Ages 14-17

Beautiful Shards by Jonathan S.

we dreamed a dream of gods

or maybe them of us

like willow boughs break the moonlight

so too we shattered

shards dancing in the cold wind for days

Personal Narrative by Lila K.

Being permanently tied to someone is something not everyone can relate to. Most people have siblings or even close friends who they might feel very similar to or even the ”same.” But being born a twin is like someone tying you both in a bow you can’t break.

Having a twin really isn’t all that bad. You always have someone to talk to about your family with, even if their the one that’s pissing you off. You can rely on them, if they remember something that you don’t, it's like having a second set of memoires and a second brain.

You get used to people asking, “omg are you guys twins?!?!” or asking how people can ever tell you apart. I was the smaller twin, and have darker hair. So she took the “tall one” title and I got demoted in almost every aspect.

When I was diagnosed with scoliosis in 5th grade, Josie and I started to wonder if it would ever affect her. Well a few years later we were right, and it was like watching myself returning from the past. Since she and I have almost everything in common, I sometimes feel like she's the better version of myself.

She’s the twin with straight A’s. The twin with the gorgeous and super sweet friends. The good one. The one my parents rely on to stand up and be the adult in times of crisis. The one my parents can trust. The one who doesn’t stay out late or some home drunk or high. The one my parents put their faith in. The one with her life all figured out already.

Having a better version of yourself out there for everyone to see makes things hard. “Would Josie do that?” “Your gonna make Josie look bad.” “Your parents must like Josie better. Your the crazy one.” Comments like this happen often, and you just have to learn to live your own life.

Soccer and my friends give me a space from the shadow of my sister over my head. Partying and throwing my life away is something I'm known for, but truthfully I enjoy normal things just as much. It’s easy to forget and move on if there’s less to hold on to.

I wouldn’t say I wish I didn't have a twin. Just sometimes she feels more like a sister. We have different taste in clothes, in music and in people. We disagree on where to put the laundry basket and who should have to vacuum. I steal her things and she doesn’t steal mine. My parents are sick of how we treat each other, but the next minute we are probably going to be watching a show or laughing all over again.

Trying to have my own life has been something I've been struggling with for a long time. Never quite getting my own space, never quite getting it all to myself. Having a big family is something you would think bothers me, but honestly the one I come into contact with the most is her, so it’s more like she’s the bolder in my path that won’t ever move enough for me to walk past.

Growing up a twin changed me in ways I’ll never overcome, but it taught me lessons on how to suck it up and deal. Cause your stuck together for life.

Coma by Blanche R.

The darkness shall weave its cloak

To envelop the land in a somber choak

That snuffs out the light of the fireflies

Only to rekindle their sound with syrupy sways

And by moonlit waves rock lucid visions

Of dancing figures in ivy prisons

And starlit feasts in echoed prisms

The water seething, crashes into the lagoon

Where dreams meet a sudden demise

And make believe melts away in boiling throngs

The nights of restless awakening

Create tumultuous clouds in your mind

That shake your vision and produces sharpest knives

She held her life in her hands as if it were glass

Shielding her mind from whispered thoughts

But malicious actions bridge curiosity

Sometimes shatters can appear on glass

By indirect means

That take you back to nighttime lagoons

Among the dancing fireflies.

Join the Devil by Trevor M.

Come with me to the world of fire

Your body will be stacked atop the pyre

For your sins you must be punished

Come with me or you shall be banished

This world of brimstone may seem bad

But you shall learn to not be sad

This world of burning calls to you

You will spend eternity in my brew

Devils will dance upon your grave

You may not run, for you we crave

You killed those who loved you dearly

In turn you were slayed severely

You have done nothing good ever

This place is your home forever

Here you are nothing that special

Have fun burning with devil

Color: Orange by Jonathan S.

cold morning silver wolf gold morning angry sun wolf that runs in circles

line drawn but you’re too lazy for faith cold night but you’re too warm for sacrifice

night, you run with the pack missed shot, you fly into the abyss

orange skies, the sun is leaving orange hearts,

sun is shining, you are glowing orange eyes, you are leaving

wolves know nothing greater than the wind, that is freedom

so as orange tears from a blind man watch the chiaroscuro angel…

running into the wind, flying for perfection

from A Shell of our Home by Bridget A.

Chapter 1

It was one of those days, when the wind had an air of misfortune to it and the trees seemed to whisper omens to one another. Around these parts, reeds lazed next to a lagging river, which seemed to flow especially slowly along its winding path. Just beyond its seething banks, rusted skeletons of long abandoned factories and industrial buildings gave passage to the sprawling city beyond. Yet the congested streets seemed to hold their breath, the usual sounds of car horns and construction muffled under an oppressive feeling of premonition.

And it is one of these strange quiet days where lives were often flipped upside down. It surprised me that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred yet, my adapted rationale telling me that superstitions ought to be regarded with fear.

I gazed about me, swishing my gray wolf tail. You would see me as a normal boy, other than that tail protruding from my back. The life of the marsh was, to the average person, serenely going about its day. Yet something about the lilting bird calls and drone of noisy bugs were perceived by someone like me differently. Every crunch of leaf rot was noted, examined, prepared for; every unfamiliar scent observed with caution.

My stomach was rumbling already, begging like a hungry tiger for food, but there was no way I could obey it this time of year. When summer begins to fade into fall, geese flying overhead in neat V-shapes, creatures go into hiding, and food becomes hard to come by. Soon the leaves would be painted shades of vibrant orange and red, and will soar through the air and land crumpled on the ground. I would have to cut firewood, store food, and all other manner of dull tasks that had come to rule over my life.

I emerged at a point along the bank of the river where the willow trees bowed, their locks of green nearly swallowed by the rising river level. This was part of the state park, of course. There wasn’t necessarily any path to get down here, but was the only area that was legally prohibited from becoming polluted. The state government did a lot of foolish things nowadays, and I would attest to you that they are the main reason why my living condition was the way that it was.

Just beyond the sorrowful bowing of the willows lay a rusted and abandoned bridge, left over from the time that industry boomed in our city. It was hard to believe, looking now at its decrepit remains, that once the little town along the river was one of the most important national landmarks. Hundreds of years of corruption and greedy politicians was bound to begin to take its toll. There was one law they passed that definitely had the most impact, but I feel I couldn't truly make you understand the pain it has caused.

Anyways, on this day, beyond the willow trees, and by the banks of the swelling river, I met a person.

Now before you ask why it is that I was talking with an utter stranger, who could potentially cause me quite a deal of harm, I should really explain the situation to you in more detail.

I saw a figure, seated up on the end of one of the crumbling bridges. Silhouetted against a pale gray sky was someone that the deep intuition inside of me recognized, but was not exactly someone that I wanted to see. Ever. But I guess some of my features gave me away immediately to him and he started over towards me incredulously.

¨Are you related to anyone named, uh, December?¨

I turned and started walking away.

“Hey! Wait! You look actually really familiar-”

I turned back. The figure was standing in front of me now, his face one that I knew all too well. Did it really take him that long to remember me?

“What gave it away?” I asked after a moment.

“Well uh...” he seemed to grow more tense now, knowing he was about to tread on unstable ground. “You’re one of them, and well... you’re one of the only ones who escaped right?”

“Hm.”

“And, you know, you look about my age and you look a lot like a best friend I used to have, and I recognize your uh...” he glanced at me. “Am I allowed to talk about that?”

A wolf tail bristled. You know, the one attached to me.

A long moment of silence passed. The birdsong in the air seemed to crescendo louder than it had been before. The hum of insects dipped in dissonant harmonies.

He was wearing exactly what I would have expected him to wear: a leather jacket with way too many accessories, along with hair he had obviously dyed streaked with pink and yellow, and much too many colors clashing against each other. Something inside me felt embarrassed to have ever known such a person. Such a wasteful, jealous person.

“You know, I’ve been really worried about you, and missed you a lot. I didn’t know if you were okay.” He finally broke the silence. “I don’t know why they went and did what they did. I’ve always thought your tail was pretty cool.”

My silver tail started swaying. “And I bet you wish that you had one?”

“No, that’s not what I meant-”

“Because that would mean you would have the short end of the stick for once.”

More silence followed. A car alarm started going off somewhere in the distance. Something clanged.

“So how’ve you been...?” he asked, trying once more to cross into a territory that no longer existed.

“Other than the fact that I’m not supposed to exist, fine.”

“You’ve always been like this, haven’t you?”

My tail continued growing in size. “Unlike you, I have good reason. I thought I told you to never speak to me again.”

“Well I've been looking for you, you know? For a while I didn't think you were still here.”

“Of course I'm still here. It's not like I'd ever let you find me though.”

He flared up suddenly, his hand making a fist. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you? How long I’ve thought you were dead? I don’t give a damn if you’re mad at me, I still care about you!”

I stared at him.

“And I still hate you, Lori.”

White House by Lila K.

The house was white, with brown and dirty windows. The porch looked like someone had just thrown together floorboards and nails all jumbled into one. Once inside, I soon noticed there were pieces of debris everywhere, the ground littered with trash and dirt and miscellaneous objects. The counter in the kitchen was piled sky high with dirty drinks and musty sinkware. The room smelled of chips and leftovers. The living room was arranged to face a huge projected screen. A piano stood in the far back corner, a layer of dust draped over it. The couch appeared to be ancient, and I feared sitting in it would cause it to collapse. The heavy stench of sweat and drugs hung in there air like a blanket. Bodies weaved in and around each other, and it seemed as if the whole house swayed along with us. There were scattered cups and cards and anything else you could ever think of. Half filled beer pong tables lined the downstairs basement. The walls stuck out and the stairs were broken. Wood shavings and power tools loomed in the back hallway, alongside chairs and more drinks. People pooled into the small house like a wave crashing over rocks on the beach. Hands and legs tangled into a maze of people. Hair was greasy and mouths dry from yelling and singing. The heat of the mass made breathing harder, and my skin was hot and damp. Bookshelves were in the dining room, behind them a window that lead to the vast backyard. Trees and bushe scattered around like salt, and a room was perched in the tallest tree in the back right corner before words broke out behind the house. Music pumped into the rooms like a rush of new energy. Beats in our heads and food in our mouths we sang and danced until the ground felt nothing. Just the hum of our feet and our breathing was left. Being here turned us into ourselves, and different people at the same time. Being here changed us, but made us better and more real. When the room stopped swaying we packed up our wild side and stored them back in the cage they had escaped from. We went on living different lives, but we all had this in common. All having this place in our hearts, even if we didn't remember it in our minds.

Come With Me by Natalie D.

She stopped a moment by the lake

Not knowing the water wasn’t hers to take

And so a creature rose above,

Her voice as sweet as a morning dove

Come with me, all faults forgiven

For drinking the water that wasn’t given

I’ll take you to my watery cave

As payment for taking from my grave

Come with me, I’ll treat you kindly

Even though no promises bind me

You’ll soon forget your earthen ways

Leaving behind the burning days

Come with me, I’ll show you wonders

Things carved from nature’s tide, unmarred by human blunder

Glassy stones, waving tendrils, all bathing in a distant light

Darting fish, hidden grottos, pearls that shine as black as night

Come with me, I’ll give you all

Shed your human skin, don’t ignore my call

We shall live forever, give up air’s breath

Stand together when all you know succumbs to death

The girl shuddered at the monster’s words

Stood still in horror as her vision blurred

Felt water lapping at her feet

Felt an icy rush expel the heat

The creature held the girl to her chest

And swam away to her hidden nest

Made of sand and coral and shattered stone,

Cradled the body through storm and decay

Until it was nothing but bone

R and J by Abby L-D.

Vines crawl up the marble pillars surrounding the flower gardens. The sun sets behind a large grassy hill, making the white marble house appear an apricot yellow. I’m sure anyone walking by could see my small figure shimmy down one of the marble pillars and fall rather ungracefully. I’m sure my mother is too preoccupied with dinner guests to notice her son hurling himself out a window. Luckily I don’t hit the ground too hard, so I can keep going. I reach the garden gate that leads to a dirt road leading into town. I walk down it, only passing the few strangers who must be late getting home.

A Story About Existential Dread by Eliza D.

Everything used to be fine in the life of me, Quinn Crow. I would lie on the ground late at night and make my own constellations. I didn’t care that I had feelings stronger than friendship for other boys, and it didn’t seem to matter to me. I would play in the woods that surround my house. I would be far away from the rest of civilization with only my parents and my beloved dog, Berry. But when Berry died, it woke something up inside me. A wish.

I wish that I could understand things that are too complex to be explained. I want to know what defines love. Is love a desire, or is it just human nature. And if love is human nature, then why was I born feeling this desire towards people of the same gender? Isn’t the sole purpose of love to procreate? Berry’s death made me aware of all the different explanations of what happens in the afterlife, or if there even is an afterlife. I just want to know what really happened to Berry. You only learn what happens after death after you die, and even then, you can’t tell anyone what it’s like.

Today marks three months since Berry’s death. I wake up on this rainy March morning, not entirely prepared to face the government-enforced torture known as school. I glance at the photo on my wall of me and Berry from several years ago. I was sitting on the stone wall in the backyard and she ran up to me, licking my face. The emotions that the photo bring to me are too much, and I look away and walk over to the mirror. I stare into my own eyes. My icy blue-grey irises are one of the few good-looking traits I feel I have. My pupils look cold and endless, like staring into the void. My hair is a honey-blonde color and falls in wisps and pin-straight sheets, barely touching the upper edges of my eyes. Freckles are sprinkled across my thin face and pointed nose. As for the rest of my body, I’m fairly average height, and scrawny, although my dad calls me “slender.” I guess it sounds better. I pull on my pale blue wool sweater. The sleeves hang down and cover my hands like little sweater paws. I drag myself out the door and begin the quarter-mile trudge to my bus stop.

I look back at the house. It’s fairly small, the pale yellow paint is peeling off of it, and the wood on the porch is probably rotting. Overgrown forest surrounds the house, seemingly radiating a calming aura. I can’t look at those woods the same way ever since Berry dashed into them that fateful day, only for us to find her body at the base of an old maple tree. I knew it would happen someday, she was 98 in dog years, but I just wasn’t prepared for it. She had been with me almost my whole life. I pointed to her with my little two-year-old hand at the animal shelter, and I loved her immediately. It must’ve been her icy blue eyes that looked so similar to mine. In all our family photos, she is front and center, wagging her fluffy white tail. And now here I am, a 16 year old barely surviving high school who can’t get over the fact that his dog died.

I stay completely silent through the entire bus ride to school, though my classmates seemed to have other plans. The noise level and constant jostling from the cracked road gives me a headache, so I just close my eyes and tried to cancel out everything that was going through my mind.

I am startled by some ninth grader telling me to wake up. I must’ve fallen asleep. Looking outside the window, I saw that I had arrived at school. I tried to pretend I didn’t exist so I could avoid the slurs thrown at me every time I walked down the hall. I only had one true friend, Chase Herold, who greets me. He’s tall, with hazel brown hair falling around the sides of his face and stopping above his jawline, and is probably skinnier than me. I look up at him, and he stares at my sweater paws.

“Nice” is all he says.

“Really,” I jokingly snap at him, “I take all this time into perfecting my fluffy little paws and your response is just ’nice?’ You’re a terrible friend, Chase Herold, I hate you so much.”

He looks around before he says “love you too.” in response. Can’t risk more rumors about my gay-ness sparking up by an eavesdropping idiot. Me and Chase are definitely just best friends. We may be platonic soulmates, but I’m not sure if he’s even into guys, besides I just can’t date my best friend. The assumption that gay people are intensely in love with everyone of the same gender that they lay eyes on is unfortunately what most of the kids in my school think, and at this point their words don’t even affect me anymore.

“Dude, are you catching the gay?” I say. Chase practically wheezes at this.

In all seriousness, I’m glad he understands me. I don’t think I would’ve lived to be sixteen if he wasn’t there for me. We became best friends in first grade when I learned that he had adopted Berry’s brother. I saw it as a connection between the two of us that couldn’t be broken. When Chase’s dog died, he just saw it as part of the natural cycle of life and moved on. I wonder if there’s something wrong with me for being so obsessed with death. It’s just like when someone gets particularly attached to a movie or a band. It’s just like being a dedicated fan of something. I tell myself.

No, it’s different. Another part of my head argues. I couldn’t figure out what’s so different about it. It just is.

Chase looks at me and asks if I’m alright. I escape my thoughts and tell him I’m fine. I must’ve done The Thing. That thing where I stare listlessly at the floor with my eyes looking glazed over as I get lost in a spiral of thoughts.

“You know, you might want to get checked out. You’ve been doing The Thing a lot and I just want to know that you’re okay.” Chase says. He’s like the concerned brother I never had, and I platonically love him for it.

“Yeah. Maybe I should.” I can’t come up with any smartass remarks. I silently walk to class, part of me feeling like Chase might be mad at me. It’s the same part of me that says my death obsession is different, but can’t quite explain why. It’s probably best described as “unexplainable worry.” Despite its stupidity, it bothers me all day.

At the end of what was fortunately an uneventful school day, I ask Chase if he’s mad at me for any reason he could possibly come up with, just to reassure me.

“Why would I be?” He says, looking confused that I would ask such a question.

We made plans to meet up at my house after school and go find random stuff in the woods. In the old, probably unsafe treehouse in the forest surrounding my house, we keep all the weird but cool stuff we’ve found lying around in the leaf litter. The amount of knives we find is honestly kind of concerning, but hey, more things we can use for self defense when the inevitable apocalypse due to lack of natural resources happens.

After an hour of searching in the woods, we still hadn’t found anything of interest.

“This is boring.” Chase says.

“Yeah,” I agree, “I can’t believe we used to be entertained by this. The magic is gone.”

“Maybe we just aren’t looking hard enough.”

“Wow, I never thought of that!” I exclaim sarcastically. “How do you even look hard? Like, do you have to put extra strength into your eyes, or something… I don’t know. Ah. It was funnier in my head.”

“I see what you’re going for. Excellent questioning of common English phrases.” Chase remarks.

And then a tree exploded.

The Podium of a Champion by Eric C-P.

A champion has a high level of honor

As they stand atop the podium of victory

As the crowds chant their name

They feel a valuable and deep sense of pride and honor

Their incredible sense of work ethic and practice

Got them to where they are today

Atop a podium of competition…

A podium of victory…

A podium of honor…

And the highest…

The podium of a champion

Death On the Ocean by Garrett A.

The smell of the ocean is truly one of a kind. Nowhere else can you find that signature potpourri of slightly grimy water, browned, decaying seaweed, and salt. Written out? Atrocious- but anyone who’s been to the ocean knows that when you take a deep breath and you fill your lungs to maximum capacity and empty them out again, you just can’t get enough of old Neptune's cologne. It brings back some happy memories for a lot of folks, and it’s no wonder: if it’s powerful enough to soak through any worldly object, then why should memories, thoughts, dreams be immune? The ocean’s pungency, no matter which form it’s in, is absolute in its dominion over all.

All, as Mr. Marty Newton is about to discover, except one.

~

“MARTY!!”

The young man jolted awake, his entire being heaving with the waves. It was a cruel thing that waking on the ocean was such a tough thing when falling asleep came so easily, and crueler still that slumber came even easier when Marty had a job to do. He was on radar duty while his father, Dan, and his friend, Devyn, rested for the night, and the beeps the computer made when bluefin tuna got close to the boat were, unfortunately, too quiet to wake him up before his shipmates noticed the fish chopping up the water just off the starboard.

“MARTY! How in the hell did you miss this one? It’s got to weigh 900 at least! What were you, asleep or something?” Dan strained through his attempt to simultaneously chastise Marty and reel in the struggling bluefin.

Marty was reeling too- from his rude awakening- but managed to release a feeble, “No…” as he struggled to keep his egg salad sandwich in the confines of his digestive system.

“Whatever, you’re awake now, you can help us out! Come on, we’re gonna need the harpoon in a minute!” Devyn would throw the harpoon himself, as he knew himself to be the better shot, but a ton’s-worth of issues required him to be at Dan’s side, holding him steady.

Slowly regaining functionality, Marty rose from his chair and weakly jogged to where his partners were at the whim of both the ocean and its monstrous child, being tossed and turned and pushed and pulled every which way, and reached down to where the harpoon lay. He didn’t remember it being so heavy, but regardless, he raised it into the throwing position, and… oh wow, it was really heavy. He stumbled under its unwieldy mass.

“Alright, Marty, we’ve almost got it into position, just hold tight,” Dan yelled through gritted teeth. Holding tight was proving to be a doubly difficult task, as his grip around the harpoon was about as loose as his grip on his lunch, but the cool ocean’s spray was proving to be an effective remedy. Though still woozy, he felt fit enough to launch his weapon into the gargantuan bluefin’s side, securing the biggest catch of the season yet.

“Devyn, I hope to God you’ve got me, I’m going all in on this one.”

“Got you, sir.”

At last, the two fisherman mustered up all the strength in their bodies to bring the tuna into prime position for the killing blow. The procedure was simply daily routine by now, but the stakes hadn’t been higher in quite some time. Landing or missing a fish this massive could be the difference between adequately providing for their families and beginning a slow descent into the inescapable depths of poverty.

Marty readied his weapon.

Dan called out to his son, desperate for his help. “NOW, Marty! I can’t hold him all day, for Christ’s sake!” The still-discombobulated harpooner shifted his body and released the spear into the air, and hopefully into the tuna. Regardless of whether or not his target was struck, though he wouldn’t be seeing anything; as soon as he threw, he keeled over, every ounce of his strength depleted. The harpoon continued on its path, almost sharp enough to slice the very air in two as it traveled- but certainly sharp enough to cut right through the line on its way past the bluefin and straight into the ocean. The fish thrashed and frothed up the water until a layer of thick foam sat on top of it- a triumphant expression of its regained freedom- and swam off.

Devyn whipped his leather cap onto the deck, and gave it a few stomps for good measure.

Dan simply covered his face with his hands and distantly walked into the control room while.

Marty watched both of them helplessly as his stomach sank with the lost harpoon.

~

It was a long journey home- about 4 hours- and they’d only been out on the water for 40 minutes, but with no harpoon they had no chance of landing anything bigger than a haddock. Without a word spoken, Dan started up the motor, and the empty-handed voyage home began. Marty simply sat and thought, and thought, and thought until he was able to convince himself into believing that his blunder hadn’t been that big of a deal: that was usually how he dealt with his numerous failures out on the sea. After all, he never had to think about how bad it truly was for him as long as his dad was around to lecture him: all his wrongdoings were spoon-fed to him, critical thinking and self-reflection not required. In fact, Dan called Marty up for a feeding just as the latter was about to fall into another deep sleep, this time with no prior egg salad sandwich to disturb him when he awoke. Marty, grumbling at the thought of yet another lost shut-eye session, pulled himself out of his sleeping bag, rose to his feet, and tread lightly towards the control room so as not to wake Devyn as the floor bobbed up and down with the ocean.

As soon as he walked in, his father spoke calmly, without even a tinge of sadness or worry. “Sit down right there.” A rickety stool on the other side of the room was the only “there” to speak of.

Marty obliged, and began his plea immediately. “Now, Dad, I know-’

“I’m not interested in hearing you talk right now, son. There’s nothing you can say right now that could do anything for either of us. I just want you to, uh, listen to your old man for a sec. Because he’s only getting older. And so are you. And I need you to understand that one day, this boat is gonna be yours. They’re gonna be your tunas to reel in, and it’s gonna be your harpoon to throw. And I don’t got any other son- it’s all you. I never thought I needed another. I thought that you’d be so eager to take over from me, ever since I saw that love for the sea in your eyes and in your heart when you were younger. And it’s stayed with you, and I still see it!”

He paused.

“And that’s why I just don’t understand why you’ve lost so much of that energy you used to have. I don’t know if it’s been happening because we took Devyn on, and you’re just feelin’ like you can’t live up to him, but that’s got nothing to do with the whole situation. Devyn isn’t gonna be taking this boat as long as you’re on this earth. It’s yours, and I wouldn’t have it any other way: even if Devyn was the most talented tuna fisher in the world. You understand that? This boat’s yours, and no matter how you feel about it, it’s not goin’ anywhere. Capiche?”

Marty opened his mouth to give his usual half-hearted agreement, but a third voice suddenly cut into the conversation “Sir! We got another bluefin out here!”

As if on cue, the computer began beeping steadily. Dan was baffled. “The computer hasn’t made a sound ‘til just now, how the hell’d you know it was there?” He got up and walked out of the control room, and Marty- thankful for the interruption- followed closely behind. Devyn said nothing: he simply pointed out to the water, at a large lump floating stagnantly about 300 feet out. Marty ran into the control room and back out again, having gotten a pair of binoculars, and promptly handed them to his father. “Here you go,” he said, eyes still trained on the unidentified floating object. Dan took them and held them up to his aging, yet sharp, cyan eyes.

Even out of focus, it was clear the silhouette was a tuna, but as he adjusted the mirrors, he noticed one crucial characteristic of the corpse: a softball-sized hole going straight through the body. Notably ragged, still bloody.

Recent.

“...What the hell?” was all Dan could muster. 30 years on the ocean, and never had he seen anything even similar to a wound like this.

Suddenly, the computer began beeping again. Steadily, at a regular interval at first, and then erratically, indicating an entire school of fish. The shipmates saw nothing: no movement in the water, no indication of anything living within their field of vision.

It was then that the rest of the carcasses began to breach.

Slowly, one by one, the rest of the bluefins surfaced, each with their own horrific wounds. There had to be 50, 60, 70, even a hundred of them, rising all around the boat as its crew could only watch in disbelief. The deafening silence continued, until Marty finally inhaled after holding his breath while the ocean burial site revealed itself. The smell of the ocean, ever present and ever pleasant, seemed different. Almost… tainted.

It was only then that he noticed just how many feathers were in the water.

To Be Continued

When Summer Trips Get Weird by Hyejoon L.

Chapter 1

“Get it off! Get it off!”

Well, that wasn’t a great way to start writing.

“Erik, get it off me!”

This isn’t either.

“Why, Lily? Scared of something?”

For people who don’t know Erik, Erik is a 5101-day-old little boy, unlike me, an elegant 14-year-old lady that knows what to do to not embarrass herself. He is stupid, nowhere near sane and a just a kid in the body of a middle schooler. It also happens to be that he lives next door. I have to spend time with him because our dads work together in the same company or something. Also, he had just put a slug on me.

“Erik Hoffson, GET THIS OFF ME RIGHT NOW!”

Erik came towards the screaming (but elegant) body of me and took the slug off. He picked off the slug and put it on his hand.

“Geez Lil. I never thought you would be scared of slugs this much.”

As I wiped off the slug juice from my arm (eww) I said

“I’m not scared of them. I’m disgusted by them. ”

And that was true. I hated slugs. The way they move, the way they look, the way they leave juice all over the place. Just no, nuh uh.

“If you ever do that again…”

I said,

“You’ll kill me and feed me to the slugs. Yes Lily, you already told me that a lot of times.”

Erik was playing with the slug and letting it ride on his arm as he watched it slowly move.

“This is better than nothing, though. It’s so boring out here.”

No, it isn’t. Well, at least the part about slugs being better than nothing. It was boring here. But slugs are better than nothing if you know what I mean.

“It’s not my fault that my parents and yours don’t know the way to the beach.”

We were in a forest of ‘nobody knows where you are’ and the parents were trying to find a way to the hotel at the Californian beach. I and Erik were waiting at the back of the van passing time in various ways. I was trying to find my phone in my bag. For some reason, my phone was in the front of my bag. I’m sure I put it in the back pocket.

“Also I recall you had a choice to come or not.”

Erik, now letting the slug go back to nature, said

“I already played all of Dungeon player 3. I had to do something interesting.”

That game again. He was so obsessed with that game. It’s a game about a boy possessed by a dragon and a princess saving or killing the boy. It had good music. I played it once then stopped when he found out and spoiled how to beat the boss battle. Some things are not to be spoiled.

“Then find something else to do. Maybe read a book or something.”

“You serious?”

I thought it was a lame idea too. Erik was one of those people that don’t read. Something about too hard to focus. At least he listened to them.

“Well then listen to them.”

I said,

“Go get your airports.”

“It’s an Airphones.”

He said, looking at me weirdly.

“What kind of name are airports. Sounds like a pod of air.”

“ Wow, very creative of you”

I was about to start reading fantasy books on my phone when my parents called to us,

“Guys? We’re going now.”

“Finally.”

Erik went up to his seat.

“I hope they really know where we’re going.”

I said as I went to fasten my seatbelt.