Embedded Files
"Bugs in Lollipop"
Jaycee Comeau
a short story by Jefflyn Sahn
***
It's quite sorrowful how no one ever listens to the warnings, even when it might be too late. I was walking home one night and I caught a glance of something pale. It had no eyes or skin on its face and there was a lit cigarette in what seemed to be its mouth. The creature looked skeletal. It moved slowly and I could see it clearly. This was not a normal sight for me and I could not believe what I saw. Was I hallucinating? I was tired and my eyes could barely stay awake.
I thought to go closer and that was when I heard a faint whisper. “Don’t go to the party for it might cost you your life.”
That was when I woke up to the sound of a ringing phone. It was my friend inviting me to a Halloween party. I didn’t have anything going on that day so I agreed to go. The party lasted until midnight and one stranger nearby gave me a cigar but I’m not sure why.
The stranger looked like a deceased relative of mine which made it easier to trust her. I lit the cigar without a thought. Then after a while, I stupidly decided to walk home. My friend tried to offer me a ride but I desired the cool air to clear my head.
On my way home I assumed it was a coincidence when I remembered the dream from earlier. Right then and there, a truck filled with toxic chemicals sped by and crashed into the light pole I was standing under. I was soaked in chemicals and my skin slowly disintegrated. I was still mentally aware, even though my physical self was dead. I was conscious but not alive. Maybe it had something to do with the cigarette I was given since it was still in my mouth. That was when I realized I had dreamed of my death before it even occurred in my current reality.
Jefflyn Sahn
"Devil's Advocate"
Angie Fallovollita
Noah McDonald
A fiery flame
Burning each bone to ash
The screaming died down
Footsteps dragged behind
Her voice calling my name
The graveyard scared me
-Emaan Asad
"Houses with Legs"
Amelia Harrington
Drawing by Taylor Morisson
"Dark Passion Play"
by Benjamin Willis
There’s this legend in our town, and everyone knows it. Out of the few people that live here, no one has been stupid nor brave enough to test it. The first time I heard it was probably when I was twelve, and it goes something like this; you bring a wishbone, salt, and a candle out deep into the woods during nightfall surrounding the town. Once you think you’re deep enough, bury the wishbone anywhere in the surrounding area. Once done, circle yourself in salt and light the candle on fire, burning in your hands. After this, you must repeat the phrase “Come take your bone,” seven times, and then he will appear, Dry Bones.
That’s all I can recall from my memory. I heard it four years ago, and always thought it was bullcrap anyway. My plan since I was fourteen was that as soon as I was of age and graduated, I would leave this small town in search of opportunity in a more lively place. Things have changed since then.
It’s no secret that I’ve been fighting off suicidal thoughts and urges for most of my life. Even when I was so young I couldn’t comprehend the severity of one taking their own life. I was an only child who lived with my two parents. My mother was the strongest thing keeping me from my own actions, and I loved her with every fiber of my being. My father served as a polar opposite. Our relationship has always been nothing more than dirt. Still, it was tolerable, something I could deal with, until this past year.
My mother lost a battle with breast cancer—the one thing that almost destroyed me entirely. Nearing her end, she told me something, and I don’t think I will ever forget it.
Her voice was raspy and faint. “Cher… live for me. Live your best life, the one that I couldn’t. Do it for me.”
And that was it.
I still remember how it felt. There was nothing she could do, and I want to fulfill her wish.
These scars in my mind are on replay with no sign of stopping, and at this moment I truly believe that I have nothing to lose. I could choose to live with my father until I'm eligible to leave him behind, and live a life of uncertainty and emptiness, or I could play a game of high risk, high reward. The chilling wind swept around me in these woods, but I was hoping my research had done me well.
I traversed my memory; the wishbone is buried, and the ground looks undisturbed. For the next step, I needed to surround myself with salt. I pulled out a small piece of tupperware that I had prepared beforehand and tried to form as perfect as a circle that I could. The wind might have blown some grains away, but it looked fine to me. Two steps left. I secured an unscented candle in one hand while holding a single match in the other. In a flash, I lit the candle and snuffed the match on the ground afterwards. To avoid getting any of the burning wax on my skin, I wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. I faced forward and stood up straight. With a shiver, I slowly opened my mouth and chanted, “Come take your bone, come take your bone, come take your bone,” counting each time I said the phrase. After the seventh time, I closed my eyes, expecting silence. I wish I was right.
I could feel the presence long before I would open my eyes. It was cold and unforgiving, and radiated existential dread. I could feel my eyes open on their own, and there he was, walking towards me.
He looked like a stereotypical skeleton you would see in a biology or anatomy classroom, only standing at about eleven feet tall. There were other differences, too, including clear rot on the bones, and his skeletal head lacked any touch of life. Nonetheless, my questions were answered. Dry Bones was real, and now I’m playing with my life.
My vision was foggy, and I could barely see. I wondered if they were psychologically affected or not. I’m not sure if his mouth even moved. All I recall is a raspy voice filling the air, “Where is my bone?”
I remained silent. Just as expected, he asked me several times, and I did not budge. I remembered the rules of the game. There was nothing explicitly stated against answering his question. Maybe if I told him, it would be a last minute request to get out of the game and avoid the consequences. I was lost in thought of possibilities, and failed to notice when he stopped asking me, he had gone to search for it himself, throwing dirt around with his colossal hands.
All I know is that my hiding has to be good enough to last until sunrise. If he digs it up, my life is forfeit. We’re in the transition of autumn and winter, so I didn’t expect to see daylight anytime soon. All I was left with was hopeful anticipation and the enjoyment of standing idle.
The legend has its history, but nobody ever knew what would happen if you lost the game. It was said that “Nobody lived to tell the story.” Classic. That’s why I never believed in this myth in the first place. This man seemed to love bones, so I assumed he might take my bones for his collection if he finds the wishbone.
I took absolutely no joy in this. There were no interactions, no entertainment, nothing. Just standing while watching the flame atop the white candle dwindle, wax slowly flowing down the sides, dripping onto the ground in between my fingers. I was so tired and wanted to lay down, but I couldn’t risk moving. Didn’t want him to think I was trying to get away. He was far off in the distance, but I could still see him—a gray speck.
This whole experience was just grueling endurance, and as soon as I saw twilight on the horizon I truly believed I was going to collapse and die. Dry Bones came up to me, speaking in the same lifeless voice, “Tell me where it is, and I will reward you.”
I titled my head, “What do you mean?”
“How does a long and prosperous life sound?”
It worked. This is what I wanted to hear. I dropped the candle to the ground, and stepped back a little, pointing to where my left foot was planted for hours on end. “Dig a little, you’ll find it.”
He did what I instructed in seconds, and then he was gone, like he just evaporated into thin air. I didn’t feel anything at that moment, but I walked home regardless.
Trekking back to my house, I gazed upwards. I did it, mom. Are you happy?
The King is dead.
The king is dead.
The bells ring and the tower falls
**********
Sleep Deprived
Days pass as she tells me of the dreams
Dreams turn to prisons, captive to her mind
Stories of a man riding on a horse
The Man
Changes as time goes
Night terrors to start, smiles in the morning monday
A day of amelioration, a day of arrival
Arrival of Spring, Arrival of a Son
The Son walks in on a city of grief
Arriving with blissful pink skies
Trust builds with the son from a land where they praise self
Platters of plenty, abundance of fruit, acres of orchards
She falls, and with her, so does the city
However conflicts build within the son.
The son’s father cast him from his home taking nothing but a horse named Al
Al, seven years young, strong as a bull, ferocious as an Inferno.
The prince, takes this horse to orchards and people seeking knowledge
The prince takes them to orchards for the answers.
*********
The Queen is dead.
The Bell rings
The tower falls
An Inferno falls upon the city.
by Shane Daly
Lily O'Connell
Mary Kippenhan, Tristan Lawn, Faith Henry
(From top to Bottom)
Abigail Proctor
"The Cannibal's Daughter"
by Vivian Nguyen
It wasn’t the first time I dragged a body away from the butcher’s shop. The cloying smell of muddied blood clung to my hands no matter how much I washed, scrubbed, or scratched at the crevices of my fingers. Then, there was the streak of vermilion across the concrete floor I needed to mop before he came back. Every stray droplet I found stained my delicate plans, yet I remained undaunted. The place must be spotless, untarnished, and purged of all evidence of scheming. He can’t know I saved one.
My heart lurched at every howl of the churning wind against the trembling walls where scalpels, cleavers, and various swords hung. Each glint of light on the edges of the blades was a warning, a reminder of who I am. They beckon me to embrace the path laid before me.
But I can’t. Not when they cry. Not when I touch them and feel the living warmth of their bodies. Not when they scream before the keen end slams through their flesh and into the wooden surface of the table. I can’t do it because they look so much like me. And I imagine myself, a blade merely inches from my skin, and the stoic and gruff face of my father mindlessly chopping away as though I didn’t have dreams and goals and people I cared about. As though this was just how things were supposed to be.
Frendis German
"Graveyard"
Isaac Espinoza
"Black Cat"
Bella Stone
by Connor Quackenbush
3.9.1128
My love, I will soon be in your arms again. Those were my last words to you before I was sent off to fight in that infernal war. We hadn’t even been there for a fortnight when they set the sky aflame and everything went dark, although it was so bright moments before. When I awoke things were unusual in many ways. The lush plains and farmlands of my homeland became barren and dry much like the desert to the south which we visited shortly after we wed. The sight of my body gave me quite a shock. I awoke in a shallow grave, surrounded by my fellow soldiers, some already turned to ash by the sheer heat of those monsters’ sorcery. Amid the rubble I found an old mirror, broken but still usable, and when I gazed upon my face I could barely contain my fear at seeing only the skeletal remains of myself with only glowing green orbs for my eyes. Now I walk across these desolate badlands back to our villa, or perhaps what's left of it if anything. With tattered rags that I have collected, and my rusted sword strapped on my back I am making my way back to you, mi amor.
6.9.1128
This sword, believe in this sword and it will stay strong and even slay even a dragon for you. My uncle said this to me when he forged this sword, his finest work, after all this time those words ring true, apart from the dragon. My sword has never broken or chipped despite its rusted condition even though it has done so many times in the past. Perhaps because now it’s all I have, it's all I will need. With this sword in hand, I have discovered something intriguing. This body cannot perish, it does not need food nor water, and I do not feel the need to sleep. Looking at these chipped bones I remember all the monsters I have fought along the way, anytime they have knocked me apart, and I feel myself drifting into an eternal slumber. I need just think of you, mi amor, and my body will put itself back together again. I am close to home, mi amor, just hold on.
8.9.1128
This tower will stand forever, for time is eternal. I used to think the mayor was crazy for saying that but here it is, La Eterna Torre del Reloj (The Eternal Clock Tower), still standing among the debris of the town, I can still make out my family’s smithy. I will be with you tomorrow mi amor.
9.9.1128
This-this cannot be, I had hoped the same miracle that happened to me, would save you mi amor. But here I find you, sitting on the couch, wearing the remains of your favorite dress, cold and lifeless. With you gone there is no reason to stay in these lands anymore. If someone is to find this journal, please… please find a way to stop those monsters. I once heard my grandfather mention that he made designs for weapons against them, but he never used them. They should be in a chest in the basement of our shop, the chest was blessed by the gods so that it may endure. Find them, and please…don’t let this happen again.
I have done all I could in this life, now I rest with you, my love. Después de todo este tiempo, vuelvo a tu abrazo, mi amor. (After all this time, I return to your embrace, my love.)
As we went, we left hidden footprints trampling over all who’ve been prior
The moonlight illuminated all with a milky haze
Midnight skies were met with billions of tiny bright specks
Overgrown grass shuttered in the wind with a spite
The sunshine of the day before was gone, like a candle being snuffed out
The timbre and frequency of the air dropped, leaving a lasting impression
It was getting closer
The night grew silent, leaving only the crunch of the gravel and the frantic breaths of those to be heard
And in an instant, it was here
Disembodied voices played with the air as though whirling about
It enveloped and consumed wherever it went
As quickly as it came, it left
- Shelby Bohan
Alyssa de Araujo
"The Nightmare Within Us"
by Lily O'Connell
I fall into slumber in my supposedly safe room
Where every night is the same nightmarish gloom.
When darkness comes and I am supposed to rest
I am greeted with the same creature sitting atop my chest.
Every time he appears different from the last
But they all have the same meaning, which is to open my past.
He shows me my memories, my hopes, and my dreams
He also shows me my failure, my dreads, and my fears.
These images keep playing again and again
Over and over, just crowding my head.
Each time they are shown worse than the last
But I guess it’s my fault because it’s my past.
Who can know at what time he will leave
Night after night he gives me just too much to grieve.
This monster does not care if I am upset or sad
This monster could care less if I was angry or mad.
Each time is the same where I cry and I weep
And then I awake to not a sound nor a peep.
I think and I ponder about what he comes to see
What did I do that made him come to me?
But I think a while longer in these long silences
I think about the monster and then a thought arises.
Maybe everyone has this monster that meets them time to time
Or maybe he is with us always…right there…deep in our mind.
a short story by Bella Dangora
***
The wind howled on the quiet October night—it was the only sound you could hear for miles. Tumbleweeds floated across the street and the moon was full with an oddly bright glow. My friends and I walked down the street. We had never been to this part of town before. To our knowledge, it was the “ghetto”, but we weren’t worried at all. As we held each other's arms and skipped down the street laughing with no other concerns in the world, a loud squeak startled us. Jess, one of the girls, stops for a minute. We all looked at her, questioning why she stopped.
“You guys didn’t hear that?” she asks with a scared tone.
Sophie and I both nodded our heads from left to right and continued dragging Jess with us. This time both Jess and Sophie heard the squeak and we all started getting a little nervous. As we slowly made our way down the street, Sophie looks to her right and sees a gate. Now, being the curious people we were, we went over to check it out, not realizing what we were getting ourselves into. The squeals we heard started to make sense because of how rusty the gate was and how strong the wind was. When we heard the leaves start to rustle, nothing was questioned until we heard the rustles getting closer and closer to us.
“Footsteps,” Jess exclaims, “those are footsteps.”
We started to run, and we went past the gate, but not in the direction that would get us home. This time, we ran through the gate and into a large field that brought us to a house. All three of us stood in front of this rugged-looking house, holding hands. It was nice, but not too nice. It had a creepy feeling to it, and I don’t know if that was because we all thought someone was following us or if it was because it was nighttime. The house was tall, brick, with broken glass windows, and a long, wide, wooden door that had a gold knocker with the face of some old ancestor on it. We could hear footsteps getting closer to us. All three of us were still holding hands, feeling each other shake in fear. I decided to go and knock on the door in hopes someone would be home to help. A shadow ran past the glass window and we saw the footsteps hover underneath the door. While whoever this person was hesitated to open the door, we realized the footsteps were gone. It got awfully quiet. Not even the wind was blowing, and not even the gate was squeaking. We heard the click of the doorknob that happens when someone is about to open the door.
“Help, help, someone is following us!” Jess yells.
The door opened fully and it was a man dressed in all black. He smiled eerily at us three and didn't say anything. He just stared and grinned.
As we tried to leave, he finally talked in a raspy deep voice, “I thought you were being followed. Don’t you want to come in?”
Luci Pumphrey
Faith Henry and Tristan Lawn
a short story by Buddy Hill
***
Despite the longing for an escape from mediocrity, it was indeed all I could manage. I'm unemployed besides the few scraps I can make. I repeatedly reassure my family that I will hit it big as a movie director…eventually. Days pass of me having to go on a tangent of “I can see it now, ‘Jack Malice’ at the Academy Awards, seeing my name carved in gold plating, looking at all the cast and audience that he changed the lives of.” It was a fun thing to humor my mom at age ten, but it hits different at age thirty-two. My wife grew skeptical, my daughter, Dolly, grew hungry, and my mother who I still live with grew impatient. It became a regular habit of mine to tell them of this new opportunity to get them some more than food or shoes that were always just a hair off. They ain’t gullible; they know it's a hoax by whoever I got it from.
Today seemed no different. I hit up an old-timer who I found at the gas station named Ed Milton, who I luckily went back with. Ah, how I wish I was half the man. He was a war hero, a successful realtor, and had a family who gave half of a damn. Anytime I see him I just lie to myself that I'm only half the man 'cause I'm half the age.
Ed seemed to have that classic "stop talking to me 'ya goddamn panhandler'' persona today as well, strangely only to me. I was too nervous to make the first move, so I just walked up to him, and rest assured he said the first words. Kindly greeting me, "Listen kid, I get this whole recession thing nowadays is hurting you, but it also means I don't gotta new gig for 'ya every two seconds." I did feel in the wrong for catching him off guard this time, but he's the only "job" I can find. That and he should pay me back for all those missed call quarters I spent.
I sucked it up and told him, "Okay Ed. But trust me, I'll stoop as low as you need. It's Halloween in only a week, and I betcha it's gonna be Christmas next time I check the calendar." He let out a sigh of immeasurable weight and finally said, "Alright, you win kid. I gotta remote spot down in Long Island, needs furnishings before we start the real work. 'Rest of my boys refuse to touch it 'cause of some dumb rumors or something. So there 'ya are, a paycheck for your family or drug money. You decide the rest. Just get it done by the 30th."
Really only I would ever get excited for spending the week in some decrepit 'ol shack in the woods for the week, but this was everything. Bolting home, I told all three of them the good news as I always do. "I've done it! A new gig that'll get us from now 'till the end of the season!" I let out without a thought. They were needless to say…less impressed.
"You always got a new 'gig' dad. But nothing actually real to back it up." I don't know what's worse, the sass of a twelve year old girl or the fact everyone (including me) seemed to unconsciously agree.
"She's got a fair point, my boy. How do we know this isn't another one of 'yer ventures where you get ripped-off at the last second?" Mom followed up.
I stuttered a bit because there was in truth nothing that separated this from the last few ventures, especially Ed's "more boredom equals less money" type of offer. Thank Christ my wife Marie gave me some credit. She's always the dumb luck by my side, and I'm sure she'll be 'till the end of my days. My mom stayed back to keep care of my house, and the rest of them begrudgingly joined me for the weekend.
This place certainly lived up to those rumors Ed was talking about. Deserted in the woods, trees damaging it's once one million dollar architecture, and worst of all, it used to be an asylum. On the bright side, it seems like it was a damn fine asylum…for the 1940s. Marie noted, "Even for your past excursions Jack, we've stooped too low. Not sure if we can 'sleep' if little old Dolly just has nightmares all three days. You sure you asked him to give you the best deal he had?"
I responded to that question by looking away and gulping. But yeah, I do think Dolly's going to have a bad time. She didn't even want to come, and here I am still potentially terrorizing my own daughter. Strangely though, she was the one running to the front of the house, and we were playing catch up. Screaming far downfield, Dolly said, "Ma! Pa! Get here now! There's no way you'll believe this!" How I wish I took those words more seriously.
Walking in, I blinked ten times over. Pristine floors, white staircase, immaculate clean design. My god, my eyes lit up. I waited for Marie or Dolly to give insightful commentary, but they seemed to be equally starstruck. Luckily, the silence was finally ceased by a third party.
"Ah, the Malice's! I was worried you were gonna be a minute late." yelled from the far left of us. I spotted a weird man dressed as a bellboy on the other side of the counter. He was immersed in a catalog he seemed to be reading religiously. In an oddly rambunctious way, he notified me, "So! You're looking after this place here that some of the happy few call home."
I responded, "Uh…ya-" before being swiftly cut off of him saying, "So it's done my boy! Just one sign here and I'll take care of the rest. Just lay back and take time to think, y'know. No need for the tribulations of life to bog you down at this nice 'ol resort." I didn’t know and didn’t want to know who Ed keeps around him, but he was nonchalant when talking about this joint, so I just assumed it was one of his boys. Giving him my iconic weirded out dead-eye I always save for folks like him, I nonetheless did sign the contract.
My shyness turned into intense panic when I suddenly realized Marie and Dolly had disappeared. I blurted out, "I swear not this time!" but saw the supposed bellboy I was talking to kept smiling. “Listen man, I lost my little girl for a whole day in the past, ,n-and I was never more frantic and depressed in m-my whole life! IT CAN'T BE TODAY! IT CAN'T BE BOTH OF THEM!" I blurted.
My stuttering and ranting went straight over this guy's head and then some. Same dumb smug inpression stayed on his mockery of a face. "Sir…I'd advise you to check the basement we have here first. Might be a good lead, eh?" was his only response.
Before I could properly give this pathetic joke of a man more a piece of my mind, he already showed me the way down, and I broke its lock with my bare fists. The basement was quite the departure from the artificial and serene main building. This place…I knew from one look this place hasn't been touched in decades. Rats eating spider remains, dirty and ripped couches, and some less than refined walls surrounding the place. In fact, the walls were less than functional, and it seemed like they could close in on me at any moment. I would be disgusted and terrified by this if my mind wasn't racing at what was happening.
I'd let my wife and daughter down too many times to count. So I tried to convince myself it hadn’t happened again. I went to the military ensuring they would be fine when I left them at their worst. I lied to them that I went to film school and was just waiting on an opportunity. I blew the money from one gig on gambling and booze. For Christ's sake, I had an affair with a woman after I found Marie was pregnant! I've been a pathetic man over this lifetime, and this place was ready to prove it once again. I traveled so long, yet I still broke down and punched a hole through a highly stained window down the hall when these thoughts got the best of me.
When I did…my god. A woman appeared. I-I just thought of her! Sally, the one I had an affair with. I hadn’t seen her in ten years and she looked untouched through the small crack. Was she sleeping? Was she dead? Maybe there's a way for her to get out. I cracked the door but soon slammed it right back after hearing a huge thump. I slowly turned over and found a towering muscular man holding a large sword that was still bogging him down.
"Time…for…proper…judgment," I heard him whisper across the room ceaselessly. Like a final girl in some slasher film I ran for my life. Although the course of events up until now made me finally realize what was happening. It wasn't necessarily fear I felt, just acceptance, and simple fight or flight instincts. Those same instincts told me what I had to do. I'd be a man this time. All for their sake. I quit running; my legs and will gave out. I knew I was set up, knew that Marie and Dolly had to be here ready to be victims. No matter how dumb it was, I fought my massive attacker off to the best of my ability.
He was expecting a power fantasy, not a struggle for his own life. I may've been half the man this guy was, but that didn't mean he was going to be my end. After countless minutes of a back and forth feeble struggle on my part, I hurt him, then unmasked him. Milton…It was goddamn Milton.
That revelation and the fact he was stunned caused me to bolt to the emergency exit I saw. Standing outside, I was shocked to see the building was completely different than before. This time, I looked behind. I desperately searched for Marie and Dolly, but quickly learned I couldn't find that white hotel lobby or hellish basement. Not even a trace of the people I had seen when we entered. I drove the car to the nearest phone I could find back in the city, and got a normal phone call from Ed Milton. The real Ed Milton this time.
It was then I learned I blacked out, all a delusion. I don't even want to know what happened while I was oblivious. I ignored Heaven and fought through Hell for them all to no avail. Story of my life. Didn't have a clear head, didn't take responsibility. Now they’re gone, and they probably should've left me a long time ago. Think I should take film school again. Least then I could honor both of them, and the lesson I forced myself to learn.
It was finally over, our fight was over. We just sat there, holding each other amidst the fire. I could feel the flames burning on my skin, it slowly withering away. After running for so long we were finally done fighting. There was nothing else we could do. We were left by our whole community during the war. We spent days hiding in buildings, moving more and more west every day. I could hear the planes flying overhead and the dropping of bombs. It's funny how the night is louder than the day. I can’t sleep through the night anymore because of the noise.
In our last moments, I hugged you tighter than ever. I was too scared to let go knowing this would be the last time I would ever see you. But in these last moments, I felt at peace. There was nothing I needed to do except enjoy my last minutes. I’ve known you forever and we’ve lived through so much. Before the war reached our country we had a family. We had jobs and a role in our society. And it is so hard to watch it all disappear as quickly as it did.
As we took our last breaths, we were engulfed in the flames from the burning building. And finally, the roof collapsed on top of us like a heavy blanket.
written by Julia Bahnuk
Lily O'Connell
"The Creatures"
by Victoria Nguyen
It was the season of darkness
When the living and the dead awoke
Creatures came out of their slumber and
In the midst of the night, the darkness dispersed
Having no alternative, the living, the dead
And the Creatures disappeared without a sound
Confused since the sun should not have risen
a poem by Esabella Defilippo
***
It’s everywhere
It follows me like gum stuck to my shoe
Small, but influential
Oh how much I hate them!
These obscure windows into one's life are shaped and transformed by the editor
Was the original not enough?
Were the rigid skin and pale lips not enough?
In the mirror, I am a student
Protected in a gold frame showcased above the mantel, I’m a daughter
On someone’s phone, I'm a friend
And held by a flowery sticker to the fridge, I’m a child
I am not a time traveler, nor will I ever change what has happened
But it lingers
While I laugh to others, I scream silently
Below the creased cheeks and beyond the perfect pose
I cringe at god’s creation
A crooked nose
Flat brown hair and
A face as square as the window itself
Click, click, after click
When they ask if I want to see the product I turn my shoulder
Cover my face and build up a wall between you and me
Because I will never see what I want
A woman with obscure facial features yet ambiguous to those that know her
That flat brown hair, so very dull
because she valued her time over embellishment
and each corner of the edged face is a different quality
I can’t help but feel
Why look at a snapshot when I know what exists?
Why should others be able to interpret what they think they know?
Bailey Foley
Luke Kenney
Kaitlyn Kulikowski
Jackson Davis
a short story by Isabelly-Victoria dos Santos
***
Till death do we part are the exact words Johnson and I had vowed to, we had no idea that in reality we would not part. The story of prosperity, health, and a household with many kids that we had both longed for would never be the case. We were both young kids whose dream was to live a life full of real love, not the fake and disrupted love my generation had set out for, but real, passionate love.
I was 18 when I married Johnson, he and I wanted to live so much life together that we decided to start young. I sometimes wish we started younger. He was my person and at times it felt too good, too real to be true. My family was never in the picture and neither was his, so we really only had each other. But maybe that was what was destined to happen. Maybe vowing to each other was us vowing to death, that was our love story.
While laying on our deathbeds only a year after having said those words, both of us with
Fibrodysplasia Ossificans, our insides day after day, becoming stone. It seemed as if the odds were never in our favor.
Had not even started our life together, we had not even lived. No name to be carried and passed down for generations, no people sending flowers and wishing us better health, just us in our solitude. But we did not want to waste time with doctors. We knew the outcome and we were ready. We knew we were a clock counting down so every second I felt more in love, my heart burning for him, and every day the flame grew bigger while our time together only grew shorter.
I hoped for a miracle, for this feeling to last forever. But our time had come.
Johnson was first to go. He whispered “till death do we part” as he breathed his last breath to me, and I felt as if my worries and fight faded. I felt relief, no more having to count seconds.
I could just close my eyes knowing this was it. I know this isn't the love story people dream of but it is a true love story. We had been and maybe will be the only people to stick to the vows, to have never left each other's side in sickness and in health. And with that in my mind, our story ended, the shortest but the most realistic love I will ever get.
a poem by Sydney Blaney
***
I need something
I need something from you
What do I need? You tell me
I feel you have told me
but I can’t hear you
Help me hear you
Help me
I am lost in sorrow
Depressed and alone
I need to wake up from this dream
I need to soak in sunshine
What do you say to that?
I need to ache
I need to melt
I need to apply myself
What do you say to that?
I need to let go
I need to feel
Should I breathe?
What do you say to that?
I need to know what you think
I need you to guide me
No
I need you to leave
I need you to escape me
My clothes are white
My aura is pure
I need to ascend
But shall I fall instead?
You are most holy, are you not?
Tell me
Tell me you are
Tell me my secrets
Tell me my fate
You are truth, are you not?
Give me peace
Give me relaxation
Give me happy brutality
Who is with you?
There in the shadows
He seems strong and beautiful
He seems determined and desperate
He is easy and he is pain
Let me be alone
Let me be alone with him
What do you say to that?
Help me
Do I resist?
Do I care?
Am I afraid or excited?
Am I ready?
Answer me
Help me
Tell me
Take me.
I lay
I rot
Alone in this dark room
This gloom
Where I lay
I lay alone
Alone to gaze at what is left
Left of my corruption
I rot
I rot alone
Grasping to the guise of what may be next
I lay
I rot
I lay with beastie mites thieving what is left
Left of what lay
Where I now decay
No rotenone
No neem
Can retrieve
What's been taken
Thieved
From what used to be
Where I lay
Where I rot
Alone to face my doom
In this dark room
- Celia Jones
Celia Jones
Header Background by Bailey Foley
Cover Art by Taylor Morrison
***
Published October 28th, 2022
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