Taigen's Work

From Hangman Chapter 51- A Cradle of Ice

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Morning’s light poured through the office of Hilltop’s Chief of Police, Bill Heinsen. Of course, Chief Heinsen was on duty at the President’s speech, so Deputy Brinks was on the job.

“Just my luck,” he mused, filtering through a pile of incomplete paperwork. Brinks had worked for years to gain recognition in the force, and the day of his promotion was one of his proudest accomplishments.

“You’re a hardworking guy,” he’d been told over and over again. “You’re reliable.”

At first, it only inflated his ego, but as time went on, he realized that being “hardworking” and “reliable” meant that every menial paperwork job and sick-leave vacancy went to him.

“You’re the best man to take over while the force is out,” Chief Heinsen had assured him. “You’re a reliable guy, Brinks.”

He finished signing off a report and realized that his body was full of tension. Brinks leaned back in his chair, breathing the stress out slowly and lazily, massaging his hand, cramped from writing.

“At least I can listen to the speech from here,” he reasoned. “Hey, it’s almost four, isn’t it?” he squinted at the clock above the door and turned to the radio at the desk. He fiddled with the frequency knob for a moment before landing on the right channel. At first, he didn’t realize it, however, because the sound of the crowd’s cheers was uncannily close to the garbled static. It wasn’t long before the President’s voice cut all other sounds in two, and Brinks leaned back again, getting comfortable and cracking his knuckles.

President Cartwright spoke for less than twenty seconds before the door of the office swung open.

“Ah, what is it now?” Brinks moaned. His frustration vanished when he saw who it was: officer James, the color drained from his face and his posture frantic.

“James?” he asked confusedly, barely able to get out the word before James cried out.

“Gerald is on the ground outside!!” he yelled, pointing down the hall in the direction of the station’s front doors.

“What?”

“I heard a noise outside, and I walked out and- and-”

“James, out with it!” Brinks commanded.

“G-Gerald is dead!” James cried. “It looks like he fell!”

“Fell?” Brinks’ face was painted with confusion.

“From high up!” James insisted. “Come out! See!”

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Michael's Work

From Chapter 2: Mark Finelli

I’ve known Mark since Pre-School and from the moment we met we already loved being around each other. That may sound cheesy but it’s honest. We never really agree on liking any sort of show or movie unless it’s either one belongs to the MCU (Marvel Cinematic Universe). I’m pretty sure it’s placed into a boy’s DNA to like superheroes but I don’t care because it’s really only him that I can talk to about that kinda stuff. Other guys like talking about shoes brands, types of clothes, or some type of professional sports but that isn’t what either of us find an interest in.

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From the Archives

Editor's note: As I get older, the energy of children and teens often feels more and more foreign to me. Sigh. But this poem from Monica Aiello in the 1998 451 Press captures the vigor of youth and brings it right back to me. There's no denying the energy that drives children to move, to be free--to imagine . The poem's concluding couplet reveal that there's more to the story than white-knuckled, daredevil bike riding and annoying whistles from slow, elder teachers. Such a delightful poem! Thank you, Ms. Aiello, wherever you are. --P. V-K.

In the Zone

Monica Aiello

It is the morning recess.

The energetic children line-up ...