldern’s military achievements was his role as an inspiration for today’s airships, which have revolutionized travel in the Midlands. In addition, studying Shaldern’s flight has yielded revelation after revelation on the nature of magic and how it manifests. Indeed, some predict that we may soon be able to harness magic for our own purposes. Sadly, though, the exact mechanisms of how he flies remain a mystery.
All of these wonders, and Cornelius still only talks about Shaldern’s military career. I really don’t understand him.
It was really a simple transition from Shaldern’s role as an airship to that of a mobile fortress. All it took was time; Shaldern continued to grow as the years went on, and the decks built atop him grew as he did. Once it was obvious that he was no mere airship, I petitioned Mercer20 to have his status officially changed. He was more than willing21 to oblige in light of Shaldern’s history of service to the Midlands, and the building atop Shaldern, the turtle was christened Shaldern, the turtle-fort22. Over time, it has been painstakingly built and rebuilt into a grand and nearly indestructible fortress of iron, and remains the only mobile fort in the world.
With Shaldern’s official transition from airship to fortress, I decided it was time I retired and wrote about the grand adventures I’ve had over the years. And thus, here we are. If you want a more complete picture of Shaldern’s life and service, I highly suggest my soon-to-be released The Complete History of Shaldern: Turtle, Ship, Airship, Fortress, and Beyond.
Editor’s Note: Only read Cornelius’s account if you enjoy historical fiction.
As much as Cornelius exaggerates, Shaldern is a grand fortress. It houses a full-time garrison and crew of almost 5,000 people, and carries its own fleet of airships (Shaldern the Turtle has trouble landing on the ground, necessitating the use of smaller airships to move people and supplies onboard while over land.) At almost 700 feet long, Shaldern is truly a sight to behold and a demonstration of the power of magic. If you wish to learn more, I highly recommend a visit. Shaldern stops at almost every major city in the Midlands at some point or another, and frequently serves as a marketplace for goods from all around the world.
So, in conclusion, believe nothing Cornelius writes without further verification, because he seems to think the goal of historical writing is simply to extol his own virtues and the virtues of Shaldern.
Footnotes:1. He certainly doesn’t—Eds. 2. Also the only—Eds. 3. Cornelius isn’t actually a sea turtle, whatever his writing may imply—Eds.4. It still is, though. Sea turtle can’t fly without magic—Eds.5. The mists of time aren’t the only thing obscuring the truth—Eds.6. They were quite hospitable until the captain decided to resolve a diplomatic impasse with swords—Eds.7. If I know anything about the captain, it probably wasn’t—Eds.8. Thankfully for my sanity—Eds.9. Translation: Speak a language different from ours—Eds.10. Forgot about the rest of the crew, hm?—Eds.11. I was nearly sick of adjectives by the time he finished speaking—Eds.12. You don’t need to flaunt the fact that you’re on a first-name basis with the admiral—Eds.13. This statistic is accurate—Eds.14. By which he means 10 ships—Eds.15. It was still an ambush, just a failed one—Eds.16. Except for the part where he served as a ship again during the fifth Midland-Southland war—Eds.17. Dramatic much?—Eds. 18. Actually, there were others, but they were all below deck—Eds. 19. Even if he was able to carry that much, all of the cut diamonds in the Northlands aren’t more than ten thousand pounds—Eds. 20. The current admiral—Eds. 21. It took 5 years of asking, a petition from the public, approval by parliament, and intervention by the king to make it happen—Eds.22. Cornelius was almost bodily thrown from Shaldern because of how he named the fort—Eds.

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