Just Imagine It by Anonymous

You had run

 In the distance was your school, the school you hated oh so much. The school that made girls wear pink and boys wear blue. Yes, you may have dyed your uniform and added flowers to your sleeves. But It didn’t fix anything. Your peers hated you, you had one friend and she was changing. You pushed those thoughts away and turned to what was happening now. Your skirt kept catching on thorns as you ran. you lost your shoes, your stockings now wet from the woods around you.  your face wet with tears, you couldn’t breathe, you were running faster than air could make it to your lungs. You stopped after tripping over a tree root. you found a tree. A tree with a glowing hole in it. Big enough to fit a person. You were so confused, not being able to catch your breath or stop the tears from flooding your eyes you blindly entered this hole. You emerged from the light only to be met by an opening, grays and blues crossed over each other. The tears dried up, you couldn’t understand what was happening. You looked around, you were surrounded by green. But there were no trees. Only long strands of green. Spots of brown and red made a path. The long green strands are almost like hair, covered in small dots. The dots were colored muddy but also bright. Flowers? Wildflowers. They were glowing. Why? What were you looking at? It enticed you, but also made you feel fear. It was mesmerizing. The air tasted sweet, your hands were both dry and wet at the same time. You began to follow the path of red and brown laced with gray and white circles. Your eyes hurt, something was pulling at your hair. You were cold. You followed until the darkness that covered you went away and you were met with light. Light from a window? No, not a window. You could only understand it as an opening that sealed you inside. There were things outside this opening, it was just like the one you were in. except it was moving. The way you see through your eyes. Looking in different directions up and down side to side. An eye. you only thought  for a moment.  The hair pulling continued, you reached up to feel the problem. Your hand moving over your earrings then your hair. You paused. There was something in your hair. It was growing. It felt soft. You did not know what else to do except try to understand what it was. Ouch. something had pricked you. In your hair? Sounds filled your ears. Sounds that paused your thoughts. Rustling and cracking. You were not alone. You stepped back to listen closer. You stepped on something. You heard a cracking noise. something went up your leg. You looked down. You stopped. Eyes wide. You could only let out a gasp. Everything is now silent.

An egg? 

Contracts by Andrea B.

Cold air pushed down from the small ceiling fan, spinning slowly above the three beings. Two people sat on the other side of a large, glossy spruce desk, towering over them like a building. One wore an old suit, his white-collar unbuttoned. It was clear he was trying to act professional, with emphasis on “trying”. The other person sitting parallel to him, a woman, looked completely disinterested. Her large black bangs covered up her eyes, as her blank expression stared outward, into the unknown. 

Across the desk, past the papers, folders, and framed pictures, sat a massive figure. He must’ve been 7’ft tall, built like a tank. He domineered over the two, his bruting presence sending cold shivers down the skinny, well-dressed man’s spine. It was clear he used his appearance to his advantage, a wide, intimidating grin across his face signaled that. Not only did he have strength and presence, but he also had style. He wore a clean black suit, tailored just for him with a maroon red undercoat. Gold rings littered his fingers, flaunting his wealth profusely. A large nameplate sat at the edge of his desk, the name: “SUNDER S. MOB” engraved in gold. He was utterly inhuman, every aspect seemed that way...primarily because he was. 

Sunder flipped through files with his large, boney hands. The skeleton snorted as he read the biographies of these two, grinning wider, revealing his large, shark-like teeth. Those tiny mannerisms only made the suited man more anxious, sweat pouring from his body, staining his clothes. After a solid 5 minutes of near silence, with only the sound of the fan and the fluorescent lightbulb above, the skeleton spoke. 

“Welp,” He said, plopping the files back onto his desk. His voice was gruff and deep, only adding to his intimidation factor. The small, red dots in the middle of his black eye sockets looked up at the man.  “Seems like you gotta serious gamblin’ issue…” Sunder laughed. Even his chuckle had a bark to it, commanding obedience. 

Stan faked a laugh, clearly terrified by the giant skeleton. Hopefully, the fear and stress Sunder caused to Stan would satisfy him, anything to get out of that room. The woman, on the other hand, remained as cold as ever. 

“H-Heh heh, yeah…” Stan squeaked out, sounding high-pitched and small by comparison, the thin man continued. “I understand, uhh, Sunder. You’re-” 

Sunder stuck a large, boney palm out at Stan. 

“Please,” He ordered. “Call me Mob.” 

“R-right uhh...Mob, you and you’re...organization, they’ve done a lot for me. You’ve given me a lot, and I know I should pay you back…” 

Sunder nodded, grinning wider with a malicious stare. He loved the power he had in that room, the way he could toy with others like puppets, command authority over them. And at any moment, he could simply tell them to leave and there would be nothing they could do about it. The skeleton snapped from his daydream, continuing to hear Stan ramble. 

“...Just, I-I don’t have the money right now…” He let out, sweating bullets. He was nearly 5,000 credits in debt, and almost a week overdue to repay. Any second now he could be beaten or worse, killed. He just needed to stay on their good side, just say the right words in the right way and he’d get through this. 

Sunder sighed, leaning back in his office chair. He kicked his feet up, revealing his shiny black shoes. 

“Really leavin’ me between a rock n’ a hard place here, huh?” He chuckled maliciously again. “See,” He leaned forward again, making himself appear bigger as he did. “I REALLY want my money back…” 

“I-I know. I know I should’ve had the payments in,” Stan replied. “Just give me a few more days and all will be well. I just need to get another job and-and get back on my feet.” He glanced over at the girl sitting next to him, thinking desperately at how the stranger could help. 

Sunder huffed at the thought, out a pen that he began playing with, sighing loudly. He leaned back a bit, relaxing his stance as he spoke. 

“Aight, look. I was originally not even gonna entertain the thought of givin’ you extra time. Was just gonna either get my payment or break a few bones.” He smiled at the thought for a second, watching as Stan turned pale white. He continued. “But, I’ve decided to give you a third option. Imma give you an extra, oh, I dunno; a month or two to make your payment, howzat sound?” 

Stan blinked a few times, wondering if he was dreaming. He immediately wanted to kiss the man’s shoes and thank him for his generosity, but he composed himself. The relief that ran through him was like a wave washing over him. Stan answered enthusiastically. 

“Yes, yes. Thank you so much! I know I don’t deserve it and-”

The large skeleton put up his hand again, telling the man to shut up and listen. Stan immediately stopped himself, composed once more. 

“But, there’s a catch…” 

Stan leaned back, bracing himself. When dealing with people like Sunder, there was always a catch. He was surprised he didn’t even think about that while he was making his victory lap in his mind.

“O-Of course. Anything, Mob.” 

“See, the lady sittin’ next to ya,” He gestured over to the woman, her expression remaining silent and unphased. “She’s got quite the debt problem of her own. And both of you got evicted.  So, decided to combine your debts and give you two a small apartment down the road; cheap, rent won’t be a problem. You two live there, get a job, and pay off your debts, and I’ll never speak a word to my boys. Understand?” 

“Y-Yes of course, no worries here. Yep totally not a problem.” He repeated himself. The girl gave a small nod of agreement. 

“Perfect! Just sign this little contract and we’ll be good to go.” The skeleton spun in his chair, grabbing some papers from the shelf behind him, plopping them on his desk. He flicked the pen at Stan. 

“And if you don’t get in time, let’s just say...there’s gonna be some problems….you get what I’m sayin’?” 

“O-Of course…”

“Alrighty.” Sunder watched the two sign the bottom of the page. He pulled the pages back when finished. “Get yourselves a job, do some services. Donate organs I don’t care. Just get my money back...be a shame to have to hurt ya.” He grinned a little wider.

Stan nodded, gulping a little to himself. The skeleton then tossed Stan’s new keys onto the table. 

“Down the street. 3672’s the building number. 2nd floor, room eight.”

“G-Got it, thanks.” 

The skeleton gave the two one final wink before they left, and one final chill down the man’s spine. The two looked at each other outside Sunder’s office, not sure how to introduce themselves. Stan shakily held out his hand. 

“Uhm, well, hi…” He stammered, words stumbling out chaotically. “Names Stan...uh, Stanley Rivers. B-But most people call me Stan.” 

“...” Utter silence filled the air, the woman unresponsive. She then lightly grabbed his hand, shaking it a little. “...Willow.” She said coldly. Her voice was airy and dry, as if she had just woken up. Willow then grabbed her set of keys from Stan, walking down the hall towards the stairs. 

“H-Hey! Wait up!” Stan said, quickly following her in pursuit.

 The Tree of Life by Morgan

It was time to head back to my microscopic, humble abode on Elm Street. Mother was cooking her “world-famous”  beef chili with buttermilk biscuits and mashed potatoes with sweet, brown gravy. My mind was painting a scene of the savory and delectable delicacy entering my mouth. Forkful by forkful, I would whimper every time I swallowed each bite, praying for the taste to crawl back to my mouth. 

“Just one more serving, please, mother?” I was desperate. My cravings were uncontrollable. My growling stomach couldn’t get enough of her scrumptious meals. 

My mother replied with a disappointed sigh,”You know we are on a tight budget, Moana. I can't be cooking a whole feast every night.” 

My bad, forgot that not-so-minor detail, I guess. 

My mother was a stay at home mom  while my father worked all day at an auto body shop. My siblings and I were homeschooled. Jane, 16, was the oldest. Long, silky brown hair with a pair of emerald green eyes paired with faint freckles. She was outgoing, the ‘it’ girl, I might add. She had the confidence of a peacock. I was jealous. My brother, Max, was 11. Much like Jane, he had dark brown hair and faint freckles paired with emerald green eyes. He was wild, I mean, WILD. Always getting into trouble with the neighborhood boys. Hitting mailboxes with baseball bats and smoking cigs left and right. But his character at home remained polite. He would never throw an attitude towards my parents, or my father would whip out his belt faster than you could say 

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

I, on the other hand, was quite reserved. If you didn’t guess already, I was the middle child. I was 13 and the only baby my parents had with golden hair. I preferred sitting back in the corner observing the destruction of the world. You would either catch me drawing what I saw or writing what I heard. I would prop myself up against our one and only maple tree, whom I nicknamed Ole Maple, in our deserted backyard, writing or illustrating any miscellaneous event that would unfold right in front of me. I rarely spoke, I just observed. 

It was a breezy and early morning in our tiny town of Lakewood. The wind was howling like a wolf during a full moon.  It was going 30 miles per hour at the least. My family was fast asleep, but I was wide awake. I tiptoed down the squeaky wooden staircase to peer out the lonely window in the living room. The only view this window had offered was the sight of my one and only tree. I blankly stared at Ole Maple, praying that it would survive this brutal battle. This wind had enough power to rip Ole Maple out of its home in the ground. That tree was my best friend. It provided me shade on a scorching summer's day and would serve as an umbrella when the sky would cry waterfalls like Niagara. I would read to him every morning before mother’s lessons, and every night before I went to bed. Any chance I got, I would spend time with him. He was the only thing in my life that would listen to my problems. Money was an ongoing topic in my household. My parents always argued about when the next paycheck would come in. My dad wasn’t making a lot at the auto body shop, but that’s all his skills are good for because he never finished high school. And my mom didn’t want to put us in the public school system, so she stays home to provide us with an education. These grown-up discussions were all too much. My only escape was to spend time with my tree, and I couldn’t bear to see Ole Maple suffer any longer from this frigid storm. I swiftly turned my head to face the living room and headed to the kitchen to feed my roaring tummy. The fridge was barren, not an unusual sight. And no leftovers of mother’s beef chili and buttermilk biscuits with mashed potatoes and sweet brown gravy were to be found. When you only have one parent working and three little mouths to feed, it’s hard to make ends meet. I didn’t know what else to do. Usually, when I’m faced with hunger and there’s no food in the fridge, I sit beside Ole Maple. But the weather was not in my favor. 

A few hours passed by and my family was wide awake. Usually we would have some breakfast together but that was unfortunately not an option. We still took our designated seats at the kitchen table, talking with each other to take our minds off of our growling stomachs. Jane did most of the talking. Elvis and The Beatles were her topics of discussion, and every now and then Max would blurt out a few nonsense words just to make the rest of us laugh. I rarely spoke, I just observed. It was challenging nonetheless to not go outside and sit with Ole Maple. The wind was gaining momentum. We could hear it’s obnoxious sound from inside. I was getting worried. What if Ole Maple didn’t make it? What if the wind would knock him off of his feet? Who would I go to when I need comfort? Sure, I could go to my parents or siblings, but they wouldn’t understand my thoughts. Only Ole Maple did. 

It was now late afternoon in Lakewood. The local milkman, and a good friend of father’s, luckily came by and dropped off several bottles for us, along with a loaf of bread. Free of charge. We were grateful. We hurried back to the kitchen table to feast, we weren’t very good with preserving any food for the future. 

While in the middle of savoring every single bite of our milk and bread, we heard a crashing sound. It had come from the backyard. My heart started to race, beating a mile a minute. The five of us scurried to the living room window. Our mouths dropped at the horrific sight. Ole Maple has been torn from the ground by the devilish wind. My heart shattered into a million pieces. Tears were clouding my vision. My mouth quivered. My speech was silent. My brain was in chaos mode. My family knew my sacred connection with him. They showered me in hugs while I sobbed uncontrollably.  My one and only friend had lost his life to mother nature’s cruel action. 

It had been a few weeks since Ole Maple had been torn from his home.  His body was still there, as we did not have enough money to pay someone to remove it and surely none of us had the strength to move it ourselves. I would still go outside to sit alongside Ole Maple and read to him, write with him, and draw with him. Only this time I wanted to illustrate something really meaningful. I left Ole Maple alone for a few minutes while I fetched my sketch pad and a pencil. When I came back to the backyard, I sat in front of him, where every part of him was visible. I wanted to capture him in this state of his life. He meant so much to me, I couldn’t forget about him just because he was ripped away from his home. He needed to be reminded of his beautiful self. I gave him a good look before my pencil hit the paper and began to sketch the everlasting beauty that was Ole Maple.

"Awake" by Cailean Cavanaugh

January 6, 1862,

I am awake. I am not supposed to be. I know that because I felt myself bleed out an eternity ago. I was at Bull Run. There was a confederate bullet in my side. This is not right, but I am awake.

What am I now? I feel stiff. I am intact, as I was six months ago. I mocked vermin, rot, and the reaper with my last breath. 

Perhaps my writing will remind me. This does not feel like a dream. I feel like I dove into a lake. I am down here for a reason.  I do not know why. I need to do it before I come up for air. Once I do, I will never dive again.

I am in Manassas, Virginia. I died. I am awake. 

I am sitting under a tree, writing in a journal. It is cold and I am surrounded by snow, but I do not feel a thing. 

That is not quite true. I feel hatred. Someone killed me, and I need to return the favor. Soon, I will stand and walk. I will walk to Washington D.C. Maybe I will remember who killed me. Maybe my quest will be easy. 

The sun is setting. I am awake. I do not feel tired. I do not feel cold. I do not feel hungry. I feel hatred. I am full of it.

I know that this is why I feel so empty.

I am in Manassas, Virginia. The sun is setting. I stand up and begin walking towards the capital.

My killer is in Washington. So is my family.

I know what I am now. I am a revenant. A husk. Living vengeance. 

Was I really so hateful in life that I would cheat death just long enough to take someone else with me?

It does not matter. I am now.

—James Wright

Continue this story here.

"Smoke and Shadow" by Cailean Cavanaugh

Bright sunlight streamed into Asomend’s throne room through the tall, narrow windows that lined it. At one end of the room stood a massive set of double doors, made of oak and banded with iron, while at the other sat King Resnik and his court. Numbering almost two dozen, the richest and most powerful nobles, religious leaders, and scholars looked down on the room from a long table, while Resnik himself sat at a golden throne raised on a dais with his son, Prince Vesrith, by his side. Guards lined the walls, standing at attention with pikes at their sides.

“Who is next to seek an audience?” Resnik said to the room. There was a brief shuffling of papers, a pause, and then an announcement from the scholar who recorded the day’s events.

“There is no one on the list, Your Majesty. I was given word that there would be one from the palace gatekeepers, but I was not given a name. Perhaps it was just a clerical error?” The scholar said nervously.

“Hm. I expect better record-keeping in the future. However, because we need time to discuss the ongoing war with Tenoran, it is not unwelcome. Let us adjourn to the war room, then,” King Resnik said to his court. He stepped down from his throne and beckoned to a middle-aged man in armor who stood a few steps apart from the courtiers’ table.

“Andross, come with me, if you please.” Resnik added. Andross bowed quickly and walked to Resnik’s side to join Prince Vesrith; the trio followed behind the train of courtiers who walked in loose lines toward the double doors at the other side of the room.

“Your Majesty, be careful of Menthin. I’ve heard him plotting against you,” Andross whispered to Resnik when he was sure the courtiers were too involved in their own conversations to notice.

“Andross, you need not be so concerned. Their ambition is never great enough to put me in danger.” Resnik whispered back. 

“Pardon my paranoia, Your Majesty,” Resnik said, “but with your life on the line, I cannot be too thorough or too cautious.”

At that moment, their conversation was interrupted when the double doors to the room were forcibly flung open, slamming against the walls with a deafening crash. Instead of the hallway beyond, all Andross could see was a wall of black smoke. He paused for only a moment as it began to fill the room.

Continue this story here!

Vulnerability

She stared for what seemed like hours at the blank page, struggling to think of an idea, but to no avail. It was almost laughable, really, the fact that such a simple assignment would bring her so much plight. Nobody else seemed to struggle with the assignment, at least not to the extent that she was.

 It wasn’t as though she was unintelligent, or that she lacked the capacity to come up with creative ideas. In fact, it was quite the opposite. She was considered a bright girl from a young age, and seemed to develop far quicker than her peers. And while creative writing was never her forte, she could certainly suggest quite a few things that would make a story more interesting, whether it was for her own story or for another’s. 

She stifled in her seat as her eyes gazed around the room, taking in all of the other students tapping away at their keyboards. “I’ve got absolutely nothing so far,” she mumbled.

“Why don’t you just write about your dad?” her girlfriend suggested.

“I already told you, I can’t do that. That’s boring!”

“Well, do you have anything else?” she asked.

“I’ll figure it out…” 

She would not, in fact, figure it out. 

It seemed like a fruitless effort attempting to come up with ideas, and her friends proved to be of no assistance whatsoever. Her mind was an empty canvas, and she was the painter.

Well, perhaps she could wait to begin another day. Surely she would get an idea later. Today just wasn’t her day.

»»————————-««

As it turned out, every day that passed hadn’t been her day either. 

She mulled over every idea presented to her. To be fair, it’s not as though she had absolutely nothing to work with, it was just a matter of whether or not she wanted to work with it. Everything she came up with was simply not interesting enough. A thousand words wasn’t a lot, sure, but when you’re writing about something that doesn’t pique your interest, it feels like it is. What could she possibly write about for a thousand words?

The blinding white page stared back at her mockingly. Every time she glanced back at it, it felt like it was taunting her. Still nothing, huh? God, you’re pathetic. It cannot be that difficult to just open up for once.

She sighed once more and looked at her phone to pass the time. She didn’t get anything out of staring at nothing, after all. 

“You have to write something, you know,” her girlfriend chastised her.

“I am well aware, but what do I even write about? I considered the fact that I’ve witnessed a crime before, but I didn’t get any sort of meaning out of that.” 

“I don’t know… Maybe you could talk about how it strengthened your desire for justice or something?” 

“But it didn’t! I mean, I suppose seeing the prosecutor do what she did certainly made me angry and more passionate about wanting to pursue law, but I don’t know how to even write about that!”

The truth was, she probably could write about it. She wasn’t completely against the concept, but it’s not exactly the kind of thing one writes about for an English class. She wouldn’t want to get “gaggled” for it, either. Her options seemed limited. Everything else she had would also be difficult to write in an organized structure. Nothing she wrote about would be adequate enough. What did she get out of being so personal, anyway? The only purpose it seemed to serve to her was embarrassment. 

Well, eventually she’d get an idea.

»»————————-««

It wasn’t as though it was impossible for her to be vulnerable in front of others. She was certainly capable of sharing and discussing her feelings with others. ...As long as those feelings weren’t too personal. 

She realized the contradiction in her head. Okay, maybe it was slightly difficult for her to be vulnerable in front of others. But it’s not as though she didn’t have a good reason for it. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable only leaves you open to potential wounds. You need a defense mechanism, some way to prevent yourself from getting hurt. From getting abandoned.

And besides, vulnerability was a weakness. It was a pure negative. Negative traits make a person inadequate, and therefore, susceptible to further harm. 

It was a simple, logical line of reasoning. She couldn’t understand why being in control was a bad thing. 

»»————————-««

She sat in her bed and opened up her laptop. It was past dinner time, and the due date was tomorrow. Telling herself that she would be able to sufficiently come up with an idea and write about it was, in hindsight, a mistake.

She opened up to the document that was supposed to contain her narrative, and chuckled at what met her eyes instead.

“imagine writing. couldn’t be me.”

Yeah, she supposed, it really couldn’t be her. But she needed to come up with an idea soon, or else her grade might suffer. 

She thought about it for ten minutes until she came to an epiphany. She had the perfect idea, and it might even be able to incorporate a few of her previous failed ideas… Well, in an indirect manner, anyway. Wouldn’t want to reveal too much about herself. Time was also a concern. She could only write so much in the time that she had, and there were other matters to attend to before the day ended.

And so, she began writing. 

I… 

“No, that won’t work,” she mumbled out loud. She couldn’t write this in first person. It felt wrong, somehow. Having attachment to something so personal is too vulnerable for her. Transcribing her own thoughts and feelings, acknowledging them as her own was definitely not what she wanted to do. She had to modify her approach.

She stared at what seemed like hours at the blank page…

Perfect. That felt adequate enough for her.

Two Gates by Cailean Cavanaugh

William sat down against a tree, closed his eyes, and let exhaustion wash over him. He’d been walking for hours along the empty dirt road, and thought vaguely that he was far too old and tired to be doing much of anything any longer. Eventually, William opened his eyes and peered off into the distance at the old steel mill where he worked in his youth. The massive, abandoned complex was silhouetted against the yellow sky by the setting sun, and William could almost see the factory humming along like it once had in its glory days, freed from the rust and rubble it had fallen to. Almost, but not quite; time and age had ravaged his memories until they were shadows of reality as it once was. 

William sighed and pulled himself to his feet with great effort, feeling every ache and injury of his long life pulse in response. He followed the trail a bit farther but kept one reminiscing eye on the factory. As the path began to curve toward the distant structure, William squinted through his glasses and thought he saw smoke coming from the long-sealed smokestacks; he shook his head and looked again, but the haze of smoke stubbornly persisted. William wondered if he was simply losing his mind as well as his memories, but began to trek towards the factory anyway. 

A high metal fence surrounded the remains of the mill; even though there were holes in the fence large enough for him to walk through, William approached the iron gate that broke up the monotonous fencing. William paused before the open gate and the broken chain that once held it together and shook his head, but soon reverently passed through the gate and entered the grounds of the mill. He struggled to see the massive furnace arrays, casting workshops, ovens, and machining rooms that lined the factory grounds in orderly rows through the darkening twilight that was gradually swallowing the factory. All of the buildings had seen better days once, but their hollow shells withstood the test of time. The rails that connected the buildings remained as well, rusted metal and rotted wood tracing paths that trains no longer followed. 

The sun soon passed below the horizon, and total darkness enveloped William’s world. He closed his eyes and pictured the hum of machinery and grinding of metal on metal that had been his soundtrack for so many years with all the clarity he could muster; with nothing to distract him, memories began to return unbidden to fill his waking dreams. He pictured the blurry faces of the friends he’d worked with years ago, many of them long passed, and smiled at the times he’d shared with all of them. As William lost himself in reflection, the moon rose above the horizon and bathed the mill grounds in silver light. 

The electric lights of the mill blazed to life and flooded its grounds. Embers began to catch in cold furnaces and long-silent machines began to turn on rusted axles while a crowd of ghostly workers streamed through the factory’s entrance to run them. One of them stopped, silently put his hand on William’s shoulder, and pointed him towards the blast furnaces. William paused for a moment, before his eyes lit up with recognition and he embraced the spirit before joining the spectral parade. The routine of factory work returned to him while the glow of the furnaces hid the rust and rubble of neglect. Silent commands filled the furnace room, and work began in earnest.

William felt years of aches and pains subside and new strength flood him as he ran furnaces with his long-gone companions, watching as steel was melted and hardened at a breakneck pace.

Hours passed in a blur. Soon, the day’s work was done, and the workers formed a crowd and swept William along with them. William followed the ghosts and saw with renewed vision corroded boats that had just unloaded their ancient cargo, machine shops with collapsed roofs, and steel piled near tracks that would never see a train from the city again. The spirits around him ignored the decay around them: they smiled, clapped William on the back, and embraced him like the long-lost friend he was. 

The gate out of the factory was unlocked and swung open easily on rusted hinges. The workers cheered silently as they passed through, vanishing into clouds of soot and smoke. William felt something tugging at the back of his mind as he approached the factory’s border; a nagging thought that grew until it stopped him dead in his tracks. His old friends looked at him with concern and gestured for him to follow them; after all, the workday was done and it was time for them to go home. 

William’s face fell, and he looked back to the factory’s entrance. The spirits gestured fervently for him to follow them. William took a tentative step forward, then another. He shook his head, reached into his pocket, and took out a worn picture of a young child. The hand that held it was young and strong, but translucent. William shook his head, turned away from the gate and began to trudge slowly and with great effort through the spectral crowd.

With each step, his vision blurred a bit more and his old aches and pains returned, but he stared resolutely at the picture and took step after tortuous step; past piles of shining steel beams and cooling furnaces set in crumbling concrete and rusted metal; past lights as they clicked off one by one and train cars that ground to a stop on torn-up tracks. 

An eternity later, William collapsed against the gate he had entered through earlier. He glanced back at the factory, put the picture back in his pocket, and began to cry silently.

“Not yet.” He whispered through his tears. “Not yet.”

Jump: A Personal Narrative 

The thoughts were racing through my head as we drove down the Atlantic City Expressway. The sky was an array of yellows, oranges, and pinks, as the moon could be seen out the front windshield. Do I want to jump? When I get up there am I going to do it? My thoughts were interrupted by my mom changing the radio stations to find one with a little less static. 

“I don’t like the service this car has, I’m putting on my music.” My mom has never liked the service or the weird smell the car has from over the years of driving with kids. I tried to get back into my thoughts, but Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin came on, so again I was interrupted. I had two days before the Escape the Cape Triathlon, where I would be jumping off of the back of the Cape May Ferry and swimming to shore with about sixteen hundred other people. It’s only 500 meters, I swim that for a warm-up, I can do this no problem. I kept trying to reassure myself it wasn’t a difficult task ahead of me. There are not many girls your age racing, all you have to do is jump and finish. No big deal. This race would be my thirteenth race total and the first of my third season. Everyone keeps telling you all you have to do is wear your wetsuit and put your timing chip under it and you’ll be just fine. The timing chip won’t come off and you’ll barely sink a foot before your head hits the surface again. My thoughts kept whirling through my head, well what if this happens? What if that happens? What if this goes wrong? I pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind as I went through another mental checklist of my gear. Okay, for the swim it’s my wetsuit, my goggles, my cape which they give me, and my race suit. For the bike, it’s my shoes, helmet, and my bike. I locked it on the back so it’s set for the overnight. For the run, it’s the same stuff as the bike, and then my sunglasses, my water, my headband, my chews, and my bib which I have to pick up tomorrow morning. My thoughts were stopped yet again by my mother, asking me to text my dad that we were about half an hour away. My dad was in Rhode Island for my little brother’s hockey tournament. They had a six-hour drive and had left the morning prior. 

“Mom, he said ok.” She nodded her head as the directions blared through the radio. 

“Keep left at the fork to stay on Atlantic City Expressway East.” I got back to my checklist again. For after the race I have my extra set of clothes, my bike lock, and my earbuds. Ok, I’m all set. 

Siri spoke again, “Keep left, follow signs for Cape May and merge onto Garden State Parkway”, and spoke again thirty seconds later, “Take exit 36 to merge onto Tilton Road”. I sat listening to Offspring, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and some other artists that I didn’t know for the rest of the ride, watching the yellows and oranges of the sky fade to blues and purples. 

“Okay, so if you do this race you need to join the swim team over the summer and the team at school.” My mom told me as we were sitting at the kitchen table two years earlier. I had known that I wanted to do this race since I heard about it two months prior. Only having a background in running, I was a terrible swimmer. 

“ Yeah I know but….” my mom cut me off, “We’ll sign you up for a summer season at Hatboro before you have to join the high school team, then you can join them and race the summer going into your sophomore year.” I wasn’t going to argue with her so I sighed and ate my lukewarm dinner. Joining the swim team, I thought, would maybe be good for me. I knew if I wanted to race that’s what I had to do. 

It was dark by the time we arrived and saw the Welcome to Wildwood sign, and all I could think was that I was hungry. We stopped for a quick bite at Wawa, then found the little shore home we were staying in. We pulled up in front of the home and all I could smell was the salt from the ocean I would soon be swimming in. Michelle, the heavyset woman we have been family friends with for years, opened the door and welcomed us with open arms. We said our hellos then went back to the car to grab our things for the weekend. I stopped behind the car to unlock my bike and thought for a minute trying to figure out the password. Oh right, it’s something I’ll never be. I put the T then the A and the two Ls in the lock and tugged, releasing the orange springy cord. I pulled my bike off the rack, up the grey wooden steps, and through the screen door into the house. I finished the rest of my Wawa hoagie then changed into pajamas. I didn’t bother checking my phone cause I had already said goodnight to the two people I talk to. I passed out sprawled on the bed. 

I woke up around nine am, debating to get up and shut off my alarm. I decided against it and pulled myself out of bed, and put on my running shorts and teeshirt. I walked into the kitchen, hungry again, as Michelle and my mom sat in the kitchen while drinking coffee. 

“Ah, she’s awake. Good morning princess.” My mom chirped. My mom always calls me a princess when I sleep in and she wakes up before me. She always said I slept like one. 

“Good morning. I’m hungry, can we go eat?” I asked, again thinking about my race. 

“There’s a diner on the way out of Wildwood your mom and I were talking about. Then after we can go pick up our packets, so go get ready.” Michelle said, in between taking sips of her coffee. I nodded and went to get ready. We drove and ate at the diner, where the food was mediocre but the hot chocolate was good. We left the tip and went into Cape May to pick up our packets.  

Packet pickup was busy as usual, the bustle of people was calming in a sense, knowing that all the other people were going to do the same thing I was the next morning. I walked and joined the cluster of people putting their race numbers on the seat tubes of their bikes. As always my mom was taking pictures of me, but I pretended not to notice. I told my mom that I was going to rack my bike and walked away to join another mob of people trying to enter transition, marked with a big black and white blow-up arch. I searched for my spot in the sea of metal racks and finally found it. Okay so racking a road bike is much easier than racking a hybrid or mountain bike. I met up with my mom and Michelle and we walked around the tents set up, waiting for the race briefing to start. 

The race meeting came and went where the head of the race company gave the same spiel he always gives. Michelle, my mom, and I made the half-mile trek back to the car and heading back to Wildwood. The day was uneventful like most pre-race days are. I laid out my race gear for the morning and crashed at nine. I laid in bed picturing my race, jumping off the boat and swimming to shore through the murky choppy water, biking through Cape May, running on the hot sand, and crossing the finish line. I wish it would have gone that way.

The 5:30 am alarm goes off louder than I expected. I didn’t sleep much, but that isn’t new, I race better on little sleep anyway. I quickly get up, get dressed, and go into the kitchen to prepare the oatmeal that I brought from home, which is always cinnamon with half a fresh granny smith apple in it. We walked out the door later than I wanted to, about 6 am, since Michelle took forever to get ready. 

We parked on a little side street and walked the half-mile in the darkness toward transition, while cops and volunteers directed the little traffic around. I had my wetsuit bag in one hand and my blue speedo triathlon bag slung over my back. Michelle and I parted ways with my mom as we walked to the inflated arch we saw the day before. The bustle of transition always calms me down, but then again I can’t hear because I have 80s rock music blaring in my ears. I pulled the yellow cover off of my bike seat and pulled my bike from the rack. One last tire check doesn’t ever hurt, and the pump is in the car anyway if I need it. The tires looked and felt fine, so I re-racked my bike and left transition, heading toward where the boat was docked. I stood with my mom and Michelle until it was time to board. I hugged my mom goodbye and boarded, again alone with my thoughts. 

The boat slowly pulled out of the dock as the spectators ashore slowly shrank. We pulled away from the shore and waited about an hour before the boat stopped for the first time. Music was blaring and people started to cheer. The Olympic- distance triathletes lined up in the back of the boat, herded like cattle toward the edge. Five at a time they jumped. 

Another hour passed, then the boat moved closer to shore. People started to get up from the cabin they were sitting in and walking down the creaky metal stairs. People were pulling on their wetsuits and their caps over their heads. I did the same, more ready now then I was the days prior. I stepped under the cold sprinklers and pulled at the collar of my wetsuit, letting the cold water hit my neck and chest. I stepped into line with the rest of the crowd. 

Slowly walking forward I start to see the arch above the crowd. As the crowd keeps pushing forward toward the shoots, I see glimpses of the water. It looks calm, almost serene. By the time I fully focused on what was going on, I was at the front of the shoot, as a crew member was waving me to step up. 

“You’re good to jump.”

02/05/19 by Mady Colello

I watched the water pour from my kitchen faucet and hit the one cup mark on the measuring cup. My mind was on autopilot as I moved from the sink to the microwave above the outdated oven we had in my kitchen. On this particular evening, I had to be thinking about some unimportant problem from school, or about how the weather was starting to get nice and I could hang outside more often, but unfortunately I did not know that my family’s once less significant problem was about to come full force at us.

After hearing the microwave beep, I swiftly grabbed the measuring cup, careful to not spill it on myself like I had in the past, and poured the hot water into my favorite Christmas mug that I chose to use all year round. I mixed the water in my cup with the chai tea bag and watched as the water took the color of the dark, flavorful tea that I drank every night.

It hadn’t occurred to me until this moment that my parents had been speaking in hushed tones in the dining room next to me. I waited with my tea in curiosity to see if their seriousness would be explained when I made eye contact with my mom, and soon after, my dad. Upon seeing my interest in their secret topic, my dad called my brother up from his video game downstairs.

My father looked at me and my brother both in the eyes and broke the news. Although I don’t remember how he said it, I heard him utter the word that had been known around my house for about a year now -- “cancer”. Tears came rushing to my eyes, but I would not allow myself to cry in front of my parents. It turns out that my eight year old dog’s battle with cancer had come to an end, and she wasn’t the winner.

Unfortunately, I don’t remember the rest of the conversation, just that my dog was to be put down the next day. I removed myself from the matter at hand the first moment I got and went upstairs to my bedroom alone. My once absent mind fell deep into thought as I recalled when this problem in my family first arose. 

February 2018. My dog, Snickers, had been limping on one of her back paws, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for how crazy she ran in the backyard. This time it was different though. Snickers wasn’t bouncing back as quickly as she usually did. As my parents’ worry grew, she was eventually taken to the vet for a check-up. During this period of time I happened to be at school, but the cause of the pain was simply a burr in my dog’s paw. This was good news at the time to my parents, considering that Snickers had a tendency to get injured quite easily. The whole vet trip may have seemed insignificant, but it opened up everyone’s eyes to a greater issue. On this particular vet trip, Snickers had a check-up and some things looked sketchy. The vet did some more tests and found out that she had bone cancer in her back right leg.

After school sometime in February 2018, my brother and I got home from school. I was merely in middle school and he was focused on what was referred to as the toughest year in high school, junior year. In a strikingly similar situation, I recall making tea that night, as I would almost exactly a year later, when I heard the news. Upon hearing the news, I quickly finished making my tea and went upstairs to my room where my tea would lay untouched for the rest of the night. 

Because of my swift exit, I endured criticism from my father for “not caring” about the important family matter involving the family companion. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, I just didn't have the heart to believe that the news was true.

Sometime in February 2018, on a night where slightly unhappy news was shared, I cried myself to sleep.

Reflecting on a night that was almost a year ago made everything seem real to me as I sat on my bed, red faced with mascara stains running lines down my face, trying to sip my tea and keep my cool. I thought about the similarity of the two nights when bad news was shared with my family and I thought about the irony of it. It didn’t take long for me to burst into tears again and somehow place my tea cup on my bedside table. I fumbled around with my phone in an attempt to Facetime [name here] and talk things through with her. 

She didn’t pick up. 

I then called [name here].She didn’t pick up either.

Not being around to talk to me that night was no fault of my two friends, but I had felt like everything was crashing down on me at once. That night I knew that I needed someone to talk to, and my two main confidants weren’t picking up. I impulsively sent a vulnerable text into a group chat with some people I had just started to hang out with. They had been over my house a couple of times, but I didn’t have a close friendship with any of them. The moment I sent in a text, someone sent me their phone number. Then a second later I got a Facetime call. The two boys that talked to me that night over Facetime didn’t know me all that well and didn’t know what to say, yet they listened. Both of them listened to the words I needed to say and empathized with me. It wasn’t about the words they said or how they tried to respond to my sorrowful situation because all I needed to know was that I had someone there for me and I found that in a place I’d never thought to look before.

I didn’t know it then, but those two boys, and many others that checked up on me, would become some of the closest people in my life today. [name here] and [name here] were not friends that I’d let my emotions come out to and were not people I would have considered myself close with. Thinking back on that important moment today, it was nice to know that I had many people in my life would help and talk to me at a moment's notice.

I spent February 5th, 2019 outside with my dog, Snickers. It was particularly warm that day and whilst everyone was in school, I was sitting in my backyard in sweatpants laying on the ground next to my eight year-old companion. When the day was finally coming to an end, she was put down in my backyard by our vet. My parents drove her to an animal hospital in Philly for screening and my older brother locked himself in his bedroom. As I walked around my neighborhood in the dark after my house became silent, I recalled the night prior. I had way more people in my life that cared about my well-being than I was aware of. That specific thought put my mind at ease during the unfortunate times I was experiencing with my family.

It’s been exactly a year now since that day. I remember the hurt and pain, yet I also remember the kindness and empathy that I encountered during two of the saddest days in my life. 02/05/19 was a difficult day, but was made slightly more bearable knowing that I wasn’t completely alone.

Change 

I was at the kitchen table, just finished eating dinner when I was about to learn the devastating news that we were moving without my dad. It was near the end of my second-grade year, about to be a hot and humid summer in Tampa, Florida. I just started getting used to having a little brother run around our house like a crazy maniac and talking at a thousand words per minute. Logan, my brother, was too young to understand what moving meant but I did. At first, I was excited but then everything dawned on me when I saw my dad start to cry.

I lived in Florida for almost eight years until we left. I memorized my address, the home phone number, and the name of my school right before we had to move. I had two dogs, Morgan and Franklin, and an enormous 150-gallon fish tank full of Angelfish and Rainbow fish. My backyard was full of tortoises, geckos, and snakes because we lived across the street from state-owned conservation land. I had many friends from school, dance, and girl scouts some of which I had known since I was born. I loved going swimming at my best friend’s community pool and having a sleepover afterwards was one of my favorite things.

The sun was shining in through the blinds as it was setting for the evening. My mom, dad, brother, and I were sitting at the kitchen table, when my mom said in a moderate tone, five words:  “We are moving to Pennsylvania”. 

Before my brain could take a couple of seconds to process what she said my mouth blurted out, “yayyyy!”. Then, I started processing all of the negatives. Like leaving all of my best friends, my dance school and company dance team, and my Gramma and Grampa, on my dad’s side of the family. I was not sure then whether to be excited or heartbroken about this event. Then, all of a sudden, my dad storms off to his bedroom and I follow him. 

I ask, “What’s wrong, Daddy?” 

He replied, “I hope you enjoy Pennsylvania.”

“But aren’t you going to enjoy it, too.”

“No, your mom and I are getting a divorce. Do you know what that means?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we have to move without you,” I said with concern.

“Well, in this case, it does,” my dad said and then went back to crying. I gave him a big hug and told him everything would be okay. That night while I was lying in my bed so many thoughts were running through my head till I drifted to sleep.

The next morning I went to school like normal, but when I came home I had many questions. I found out we were moving in a few months and also that we had to leave my two dogs behind which made my heart break. Another thing I learned was we were going to move in with my mom’s parents and sister, Oma, Pops, and Aunt Valerie. My best friend and I spent every minute we could together up until the last day before I had to leave. We had a going away party at the pool and all my friends and family came. My dance recital was the very last weekend I would spend with all of my friends and it was very emotional. When the recital was over I said goodbye to my dad and I got in the car with my mom, brother, Oma, and Pops and we drove off to our first stop on the way to Pennsylvania.

Our first stop was a pleasant surprise, Orlando for a day of fun and excitement at Disney World. My Oma and Pops love going to Disney and love seeing our excitement even more.  They thought we could use one last trip to Disney World, not knowing when we might be able to return. We rode our favorite rides, mine was the Mad Hatter tea cups. My Pops bought us ice cream for lunch, the chocolate covered vanilla popsicles shaped like Mickey heads. I also got to see my favorite princess Ariel. It was a great day and a happy ending to my time in Florida. The next day we boarded the auto train outside of Orlando, Florida and made our journey up the East Coast to Lorton, Virginia which is just outside of Washington, DC.  When we got off the train we stopped at my mom’s aunt’s house and got to meet their new puppy, a German Shepard named Burger. We had a nice lunch with family then went on our way to our final destination.

When we got to Pennsylvania I did not know anybody. It was weird going to a whole different state and accepting the fact that it is not a vacation that will last only a week. I went all summer without really knowing anybody but my cousins. I was so anxious for school to start I had no idea what to expect. Luckily I was going to a brand new school that was just finished being built over the summer. Also, the school district was completing its rezoning of neighborhoods.  Little did I know this would help me adapt much quicker as all of the kids starting school this year were in the same boat as myself. They had all been shuffled around the last couple of years and now this new school would have children that came from one of three different schools. Nobody could tell who was new and who had lived here their whole lives.

All of this devastating news and actions have really impacted my life for the better. For example, it has really allowed me to be able to make friends easily and become more outgoing. Also, it has granted me to experience and adapt to a long distance relationship with my best friend. Change has taught me to see how easy it is for oneself to adapt to a new learning style or culture. Like for instance, I had to go from a very laid back, beachy culture to a fast paced, aggressive culture. Now I am aware why change is needed and is a good thing even though it might not seem so at the time.

A Stroke of Bad Luck by Veronica Connell

As we got closer to her house I could only imagine what we would be doing that day. Maybe making dinner, possible coloring, and since it was summer, most definitely swimming. We pulled up to her house and I snapped out of my daydream. I hopped out of the car and ran into her house. “GRANDMOM!” I shouted with excitement in my voice.

“Hi Veronica. How are you, honey?” She said in a soothing voice. Every time I went to her house, she always would greet me with a warm smile and a big hug. She was always such a kind soul and stressed those types of values on me, telling me to always include others despite their differences. Along with that, she would always tell us to be patient with difficult people and live in the moment. 

“I’m great,” I said with enthusiasm in my voice. I then ran upstairs and grabbed crayons and a coloring book while my mom and grandmom caught up with each other. A few minutes after, I heard two loud voices coming up the stairs. My mom had come into the room chewing her gum and crackling it so aggressively.

“Bye Ron, I’ll pick ya up later. Love ya.” my mom had said in her loud, but yet somehow calming tone.

“Bye Mom, I love you.” I squeaked. “Grandmom, why do you always tell us to be nice to people no matter how mean they are to us?” I wondered. Of course, I knew she would say the same thing she always said.

“You never know what people have been through or why they might be the way they are. Always treat people with respect and kindness, promise me that.” 

“I promise, I swear on my fish that I always will,” I said with a chuckle.

...

“Rose and Ronnie, can you guys come here?” my mom called in a shaky voice. She seemed to be out of it that day, unlike her usual loud, expressive self, she was being reserved and quiet. “Grandmom is in surgery and is gonna be sick for a while.” When those words came out of her mouth I didn’t quite understand, probably because I was six at the time, but I could tell by my family’s expressions that it was serious.

“What’s wrong with her?” my sister asked, tearing up. My sister was always panicky and expected the worst, which is probably why she seemed so upset from the moment our mom called our names.

“She had a stroke.” This made zero sense to me and my mom knew that so she elaborated, “Her brain is bleeding, and next time you see her she won’t be the same person.” By this point, my imagination had kicked in and I thought that meant she was going to be Hannah Montanna or something so I begged my mom to take us to see her. 

…

A week or two had passed at this point and my mom, dad, aunts, and uncles had been going to and from the hospital refusing to take my cousins, sister, and me to see her. I could tell my mom was upset but she tried to hide it. 

Finally, my family went to go visit her altogether and I was super excited. As we walked closer and closer to her room I heard her.

“Lucille! Lucille?” she would say every so often. She sounded confused, disoriented in a sense. Then it dawned on me. My mom did not mean she would be a different person, but rather meant the fact that she would act differently and may not remember me. It was as if she had gone through a reset and could not realize who we were to her.

We walked into her room and my mom approached her. “Hi Mom, how are you?” my mom asked her with a sense of sadness in her voice. 

“Oh Lucille, I’m good honey,” she answered seeming to be unaware that she was not talking to Lucille, but rather to Gina. My grandmom had not been the same at all. Her soothing tone had turned into a confused and helpless cry. She not only acted differently but she looked completely different as well. Her hair had gone from a beautiful brown-red color to white as fresh snow on a cold winter day. This once powerful woman looked so fragile that I thought she might break if she were to stand or get hugged. 

Then she looked at me. “Hi Grandmom,” I crept closer to her as I tried to talk calmly. She seemed unsure of who I was and afraid of what I was doing.

“Lucille,” she panicked “what is that one doing?” She was pointing at me, scared of what I might do or could do. I tried my best not to react and to be kind to her, but I couldn’t help it and I started to tear up.

“Mom that’s my daughter, your granddaughter.” I could hear how upset my mom was in her voice. She seemed to resent my grandmom but also seemed to feel sorry for her. All I wanted to do at that point was to go home.

…

“Well, she’s all set to go home,” the doctor said in a cheer. By this point, she had gained back some of her physical strength, but her memory still was not there and the doctor had said it might not return. “Can whoever is having her stay at their house come to sign this release form please?” My aunt stepped out of the room to sign the forms while we all excitedly explained to my grandmom what was happening.

“You’re going to stay at Renee’s, mom! Are you excited?” My mom asked with a smile on her face. My mom was excited to have her leave the hospital and had hope that she would get better.

…

A couple of months had gone by and she had gotten worse. I was over my aunt’s house playing with my cousins when I heard it. “Veronica!” I thought I was imagining it but then I heard it again “Veronica!” She had seen me from the other room. I walked in slowly and then I realized she had remembered who I was. 

“Grandmom? I kept my promise to you.” I whispered to her in fear that she would not remember me if I yelled or did anything to startle her. We looked at each other for a few moments and I could tell she was proud. Then she was gone again just like a car driving by your house, there one minute and disappeared the next. 

“Lucille, go get me water.”

Understanding the Past

I was sitting patiently atop my suitcase as we waited by our gate. We took up a large portion of the seats because of our enormous amount of bags, but so did many others around us because nobody goes to Australia for a short period of time. I turned and looked at my brother who had a puzzled look on his face. He was fourteen and clearly conflicted about this move. His face showed traces of anger, but also a hint of excitement. I redirected my gaze to look at the rest of my family. My mom was shuffling through our tickets, quadruple checking that they were all there, and my dad paced in the aisle while talking to his boss on the phone. My oldest brother, Ilian, leaned against one of the numerous suitcases and tried his best to close his eyes, whilst my younger brother, Devon, sat in my mom’s lap and chewed on his thumb. I scanned all of their faces, trying my best to understand how they were feeling. My mom had tried to tell me that this would be fun and a new adventure for all of us, but I could tell that she was trying to convince herself of this as well. My older brothers clearly were not exactly happy. They had just gotten settled into their new lives with my mom, who was their stepmom, they had made new friends and they had just gotten used to their new school. Now everything was about to change again. However, I did sense an underlying feeling of excitement. After all, not all teenagers get to live in Australia. 

After we boarded the plane, my excitement started to build. I stared out the window, not having broken my silence, looking at the morning sun as it shone over the clouds. After staring for a little while, I started to get a headache because of the intensity of the sun’s blaze. I turned to my mom and said, “How close are we?”, my eyes wide with anticipation. She looked up from her book.

“We will be in California soon,” she replied as she patted my head. We arrived in California and almost immediately boarded our next flight, but for the short amount of time we had in the gate, I laid in my brother’s lap and stared at the ceiling, still conflicted. Once we boarded our flight to Australia, I immediately ran to the window where I would stay for the whole twenty-hour flight. The rest of my family slept, but I physically could not pull myself from that window. The excitement was almost overwhelming at this point. As soon as we landed, I made my dad grab my suitcase and I ran. I heard the conversations my parents had with the airport employees as we went through customs, but I was far too busy marveling at my surroundings to pay attention. We went to pick up our rental car and drove to meet our friends. The whole car ride, my eyes didn’t leave the window. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Everything was so new, so different. We got to the house of our family friends and all the exhaustion hit me. I, a three-year-old, had been awake for well over 24 hours at this point. I fell asleep standing up against the couch. 

The next week or so was spent settling in. Ilian and Brian toured their new school, while Devon and I met the woman that would be our nanny for the next seven months. Her name was Mariana. I absolutely adored her. That night, a few hours after Ilian and Brian got home from their tour, I went to get a glass of water because I couldn’t sleep, and I heard my parents talking about the school.

“Are you sure it’s safe? It seemed like the kids were a little rough around the edges.” my mom whispered in a concerned tone. I sat at the top of the stairs, awaiting my dad’s reply.

“I think they’ll be fine. It will help them build character and I’m sure they’ll make friends quickly. They’re good at that.” My dad muttered, looking up from the computer. 

A few days later, my brothers started school. I spent the day with Mariana and Devon running around the park that was near our house. When Ilian and Brian got home, they immediately went to their room, which was unusual for them. When they came down for dinner, I noticed a small bruise around Ilian’s eye, but I didn’t think anything of it. I assumed that he had gotten hurt playing rugby with Brian. 

…

Things like this kept happening over the course of the next few weeks. They would both come home with various cuts and bruises, but three-year-old-me was unfazed by these. Brian and Ilian were so rough as kids that it didn’t seem that out of the norm to me. I was used to their intensity. On top of that, they spent all of their free time playing criquet or rugby in the street behind our house, so I assumed that these injuries were the product of hours spent falling on concrete. However, those cuts and bruises started to disappear and after a little while, they didn’t return. By the time we had been there for a month, I stopped seeing the bruises all together. They started to enjoy their school more once they had made a few friends. In fact, they bonded quickly with two siblings, Dylan and Madison. They were from Chile, and the main difference between them and my brothers was that they were tan and extremely muscular. They looked intimidating, like they were straight out of an action movie, but in reality, they were two of the sweetest people I have ever met. Eventually, they were coming over every weekend. 

… 

“Did you find the O?” I shouted across the kitchen at Devon, as he waddled around, his head moving from side to side so quickly, you would think he was being chased by something out of a nightmare.

“No!” he replied as he fell to the ground, tripping over his then clumsy feet. He immediately started laughing and rolling around. Mariana had made a set of origami boxes, each with a letter of the alphabet on it, and our job was to find each box and then find that letter in magazines or on cereal boxes. We would then cut those letters out and put them in said boxes. We played that game so often, we filled all of them to the brim. Later that day, we went to the park and since it was December, it was remarkably hot. 

“Runnnn! Okay, now we can walk.” Mariana exclaimed as we passed through sunny and shady patches of sidewalk on our way to get popsicles to beat the heat. It was Australia day. Ilian and Brian had been looking forward to this day for weeks. They were going to go see a professional Australian soccer game without my parents. They took the train and were gone until long after I went to sleep. When I woke up the next day, I sat at the table eating my cereal and Ilian and Brian came down the stairs. The bruises were back, and worse than ever. I didn’t know what had happened at that soccer game, but I could sense even at my young age that I wasn’t supposed to ask. We continued on with our lives, but my parents had a new, strange sense of caution in all of their actions. This lasted for some time. 

…

It was a hot Saturday afternoon, and I was sitting on the floor as my mom worked in the kitchen. Ilian and Brian were sitting at the dining room table, playing a card game. Devon had been upstairs in our room taking a nap and had somehow managed to get over the gate we had at the top of the stairs. I heard this horrible repeated thumping noise, and I watched Ilian and Brian jump from their seats at the table, but then stand there looking helpless. My mom ran from the kitchen and I immediately heard a horrible cry. The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion. Devon had just tumbled down the entire flight of stairs. He laid on an ice pack for a little while, and he was fine after some ice cream and extra attention from everyone in the house. 

...

The next week was Christmas. We had spent our Christmas eve at a nearby beach, and we put all of our wet, sandy belongings on the porch to dry. When we woke up Christmas day, they were all gone. 

...

The next few months went by smoothly. Ilian and Brian were doing well in school, they had made a number of friends, and Devon and I made friends with the neighbors, Rosie and Max. We spent virtually all of our free time with them or Mariana. No one got hurt, except for a time when I stared at the sun for a bit too long and ended up having to go to the emergency room because I had gotten sunburn in my eyes. We had some wonderful family adventures and saw all of the animals and plants you can imagine. While spending a night in a cave, some of my family learned how to play the didgeridoo. We then spent about a month in New Zealand and returned home from there. 

I have often thought about this part of my life in recent years and had many questions. When I was about ten, I asked my mom about the bruises.

“You may not know this, but the public schools in Australia were pretty awful.” She told me in a solemn tone. “They aren’t very accepting of new kids there, and often times Ilian and Brian would get beat up in the bathroom. That was until they met Dylan and Madison who helped protect them,” she explained as she stroked my hair. “ It was a rough experience for them at the beginning, but they are extremely grateful for what they learned through it”. 

“If Dylan and Madison were there to protect them, why did it happen again later?” I questioned.

“As you know, Ilian wrestled for a few years in high school.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, on that day, Australia day, they took the train to go see a soccer game. They were decked out in Australian garb, and there was a group of about twelve aboriginal girls on the train with them. You’ve learned about the Revolutionary War, right?”

“Yes…” I responded, confused about how that was relevant. 

“Well, in Australia, something similar happened to what happened here a long time ago, only it was more recent. When the colonists came over to North America, the Native Americans weren’t very happy, were they.” 

“No, obviously,” I said with a twinge of sass in my voice as to say ‘I’m not stupid, Mom’. 

“Well, the aboriginals there weren’t very happy with the immigrants coming into their country. I can only imagine that these girls were particularly upset about it on that day because of its significance because one of the girls came over and tackled Ilian!”

“What?!” I exclaimed, as my jaw dropped out of shock about what I had just heard. 

“Ilian knew what he was doing, so he was able to pin the girl, but once he had done that, all of her friends jumped on top of him! Brian tried his best to help Ilian, but it didn’t go their way. They were fine and they went to the game, but they still took a beating.”

“Wow…” I uttered in a low voice, “I had no idea”. 

Still, there are numerous things I have yet to understand from that trip. However, I learned that my brothers are stronger than I have ever realized before, and everything is not what it seems. My dad was right. That experience of being in a school system like that changed them forever. It helped my brothers build character and become more appreciative of what they had. As I sat there, stunned, my mom asked 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m great,” I replied, as I thought about everything that part of my life was to me. It was so much more than I ever had realized before. That is what shaped my brothers, and everything they have ever done has helped shape me. I cannot thank them enough for that. 

A Day In My Glass Castle by Zach Peters

I wake up and I lean over to my nightstand on my left to grab my phone. I see a list of unread notifications, but at the top of the screen, I see the date and time. It’s 8:30 AM, the perfect time to wake up. It’s not so early that I feel deprived of sleep, but it’s not so late that I get a delayed start to my day. I lean over to my right and see my wife is sound asleep. I’ve learned from experience that it’s in my best interest to not wake her up and let her get up naturally. Still holding onto my phone, I do my best to get out of bed without disturbing her.

For now, I ignore the notifications on my phone. I need to get ready for the day. Dressed in my comfy pajamas, I exit my bedroom and walk out into the hallway. I see that the doors to my kids’ bedrooms are closed. That’s usually a good indication that they’re still asleep. Whenever they wake up, they like to rush out of their room and play around downstairs. They have a number of various toys, musical instruments, and video games. They make a ton of noise and have often served as my alarm.

I continue past their rooms to the staircase and walk down to the kitchen. As I walk, I notice the details of the house. It looks nice, but it isn’t too extravagant. I have the money to buy a mansion, but I don’t want to. I don’t need to have a bunch of fancy, expensive things to be fulfilled. What’s important is that I have a house for myself, my wife, and my two kids.

I reach the kitchen and start preparing breakfast. I crack the eggs and let them cook in the pan. Meanwhile, the bacon is sizzling on another pan and a couple pieces of toast are in the toaster. Amidst my preparations, my wife wakes up and walks downstairs into the kitchen. She plants a gentle kiss on my cheek and then sits down in the living room to watch television until I finish making breakfast. She likes to show her affection to me, but knows not to distract me too much while I’m cooking or the food will end up burnt or on the floor.

Soon, I finish cooking and begin to plate the meal. I alert my wife, so she knows to wake the kids up and bring them downstairs for breakfast. The kids rush down the stairs, excited for their meal. I placed all of the plates on the dining room table and everyone sat around it. We made good conversation as we ate. I always savor the moments we spend together as a family because they always fly by. Once the food is gone, both kids immediately start to annoy my wife and I. My daughter, who is 8 years old, pleaded to be excused from the table. At the same time, my son, who is 6 years old, is begging for more bacon. After minutes of pestering, I gave in to my daughter and my son accepted the fact there was no more bacon, so they both got up from the table. My wife and I soon follow suit and get started on what we each have to do for the day.

I walk upstairs back to the bedroom and prepare to take my morning shower. I like to shower in the morning because I feel like it kind of energizes me and prepares me for the day. It’s also a nice place to think. I get a lot of my best ideas while I’m in the shower and that’s why I always keep a notepad right outside the door. Today, however, I instead take the opportunity to drink in everything that’s happening in my life right now.

Today, my new music album was released. My phone was full of notifications from my social media. My fans were really excited about my new album and I’m glad I didn’t disappoint them. I also received a message from my label congratulating me on the success of my album’s release. Possibly the most important notification, was my reminder of the fact that today I leave for my new tour. I have my first show tomorrow in New York City. We live really close in the state of New York but, I need to make sure I get there early to set up the show.

Leaving for the tour isn’t a problem for me. After all, touring is my favorite part of being a music artist. Ever since I was young, I’ve just felt that I was born to perform. I’ve been inspired by my favorite band, twenty one pilots, to make my shows truly spectacular. I put a lot of effort into the set list and visual effects. I’m overjoyed that it all pays off once I start my tour.

I exit the shower clean and refreshed. My wife gets her turn in the shower and I change into my clothes for today. I look at my suitcase and various other bags and notice how much packing is left to do. I’ve done this many times before, yet I still leave packing mostly until the last minute. All of my equipment and other accessories for the show are already packed, but I still need to pack my personal belongings. I go through my closet to grab my clothes and gather my toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving kit, and other similar products from the bathroom. I pack these items and search the house for other notable items I might want to bring. By the time I finish packing, it’s just about time for lunch.

Since I made breakfast this morning, my wife prepares a quick lunch. The kids usually have plenty of snacks throughout the day so lunch doesn’t need to be as big of a meal as breakfast or dinner. My wife fixes up a couple of sandwiches using some deli meat and cheese left in the fridge. Also, we typically don’t sit together as a family for lunch. Everyone’s free to eat wherever they want, as long as they don’t make a mess. The children have problems with that sometimes, but it’s ok. It’s not that difficult to clean up.

After lunch, I don’t have much to do to prepare for my departure, so I decide to spend time with my family. After all, they can’t come with me on my tour. The kids have to go to school and my wife has to watch over them. However, they do have tickets to see my first show. The kids wanted to play a fun game, so we all played Uno. It’s one of our favorite games to play together as a family. My wife and I are both naturally competitive, which has been passed down to our children. This leads to game sessions being very intense, but we all still have fun.

Hours pass as we play Uno and other games, until I have to start getting ready to leave. We all win a few times, so no one feels like a loser. The kids beg for just a few more rounds, but they had done that just a couple rounds earlier. It’s going to work again. I go up to my bedroom to check one last time that I have everything I need. I go down the list and make sure I’ve got everything on it. When I see that it’s all there, I bring all of my bags downstairs to load into the tour van, which my driver had just arrived with.

I load all of my bags into the van and say my goodbyes to my family. I will see them at my show tomorrow, but after that, I won’t see them in person for a few months. That’s the life of a touring artist. It’s the one that I’ve chosen and I wouldn’t have it any other way. While I will miss my family, I’m excited for the thrill that comes with performing. Having said my goodbyes, I hop onto the tour van and we start our journey to New York City.

It’s not quite time for me to go to sleep, so I watch Disney Plus for a while. There have been some really cool shows that have come out recently. I’ve been addicted to their latest Marvel show. Eventually, I get tired and head to bed. It’s not the same as sleeping at home. The bed is smaller and I don’t have my wife sleeping next to me. However, I always get used to it after a few nights. So after a long day of family fun, I go to sleep.

Once an Eagle Scout always an Eagle Scout by Adam Chast

“Once an Eagle Scout always an Eagle Scout” is what was said by the US marine Max. B at my eagle scout court of honor, which took place on June 7th, 2019. However, we have to go way back before we can get to this event. 

I have 3 brothers, all of which were in the Boy Scouts, so by default I was forced to join the Boy Scouts of America. If you don’t know what boy scouts are, let me help you out from under that 110-pound boulder you must have been living under (Boy Scouts is 110 years old). Boy Scouts was founded in 1910 with the idea that boys (and now girls) will be allowed to learn outdoor skills as well as learning to be a decent member of society. There are 7 ranks in Boy Scouts; Scout, Tenderfoot, Second Class, First Class, Star Scout, Life Scout, and Eagle Scout. 

I started my scouting journey in October of 2014. It’s been a long time, I know. Back when I started you used to just get the scout rank when you enter the scouts, but now it is an actual rank that you need to earn. Now, unlike my scout rank, every other rank takes a lot of hard work and determination. For a ten-year-old, starting off that is pretty dang difficult considering I had the attention span of a goldfish (the cracker not the animal). So as you can infer, it was very difficult to get me to pay attention to something at the time that I had no interest in learning. Now, I wasn’t doing all this on my own; I was with other scouts that were my age. We were instructed by a man named Mike Gable. Mike is a special case in scouting; Mike was the first person in our troop to have more than 100 merit badges. He is also one of the most accomplished scouts I’ve ever known. We had a nickname for him, or at least I did. I decided to call him “Super Scout USA!” Anyway enough about him, this is supposed to be about me, so as I was saying about Mike, he’s an “overachiever.” Therefore, you can guess that he worked us to the bone trying to get us up in the ranks as fast as he could. So as I said before, you start with scout and move your way up through tenderfoot and second class and first class. Mike worked us so hard that he got us up to first class in one year. That is unheard of, so as you could probably tell that was pretty fast, so I always had that fast-moving mentality throughout scouts. 

In the summer, the Boy Scouts usually go to a week-long summer camp where we live in the woods and sleep in tents and small 3 sided wooden structures called ads. We go to this summer camp because they offer merit badges, and if you know anything about boy scouts is that you need 21 merit badges to achieve eagle. I have a lot of great (and also some not so great) memories of summer camp. If I were to tell every detail about my summer camp adventure we could be here for about 3000 words, that’s for another time. What I can give you about summer camp is that it’s a very long and tiring experience that contributes to my love and troubles with scouts. I did 6 years of summer camp and throughout all of it I did all of the difficult merit badges first, then I was able to do all of the fun ones. The point is that If it was not for summer camp would have never been able to get Eagle as fast as I did. All of my brothers got Eagle Scout when they were 17-turning-18. I achieved Eagle the summer before my 16th birthday. After my first

summer camp, I achieved the rank of First Class. If you ask anyone that does Boy Scouts, achieving a new rank is a thrill. 

When I earned that rank I just had so much energy to move forward and start planning what I could do to get ahead in scouts. Throughout scouts, I worked hard and hardly worked sometimes. When I got my first position in scouts, it was as patrol leader and my job was to lead my patrol (or group) of 4-5 kids and lead them in activities to earn their ranks. From there I was made the Assistant senior Patrol leader of meetings, and the next year I was made the Troop Guide. That job entails teaching the new younger scouts, the same job that Super Scout USA Mike Gable had. I had earned the rank of Star before all of my peers and still, to this day, I am ahead of all of the people I had started with. Then, when I turned 14, I earned the rank of Life Scout. This is the last rank before Eagle Scout, so, as I did with all of the other ranks, I started to look into the requirements for Eagle so that I could get it as quickly as possible. Around the same time I earned Life Rank, I decided to look into the “National Youth Leadership Training Course,” otherwise known as NYLT. This is a 6-day training program that I completed at the age of 15. After that was complete I was ready to get the ball rolling for Eagle Scout. Around the same time that I started to work on my eagle scout, my brother, Zach, was also working on his Eagle Scout, and he is 3 years older than I am. Zach waited until his 18th birthday was a year away to start working on it. So we were on the same pace and the same track as each other. 

Although, just like the others in my age group, I pulled ahead of Zach and got ahead on the paperwork. My project was to replace all the dugout benches at Klinger Middle School. When it comes to planning and doing an eagle scout project there is a lot of paperwork to fill out. When I say a lot of paperwork to fill out, I mean a LOT of paperwork to fill out. Not to mention the signatures that I had to get. Since I was doing a project at a school I needed to have a signature from the principal and the school board. Once I had all of those signatures, I needed to go get my project approved by the Boy Scouts of America Board of Directors. When I say that I was nervous, I’m not talking about waiting to take a test that I didn’t study for the type of nervousness. I’m talking about a real panic type of nervousness. I happened to have the glory of getting to speak to a man named Tom DeShields. Mr. DeShields’ reputation is that he is a very particular guy. If you don't have just one thing, your project will not pass. He was a scary guy and I knew that from the first thing he said to me. So a little backstory before I tell you what he said, I had just acquired some new bling that I planned to get put onto my uniform, but I jumped at the first opportunity I had to get my project approved. So I didn’t have time to get all of my new patches Sewed on so my dad had the bright idea of just stapling everything onto the shirt. So as I was saying the first thing Mr. Desheilds Said to me was, “Nice Staple Job.” Those words stuck. Kind of funny though: my project got approved. My initial thought was “Oh good the hard work is over” Little did I know, The harder work was just starting. On August 11, 2018, I executed and completed my Eagle Scout project. From there it was a whole lot of waiting, and at that point, I had to send in my eagle scout application. I did, but when I sent in my eagle scout application my brother did as well. Our Eagle Scout Final meeting was in May of 2019. We had ours on the same night since we had helped each other with our paperwork. Zach Went first. His meeting was about an hour long, and then it was my turn to have my final meeting. All of the things that they had asked me about had just been about my scouting experience, and my look into scouts and everything else. We both passed in what was the first ever joint eagle scout final conference. From that point on we had one vision in mind: To get up onto that stage and receive our eagle scout recognition. This brings us all up to speed to when Zach and I were standing next to each other while a Marine saluted us and we saluted him back, while he uttered the words

“Once an Eagle Scout, always an Eagle Scout.”

My Grandmother is My Glass Castle by JO

Strength and faith can be defined in many ways but to me, it defines my grandmother. Strength is the ability to overcome difficulties by putting in work and applying yourself. It's the state of mind that deals with difficult situations or events. Faith, on the other hand, is the hopefulness, belief, and ability to completely trust in someone or something. Both strength and belief inspire the desires and dreams that make us face these starling defeats. In these dark defeating moments, we all have a glass castle-something that allows us to keep moving forward and keeps us looking forward. The only thing that allows me to keep my strength is my own personal glass castle. 

For me, my glass castle isn’t a home, it isn’t any materialistic object that can be bought. My glass castle is something that’s priceless with significance that is far beyond anything else. The glass castle I’m describing is my grandma. A woman that has encountered so many things in her life encouraging me to stay strong, having hope and never settling.  My grandmother was 62 years old with blonde-brown short curly hair. She had a smile as bright as the sun and contagious laughter that lifted any negative emotions. She could light up any room she walked into. Although my grandma was a kind souled woman she came from a poor upbringing and lived in the city where the neighborhoods weren’t the greatest. She endured many abusive relationships over her years and was left on her own to be a single mother of four. She knew she wanted better not only for herself but for her children.  She worked two jobs a day to be able to provide a roof over her kids head, food on the table and clothes on their back, never letting her pride get in the way. 

She was faced with health issues, where she almost lost her life, but her faith never faltered,  she fought day by day and prayed night by night and slowly recovered. After working and saving up she was able to buy a home for her family. She beamed with pride as this was something that was hers, a place she would raise her children, and grandchildren would all know as their home. After years of always being there for all the important moments for her kids and grandkids, she was later diagnosed with cancer. While the doctors didn’t think she had long to live, she fought and faithfully attended her chemo treatments. No matter how sick she was she still made time to attend my school events, birthdays, confirmations, etc. Always smiling even when she was weak. 

She was later admitted to an ICU where she was thought to live no longer than a few hours, let alone days, but little did the doctors know that they underestimated her faith and strength. My grandma was able to live for more than 30 days and we were able to spend that precious time with her. 

Experiencing the harsh reality of life at a young age has allowed me to grow as a person becoming more mature and considerate. These moments taught me that life will throw unexpected things in my way. The biggest lesson I have learned is how I should never take anything for granted because time isn’t a promised thing. My grandmother taught me how to cook, clean, and how to treat others respectfully. I learned how I should be myself and not put on a mask to be accepted by others. To have pride and walk with confidence but as well as respect myself in order for others to respect me.

I spent most of my summers growing up with my grandmother learning more about her past. Through everything that had affected her, she remained strong, and determined, her faith never faltered. She Spread love unconditionally and looked at things from a positive perspective. She taught me to focus on school and church and make them my main priority in order for me to have a successful future. She showed me that as long as I am determined and dedicate myself to becoming an intelligent and independent successful woman I won’t need to rely on anyone to make my dreams come true.  

I inspire to be just like my grandmother having faith and strength to get me through life’s obstacles. I always remember my grandma’s positive attitude when surrounded by negativity, shadowing her determination to keep pushing forward, and never giving up, and remembering to always believe in me. I want to tell my kids in the future about her life story and all the funny and memorable moments I shared with her. I was motivated and moved to watch her not give up and continue ongoing to chemo smiling through it all giving us hope. I would admire her from the side realizing how honest, empathetic, and considerate person she truly was inside and out.  

 My glass castle is to be that uplifting as a woman that can face difficult moments in life with a smile on my face. I want to resemble my grandmother but in my own significant way. I will follow in her footsteps keeping her memory, her honor, her legacy alive, and be that elegant lady, with the heart of angel and strength of a warrior. 

Obliviousness Obliviated

When I was younger, I was extremely oblivious. Some may find that strange, as currently many of my teachers would describe me as astute. I was a very different person back then.

 One afternoon, when I was seven or eight, I was watching my brother, Sam, play Super Mario. Technically, he was my half-brother, but our dad didn’t like when we referred to each other as anything besides “my brother”, or “my sister”. He didn’t believe in any ‘step’ or ‘half’ prefixes. I didn’t complain. I didn’t understand it, anyway. 

Usually, Sam didn’t mind me watching. We were eight years apart, so our maturity levels were always distinct enough that we never really fought. I was usually quiet, even encouraging- unless he lost, then I’d just laugh at him. This specific time, he had yet to lose a life, and I was urging him to continue on to the next level. 

“C’mon! Click it!” I clamored. Sam held up the hand that wasn’t holding his controller to hush me. He lowered the volume on the game and tilted his head towards the doorway. Now curious, I too did the same. Through the open door and down the hallway, we could hear our dad fighting with my mom in the kitchen. I couldn’t tell you what the argument was about. In hindsight, my parents were always fighting. Bills, schedules, the smell of smoke clinging to his jackets or the smell of something bitter on his breath… anything and everything, really. 

Whatever it was, Sam didn’t find any interest in it. He rolled his eyes and pressed play. I guess he was used to his parents fighting, but I wasn’t as quick to move on.

“What are they talking about?” I asked, my eyes not leaving the doorway. I tried to hear over the upbeat soundtrack of Mario. It didn’t work. 

“Nothing, they’re just arguing.” he muttered.

“Arguing? Why?”

Sam pressed the buttons on his controller a little harder than necessary. “Bean, I told you it’s nothing.” 

I frowned. Sam only called me ‘Bean’ when he was worried I was upset. I stood up and thundered into the kitchen, ignoring my brother’s calls behind me. I stood in the doorway and pouted at my parents, who had now stopped their squabble to consider me with confused gazes. My father quirked an eyebrow.

“Why are you fighting?” I demanded. They looked at eachother, and then at me. 

“We’re not fighting, sweetheart. We’re just having a disagreement.” My mother tried to satiate me. I looked at my dad. He decided to stay quiet, which was probably the right decision considering how tense my mother’s shoulders were. I shrugged.

“‘Mkay.”

When I got back to the living room, my brother was on the next level. 

“I’m staying at my mom’s tonight, Bean.” Sam said.

“‘Mkay.”

~

The night that it happened, I was still very oblivious. Not as much as before- I had begun to notice that some girls who called each other their ‘bestfriend’ didn’t really like each other at all, and sometimes the kids we left out of our games seemed happier to be alone. But I didn’t notice how my dad stayed out later and later each night, or how he ‘fell asleep’ on the couch a lot more frequently. 

It started at my friend’s house. Juliette and I were at her house, working on an eighth grade history project. Our subject was the Dont Ask, Don’t Tell policy, and after Juliette’s ingenious idea of a rainbow border, I suggested using special scissors to make the borders of our paragraphs look cooler. When Juliette agreed, I called my mother.

“Hello?”

“Hey mom, can you bring over the special shape scissors for our project?”

My mother sighed. “Sweetheart, it’s late. Shouldn’t you be wrapping up?”

“Mom, come on! Please? We need them!” I whined. I wasn’t usually much of a whiner, but I didn’t understand why my mother was being so difficult. She sighed again.

“I’ll be over in ten.”

“Thank you, love you, bye!”

Juliette and I finished our poster in about an hour, and soon I was back in the car with my mom. She was quiet. I thought she was upset with me for having her bring the scissors, so I didn’t say anything. 

When I got home, she handed me the remote to the television. 

“I got some ice cream today at the store. Want some?” she asked. Just like how my brother only called me ‘Bean’ in rare cases, my mother scarcely let me control the TV and eat junk food when I was mad at her. I was confused, because I thought that she was mad at me. Still, I was twelve, and in no position to pass up on that offer.

“Okay, thanks!”

About an hour late, halfway into some new superhero movie, my dad came through the door. I muttered an unfocused ‘hi’. I was too preoccupied with the screen to notice that my mother neglected any sign of acknowledgement. 

When my dad passed through the living room and headed upstairs, I didn’t think anything of it. He worked long days, and often went to bed as soon as he got home. When he came back down twenty minutes later, it was still nothing out of the ordinary. Sometimes he ate before sleeping. When I noticed that he was standing rock still next to me, and that my mother had suddenly gone ever more tense, I paused the movie.

“What?” I demanded. They looked at eachother, and then at me. 

“Sweetheart, your dad isn’t going to be living with us any longer.”

What? My first thought was prison. My dad must have done something stupid and now he was going to jail. I could live with that. My next thought was business. My dad sometimes travelled for work. Maybe he had an assignment somewhere. I could live with that. Then I realized my parents were separating.

Oh. 

But that couldn’t be right. Divorce happens in movies. Divorce happens to the kid across the street. Divorce happens to my classmates. Divorce wasn’t supposed to happen to me. It couldn’t happen to me. 

That only happened when your parents were always fighting, like how mom and dad were yelling at each other yesterday, or the day before that, or a few days before… oh. But, divorce only happened to parents who didn’t love each other- I had just heard my parents tell eachother they loved each other last week… or maybe the week before that? Nevermind- divorce only happened to parents who didn’t care about their kids anymore, like how we never see Sam. But my dad spends a lot of time with me. We went to the carnival a few months ago. He sat next to me and watched a movie just last week, or, maybe that was my mom? 

I realized they were both looking at me. 

“‘Mkay.”

Then my dad walked out the door. That night, I cried for a minute or so, because I felt like it was appropriate. My world had just been ripped to shreds in like, what, five minutes? So I shed a few tears and asked my mom if I could resume my movie. 

~

I saw my dad two weeks later. He had a haircut. He said he’d been living with a friend. He smelled like perfume. There was a carseat in the trunk. He took me out to breakfast and we had a talk. I guess that was to be expected.

“Hey, kid.”

“Hi.”

My dad breathed through his nose and avoided my eyes.

“Look, kid, you’re not stupid. I know you saw this coming.” 

I felt stupid. I wasn’t in the mood to voice this thought.

“Yeah.” I said. My dad sighed.

We finished breakfast in silence and got back into the car. I figured we might have been going to see a movie. That was my dad’s favorite bonding activity. We didn’t have to talk. Or look at eachother. We passed the theater. 

When my dad pulled into an unfamiliar driveway, I guessed we were visiting his “friend”. I may have been stupid but I wasn’t totally dumb. We walked into the living room. There was a little boy, who I assumed the car seat belonged to. There was a teenage girl, staring at her phone. She didn’t acknowledge me. I didn’t blame her. And there was a woman who smelled like the perfume that stuck to my dad’s collar. 

I had already gone though one life-changing ordeal. Honestly, I think I was still in shock from it. Maybe that’s why I agreed to keep our meeting secret from my mother. 

When I got back home, my mom was crying. I didn’t join. 

~

The days started to blend together, and soon enough I was spending Sunday’s at my dad’s house. Well- my dad and Amy. That was her name. 

One afternoon, I was watching my brother, Chase, play Mario Kart. Technically, he was my step-brother, but our dad didn’t like when we referred to each other as anything besides “my brother”, or “my sister”. He didn’t believe in any ‘step’ or ‘half’ prefixes. I didn’t complain. I didn’t care much, anyway. 

Usually, Chase didn’t mind me watching. We were eight years apart, so our maturity levels were always distinct enough that we never really fought. I was usually quiet, even encouraging- unless he lost, then I’d comfort him. He’d yet to lose a life, and I was urging him on.

“‘Ya gonna click it?” I asked. Chase furled his eyebrows. 

“Do you hear that?” He lowered the volume on the game and tilted his head towards the doorway. Now curious, I too did the same. 

Through the open door and up the stairs, we could hear my dad fighting with his mom in the bedroom. I couldn’t tell you what the argument was about. Whatever it was, I didn’t find any interest in it. I rolled my eyes and pressed play on Chase’s controller. He was not as quick to move on.

“What are they talking about?” He asked, my eyes not leaving the doorway. “Nothing, they’re just arguing.” I was reassured.

“Arguing? Why?” Uh oh.

I flicked at his fingers that were toying with the controls in efforts to distract him. “Chase, I told you it’s nothing.” 

He frowned. He frowned and stood up, moving towards the stairs. Curious myself, I followed. I stood in the doorway while Chase pouted at Amy and my dad, who had now stopped their squabble to consider us with confused gazes. My father quirked an eyebrow.

“Why are you fighting?” Chase asked. They looked at eachother, and then at me. I shrugged.

“We’re not fighting, sweetheart. We’re just having a disagreement.” Amy answered tensely. I looked at my dad. He decided to stay quiet, which probably wasn’t the right decision, considering how Amy jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

“Yep,” he said. “Just talking things out.”

“‘Mkay.” was all the answer Chase gave. I followed him out of the room.

When we got back to the living room, Chase moved onto the next level.

“I’m staying at my mom’s tonight.” I said.

“‘Mkay.”

~

It’s been a little over two and a half years, and my parents still aren’t technically divorced. Even in seperation, they’re still always fighting. At my mom’s, we don’t talk about dad. At my dad’s, all they seem to do is talk about mom. I hate it. 

Still, it’s a good thing they’re not together. Maybe one day my parents really were in love. Maybe one day, they didn’t force eachother to sleep in the same bed as not to scare their daughter. But I don’t think they’ve loved each other for a very long time.

My parents’ separation helped me grow a lot. I’m not stupid, and I realize I never was. I knew my parents didn’t love each other. I just didn’t want to face it. It’s easier to pretend that mommy and daddy love each other than consider the fact that one day the last straw will break, and everything will change. I’m not as oblivious anymore. Not as ignorant. I’ve learned that change hurts. But change, as much as it burns, is good.

The Cresselian Warriors by Michael Shehata

“Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. 

Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. 

Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? 

Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?” -Epicurus

Our perception of Gods and Goddesses must be challenged, though none of us have ever met one, we assume so many things about them. These assumptions must be challenged, what we think we know, may not be the truth. Power corrupts, and that is not only true of mortals.

The Cauldron of Life, a gift for the Goddess Lodrina, ruler of Cresselia, given to her at the conception of the realm, has had little use for all time. Though now, the pot has been stirred, and life is being birthed. Inside, four artificially made life forms swim in the fluids of creation, patiently waiting to form. The rotation is unbearable, as they begin to form their bodies come first, and with it, their stomachs twisting and turning in the cauldron. Next, after their bodies have formed, small fox-like heads sprout from the top, allowing them to sense, though they cannot open their eyes. Their limbs begin to take shape, short and furry, clawed at the end with soft paws. Finally, eight large bushy tails sprout from each of them, almost sticking straight up from the liquid. Pluck! Lodrina deems them ready and reaches her hand in to grab the first one of her new children, yanking them from the cauldron and out onto the floor. 

“Welcome to Cresselia sweetheart,” Lodrina speaks to her child in a soft nurturing voice, though this is unnoticed as the fox creature is sprawled out onto the floor, soaked in the Cauldrons juices, already free from the tethers of life. “Oh bother, it’s already dead. No matter.” She smiles “I do have three more.” Learning from her previous mistake the goddess waits just a few more minutes, allowing the creatures to grow and form in the pot. The remaining three grow to a larger size than the first, being more developed with clearly defined features, all sprouting a ninth tail. “That looks like a good sign.” Cresselia’s Goddess reaches in once more, grabbing another one of her creations by the tails slowly pulling it out and gently placing it on the floor. “Welcome to Cresselia sweetheart.” Once again, she gets no response. Though this time, the creature is clearly alive, on the floor soaked in life fluid and shaking as if an earthquake had just struck. Its eyes are clamped shut and Lodrina sits down, patiently waiting for her child.

Continue this story here!

First Loss

I woke up on a normal Friday morning in February, not knowing what this day has to bring. I completed my morning routine and went downstairs, where I saw my mom preparing me and my sister’s breakfast. 

“Good morning mom. How are you doing?” I asked as I sat down at the table ready to eat.

“Good morning. I’m good. How ‘bout you?” She asked me back and I told her that I was fine. I gulped my breakfast quickly and bundled up into my winter coat and wore my shoes and left home biding my mom goodbye. I walked to the bus stop with joy inside of me because I had a half-a-day today. 

I thought the morning was going by so slow because I was still stuck in biology staring at the clock, waiting for second period to come. Soon enough, I was in second period, which was creative writing. “Today we’re going to start off class with ten minutes of writing. You can choose a topic from Canvas and write two to three pages about it, then we’ll get into the lesson for today.” My teacher explained to us. I searched through the endless choices of topics and chose one that stood out to me. Loss. I started to write and got a good two pages done before the ten minutes were up. We started our lesson and every couple of minutes I would check the clock to see the time, now waiting for school to be over.

10:30. The bell rang and signaled to everyone that school was over. I reached home and saw my mom talking to someone on the phone. Soon after, she was done talking and I could tell something was not right.

“Is something wrong mom?” I asked worriedly. 

“Mama (grandma) got a stroke.” She said with a sad face.

“What! Really. Is she okay?” I said in shock as I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Yeah, she’s fine. They’re taking care of her.” 

“Okay. I’m gonna go shower and then I’ll come eat lunch with you.” I told her.

“Sure.” She replied back.

While I was showering so many thoughts went through my head. I just couldn’t believe it. I was just praying that nothing would happen to Mama and that she would recover. I came out of the shower and saw that Mom went downstairs because she went to open the door for my younger sister, Madison, who was now coming home. 

Madison came up to our room and asked me right away with a puzzled look on her face, “What’s wrong with mom? Is she okay?”

“Mama got a stroke.” I told her with an emotionless face. She stayed silent for a second processing what I had just told her. I continued, “She’s at a hospital now so, they’re checking up on her. Mom’s just feeling a little down because of it.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go shower now.” She replied back.

“Yeah, okay. I’m gonna dry my hair and then I’ll go downstairs to eat with her.” I told her and then she left to shower while I dried my hair. 

As I was drying my hair, I felt like I heard Mom talking. I turned off the blow dryer, leaving it quickly to go downstairs where I saw Mom on her phone talking with someone about Mama. “Okay, bye. Thank you again. Talk to you again love.” She said before hanging up. 

“Who was that?” I asked her.

“That was Ashmeer (my cousin). He called to let me know that Mama got a stroke but I told him that Aunty Cindy called me earlier and told me.” She answered.

“Oh, okay. Did he tell you anything new about her.”

“He said how she was throwing up and she wasn’t feeling good.” She said looking unhappy.

“It’s okay, Mom. She’s gonna be alright. Don’t worry, okay?” I reassured her.

“I kno...”, she started to speak but was interrupted by her phone ringing. It was Ashmeer again. She picked it up and greeted him once again. 

I couldn’t hear what he was saying clearly but I knew it was about Mama. Then all of a sudden, I saw tears fall from Mom’s eyes. The tears wouldn’t stop falling. Soon enough the call was over and I kept asking her what was wrong, what happened. I didn’t even know what happened and I could already feel tears threatening to fall from my eyes. Still crying she told me, “Mama. Mama’s gone.” That’s all she said. 

She started to cry hard and let out all her emotions. I quickly ran to her side and sat next to her on the couch. I kept on hugging her while both of us kept on shedding tears. Madison rushed out of the bathroom, running down the stairs after hearing Mom cry. “What’s wrong?” She asked as she was trying to collect herself.

I went up to her and told her softly, “Mama passed away.”

“What.” She said out of shock. I told her to go upstairs and get changed. I then went back to Mom and tried to calm her down even though nothing, not even I could make her stop crying. I couldn’t imagine the pain that Mom was going through because this was her mom and to lose your mom seems like losing a dearest piece of yourself. I don’t know what I would do if I lost my mom. I would probably feel like I couldn’t continue on because to me my mom is like my true best friend, someone who’s always there for me and always listening. I just wanted Mom to know that everything would be okay and that we would all help her get through this together.

Mom picked up her phone and dialed Dad’s number. It started to ring and she said, “Hey, Hud.” She continued saying, “Mama passed away.” I couldn’t properly hear what he was saying but towards the end, I heard him say he was coming home. She hung up and I asked her, “Dad’s coming home?”

“Yeah, he said he wanted to.” She told me.

“I’m going to go finish drying my hair and I’ll back down.” I told her and then left to go back to my room. I saw Madison sitting on her bed. She couldn’t believe Mama was gone either. 

To be honest, I still couldn’t believe Mama was gone. This is the first person that I’ve lost in my life. I’ve never really experienced losing someone except for celebrities. I always knew it hurts when you lose someone because I saw how others acted when they lost someone dear to them. 

Mama’s death really made feel sadness and pain for a long time because I didn’t want to believe she was gone. We couldn’t see her because she lived in another country and it’s hard sometimes for families that live far away. Mama was sick and in a lot of terrible pain that was indescribable. I learned how this is life and life really has ups and downs. We don’t live forever and we need to start cherishing every moment because we don’t know what tomorrow brings.   

Open Mic Mike

My dad could never read music. He had learned everything he knew by ear and applied it whenever and wherever he could. My dad was introduced to music at a young age, similar to me. I came home from school one day and saw a drum set sitting in my basement. I didn’t know it yet, but that marked the beginning of the most important aspect of my life and character.

I would come home from school everyday and endlessly bang on the drums. Without a clue of what I was doing or a care in the world, I would experiment with numerous ideas that I had. Over time, I started to develop techniques and gain knowledge that would help me later in my life. Getting a head start on music at such a young age helped me grasp other musical concepts so much quicker and understand them at a level much higher than what  was usual for my age.

When I was in second or third grade, I started drum lessons. 

“Hello, Michael.” My drum teacher as we started our very first lesson.

Drum lessons were very useful to me towards the beginning. The things that I started to develop without drum lessons started to become more polished and technically correct. Drum lessons were a lot of fun. At first. After a while, it got very repetitive and boring. I stopped taking drum lessons after a few years. I wasn’t learning what I wanted to, so I wasn’t able to do the things that I wanted to. I started to doubt myself because I wasn’t able to do the things I pictured when I started playing drums.

 and my dad thought that I would forget everything that I learned. 

“If you stop now, you’ll lose all of that knowledge you gained.”

“But I don’t like it.” I would say.

I was learning more traditional and technical things, which was almost the opposite of what I wanted. It was good at first, as I learned the fundamentals that I needed. I wanted to do more with music and be creative. I wanted to shy away from drums and start something new that would allow me to take what I learned from drums and apply it to an instrument that had more interest to me.

In 4th grade, I started learning the saxophone. I had never played a wind instrument before, and I was very excited. Using my birthday money, I bought a sax that I found online and waited for it to arrive. I had no idea what to expect of it, and wasn’t sure if I’d like it. When it finally arrived, the first few days were crucial to my development with the instrument. I had watched some videos that showed the first few notes and how to play them. I was learning the basic techniques and fundamentals, and was beginning to read music a lot better. With drums, you learn the basics of reading music with notes that correspond with different drums, but it's a much different world when you incorporate the notes of a saxophone, or any instrument.

I seemed to grasp the whole concept of the sax much quicker than some of the other people and much quicker than I thought I would. Everything sort of came naturally to me. This could’ve been because of my prior knowledge, or my interest in music, or both. 

“The first note we’re going to learn is a G.” My band Teacher said,

After we learned the first note, I continued to experiment with some things I had seen on YouTube. Band class wasn’t that helpful to me though. I liked to do most of my learning at home from videos or stuff I would read online. Band class was moving at a slower pace than I wanted, so I would come into band class knowing more than where we were at for our lessons. 

When I got to middle school a few years later, I had the opportunity to switch from alto sax to bari sax. Our middle school also had a jazz band. I knew that I wanted to do more with music, and jazz band would be the perfect way to be even more creative. When I took up learning saxophone after drums, I knew I wanted to further expand my knowledge to other instruments. Learning the Bari sax would be perfect for what I wanted to do.

In eighth grade, I was approached with a tremendous opportunity.

“Have you ever thought about joining the mummers?” My mom said.

“What’s the mummers?” I said,

I didn’t give this any thought. When I pictured the mummers, I saw a bunch of people dressed up in weird costumes, playing instruments, and dancing all at the same time. Whenever this was brought up, it would never get very far with me. I never thought this would be a reality. 

I was playing at Parx Casino with my school band, and I was approached with something I could have never expected. 

“Would you like to come play with us?” a mummer said.

“Um… Sure?” I said with a slight laugh.

I wasn’t sure why, but I was very nervous. It was surreal to me that my mom had bugged me about joining the mummers for some time now and the opportunity was practically handed to me. 

“You should come by one of our practices next week.” One of them said.

“Uh, maybe.” I said,

Being a part of the Mummers, or the Uptown String Band, is one of the most unexpected things that has ever happened in my life. It was something that I totally disregarded and never gave a thought to. Being a part of that organization has done more for me than I will ever come to realize. I have learned anything from life skills, to musicianship, to self sufficiency. I was able to meet so many people and make so many connections that have given me so many different opportunities. 

Music has taught me so many things. Every instrument that I've learned has taught me something different. Without music, my life would be so much different. I hope to continue my musical journey and learn more as I go.

My Duck Farm Castle

Everyone struggles at some points in their lives. Some people struggle more than others, but all of them are valid. These struggles present themselves in different ways for different people. Some struggle with having enough money to have a stable life, or with an illness, whether that is mental or physical. Others struggle with relationships or being able to move forward after a traumatic event that happened in their life. Having a glass castle, or any type of hope for the future, can help anyone with their struggles, big or small. It can help you push through to know that these struggles are only temporary. 

For the past three years, I have struggled with a lot of physical health issues. Due to that, it has affected my mental health greatly in a negative way. Year after year, I end up having a new problem that builds onto my current ones which seems to never go away. It has really brought me down a lot where sometimes I can not see any reason to have to continue to deal with this pain or have any hope for the future. But during my mental breakdowns, frustration, and in the pits of my hopelessness, my boyfriend reminds me of our glass castle: our duck farm. 

He created our hope for the future where we own and live on our own little farm. On this farm, we will raise thousands of ducks since we both love fluffy little ducklings. We will also have hundreds of other animals on our farm that brings us joy such as hundreds of tiny puppies, a giraffe or two, a dozen hamsters and bunnies, and maybe the possibility of having a unicorn. We always think of new animals to add to our farm too because you can never have too many animals on a farm. This perfect little ranch house with a large property to take care of the animals would be the perfect place to raise a family. All of our friends would be our neighbors who live nearby that way when we go on vacation, there will be someone to look after the animals and we will also be able to see them whenever we would like. The thought of being surrounded by the people and things you love for the rest of your life brings joy and hope for the future. The only struggles to face on our duck farm would be remembering the names of all of the thousands of ducklings and to make sure the trees grow tall enough for the giraffes to reach. And of course, finding a way for the animals to live forever. There will be no more pain or no more major struggles to face and you can live your life as happily as you can ever be. Everyone deserves to live a happy life. 

My glass castle always gives me hope to know that my pain is only temporary and that I am a strong independent woman who will be strong enough to push past all these struggles that I face. It gives me something to look forward to and brightens my day in even the darkest times. Everyone who is struggling, especially with a long-lasting illnesses, needs to find their glass castle to know that there is always something to look forward to in the future. If finding a glass castle is hard for yourself, build one instead. No matter how big or small this dream or hope is, it is important to always look forward to it and never lose your hope. Never let your glass castle shatter. 

Jack in the Box by Shawn Black

It all started when I was three and my mom and my dad got divorced. I was too young to understand what was happening, and all I knew was that my mom said, “We’re going on an adventure!”

Me being three, I was all in, and we went from hotel to hotel until a friend of hers let us stay in one of his many properties. It was a small house in Hatboro that only had one floor, two bedrooms (one real and one makeshift), a kitchen/dining room, and a living room with a box TV that could only pick up Channel 6 and 12. It wasn’t a Glass Castle, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world either. I slept in the makeshift bedroom. Unlike most parents, my mom and dad still got along as friends and he came over every Friday for pizza. He did this so that he was still part of my life. One Friday, he didn’t bring us pizza. Instead, he brought us a 2-month-old kitten. Being that my mom just lost her old cat Beau that she’s had since college, she was ready to yell, “Get that cat the hell out of here,” but when she heard me excitedly exclaim “Kitten,” she had no choice but to keep it. 

She named him Jackson after Beau (she’s a sport’s fan), but we just called him Jack for short. He was the most playful little kitten in the whole world. He used to chase my RC cars all over the living room for hours. He also loved lasers and flashlights. Like most cats, he always jumped into boxes, which always made for a funny joke. At night, I always used to read my bedtime stories to him. I’m a very early reader, being that I read my first words at the ripe old age of four when my mom and I were in the car and we passed a TD Bank sign that said, “Open 7 Days.” I looked at it in curiosity and said, “Open...7...Dice?”

My mom was very confused until she saw the sign in her rearview mirror. She pulled over and threw a Clifford book to me, and was in total shock when I started reading it.

My mom and I moved to a house in Warminster when I was almost five. We live there to this day. It’s a much bigger house with 5 half floors, 2 real bedrooms, a den, a kitchen, a living room, a dining room, a playroom, and an attic which my mom made her art studio. We also have a big backyard. My mom decided to let Jack outside so he could be an outdoor cat. It worked, and now he was able to explore the big neighborhood. The only concern we had was him being attacked by other animals, although it was more like the other way around. He always used to give us gifts by the front door, and by gifts, I mean dismembered mice, birds, and sometimes even squirrels (how he got them I do not know). One time, he even got a bunny, but luckily it got away unharmed. There was one time my mom went outside to find dead birds in a line on a little pathway in the backyard with Jack at the end with a face my mom could only describe as pure madness. She kept letting him outside though since he was so used to it. He still slept with me, but not all of the time since he sometimes slept outside. 

He wasn’t as playful as he got older, He still went outside and gave us his “gifts”, but he slept a lot more. He was king of the house, but that all changed when we got a new puppy. 

His name is Bandit, and when we first got him at 8 weeks, he was crazy. He never ran out of energy and was always running laps around the living room, jumping on our legs, and trying to eat Jack. He wasn’t too happy with this and always hit Bandit in the face. Thank God Jack was declawed in the front because if he wasn’t, that would be a total nightmare. At this time, Bandit was much smaller than Jack, although that changed very quickly when he shot up. For the first 6-12 months of his life, he just wouldn’t stop growing. He eventually stopped growing, but was now 90 pounds! He now towered over Jack. He was still crazy, and it wasn’t a joke anymore. My mom tried to train him but 10-year-old me made that difficult. He was better, but not totally calmed down. Even though he often tried to eat Jack, it was out of playfulness and he wasn’t hurting him, so we didn’t separate them. Bandit has no evil in him whatsoever. He’s never tried to hurt anyone or anything and only bites out of playfulness. I believe that he and Jack truly loved each other deep down inside because of one time when I saw them cuddling while our power was out during a snowstorm.

As Jack got even older, he stopped giving us gifts. He still went outside and gave us the occasional dismembered mouse, but instead of trying to kill the birds, he gave them an angry mip. He started to sleep with me more often since he didn’t go out at night as much. Although there was one time he brought in what we originally thought was a dead mouse. It was, in fact, a live baby squirrel, and when he dropped it, it started to zoom around the house at ridiculous speeds and eventually jumped onto my mom’s face. She quickly swatted it off and started freaking out. Long story short, we were able to eventually get it out unharmed.

Soon after that, Jack started acting weird. He was barely eating and he couldn’t move his tail. We brought him to the vet and they found a mass that took up two-thirds of his body. The vet said he had lymphoma and that he didn’t have that much longer to live. He settled himself in the laundry room sink and didn’t move, and about a week later, we had to put him down at 12 years old.

About two months later, we got another kitten named Wilbur, who we still have to this day. He and Bandit have a much better relationship since both of them are playful, as opposed to Jack who just wanted to be left alone. We got him cremated and put in a little box along with his rabies tag and an old pipe cleaner that he used to play with in my mom’s room. Jack will never be forgotten and will stay in our hearts forever. 

Jack has been with me from the time I was 3 to the time I was 15, and I’ve learned that strong bonds don’t just have to be between humans, whether it be a cat, dog, fish, or even a monkey. Losing Jack hurt just as much as when I lost my grandma, and he was my best friend for most of my life.

Better Life by Kevin Miranda

In life, I always tried my best to be successful or to be the best that I can be, but sometimes that isn’t the case. Many teachers over the years have given me assignments to write about something or someone who inspires me and the answer has always been the same for I had always chosen my mother. Writing about hope is new to me I have never written about it or let alone put a lot of thought towards it, but it did bring up and answer. What is hope, and how does it motivate us to be better.

Hope is a feeling that there are good things to come in life if we are patient enough to wait, and we are proven worthy. We all find our hope and gather strength from different things or feelings. So what is hope for me? For me what gives me hope is my memories. I know now how much I’ve grown and how I had overcome hard times when I think of those memories. I see how much I’ve grown mentally and physically. I know that I There is always room for growth, and I realize that when I think about these memories I hold very dear to me.

I don’t remember when I was born most of my memories are a blur. Fortunately, my mom told me most of them. The one she told me a lot was when I had gotten sick many times, I don’t remember much but my mom told me they were all severe. As I got older the more my mother told me about the sickness I had contracted, she then explained it was life-threatening. To this day I realized I had survived and for whatever reason, I knew whatever God has in store for me if I kept moving in life then that plan would soon become clear to me.

Growing up I was the youngest out of my older brother and sister for 16 years. I had always wanted to be an older sibling, I wanted that chance to be a big brother. As I got older that wish slowly started to fade and I didn’t think I was ever going to get the chance, but then 16 years later and my mom had given birth to a little girl in November and a little boy January. I had finally gotten my wish and when I held them for the first time I felt a sense of hope that more great things were to come later in life.

Although my siblings have given me hope at another chance to make things right and to be better, I find hope in other memories I have faced. The clearest one I remember was when I passed my Biology Keystone, I remember I was stressing over it and everyone told me to just guess and finish fast. I stood my ground when everyone tried to rush me I took my time and when I finished. Then this year all the people who rushed me and made fun of me sat in a room retaking it while I enjoyed life with a proficient score on the keystone. 

There have been many memories I hold that have taught me life lessons and shaped me as an individual and show me that I am doing the right thing. The one that reminds me that I’m doing good in life was when I started the Middle Bucks Institute of Technology program of Networking Operating Systems and Security. I didn’t feel like I had belonged or smart enough and I wanted to leave and then someone told me I should just leave, so I made the decision to stay and to prove them all wrong. I currently hold a 92 in class and I built a computer on my own, and I learn new things every day and every day I learn I prove those people wrong. I felt pride and hope when I made myself belong and worked harder than every day.

Although my memories give me hope and inspire me, the pursuit of achieving more in life is what drives me to be successful. I am happy where I am at right now, I have a stable life/job, I have a loving and caring family, and many great friends. I will not stay here where I am today because I know I have the potential to do much more because I’ve seen it with my own eyes. In middle school, I always settled for Bs and Ds and I was happy until the conversation of college started coming up. At that point, I strived for that A and I had accomplished it, for the most part, I changed my study habits and my work ethic. I’ve always been told to know my worth and to never settle when I know I can do more, that is what gives me hope, hope to a better life and to get the most of what I was given.

Google defines hope as” a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen” but I believe hope is much more than that. I believe hope is the beginning of success, Hope is what gets people up in the morning and hope for a better life. Hope plays a role in everyone’s life whether they realize it or not, everyone one has hope but only the dedicated will try to make that hope into a reality. 

So what is my glass castle? What gives me hope and pushes me to be better. Memories, my memories not only show me what I’ve gone through but it also shows me that I survived. My memories not only give me hope but they tell a story, a story that I have made an impact and that I earned what I have and never settle for less when I know I can do so much more. For me, my glass castle is not a person even though I could be. One of my favorite movies and novel, “V or Vendetta”  written by Alan Moore, The masked vigilante stated, “Ideas are bulletproof”. I apply this same ideology to my memories because my memories are something no one can take from me and I will forever hold where ever I go, I will have more hard times in life but I will always have my memories to get me through these times whenever I face them.

Fear

The woman let out a bloodcurdling scream that sent a chill down my back. As the zombie closed in on her, my dad exclaimed: “Why aren’t you running, you idiot?”

He turned to me to say “The people in this movie really don’t know how to think, do they?”

I was already too frightened to speak back to him, so I sat there staring at him with pure fear in my eyes.

“What’s wrong, too scary for you?”

“Mm-Hmm” I responded.

At this point, I had wanted to go back in time and never watch that dreadful movie ever in my entire life.

“If it’s too much, then just go to bed,” He said, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to.

“Ok, Goodnight” I responded, unknowingly.

“‘Night”

As I walked down the dark, creepy hallway, I had already noticed how scarier my house had been than it was just 2 hours ago. I had tried to get through the fear and kept on walking down the hallway to my room. By the time I reached my room, I had a cold sweat running down my whole body because of how filled to the brim with fear I was. I laid down in my bed and I had tried to close my eyes and sleep, but immediately I opened them again because I thought I heard something move. When I opened them, however, I saw nothing, but I did see a stack of laundry that looked somewhat like a zombie, so my immediate reaction was to scream at the clothes which seemed to threaten my life. My dad, having heard me scream, immediately rushed in and turned on the light.

“What’s wrong,” My dad asked

I responded with “I- I thought I saw a z-zombie in my closet!”

To this, he walked over to the closet and only saw some laundry, “You mean this pile of clothes?” as he knocked it on to the floor. When the clothes hit the floor, I flinched.

“If you’re that scared, just sleep in my room” 

“N-No, I’m fine” I responded.

“Okay, suit yourself, but don’t blame me if you get too scared down here.”

“Goodnight,” he said knowing it wouldn’t be the last time he said that that night. 

I couldn’t respond, with how scared I truly was. The second he turned the lights off and closed the door, the fear began to spread again. I didn’t see any more zombie-like figures, but the noises outside began to get louder and louder, making it impossible to think or sleep. This was also multiplied by the fear I had for the bottom of my bed, It had prevented me from staying cold during the warm spring season. At this point, I had not slept with a fan blowing on my face, I had started doing this around 2 years later. These two things, combined with the unbearable darkness had made me run out of my room and into my parent’s room. 

My dad whispered under his breath, “I knew it.”

He had already known why I was there, he had known that I would eventually come into his room, but he thought that my resolve to stay in bed and sleep would be able to keep me in my room for longer than it actually did, but there I was, standing in his doorway like a puppy waiting, expectantly for its treats.

He sighed a deep breath and said: “Come on up.”

I did just that, I solemnly climbed up onto the bed, and I took my spot in between my mom and my dad. It was surprisingly calmer and a lot quieter than it was in my room.

My dad said to me “Goodnight.” for the third and final time that day.

Before I knew it, I was asleep and I woke up the next day refreshed and I had forgotten about the scariness of the day before, or so I thought. I had gone about the rest of my day like normal, I had eaten honey nut cheerios, my favorite cereal, for breakfast, and then I went to summer camp to learn new things about all of the subjects I had thought were fun when I was younger and play some new activities with my friends in my camp. During the activities, everything seemed normal to me, I had talked to my friends and paid attention to the counselors that had always taught me interesting things about numerous subjects and always played fun games with us. Up until nap time, everything was perfectly fine, but when the lights went out, and we were supposed to sleep, I couldn’t even close my eyes with the weight of the fear on me, thankfully, nap time had ended a little bit early, so I didn’t stay in the insanely frightening darkness for very long, when it was my turn to share what I had dreamed about, I had lied and said that I had dreamed about horses in a field. During my ride home with my friend, I stayed as silent as I could. When I got home, it was all still normal and average, as my home always was when I got home, but there was a stillness in the air, which made even more frightened then how I was during nap time that day. I had rushed to my parent’s room only to find that they were still picking my brother up from his basketball practice. I had to stay by myself at home, but luckily, my dog was there at the time, so I tried to lay on the couch with him, but after a while, he had gotten up off the couch, which made me completely alone, I was so desperate to not be scared, that I had tried sleeping in my parent’s bed. When they got home they found me in the bed asleep and they moved me back to my room. When I woke back up, I realized that I needed to not be afraid of anything anymore. Though It took a long time, I had conquered my fear of the dark. 

Fear of the New

The alarm went off at 6:30 in the morning for the first day of sixth grade. 

“Time to get ready for school!” my dad would yell into my room after my alarm went off.

I would get ready for school and leave for the bus by 7:25. While walking to the bus stop in the warm air I was very nervous that I would never make friends. I did not know anyone who was on my bus or in many classes. I was very scared to be starting a new school because so many people would know each other and I wouldn’t know anyone. For all my elementary years I was at a private school and was unfamiliar with many classes, students, and teachers. Transferring to Log was also really difficult for me because I was leaving my best friend since kindergarten and many of my other friends. I knew a few people due to sports but I did not have close friends. I went about my day and got to meet all my teachers. Mr. Stanfield was always my favorite in sixth grade. 

I ate lunch with a girl who was on my soccer team but I never knew her friends. After lunch, we were walking back to class but they decided to stop in the bathroom so I went in with all of them because I did not want to walk back to class on my own. They eventually walked out while I was still in there and I had to find my way back to class on my own. Later that day, I was walking to the bus, alone, at the end of the day and being the happiest I was that day to finally go home. 

I would have to call my parents after school and tell them about how my day was, “I hate it, I don’t know anyone.” 

“It’s only the first day. It gets better.” my mom would quickly say back.

I felt like crying. I texted my friend, Grace, from my old school, saying how much I miss her and that I wish I never had to transfer. For the rest of that night, I decided to just watch whatever was on Disney Channel at the time, eat my dinner, and hope that I would not have to go back to school tomorrow. I ended up going to bed around 10 that night. The next morning was the same, I woke up at 6:30, I got ready for school, and left by 7:25. 

That morning while walking to the bus stop I walked halfway down my lawn and I turned around and ran back to the house crying and begging, “I don’t want to go! I don’t feel good, I want to stay home!” 

My mom would not let me. She would tell me, “You’ll be fine when you get on the bus.” 

I walked to the bus stop crying and when the bus came, I stopped because I did not want to embarrass myself. When I arrived at school I would sit in the auditorium with my one friend from soccer. She sat with three really close friends and would not talk to me. I once again began to tear up in the auditorium, and the only thing going through my mind at the time was the time the bell would ring so I can leave, “2:45, 2:45,2:45…” 

School was still difficult for me and the lack of people I know, but throughout the day I found myself stepping out of my comfort zone and talking with a girl who was in my first period social studies class. During second period I had music and there was only one other girl in this class. I would talk to her during this class and try my best to be friendly so I would have a friend in class. Third period would go by pretty fast because I had art and although I was not very good It was fun and I made friends in that class quickly because many people in that class were outgoing and would talk to anyone. I became closer with one girl in the class more than others. Next I had science fourth period and I only knew one person because we both did dance together at the time but she knew a lot of people so she made making friends easy in that class. Next class I had was reading and I had a very small class. Reading was my favorite class because of the people in the class. This period was also a split lunch. I was nervous that my lunch would be like yesterday and I would end up getting lost again, but luckily I found the table where my soccer friends were and I sat with them instead. I made so many good friends during lunch and I even made a friend to sit with on the bus on the way to school because she walked home. The rest of the day went by very fast and I walked to my bus alone again but was happy with making friends. When I got off the bus and got home I was so excited to tell my parents that I actually had a good day at school and that I made a friend in my art class. I picked the phone up and I called my mom.

“Hi I’m home and guess what.” I would exclaim with a lot of excitement. 

“What and how was your day?” my mom would say back.

“I had a good day and school and I made a friend and her name is Isabella.” 

My parents were cheerful to say how they were right that it would only get better from the first day, and I am happy to say that was true.

I always thought that my main problem was just arguing with my sister or something as simple as picking my outfit out for school. When I look back to this event I remember fear all throughout my body and never thinking it could get better. From this experience I learned that I should not let my fears get to me and that in most cases they will get better.

The Pool by Vince

It started when I was riding in my great grandmother and great grandfather’s truck and we were heading to a trailer camp. I thought it was awesome because they had an arcade, a pool, playground, and a gift shop. There was so much to do. Some days I would ride bikes with my friends I met there and there was a huge dirt hill we could ride down. Other days I would go to the playground, my grandma called me a monkey and that nickname stuck with me for the rest of my life.

 But I remember when it was a hot summer day and there was a humid feeling in the trailer that made the smell of old people grow to the point you could vomit. Everyone couldn’t stand the smell so we went to the pool. My second half of my family went with me. When I walked in the pool my whole body would get chilly but later on get used to it. My great grandfather I called Woody was teaching me how to do flips in the water. He would do it and I would watch and then he would grab me and make me do a flip. I would get so much water up my nose, so much that I would get used to the burning sensation.

After I mastered that I was destined to do a flip out of the water. So then for about an hour I tried doing front flips into the water, getting in and out feeling the cold breeze getting out onto the warm concrete. When I did a perfect flip everyone cheered and I was so proud of myself. I got a little too cocky and tried doing a flip into the pool with my eyes closed. I could see nothing but a dim light trying to shine through my eyelids.

 I ran as fast as I could toward the direction of the pool and jumped. I leaned forward to begin my flip, there was so much fear in me if I made it or not. After two seconds into the flip I felt a large smack on the rigid hard concrete on the back of my skull. I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do when I plunged into the pool.

 I couldn’t control my body as it began to vibrate. It was really dark under the water. I was able to move my body but it felt all numb like everything fell asleep. I quickly swam to the surface and when I came up it was hard to breathe like I lost my breath. My vision went weird as well because I saw twice as many white chairs as they went back and forth faster and faster until my vision came back. When it came back it came with all the pain, all the pain on my head. It felt like someone came and swung a baseball bat at it.

 I heard everyone debating if I hit my head or not. I got air back into my system. I couldn’t control myself as I started doing a moan gasping for air. I pulled myself out of the pool and walked over to my grandma screaming in tears. She helped me get down the dirt hill  with a trail of mud footprints and dripplets from my wet slippery body to the camper with a towel wrapped around me. 

When I got in the camper a big whiff of the old people smell hit me and my grandma got me a cold ice pack out of the freezer and laid me down on a bed. There was a small box tv that flashed when it turned on with a cool sound. My grandma turned it on with the small black remote and rubber buttons and gave it to me. I remember I was watching my favorite show, “The amazing gumball”. I was falling asleep and Woody came in yelling at me “YOU CAN’T FALL ASLEEP!”. That was hard as I almost fell asleep every five minutes. It got to the point where I got splashed with a cup of cold water.

 Then hours went by and they allowed me to sleep but I was scared to. I was thinking about if I would fall into a coma. I thought about my mom sobbing next to my hospital bed as I couldn’t wake up and how much of my life would be me sleeping. The next day I went back to the pool and there was a dent in the concrete from my head. 

"The Value of a Live Pod" 

by Cailean Cavanaugh 

“7,384.” Cerin said to Arven as he picked up a copper-colored seed pod, steadied it against a large rock, and broke it open with a solid hit from his sledgehammer. Cerin frowned at the pod, which was empty aside from a few iron chips, then tossed it into the large bag at his side. 

“7,385.” Cerin said as he picked up the next seed pod, which lay only a few steps from the previous one. Cerin once again broke the pod open, frowned at its emptiness, and added it to his quickly growing collection.

“You don’t need to announce your count every time.” Arven said as he broke open a pod of his own.

“But if I don’t keep count, how will I know when I’ll find a live pod?” Cerin replied, following with a hasty “7,386.”

Arven shook his head. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that’s not how gambling works? Just because it’s one in ten thousand doesn’t mean you’re ten-thousandth pod will be a live one. Honestly, Cerin. If I had the money, I’d pay for you to go to school myself so you’d stop pretending you know how math works.”

Cerin laughed and got back to work, still counting. He didn’t have to move far for each new pod; the clearing they worked in was covered with them, and occasionally another one hit the ground with a sharp clang. 

The Draining Tree that dropped the pods stood in the center of the clearing. It was easily fifty feet tall, but far more impressive was its two-hundred-foot wide canopy that cast the rocky ground under it in deep shadow for most of the day. Its roots extended far beyond this canopy, killing all but the largest nearby trees and extracting minerals from the soil to build its metal bark and seed pods. Cerin and Arven were just two of the few dozen workers who toiled around the draining tree under the watchful eyes of a handful of knights.

“7,397.” Cerin said as he cracked open another pod, then ducked as a fist-sized crab covered in metal plates sprang out of the seedpod with claws extended, narrowly missing his head to land on the rocky ground behind him. Cerin glanced at Arven, who, having heard the disturbance, had already taken aim at the creature with a small knife. The crab was only able to take a few quick steps toward Cerin before the knife pinned it to the ground. Arven glanced at the guards, who were intentionally ignoring them. A few other workers had also noticed the commotion, but they seemed to care even less than the guards. 

“You’re getting pretty good at that.” Cerin said. “But do you have to be so violent about it?”

“You can’t tell me you still care about those worthless pests.” Arven replied as he retrieved his dagger from the remains of the crab. He peered at its metallic shell, then said: “It didn’t even have the decency to find a bit of gold while it was stealing our livelihood.” 

Cerin sighed and went back to his work. “7,398.”

After another hour, most of the workers had collected as many pods as they could carry, and the group prepared to return to the foundry to collect their payment before returning to the clearing to repeat the cycle again. As the workers joined roughly-organized lines and the knights mounted their horses, Cerin and Arven heard rhythmic clanking sounds start, then quickly grow in volume. 

“Wolves?” Cerin asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.” Arven sighed. 

By the time the wolves entered the clearing at a run, the Knights had dismounted their horses and stood guard around most of the workers with swords and shields drawn. When Arven and Cerin attempted to join the circle, the knights waved them off.

“It’s almost like the Warden wants us to die out here.” Cerin mused.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on getting killed by wolves today.” Arven replied. They stood as close to the group of knights as they could; Cerin took out a sling and Arven his sledgehammer.

At that moment, three wolves entered the clearing at a run. They were noticeably shorter and stockier than normal wolves, and had shorter faces and sharp, jagged teeth. Their most prominent feature, however, were the rough plates of metal that covered their bodies and made audible clanging noises as they moved. 

Continue this story here!

Dynamically Cultivating Value-Add Processes Through the Judicious Application of Cephalopod Capital

by Cailean Cavanaugh 

Twenty-nine squid and one giant Pacific Octopus were asleep in their Los Angeles apartment as the sun slowly rose. The thirtieth squid, however, zipped around the large saltwater tank that the cephalopods shared, ramming into the other squid and gesturing furiously in sign language. 

“Wake up! We’re gonna be late! Wake—” The squid’s antics abruptly ended as the octopus grabbed him by the mantle and threw him against the wall, where he stuck and hung despondently. The Octopus sank back into the water as the other twenty-nine squid signed invectives at the thirtieth. With ten tentacles each, this translated into hundreds of unique and increasingly-creative curses over the span of a few seconds until the Octopus silenced the group entirely by sticking another unfortunate squid to the wall. 

Half an hour later, an alarm sounded for a few seconds before the Octopus angrily threw it across the room. The twenty-eight squid still in the tank reluctantly marshaled themselves into order as the octopus oversaw them from a large rock on the other side of the tank. The remaining two tried to enter formation as well, but remained stuck firmly to the wall, where they watched forlornly. 

The octopus began his speech:

“Today!” He signed, but was interrupted by the squid, who began signing excited gibberish; they quieted down after the octopus threw yet another squid against the wall. 

“As I was saying,” The octopus signed, “Today is the day we’ve been waiting anxiously for. We have our chance to divest Pacific Trawling from fishing entirely!”

The squid responded with fearful enthusiasm tempered by caution, and quieted again after only a few seconds.

“So, in short, don't mess it up! You lot are my responsibility, y’hear? So get yourselves together and make sure we have all of our paperwork in order! If we get this right, cephalopods around the bay will remember us for years to come!”

The Octopus paused, then added as an afterthought:

“Oh, and get Lim and Row down from the wall while you’re at it.”

The squid immediately dispersed and began a well-practiced daily routine. Most of then exited the tank and climbed across the room using a network of ropes, gathering custom-made waterproof office supplies into a briefcase, while a few remained to read over the laminated twenty-page proposal they were arguing in favor of and make sure that every form was filled out in triplicate. In fact, there were thirty-three copies of the forms because each of the squid had insisted on keeping a copy for their personal records.

Others grabbed fish from a cooler and began tossing them around the room, a process that resulted in nearly as many fish ending up on the floor as being eaten.

Continue this story here...

"The Artificer's Apprentices" (short fiction) by Cailean Cavanaugh

  Darren followed Kren, his soon-to-be master, through a series of wood-paneled corridors, doing his best to conceal his wonder at the myriad exotic decorations that filled each one. He stopped momentarily to examine a tapestry depicting an elephant-headed god, but kept moving after Kren turned and glared at him. After about half an hour, Darren noticed the same tapestry, and stopped in his tracks. When Kren turned, Darren stopped and spoke:

 “We’re walking in circles. This building isn’t miles across, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t waste my time with pointless walking. Where are we going?”

 Kren continued to glare at him, then smiled.

 “You’ll make my job very easy if you question me again, because I do not tolerate dissent by my students. If you want to run back to your family, be my guest. I imagine you’ll have a tough time explaining why you’re back so soon, though.” 

 Kren turned on his heel and kept walking. After a reluctant few seconds, Darren followed. It was another two hours of walking before Kren abruptly turned and entered a room next to a tapestry depicting an elephant-headed god. Darren followed him. 

 The room was small and lit only by a few glowing orbs that floated in seemingly random locations. Darren stopped and stared, transfixed by the blatant display of magic that greeted him. 

 “Wow...” Darren mumbled before cutting himself off. Kren smiled and said, 

“It seems I have your attention. Good. Now choose one. Someday, if you don’t get yourself killed first, perhaps I’ll teach you to make a magical trinket for yourself.” 

At this point, Darren noticed the intricately carved table in the room’s center. Kren stepped back to give Darren room as he observed the dizzying array of seemingly random objects strewn haphazardly across the table. He picked up a gold watch and noticed the second hand ticking backwards, then put it down next to a lantern with rainbow-colored glass. The table also featured a surprising amount of medieval armaments, including a broken longsword, a shield engraved with an image of a tree, and almost a dozen knives in materials ranging from obsidian to glass. 

Darren scanned the objects once more, and noticed a gilt-edged monocle sticking out from the pages of a book book bound in crocodile skin. He picked it up. Kren stepped forward and tried to take the monocle out of his hand. 

“Trust me, you don’t want that one. It’s quite unexciting and difficult to use, and I wouldn’t want you to get frustrated on your first day of lessons.” Kren said.

When Darren made no sign of putting the monocle down, Kren sighed. 

“If you are really so dead-set on using it, come with me. I’ll show you, and then you won’t want to use it anyway.” Kren swept out of the room and Darren followed. After all of their earlier wandering, Darren had no trouble following Kren into the courtyard behind the mansion. 

 Kren turned and made a grand, sweeping gesture, indicating the fountain in the courtyard’s center: a hydra that sprayed water from each of its heads. 

 “Look at the courtyard through the monocle.” Kren said. “And close your other eye. It’s very unpleasant if you don’t.” 

 Darren closed one of his eyes and looked at the fountain through the monocle. It showed everything in slightly blurry shades of yellow. Darrent squinted with some confusion at a man and a woman seated at the fountain’s edge. Both of them were very finely dressed, and laughed silently at a joke Darren had not heard. He experimentally removed the monocle, and the couple vanished. He put it on again, and they returned, just beginning to laugh at the joke he still did not hear. 

 “King Tiberius II met his queen at a dance my grandfather hosted here.” Kren said with a note of pride in his voice. “These are the same stones that they danced on almost two hundred years ago.”

 Darren nodded, but kept staring, transfixed, as the long-dead prince courted a long-dead noblewoman at a fountain sculpted in the shape of a piece of exotic coral. 

 “Very well.” Kren said. “That’s enough instruction for today. Consider yourself my apprentice. You will address me only as ‘master.’” I’ll show you your quarters.” He thought for a second. “Oh, and I’ll be needing that back now.”

 “But surely there’s no harm in letting me keep it --”

 “Now.” Kren growled. 

 Darren reluctantly handed Kren the monocle with a muttered reproach, then followed him back into the mansion. Darren walked stoically for almost half a hour, well aware that Kren was leading him in circles, until he was ushered into a surprisingly large bedroom. Kren slammed the door behind him.

Read the ending here!

"The Kinsley Curse" by Carly Maloney (Short Fiction - Horror)

        “Here it is, miss.  Room 332,” the old woman leading Cara up to her room said.  She carefully placed the key in the keyhole and turned the lock.  The door creaked open to reveal a run-down suite.  If you could even call it that.  Cara walked in cautiously, sweeping her unimpressed hazel eyes around the room, trying to examine every inch of the place at once.  It was a large, rectangular room decorated with almost nothing but cobwebs and dust.  There was a rusty cot in the far left corner, which Cara assumed would creak and keep her awake all night if she was to try to fall asleep.  There were shelves on the walls with mildewy books and small picture frames.  The only other pieces of furniture in the cruel joke of a suite was a small wooden table and an old velvet-cushioned chair facing the big window that let in the dull light of the cloud-covered sun.  

     “Not a very well-kept place, is it?” she commented snobbishly, sniffing the air.  “And it smells like no one has cleaned it in years.”  The old woman just carried Cara’s bags into the room without a word.  “I’d like a maid to come and clean this place up later, alright?”  Again, the woman said nothing and simply placed Cara’s bags on the rotting wooden table.  

     “Enjoy your stay, miss,” she said quietly before leaving the room and silently closing the door behind her.  Cara glared at the closed door, which consisted of either areas of rotting wood or areas long ago eaten by termites.  So far the service at the ancient inn was much lower than her acceptable standards.  Still, it was the only place she could find that was far away from her old home.  Although the inn was very large and must have been popular for wealthy people at a time, it could not be compared to the gorgeous mansion she had lived in, with its multiple chandeliers, a dining hall, and even a ballroom, with a big and beautiful yard surrounded by a wall made of bricks and gates that kept any unwanted visitors out.  But although the facade of the manor may have looked like it would be the envy of her quaint little town, it was actually quite the opposite.  The manor used to be that envied, and being the first one to live in the house was much desired.  But when Cara’s family, the Kinsleys, bought what seemed to be the greatest prize in the town at the time, a great romanesque manor, it turned into something much more mysterious and disturbing after a few decades.  Her great-grandparents were the first ones to live in the mansion, her great-grandfather being the one who originally bought it.  They had a charming life for a while; they even had children and died peacefully in the comfort of their own home.  It was when they died that the house started to reveal its undesirable mysteries. 

     A few years after Cara’s great-grandparents’ deaths, their daughter Edith moved away, telling her brother that she saw the dangers in the house.  She wasn’t seen again until her body was found in a nearby pub, hunched over in her seat at the counter.  Everyone thought that she had been drinking too much, and it was a believable tale, since she had a problem with that long before she left the house.  Her body disappeared again before the Kinsleys could give her a proper burial.  Elmer, Cara’s grandfather and Edith’s younger brother, was heartbroken when he learned that his sister had died.  He had only been thirteen when it happened, and Edith had only been twenty two.  After he heard the news, Elmer was never the same, and he was afraid to live somewhere else or even leave the house at all.  He started a ritual after that.  Every time he left the house he made sure it knew he was leaving, and then he would tap his foot on the front porch to signify how many hours he would be gone.  Every day he would do this, on his way to work, on his way to spend time with friends, and when he stayed out late with his girlfriend, Diana.  He did this every day by himself for twenty years...

Read the ending here!