written by
Amanda Davis / Tatum Dunham / Cole Francis / Olivia Holdsworth / Finn Martin / Maddi Nowell / Savian Sullivan / Grady Taylor / Gideon Williams / Holden Williams
edited by
Dan Kennard
(download the PDF by clicking above)
Foreword by Dan Kennard
This is an interesting thing we’ve done here this last month, meeting in the Buxton campus library each afternoon to discuss how fiction works and close-read short stories together. When the course first started, and I’d already passed out the syllabus, one of them asked me what the course was called, and I had to come clean with the group: I said I didn’t really have a name for it yet. On the syllabus I had called it just “Advanced Summer Writing Course” and based on the looks on some of their faces back on that first day, the lack of specificity was clearly worrying some of them, so as a way to put them at ease I told them I’d think about it.
It seemed to work because they didn’t ask me about it again after that until I brought it up on the last day, at the very last moment. As they prepared to walk out the door for the last time, I held them a few moments longer and said, “So now that the course is over, what do you think I should call it? Do you have any ideas?”
I looked at them, and from the looks on their faces, it was clear that they weren’t ready for that question.
Well, I’ve thought about it, and I think I’ll call it “Close Reading, Close Writing” because that is pretty much what we did over the last month. To me, this whole month was an exercise in pure creative writing. We thought hard about words and sentences and paragraphs, held them up to the light to appreciate their many-sidedness, examined how they worked. We stuck our noses in close the way you might examine the brushstrokes of a painting in a gallery. We developed our creative voices. And then we got our hands dirty writing our own work based on challenging, often strange exercises that often yielded strange and surprising results.
In the process, we created a whole new world—the world of Robin Ridge.
Early on, we all agreed that Robin Ridge was a fish town on the coast of somewhere that didn’t exist until this group of writers came along to create it. We all agreed that there was a fire there once, a big one, and storms, and a lighthouse and a famous restaurant. It’s a world of ghosts and gore, of love and loss and friendship and betrayal, and even human-destroying ants. It’s surreal and surprising and each student has their fingerprints on it somewhere.
It’s also the beginning of a new tradition.
For the Summer of 2022, there is no more tinkering with it now, the time capsule has been sealed. The town of Robin Ridge will live on just the way it is, but do remember that you can visit it anytime.
This collection of writing is the final result of a month’s long project to create something where there was nothing before, and I’m proud to say that this amazing group of first ever Advanced Studies students have achieved their goal. So, congratulations and cheers to the first ever collection of summer fiction from a group of adventurous students who traveled over two-thousand miles to live in dorms with no air-conditioning in them, in the middle of the summer, and then lived to tell about it.
-Dan Kennard
Records and Rumors
The Boy and His Scales by Savian Sullivan
As the waves began to calm down with the approaching night, the ships slowly stopped bringing in their day harvest. Sounds of wet sloshing and the clatters of scales could be heard for several yards. The sounds of a day’s harvest were very ordinary for this time of evening. The noise was most likely made by the different shapes and sizes of the fish’s scales clashing into one another. The sailor’s audible grunts were stiff and deep. Smell carried along the chilly breeze to a length that was longer than the actual noise of harvest. The fish harvest was always especially heavy on Thursdays.
I was always very curious about the daily lives that others willingly chose to do. The simplicity of doing things daily was always strange and peculiar. The amount of energy that it took to do the same thing every day was always mentally and physically exhausting. But people have their own thoughts and emotions towards different things.
Descaling of the fish began to happen quickly, and scales started to bounce around. They shimmered a multitude of colors as they reflected the evening light. Then a younger child ran up to the sailors. Multiple sailors glanced at the boy and looked away as if he wasn’t there. This made it seem like the boy had a habit of watching them often. The boy was wearing a white shirt and overalls. He seems to be very fascinated by the light phenomenon from the scales. His short black hair seemed to reflect light almost the same way as the discarded scales. Then he smiled as he started to collect the not so different but somehow unique scales that were dropped. Soft giggles rang out from his mouth, but they were kept mostly quiet.
A sailor stopped for just a moment and smiled as he talked to the little boy. The boy nodded his head, and the sailor gave him a whole dead fish. Flies had already started to cover the body, but the boy was not bothered. Glee started to spread along the boy's face as he handed the man a few dollars. The display of joy that radiated from the child made it so that I couldn’t help but smile. Laughter by the sailors and the people walking past Robin Ridge Cove had filled the fishy air.
Sludge dripped down the boy’s hand from the decaying fish.
The Activist? By Finn Martin
I’ve spent my life traveling the world speaking of life and how it should be untouched. People from all around the world watch my speeches and become inspired. I make the world a better place. But now I'm here in this stuffy town traveling to the big city because my flight was canceled and my manager didn’t let me take a private jet. When I get there and make my speech, I can promise that he will be fired.
My stomach growls. There was a small drugstore at the entrance of this town, but it reeked of filth and B.O. as I ran in to grab some beef jerky. I search for a good five minutes, but the only thing I found was some vegan beef. Why would I get veggie beef jerky? It's BEEF jerky. Not plant jerky. I grabbed a beer and headed to the cashier.
“Will, that be all sir?”
“Uuuh Maybe a pack of cigarettes too.”
“K, Let me ring that up. How are you today?”
“Miserable.”
“How come?”
“I’m in this crappy town when I should be in a private jet flying to the big city.”
He gave a small snarl and handed me the beer and cigs. I down the beer at the counter and throw it into the trash can, making it look like a basketball shot. The bottle hit the rim and fell to the floor. I don't want to stop what I'm doing, walk over, and pick it up, so I simply walk back to my truck.
As I open the door, this hooligan runs into me. He makes a wrinkle in my shirt.
“Oh my gosh, sir. I'm so sorry.” He looked as if he was living off the streets. He was covered in filth.
“How dare you attack me?”
He scoffed and walked away. I think maybe I should call the cops, but in a town such as this, there is probably no form of police department. I continued my way through this hideous town.
The town was old. Like really old. There was a fountain in the middle of the town and the smell of fish guts and salt filled the air. There were some small restaurants, all pitiful except for The Flying Fish. Nothing like the big city.
There was a lighthouse too, even though there was no use for one. If these people want to commit genocide on these small creatures, then they can at least do it by daylight. And if they crash or lose their way, so what? An entire species would be saved.
There was a garden, too. The little town’s attempt to be kind to the environment, but the garden was full of weeds.
Reaching the entrance to the interstate, I saw a lumber mill: a hideous, smelly, waste of space and a destroyer of wildlife. Of course, this town would have a lumber mill as its primary source of income. Lumber mills destroy the environment, leaving the landscape with no life. They destroy the earth.
As I drove away as fast as I can, I chuck a cigarette butt out my side window, passing the speed limit.
Up in the big city, I made my big speech. I mentioned the small town and the lumber factory and I said how we all can be better to save the earth. “I know everything is sad. But there is hope. With less global emissions, deforestation, and LUMBER FACTORYS, we can avoid the worst.”
I also fired my manager.
The Calm Before the Fiery Storm by Holden Williams
We had only been gone for a few moments. We were merely chatting and sharing each other's company in The Flying Fish. Everything seemed quite normal as we were eating the delicious fish placed in front of us by the waiter with a shirt reading “The Flying Fish—The best place for a great dish!”
Though corny, the restaurant held a special place in my heart.
This day felt glued into the brain. I could remember everything: the booth with a tad of ketchup on the side, the air smelling of fresh fish, the sea’s salty breeze setting a relaxing mood for us to enjoy, the ice-cold drinks that we shared filled to the brim with diet soda. However, sometimes I wish I could forget and just wipe the memories away like a bug squished on one of the kitchen windows. Yet there was no choice the moment the air shifted from the salt of the sea breeze to the burning wood of a cookout.
That's when we should have known something was amiss.
We laughed and talked and innocently caught up on our lives and how things have been. We finished our delicious meal: lobster rolls with the smooth mayo-covered lobster and the crunchy bread’s scrumptious taste. We paid the bill: exactly eighty-two dollars and fifty-four cents. We said our goodbyes and began to head our separate ways. We began driving home.
That's when my daughter looked at me with her sparkling eyes and said, “Mommy, the air smells good, kind of…like…the burgers you make.”
In the distance, my eyes could make out something bright in the surrounding forest: black fumes, perfect swirls climbing into the endless sky, darker than anything else, standing out like a paint stroke on a blank canvas.
One True God by Tatum Dunham
Ever since that day, my spirit has been changed, but not by my doing. I awoke expecting the sight of the familiar green flag dancing outside my window. Instead, two terrifyingly red sheets of fabric were whispering their ancient tales of the seas and the unstoppable storms that tore through them in the green flag’s place. I felt my gaze lock on to the writhing sheets of red, and only one word cut through the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my head: hurricane.
My body had become entranced by the flag’s movements, like a pedestrian unable to avert their gaze from a terrible accident; and my legs slowly… carefully… slid off the bed and approached the window step by step, hoping that the motion would not alert the flags of their presence.
Step.
Step.
Step.
I pleaded desperately with my body to move away from the window and alert oncoming ships about the immovable tempest that was going to consume our town with absolute indifference, but I simply stood at my windowpane gawking like a fool, unable to command my own legs to move; and the swirling devil overhead began to pound the ocean in bursts, stirring furious, colossal waves from their slumber.
But once the sound of the ocean, roaring with rage, shook my eardrums for the first time, my legs snapped to attention and could not carry my torso fast enough to the top of the tower. As I ran, I heard the waves slamming themselves against the stone tower, trying to break through what they knew was my home.
When I arrived at the lookout huffing and hunched, my red angels still flew with their wings beating in the wind, taunting me with their meaning that only I had the power to warn others about.
SWOOSH!!!!
A gust of wind sent me barreling backward, slamming my head onto the stone floor of the lookout tower, causing beautiful bursts of blue to fill the borders of my vision. Screaming winds continued to beat my body into the ground, making it impossible for my hands or feet to gain any traction to stand. I attempted to scream. And attempt I did, until only a shattered whisper could seep out of my lips and warm tears were crawling silently down my cheeks as I closed my eyes and prayed.
(Our Lord who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name)
The roar of her waves assaulting the stone walls filled my ears. That cold, cruel maiden.
(Thy kingdom come; thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven)
The sobs of the sky met my face as I lay still on the freezing, sleepy stone. And I welcomed them, even as my body began to shiver from the cold. My maiden’s embrace was coming to take me home, and I raised my face to the sky and cherished the ancient howling that battered my frame against the wind.
For what felt like an eternity, I lay still and dead against the floor of my home as rain, wind, and hail pelted me helplessly.
Then all went silent.
(Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses)
High-pitched ringing sounded like bells on a Sunday morning as I opened my eyes and looked at the sky. It had become as dark as pitch, and the sound of rushing water was the only other thing I could hear other than the bells. An overwhelming sense of dread overtook my body and willed me to stand, and what faced me then… has never fled my dreams.
The waves began to retreat down the shore in droves towards the horizon, swelling and growing as they joined together into one body.
(as we forgive those who trespass against us)
At first, my eyes could not comprehend the massive wall of midnight that crawled forward above my insignificant form. Only once the water first kissed my face, was my fate realized. The shadow of its massive body ate me, limb by limb. First the face, then the chest, arms, stomach, then finally, my legs; I had been swallowed by God itself.
Terror froze my heart, water rushed into my lungs, and my eyes widened from shock. And all went silent. No longer did the waves roar, trees rumble, or winds howl. There was nothing now.
(and lead us not into temptation)
My helpless body sank deeper in its belly, and I felt the current turn me over. I looked up towards the surface.
(and deliver us from evil)
For one moment, just one, I felt free as my body began to drift slowly down, down, down, until I could no longer tell whether my eyes were open or closed. One thought coalesced in my mind, just one, for the last time—“Would God be able to hear my prayers this far down?”
Amen.
The Robin and the Rain by Olivia Holdsworth
The weather was less than desirable here. The intense humidity of the air seemed to strangle the usual liveliness of the animals in the area, leaving the overgrown garden mostly empty of wildlife with the exception of a few wandering birds. The fountain in the center of the garden was broken. Was there ever a time when it flowed gracefully or has it always been like this? It must have been a beautiful gathering place before The Incident left it singed.
My thoughts were interrupted by a singing bird landing on the fountain. It was only a common robin, but to me it was special. Clara always said robins signified hope and rebirth, which is why the symbol of the town post-Incident was the robin. The bird’s beady eyes raced back and forth, scanning its surroundings for danger before taking a drink from the mossy fountain which had collected rainwater from the last storm. Its movements were mirrored in the water’s reflection as it drank small sips. The bird was sun-soaked in the dusk light, its bright orange belly casting glimmers in the water. It seemed innocent and peaceful, just like Clara.
I wish she was still here.
I became lost in my thoughts so much that I didn’t notice that the robin had flown away. I soon realized why: the rain was coming. The clouds merged together, covering the sky in a gloomy gray. First, a single drop fell to the ground—then came a second drop. The third and the fourth fell faster to the concrete, warning me to go inside, but instead, I stayed, inviting the rain and the memories that come with it.
It rained a lot that night.
The world has always been a dark place. The people, the atmosphere, even the animals are all gloomy. Ever since the Day the World Turned to Ash, the skies ran thick with dust and debris. The skies had become black, the oceans carried most of the sludge. No longer did animals roam while people fed stray creatures. Instead, people roamed while animals fed stray humans.
I hope I never see the day I become like them.
BANG!
I shot first. He didn’t even have a chance.
I carefully walked around the thick pool forming underneath the newly dead body…thick as child’s slime. The body was worth shooting—he didn’t have anywhere else to go.
Several bullets floated to the top and sat there, just bobbing, until a large fish leaped out of the pool and swallowed my bullets whole.
Blue scales were all I could see.
Rush Hour by Amanda Davis
The faint smell of fried fish coming right in time for dinner filled the air around the small town of Robin Ridge. Bustling crowds were streaming in right on time for the typical rush hour at the Flying Fish. Being over-stimulated, I accidentally snapped at one customer waiting in line. The look on his face morphed from an impatient expression into a dumbfounded look while the waiting area went quiet, several eyes shifting towards the commotion. The customer, who was a well-known politician back in the founding ages of the town, abruptly left the restaurant. He had been involved in many scandals, including a mysterious fire that crossed the town. Many people questioned his morals towards the town members after the destruction of the fire. He appeared to be trying to shift the blame to other citizens as much of the attention and accusations fell on him. Back when he had first moved to town, he was involved in an affair with the previous governor's daughter. Whether he was accused of “sleeping his way to the top” or using her for information, this ultimately ended his campaign and his marriage.
The crowd, not knowing to be impressed or slightly concerned, slowly returned to their original state, waiting for tables to open up. Eventually, a large party noisily scuffed their chairs on the floor and left a strangely neat table behind them, which allowed for a lot of the waiting room to open up. With most of the waiting room cleared, the few clients left looked around the waiting room to find pictures of a previous restaurant. Although named the same, the restaurants differed in their appearance, as the prior restaurant was burned down by a mysterious fire that swept half the town away. Since the fire that had happened so many years ago, the Flying Fish was given a much-needed facelift and new appliances in the kitchen. A slightly singed black-and-white photo of the original employees was placed delicately on the bar top, available for the public to see.
Many people were still mourning the loss of the hostess, a well-liked girl with a dazzling future who was known for her charisma and kindness. I was not as fond of her. Girls who get with their best friend’s ex-boyfriends don't stay friends. I guess it is not very nice to talk about somebody who is dead, but it’s not like she can hear me, anyway. Although I have told nobody about Chrissy and I’s falling out, it still annoys me when people act like she is so perfect, but that’s beside the point right now. The rush hour seemed to last for a lifetime as I cautiously washed dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. Finally, the last few stragglers departed from the bar, most likely inebriated, but who is to say? The night ultimately ended with me closing up and flicking the “Off” switch on the neon glowing sign that read the simple word: Open.
The Harbor by Finn Martin
The Harbor. A place where millions are killed. The harsh waves engulf my brethren, forcing us into the deep dark sea for all of eternity. We are forced down to the jagged rocks. Unable to move; the water crushed each tentacle. Eventually leading us to die.
The Harbor. The gods above kill us. Like most battles, you can fight back, but you only lose here at the harbor. Communities are destroyed. We are entangled. We can’t breathe because of the poison infesting our land.
The Harbor. The place I felt so dear is now nothing but a dark murky plan of death and decay. It takes and takes and never gives. A stream that you swim against and if you stop, you die.
The Harbor. My hearts go out to the citizens. We are raised here just to die. Like cattle. The grim metal reapers hover above us. They wait for the right moment to strike. They claim hundreds of lives. My Friends, My Family.
The Harbor. The smells of salt and blood. The sounds of murders. Winged ones. With the elegance of angels, basking in the warm light of the sun, they swoop down one by one and devour us. Not even heaven shows mercy.
The Harbor. The reapers take you to a faraway land. It is bright there, unlike the harbor. Colorful too. It smelled of blood and sounded like a thousand yells and screams. A torturous place. The faceless god's domain. They lured over my petrified body, planning the greatest way to gut me, turning my eight limbs to three.
The Harbor. You may ask how I survived. Bleeding out, I blinded my captor, like spraying a can of black paint at them. Then I fled. They are merely mortal. They ran toward me, but I hid. Camouflage you could say. Days went by with barely any water. Against the odds, I finally returned. The harbor is terrible but the reapers den is worse.
The Harbor. You are dark, horrid, polluted, and dangerous. But you are still my home. I will never leave. I will, however, make sure to never let anyone endure you ever again. For one day you will cease to exist, and I will live in peace.
“This just in: The town of Robin Ridge today has suffered a major loss. The harbor, our main source of food, has dried up. For miles and miles, sailors and fishermen have found no fish. Birds are now starving and stealing the remaining food we have. It appears that the town will have to find other sources of food. This has been The Nightly Robin.”
The Harbor. A once terrible place with death lurking in every corner is now quiet. There are no more fish. No more angels. No more reapers. There is peace. The plant life has died off because of the absence of citizens. The harbor has become lifeless. The metal holding the harbor above the water rusted away. The wood rotted away. Eventually, it fell into the sea. Making homes for a new generation of fish. With my work done I crawl into the deep ocean to find new civilization.
The Incident by Olivia Holdsworth
The Incident had occurred on a Tuesday night. It was dark— too dark. Dark enough that not even the flash of lightning could brighten the sky. Clara had gone to the garden after dinner. Her trips there were frequent and expected, but the turns of events that night was not. Approximately three hours after dinner, the sirens rang. They often forewarned thunderstorms, so I was not worried. I assumed Clara would be home before the rain started.
She wasn’t.
The rain poured down as I yelled her name in the streets near the house. She had been missing too long. It wasn’t like her. I brushed off the fear in my gut yanking at me as I thought maybe she had already arrived home.
She hadn’t.
My stomach was twisted by the unnerving anxiety I felt as I opened all the doors in the house, all the possible places she could be. I couldn’t find her anywhere. She was gone. Missing. Disappeared. The sirens turned louder. Something was wrong.
Something was wrong indeed. The rain stopped, seemingly agreeing with my thoughts and paving the way for disaster to take its place. I saw her, lying on the burning bench in the garden, unmoving. The fire erupted like a volcano, swallowing the trees and consuming her. The red, swirling flames entangled her. She was trapped, doomed.
In pure horror, I screamed as though I was dying alongside her. I saw her burning body, her skin no longer the color of milk chocolate but of simmering coal. She was my world, my person, my heart. And there was no way to save her. I fell to my knees. The thought to call for help never occurred to me— I was in shock, unable to do anything other than scream in grief.
She was dead. I wanted to be.
The TV and the Murderer by Grady Taylor
When I turned on the TV, the static was so loud in my ears. My apartment is very dirty so I should probably clean it now. My apartment is small and very rickety but it’s nice and homey. When I walked off to grab the vacuum, I noticed that the evening news was on. I bent over to turn on the vacuum but then I heard the breaking news on the small screen announce that a man shot an officer in downtown Robin Ridge.
I was shocked but continued to vacuum.
I started vacuuming the old wood floor while onscreen I saw the picture of the man that shot the officer. He looked old and looked like he has been through a lot in his life. I continued vacuuming the dusty floor and carpet. I struggled to vacuum the carpet because it was rough and very thick. After vacuuming the rough carpet, I started to clean my sleeping quarters.
"This just in! Another shooting in Robin Ridge! Suspect is the same man that shot the officer downtown! Police are now in City Hall trying to find him. If you see this man, please call the police and tell them what you saw! This is Breaking News! And this is News 34!"
The news went to a commercial break.
While vacuuming, I see there's a lot of dust under my old bed, so I started dusting my shelves and my TV. I should really clean my apartment more often.
After cleaning this room, it is like a cottage but very clean. I walked up to the TV again.
I saw that the man who shot the two officers was still on the run.
I am starting to worry about myself now because I live in the part of town not far from the incident!
I started washing the dishes.
After the break, the news continued: “We just received word that the murderous man is now heading uptown for another kill! People on the north side of town, stay alert and call 911 for help if you see him.”
Man, I should get some new dish soap because this old stuff is not working great. Probably not now but maybe tomorrow. For now, I'll just wash them by hand.
After I washed those difficult dishes, I finally finished cleaning everything.
I started to relax, but then I saw the news again. It said that the murderer had been seen entering an apartment and I realized that the apartment being shown on the news was MY apartment, so I dashed off to hide under my bed!
The door slammed open and I saw across the room that he was dressed in black and had an old mask on and walked very loudly and slowly. I started to panic, but tried to stay quiet as he walked into the bedroom. I realized that the TV was still on out in the living room, wondered where the police were.
He walked up to my bed and looked underneath it. I screamed so loud it startled him, and he quickly pulled out his gun but I managed to get away. I ran as fast as I could towards the back door, but when I looked back I realized he was right behind me!
He pointed his gun and then shot me there in the doorway just as the police burst in.
From the living room, the TV said, "After three kills, the murderous man is now captured and now being sent to the police department. This has been a terrible night folks, but the killer is now in the hands of the Robin Ridge Police department. This is News 34!"
Then it was another commercial break…this time for dish soap.
Is there a reason why I’m doing this? I mean, I can go home, but those dogs...I could give up for the day, take a break. I don’t want to do this next cleanup. The last one died on his mattress; they’re always so messy. So much blood everywhere; scarlet liquid that was as thick as child’s slime.
I have never done well with blood.
Bracing myself, I opened the door. It was horrible—all I could see what red. There were pieces everywhere and they were unrecognizable.
Now I am just as numb as the others.
Six Years Later by Maddi Nowell
I never expected to be back in Robin Ridge after I graduated. I still had not gotten over Avery’s death even though it happened almost six years ago. However, I was missing my family, Grandma also needed help packing her house, and I planned to meet up with some old high school friends.
Grandma’s house has always had a weird smell, I don’t know if it’s because of the grease fire she accidentally set when I was 10 or if the house just smelt like that. The furniture was all made by my grandad who absolutely adores woodworking, everything from beds to armoires were made by him.
The small door in the guest closet always lured me in. Grandma's moving out of her house in two weeks, and our family has been packing her home up for a week so she can move out on time. When mom was cleaning out the guest bedroom, she found my and Avery's old scrapbook we made in 2016.
Avery passed away in June of 2017. She drowned while boogie boarding one weekend at her lake house.
We made scrapbooks every summer and took cute photos to tape into the pages. Along with finding the scrapbook, we also found a box of pictures and some old bracelets we used to make. The bracelets had pink and purple beads and in the middle our names were spelt out, and the box had huge bubble letters that spelt out “Summer 2017”.
We used to hang out in the small room in the guest bedroom closet. We would crawl through this small door, and on the other side, there would be a space filled with our toys. the walls were covered in our drawings, and a flashlight lit up the room.
It's May of 2023 and Mom said that she'd never seen the small door in her life. When mom left the room, I pulled the handle of the door slowly and it creaked open and convinced me to crawl into its abandoned space. Immediately a cold breeze flowed out of the room, the freezing wind caused me to hold my breath and sent chills up my spine.
The room had a short tunnel that you had to crawl through to get into the actual room, this tunnel was always the most terrifying part. The tunnel would shake at your every move, and it was always so dark and silent. The room was buried in a layer of thick dust, the walls were covered in old papers, and the floor had discolored dolls and clothes scattered all over. So many good memories were made in that room, it looked the exact same way we left it. Then, mom came back into the closet and said, "What are you doing in there! What is all of that??" I looked at her blankly and held up a picture of Avery, not knowing how to explain it all to her. Mom just looked at me with her eyes starting to well up.
"Come here, honey. We all miss her so much." While I crawled out of the space, mom grabbed a friendship bracelet Avery had made a few months before she passed. Mom took my hand and slowly slipped the bracelet onto my wrist and tied it, I felt like a fourteen-year-old again.
In the small room I had found a picture of me and Avery. The photo made me think about the Flying Fish, the town’s pride and joy. Avery and I used to go after school to get strawberry milkshakes and talk about all the middle school drama. Today is the sixth year anniversary of her death, so I decided to visit the Flying Fish to reminisce on the good times there. Me and my family went to the flying fish and ordered strawberry milkshakes and when we sat down we saw Avery’s family also ordering strawberry milkshakes.
It had been 5 years since both of our families were all together. Avery would be happy to see us all together again.
My dog has always made me uncomfortable. We found him swaying on the side of the highway, almost lurching, swaying back and forth in a cautious motion…almost as if he was on something other than the side of the highway. I had heard of Skinwalkers before but never thought much of them.
I tried calling his name, and he stood up on his hind legs.
The Ant Calamity by Gideon Williams
I lunged toward the man, pushing him hard to the ground, but I was too late. I tried as hard as I could to save him, to save his family, his home, but it was all for naught. The anthill was destroyed by the evil man. Everything slowed down. I couldn't accept it. Untold thousands of lives lost because I was too slow. Faintly, over the blood rushing to my ears, I could hear him screaming at me about assault, but I couldn't care less. The deed was done. He already stomped on their home. By now the man had stood up, his face red with rage. He released a roar of anger. My eyes clouded with tears. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of innocent ants were just squashed. My body froze, tears streaming down my face. Maybe, maybe he missed? I pleaded in my mind, but deep down I knew his strike struck true. I closed my teary eyes, grief consuming my soul.
Next thing I knew I was on the ground. The madman had punched me, forcing me off my feet. My ears started to clear, and I could make out what lunacy he was screaming on and on about.
As he throws another punch, I hear, “You idiot! My glasses, you just broke my glasses! Do you have any idea how much they cost?!” This psychopath valued his glasses more than the lives of thousands of ants.
Through the pain, I could mumble out “You murderer.”
He paused for a second, clearly confused. “What are you talking about?”
Sitting up, beaten and bruised, I shot back: “You know exactly what I mean, you maniac, you destroyed their home!”
“What are you talking about—wait, are you talking about that stupid ant hill? You destroyed my glasses over an anthill?!” Enraged, the man beat me harder and harder, yet I still didn't resist—there was no point. Life could never be the same after watching the genocide of so many innocents.
CRACK! The sound of a rib being broken.
WACK! Inoperative arm.
Visions of my life flashed before me: my time at Robin Ridge High, the hours spent at Saint Antony’s Church, the day the ants spoke to me, revealing their truth, giving my life purpose, the day I got my driver's license, the day I lost it; every detail crystal clear. I was at peace. My life as I knew it was gone. No mind could stay healthy after watching the horrors before me. Better to drift away now. This is how it should be.
I accepted my death and closed my eyes, but suddenly, the ground shook. It was calm at first, nothing more than a slight trembling, but soon, trees shook , birds flew away, animals ran in all directions, and the man fell over. Then, out of nowhere, a never-ending ocean of ants erupted out of the earth, extravasating dirt into the sky.
“What? No! NO, NOOOOOOOOOOooo!” I hear the man scream as he is carried off into the distance. The rest of the ants surrounded me. Unlike the man, I know no fear. I understood the righteousness of ants. Together, they lifted me up, and started marching me along with them. I don't know what else happened. I must have passed out, but when I woke up I was in a hospital bed.
“Maybe, maybe it was all just a dream,” I thought to myself. My eyes shifted around the room. It was fairly plain, with medical equipment spewed out across multiple tables. There was one thing that stood out, however: On the desk next to me there was a note. I collected it and wondered who could have left me this? Upon opening it, I finally understood. On the note were various smells, ones that I recognized instantly: Ant pheromones. Because of my Ph.D. in ant pheromones, I could, of course, read the message perfectly. It read, “Your actions have proved that humanity has some good left. Although you were not able to save our home from the genocidal monster, you were able to stop him just before his foot got to the nursery. An entire generation of ants owes their lives to you. The planned total annihilation of the human race has been canceled because of your actions. All hail the God Queen.”
Melancholia’s Rhythm by Holden Williams
Light glistening through the dark jade trees…blinding to exhausted eyes. Thick sets of worn burnt branches broken under sluggish feet from trudging through the forest. Melancholy falls of water breach my clothes. The tears of the clouds pour swiftly on my darkening soul. Every mere drip slowly weakened my joints making it a trial to cross through the forest without losing the will. My sight picks up a squirrel, but as my feet begin to near…a screech higher than the sounds of people violently screaming erupts from the innocent creature. The animals cower to me–as they should.
Flocks of birds clear the path as my silhouette beckons forth. Their souls are frightened by my presence. Their scaws of terror pass my ears–as they should do. As the birds clear, my mind hears the crunching of branches nearby–probably just doves fearing my closeness. In the distance, I pick up a brown bear with a strickened look–as it should have. Their look does not scare me; only the insects have no fear.
My shoes trudge through mud sloshing beneath my feet, but the mosquito still buzzes, and the spider still climbs, and the crickets still chirp. People tend to think of insects as terrifying creatures, and though they are, they never seem to be frightened by themselves. Even the lord of the forest cowers to me, yet the puny little insects keep going…why?
The forest’s swirling tempest gossips about me as I continue to sludge through the continuous mossy mud, but the distraction of the insect question tends to keep my strickened brain in a state of balance…so I ponder…why? Possibly we are the giants that keep invading their lands, yet their minuscule size…no…I don't know maybe insects are so different from anything else that we fear them because they act as an unknown that threatens our every day life even though they are trying to get through the hurricane of life just like us.
“Oww,” I say, as a red hill of agony summons upon my arm as my hands clasp the PEST that just bit me. “Wait.” With no one around my voice is covered by the gossiping wind–they should gossip. My voice scrambles into fragmented pieces. My brain feels waves of pain begin to drown it. “NO…not another…I didn't mean to end its life–so swiftly.”
Colors of the forest had returned in my absence, but I could see everything, all around me was beginning to feel blurry, and then small drops of water trickled down my damp face. I couldn't bear the tempest anymore…I ran. I ran as a mammoth stuck in the tar pits would try to escape its upcoming death. Clumps of mud covered my clothes, but I didn't care—or want to care–I ran. Swathes of rain poured against me stinging like needles.
No animals, no people, just me in a forest reflecting on what could have been, if I could have only—
Why do things like this always happen to me? I wiped the mysterious liquid off my face and spat it out of my mouth. The liquid was disgusting and slimey, thick as child’s slime.
It was at first a shade of purple. “Wait,” I said. Now it was green.
The color shifted under the light, an iridescent color emerging.
Was that a bubble? It didn’t do that last time. The mucus-like texture of the liquid caused it to stick like webs between my fingers.
A Normal Morning with a Broken Mind by Savian Sullivan
My head bashed into the surface of reality, and I was in horror. I awoke with gasping breaths in my empty bed, which is a daily chore. I lifted my heavy head and looked around the almost completely dark room. The only source of light came from the window in the form of five second intervals of a blinding light. The lighthouse used to be annoying, but now it was somewhat comforting. It convinces me that there is another human being that is alive with me.
Non-existent shadows still danced and taunted about as usual. They frighten me. Everything does. I always was frightened of everything that happens in life. Everything has a danger that could fatally injure you. This all happened after the incident with my aunt, who was named Morgan. She used to babysit me all the time. I loved her even though she caused almost all my problems now.
When I was younger, she would crochet stuffed animals for me; stuffed animals that are now in the living room. They aren’t in my room since they gain awful faces when I am off my meds. This usually happens in the morning when I'm in bed.
The reason I take meds and see terrible things is because of her.
When I was only six, I was sitting in her creaky oak chair. We had spent the afternoon together just listening to the tranquil waves and the hourly bells. She brought a newly made stuffed animal to me with a familiar happy filled smile. But as she walked towards me, she lost balance and then she… fell. The crochet hook, which made all the animals and clothing, killed her. The simple and innocent device used for artistic creations killed her, causing me to gain a level of trauma to where I now see things. These are disturbing images compared to the typical images that others see.
It got worse as I grew with my anxiety. I then stopped sleeping with sheets and blankets. I also stopped using pillows when I was younger. They were a fluffy and a soft way to suffocate me. I always spend the first few minutes of everyday surveying my surroundings. Everything was moving as if vibrating, and then it all happened. Objects would move on their own and claw their nasty shadow like fingers towards me. They grew tall. They grew short. They grew countless eyes. But one thing they all have in common is being truly terrifying.
After quickly gathering my thoughts, I turned and grabbed the pill bottle. It too had grim appendages and a sea of eyes. I swallowed the begging and screaming pill. Then I blacked out. This particular morning was a little worse than normal. Fainting from stress usually only happens about two times a week. I awoke again. Luckily, everything was back to being nice and normal, except my version of normal is what I hopefully imagine is drastically different from an average person’s perspective.
Everything still had a buzz to it, but it was not vibrating like before, so I was content.
One thing I have to do with my conditions is to never stare without the assistance of my pills. If I stare for too long at any object or person, the thing I am staring at will get more… uh, grotesque. This causes my life to involve me having a glimpse of everything from time to time until my pills fully kick in. When they do, I no longer visualize the moving or revolting aspects of things that my mind would fabricate when I'm off my pills.
The pills last for five hours, and they take thirty, paranoia-filled minutes to work. I can’t take any more of them unless five hours have already passed. The thirty minutes after I can finally take a pill are graphically horrid, especially when you are a high school student on a rainy day full of classes. Glancing from place to place through drowsing eyes with a deranged mind could be pretty hard for a person. I got to a point where I am used to these insane symptoms. It adds some spice to your life when you are always afraid of something. I am majoring in creative writing and journalism. I always loved how journalists always told everyone useful and helpful information. I also always loved to write whimsical stories with derpy characters.
I got up and made tea. “Infected water…” my mind whispered. I looked at the tea and it rippled. It then slowly started to fill with pebbles and debris like rainwater. Eyes began to emerge–I was staring, staring so I violently shook my head, and when I looked back it was all back to normal. I drank, drank ignoring the fantasized dangers of drinking a decaffeinated cup of tea. I put on my rain boots and it was actually fine. This is because I write. Writing about whimsical characters calms my mind and my favorite story that I wrote was about a girl named Erin. She loved rainy weather, and she loved wearing yellow boots. I wrote this to help convince my mind that wearing boots and rain is safe. After a while. It worked. Boots aren’t scary. Just like the refreshing rain. It rains quite often, so I taught myself through writing that boots and rain are not a threat. It is awesome. But it takes some time.
I gathered the things I needed for today in my brown hippy looking bag. It was made of pastel light and soft brown leather. It was a gift from a friend. He thought I would like the articulate design of the mushrooms and flowers on it that he took time and effort to sew. Plus, the feeling of it was comforting. To him. It was very spacious, and everyone complimented me as I barely carried it with as little physical contact as I could. Feeling a sense of guilt overstimulates me as I think of the party at which I received the gift. I hate the bag. My mind tells me it is an animal of some kind and makes it physically disturbing to look at. I put on my gloves, the same ones that Erin also loves to put on, and I go about my day carrying a bag. Of flesh.
I have to get to the bus stop as quickly as I can since it is already 7:45. The school has a very strict schedule, and it always took me a while to go up the broken stairs. I made it to the bus stop and sat down, preparing for the terrors of the average day.
My Darling Lillies by Tatum Dunham
After I died, I found my family. But they have never seen me. Funny how that works, that you can love someone with your entire heart, but never be able to hold them. For me, the girl who lives on Cherry Street and works so desperately to revive my burned, decrepit garden holds the entirety of my heart in her hands.
Her name is Lilly.
Oh, what a magnificent name it is. Every time I think of her, I am reminded of the flowers that I used to nurse from birth, foretelling of the warm summer to come; but it is Autumn now, and my flowers heave a grand sigh; for, they know their time will come, just as mine once did years ago. But Lilly, she will live forever as long as I am near to watch over her gifted soul.
Her favorite pastime is to paint in my garden, and mine is to watch her as she does. As I hover over her shoulder, a joy inside me that I had never felt before in my being rears its beautiful head in mocking treachery. Each individual brush stroke tells me her story—a smart and creative girl who simply wishes to love someone, just as I do.
I could tell she was lonely, sitting among my pink carnations while painting all alone. She looked like me: slumped and bored, and her paintings had become drabber as time went on. Months ago, she would whisk the brush across her canvas with the conviction of a madman, smiling from ear to ear. Watching this unorganized chaos was something that I found to be both endearing and envy-inspiring, as I had never possessed a zest for life as strong as hers. I wished that I could steal that happiness of hers and suspend it in time, that way she would never have to suffer. But now, no remnant of my happy, infectious Lilly remained when I laid my eyes upon her.
I wished I could promise a family, which was something that I had not known until I found Lilly; and I wanted to give as much of myself as I could to ensure her a small glimpse of joy. If only I could touch her. Hug her. Tell her that I loved her.
The strings in my heart tore gradually, but I could not feel them as they did. She would not live as I had, simply coping from day to day without a single unique thought of my own. I would not allow it. She had to know that my heart beats for her, and only her.
My form swayed over after she had gone, between the rose bushes, onto the stone path, and finally, in front of her easel.
Flowing like water, my hands picked up the paintbrush that she had left so carelessly. She had never been this messy after she had finished her work. No matter, more materials were available to me because of it.
Ecstasy filled my heart as the brush moved forward, bringing forth a smile that had not been seen for a century. Hours passed as I created what I longed for in my heart so hollow and bare. The sun waved his goodbyes and sleepily sauntered back to his chamber as his twin, the moon, took her place in the sky. Stars replaced the clouds like flies rushing to honey, buzzing with applause as I placed the final stroke of paint on the canvas.
My feet floated backward to give space for my eyes to be able to view the painting in its entirety, and my Chrysanthemums sucked in a breath of anticipation as I did. And it was beautiful.
The original image had been a barren self portrait of Lilly brushing her hair while looking in a mirror. Nothing else. No noticeable colors, themes, or facial expressions were to have been found. But now I was there, guiding her hands with a smile as she brushed her auburn locks. My Lilies, Chrysanthemums, and carnations danced around the frame of the mirror like vines overtaking an ancient wall and had made a home for themselves in her hair. The entire painting had exploded with the flowers from my garden; Carnations, lilies, and Chrysanthemum alike. I was not sure that she would understand my message, as I would never be able to speak to her myself. But I knew this was clear: I would never be able to confess my love, but I would make sure that she knew.
Problems in the Pizzeria by Gideon Williams
Marco finally broke the silence, “I’m at a loss for words, I-, I can't believe that after all we have done together, he would just-”, Marco looked to the ground, too filled with disappointment to finish his sentence.
“I know, the audacity that man had. I mean- I mean we made him! He wouldn't be here without us!” as Mozziratia said this, Marco looked at his watch.
“He made us wake up at 4 am, run all the way down to his house, just to drunkenly gloat about how he, the “grand Giovanni”, put his heart and soul into the pizzeria to single-handedly turn it into the house of luxury pizza that it is today!” spat Marco.
“What a disgrace. He can't even flip a pizza properly. All he did was work the cash register; we did all the hard work.” Mozziratia angrily kicked a rock, sending it flying off into the distance, knocking over a trash can. A stray cat ran off into the distance.
“And don't even get me started on the state of his house, did you see the second-story window? Glass was all over the place. And the smell. Dear god the smell.”
“Just thinking about it makes me want to puke. I’m pretty sure that it was coming from whatever the hell is in his bedroom. I kept trying to sneak in but every time I got near it I had to run outside to clear my senses.” Mozziratia gagged.
“What the hell does he spend the money we give him on? How much do we pay him—50, 60 bucks an hour? The state of his house is unacceptable. I’m surprised his neighbors haven't called the home agency. His house wholly lapses the guidelines for the neighborhood.” Marco looked towards the lighthouse, shining as bright as a star in the dark night.
“I swear, he has been like this since Papa told him he was his favorite. Ever since then he has stopped putting in any effort and demands we do everything for him. I swear if Pop was still alive to see what has happened to his boy, he would whip him back into shape.”
“If only, but pops been dead for 8 months now, I think nothing can turn Giovanni back into the hardworking boy he used to be, he’s like a bad batch of ravioli, there is no fixing it, just have to throw the whole thing out.” Marco lowered his head as he said this, still in grief over the loss of their father.
“It’s a tragedy, such a hard worker becoming a slouch of a man, all because old pop cherished the boy!” The pair falls silent, walking quietly along the dark alleyways to get back to their respective homes.
“I think we have no choice but to fire him. I know this is supposed to be the family’s pizzeria, but he just isn't actin’ like he used to. Maybe- maybe he could get a job at that fancy Fish restaurant, whatever it’s called, Floating Fishies or somethin.” Marco shakes his head, knowing that a hard choice awaits him and Mozziratia, which neither wants to make.
“I suppose…” Mozziratia paused in a deep sigh, “I suppose we have no choice; he hasn't been living up to the family standards, pop made it very clear what we are supposed to do when someone isn't living up to the standards he laid before us…” Both men walk in silence for a time, neither wanting to say outright that they will fire their brother.
Finally, Moriratia speaks up, “This ends today, family meeting at the pizzeria at 6pm, we are going to have a long-overdue discussion about his place in the family.”
Marco stopped for a moment, pausing to think. “We need to do this right. Call mama, she needs to see how far he has fallen.”
The pair quickened their pace, walking with the speed of certainty.
New Order by Olivia Holdsworth
It was raining again. Thoughts were passing as well as raindrops, each heavier than the last. The background was a blur of raindrops and television dialogue, and as I looked out the window I could feel her presence as if she were still here. To her, the rain was an ally, one that offered a sense of peace and forgiveness. If the rain were truly her ally, it would have protected her from The Incident, but she would never have acknowledged that. She would never betray the rain, the nature, the heavens— solitude was her way of life, who could have known that her romantic isolation would be her downfall?
The noise from the TV broke my flow of thought. It was time for the nightly newscast. The screen flashed shades of white and blue as the logo of the channel came on, reading ‘THE NIGHTLY ROBIN.’ Each night, there was some ridiculous, random fact to lighten the mood before addressing the protests. They started about a month after The Incident happened, starting off small and turning into a mass nightmare. Each one was different, but they were all violent. At sunset, around half of the townspeople gathered outside of the Flying Fish to protest the New Order of Robin Ridge, which had been implemented after The Incident. The rules of the New Order stated that any possession of matches and lighters was prohibited, striking backlash from those without electricity. Citizens were to walk around in groups of two or three for safety—no one was to be alone (to prevent another Clara tragedy), and lastly, no one was allowed to visit the burned, abandoned timber mill.
The old timber mill was now just a skeleton of the building, holding a mysterious history waiting to be unveiled. No one knows why it burned down, but everyone knows of its effects. The Incident that occurred there was something more than a simple fire—bigger than the town, bigger than everything. The building was Pandora’s box: it created a sense of yearning to know what was inside of it. I only hope that the opening of its history won’t be like the opening of Pandora’s box, which released evil into the world.
Something’s wrong. My curiosity was interrupted by the alarm coming from the TV. What was the reporter saying? Maybe there will be another lockdown. I wouldn’t be surprised.
“...and the lockdown will last until tomorrow morning at eight,” the newswoman commented.
Rather than following procedure, locking my doors and chaining the windows, I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to take me away from reality.
Decisions, Decisions… by Maddi Nowell
“Hi Maria!!” said Hannah as she went to sit in a chair.
“Hi!! I’m so glad we were able to meet up!” Maria said, adjusting her necklace.
“So how have you been? Have you decided which courses you’re wanting to take?” Hannah asked while stirring up her matcha latte.
“I don’t even know yet to be honest. I am having to choose between taking classes with you and taking classes with Jade. It’s a really hard choice,” laughed Maria while taking a large sip of her iced coffee.
“Have you talked to Jade about it yet? Because at this point, you need to choose, my class is starting to fill up. I bet her class is almost full too.”
“Yeah, I talked to Jade while I was driving here, she said that there are only four spots left, so I need to figure it out like now,” Maria said, putting her face into her hands and sighing.
“Really? Geez,” Hannah said quietly. “Well, my class has around 12 spots left, which do you prefer?”
“I’m not sure, I hate having to choose between you guys—I think I’d enjoy your class more but I don’t want to let Jade down,” Maria said with a half-smile, fidgeting with the spoon in her coffee.
“Yeah, yeah. I understand. I get it if you want to take her course, I just want to take one class with you.” Maria started to tap her foot and think about what she wanted to do.
“I would enjoy Jade’s class because I am interested in behavioral psychology but I would benefit from taking your class because I need to take biology class if I want to become a marine biologist…”
“I think you should take mine. It will help you in the long run. But whatever you choose will be great!” Hannah said in a sweet tone.
“Yeah I guess. I just want to take a class where it’s really fun and I am able to benefit and learn, you know?” said Maria as she thought about the pros and cons of each class.
“Yes of course! Well, I want you to be happy so I’ll be fine with any choice you make, just think about it”.
“I know...” Maria’s phone buzzed on the table. “Oh I’m sorry, let me take this,” she said, walking outside.
“Hi! It’s Jade, we are down to one spot, I need to know now what your choice is,” Jade stated quickly.
“Wait, like right now?”
“Yes, like now.”
“Uhm..I think- I think I’ll pass, I’m going to take the biology course.”
“Really? Live a little,” Jade said, scoffing.
“I don’t think so. I really want to get my biology course over with. Are you upset?”
“Well, I mean, it’s just a little annoying that you made it seem like you wanted to take psychology with me.”
“I know Jade, I'm sorry—I didn’t mean to get your hopes up.”
“It’s fine,” Jade said in a harsh tone.
“Well, I have to get back, I'm having lunch with Hannah.”
“Seriously. That’s just icing on the cake.” She hung up.
“Well, I talked to jade…” Maria said tensely as she sat back down.
“Okay… what did you talk about?” Hannah said curiously.
“I told her that I'm taking Biology with you.”
“Really!! I’m so glad! What did she say?”
“She was pretty upset… It’s okay though. I mean she hung up on me.” Maria said while taking a
small sip of her coffee.
“Geez, do you think she is really that upset?”
“I dunno, she can get like that sometimes. I just let her cool down.”
“Yeah, it’ll be ok, she won’t stay mad for long. Maybe you could get coffee with her and talk it out,” Hannah said, trying to help her feel better.
“Yeah! That is a good idea. Thank you!!” Maria said as a huge smile formed on her face.
“Waiter, can we have the bill?” Maria said with a friendly smile.
The book thudding seems to have just startled Emma—I can tell by her face. It hit the floor so hard and so loud that it went straight through the wooden floor, jagged splinters exploding through the room.
Her hand tried to catch the book but instead was greeted by a bunch of splinters instead.
Another book, then another, began to shoot towards the hole in the floor—but all these books, high and low, flying through the sky, harmed my book-lover’s soul!
Thousands of pages flying through the air while hardback covers hit the ground like birds against windshields.
South Park by Amanda Davis
“He never wears this anymore,” I said, sorting through the clothing in his closet. Although his highly boring closet is seizing my attention, the nightstand without the usual picture is eye-catching. The doorknob shook as I realized how truly small his apartment was, especially with rare hiding places. Darting towards the door and hiding under various articles of clothing, I heard the shuffling of two pairs of feet.
Strange, as he was usually a loner.
Through the door, I could see two pairs of shoes. Both of which I recognized. Then two voices. To my horror, the second I identified the other voice, a gasp left my mouth—a very audible gasp. I held my breath for what seemed like ages. Every noise, creak, or a slight shift in movement seemed like a deafening sound. Both sets of feet turned towards the closet but a few moments later turned away.
Smart of them to walk away.
To my annoyance, the couple outside of the closet would probably survive one of those cheap jump scare thrillers you see in the movie with your significant other on date night. Realizing I would be the monster of this horror movie, I came to my senses that I need to escape this upcoming dramatic jump-scare that would happen once they opened the door. I attempted to listen to their conversation although my attempt was muted by the muffling sound of the TV playing South Park outside of the cramped closet.
From the backstabbers' chatter, I heard themes of hesitation and doubt.
Observing them—a bit like a stalker—I finally saw them sit down on that old couch we used to sit down on when we were together. A hint of jealousy washed over me hearing a meaningful conversation I never shared with him while we were together, but maybe a conversation he would rather have with my best friend.
“Hippies. They’re everywhere. They wanna save Earth, but all they do is smoke pot and smell bad,” I heard a cartoon character say through the closet doors, the TV still playing.
He never wanted to watch South Park with me, I thought to myself.
I took in my surroundings: an old shoebox and a pair of sneakers I had gotten him for Christmas, dirty laundry, gum wrappers. Finally, I laid my eyes on an old photo. As I looked around the photo, I recognized remnants of our relationship, such as photos, gifts, and receipts.
Who’s the stalker now? I thought to myself, realizing how stuffy it is inside this closet.
Beads of sweat slid off my forehead and onto the floor. I felt the effects of claustrophobia kicking in as I noticed every article of clothing touching my body, the gross carpet morphing into my body shape. Frankly, it’s appalling. Every time I move, so do my surroundings.
Eventually, after what seemed like hours of hearing South Park, I listened to my best…well… former best friend leave and that's when I heard it: a small buzzing and a light illuminated the closet—a little song playing on my phone. I cursed myself for not shutting off my phone sooner!
I swiped up and the lock icon became unlocked on my phone; the background displayed The Flying Fish and my mother at the opening of the new restaurant. There were various missed calls and texts from my mother about missing my shift. I looked up from my illuminated phone towards the doors. The cracks are now being covered by a shadow. The rattling and hollow noise from the doorknob filled my ears as I looked up, expecting the worst.
Stars and Chips by Holden Williams
Thoughts drifting...drifting past one another flying so fast I can barely keep up. Everything seemed still, but rapid maybe like matter...yes matter. Matter alone can appear still as if there is no movement, almost frozen in time; however, even though a rock appears solid, the atoms of rock are constantly vibrating...always in motion just like how I feel completely still but still moving at the speed of light. LIGHT, that could work as another example I guess, but my therapist suggests if my mind feels as though it can't think, I should attempt to relax and try to clear my mind of all this clutter. But...it is 3 am...I can't possibly do anything in this complete utter darkness except...well...maybe stare out of the window. Hmmm...“Painted black across the endless sky”...I am something of a poet myself. I thought the teacher would have been proud of it, but that exact thought described the night perfectly...no stars...because of the light pollution caused by the surrounding homes and city. I was never fond of this; I wished to move to a small home, out of reach of civilization’s fingertips, where stars would twinkle and give me hope...hope that somehow the world was worth living for. Nothing is forever, yet stars–my life compared to a star makes me feel only like a grain of dust trapped in an endless ocean.
I thought we had the perfect relationship, she and I, except she did seem to eye other guys. But I was fine–I thought—maybe if I addressed the situation, things would have been different…or not. Her trust was always obscure, something I could never uncover. There has to be a way to tie loose ends and fix the cracks that have been left since her absence. That’s it…I will go to her house to seek some answers– this sounds so crazy. But even I, a broken-hearted boy, deserve closure. The door should be unlocked…she was never one to be aware of her surroundings, and her parents were seemingly never home–except this one time…that night will forever be burned into my brain.
When I approached the entrance to her house, I steadily began to open the doors. They creaked, and then everything went quiet. As I stepped in, I left the door slightly ajar, seeping in slowly and carefully, even though I knew she was not currently at the residence, I had to be as quiet as possible to ensure my success. My eyes meticulously scanned the room for any inconveniences that would hinder my trek, but nothing seemed out of place. My socks made no peep as they creeped across the house and found their way into the kitchen.
Pristine and clean was the perfect way to describe the kitchen; however, that didn't seem right, no dish, no stain, no bottle. Being in the kitchen, I decided I would open the pantry just for a second or two, no longer. “Reeekkk”, the door screamed, and my feet jumped; my socks almost slipped on the tile as I instinctively stumbled into the pantry’s void. Food everywhere: high and low, on many shelves, filled to the brim, making my mouth water with delight. But my joy was cut short, when out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the door's slit had now appeared lit. I felt my heart jump. Immediately I stood up and flicked the lights off—she was here! I knew it, who else would it be?
Sitting there alone in the dark, watching through the slit, I waited for the confrontation that would end my life, yet I heard nothing except for the crisp sound of a soda opening, then the slit went dark again. For some reason I stayed there, unable to gain the strength to leave, so my wandering mind began to ponder over all the food in the pantry, and god was I hungry. My arms reached and flicked the switch on...illumination at last...in my girlfriend's house with all of my favorite foods right before me...a dream...a nightmare.
My thoughts were drifting again, so I listened to my taste buds yearn for the chips in the yellow bag. She may have been someone I should not trust, but her adventurous and open-minded taste made me feel all warm inside once more. I opened the bag of chips that in bright red letters outlined in black read The Flying Fish, and then the smell of artificial shrimp filled the air, and I remembered the time she told me to try these chips. I was so reluctant at first, but her encouragement and pressure gave me the courage to try shrimp flavored chips, and they were...
The lights blinked on in the kitchen again. Color drained from my face, and my face began to feel clammy, but I hastily flicked the switch off and began to hear fragmented talking occurring right before me.
“I was asleep,” she said. Her voice...I would recognize it anywhere, the warm feeling once more like a blanket wrapped around my soul, but the annoyed tone seemed off, as if something wasn't right.
“If you were asleep, then why is there a car parked near the house?”
Shit. Her parents are home...how did they find my car? I thought I had hid it well, but I guess her parents were more skeptical of her than ever before.
“What, a car near the house? I guess I must be hiding a boyfriend in my room because I am a teenager who is shocked her parents are home and doesn’t know what to do since I was just having...”
I used to laugh at her funny remarks, but now she just sounded bitter. “I pay for your college, so you better not have a boy in my house.” Her dad always was such a prick. He tried to control everything in their lives; I despised him. “You alw—” she started, but was cut off, and then I thought I heard someone running, someone
hurriedly running up the stairs. I saw the light through the slit go off, and then my ears perked up. “UPDATE ON LOCAL FIRE THAT ERUPTED IN ROBIN RIDGE’S BELOVED FOREST” blared a TV. I knew there had been a fire going on, but I lived on the other side of town. My foot moved a little and I remembered I had put the open bag of chips down, so I dived into them...the crunch and the artificial yet delicious taste...so unique but so good. The TV noise drifted into the background again. “Party in the forest’s manor with ten dead have been identified,” it announced as I kept eating the chips...nearly perfect...these chips just as the stars did remind me that the world does have beauty. The TV went on: “Suspects identified as following: Joe Stevens, Terry Lawny, Carol Waters, Chrissy Colemen, Ellie Bisho...”
My crunching stopped as my jaw dropped, and my eyes began filling with a fountain of tears.
It couldn't be her, no not her, how I just heard her speaking with an....no please I had only seen her once...the annoyed tone...her sister’s tone. Ellie had an older sister, a bitter sister; she was almost never home, but she must have come home for the break.
I stopped thinking. Numbness drowned my body.
I...I...I wish I could have seen her; yes she broke up with me, but humans are flawed. My tears fell upon the chip rising to my mouth, and I took one last bite in the house’s pantry knowing I would never return here again. I grabbed the chips, threw the door open, and dashed out through the kitchen like a blur you would see while driving, and as I dashed past, I saw the head of Ellie's mother fixated on the TV, but I was already out of the door.
I walked into the dawn-stricken forest where I parked my car. I slowly opened the car’s door and sat in the comforting seat; I put down the bag of shrimp chips in the passenger's seat. My fingers pushed the button and the car's body awoke. I pushed my foot down on the pedal and drove into dawn’s embrace, while I wiped the last remaining tear off my face.
Then I reached my hand into the bag and grabbed the last remaining chip.
It was the color of a sunrise.
I had never truly loved my husband, but he did not deserve to die the way he did. He was a person like me, and I believe no one should have to experience the trauma-inducing death he went through.
Quicksand gets the best of all of us, especially the best.
He always told me quicksand would get him, but we all thought he was kidding around.
I stood there and did what I could do: hopelessly watched.
The Afterlife by Grady Taylor
After I died in the cruel town of Robin Ridge, I was sent to this old house. It looked like a prison for ghosts. The windows are huge, but they are unbreakable. I tried to jump through the window one time because ghosts go through solid objects, but it didn't work.
I feel like this is a curse for ghosts where they can’t get out. I was curious about what ghouls and spirits lie in this prison-like house. When I was about to go up to a spirit that looked like it was actually someone, it disappeared so I continued to look around.
After two hours of searching, I stumble across a window, a view of what's going on in the real world. Of course, I regret burning myself, but at least it is a great view. I tried not to enjoy the view too much, but the trees are beautiful and the town farther away looks amazing as always besides the burned buildings.
I walked around and tried to think of what I could do in this house. There were a ton of rooms where I could mess around and go crazy and nobody would care, but I want a big room. At the end of this really long hallway, I stumbled on a huge bedroom and I went crazy because I’m by myself.
My breathing was heavy after that, but after those five fantastic minutes, I felt bored again.
I started to move across the hallway to another room, but when I suddenly stopped for a second, I saw my ghostly body starting to disappear, like I could see through myself. I panicked and asked myself, "WHAT DO I DO!!" but after 10 seconds of that, my body started going back to normal and I sighed with relief because that was horrifying.
I saw kids outside playing ball and all of their faces were happy and laughing, which brings me such joy even though I can't be with them. Plus, I'm a ghost, so if I went out to play with them, I will scare them off.
Man, being dead really sucks—and it's only been 4 days! I really regret killing myself in that house fire and destroying the town hall now because I did not like what the government was doing.
So stupid.
The next day I looked out the window again at the boys playing with sadness and regret, ready to disappear for good this time, no matter where it took me.
“No Really It Is Right There!” by Savian Sullivan
“No, really, it is right there!” hollered Randy.
Randy stood there looking at the thing. It was right in the middle of the garden. He would try to go up closer to it, but the garden had already closed for the day. At this time, only Henry, the garden attendant, could walk in the garden. The public was fenced off with the newly built iron fence that thoroughly surrounded the whole thing. Henry carefully walked around the now blooming daffodils with their vibrant yellow since it was getting dark.
Henry looked up and said, “What are you talking about?”
Now there were three others with Randy: Susan, Barry, and Megan. They were all talking about some kind of man on top of a wall.
“Oh, that’s so weird there he is!” said Barry, taking his glasses on and off to see if that was the issue.
“Who is with you, Henry?” questioned Megan while standing on the tips of her toes.
Henry was puzzled since he was the only one who worked on the garden, especially at night. He was almost startled at their remarks, since it would mean that someone was with him. Then he walked to the other side of the wall in the direction that his friends were pointing to.
“See Henry, they are right there! On top of that bush covering the wall!” Randy said.
Henry looked to where he thought Randy was talking about to only see the grape vines with their succulent and juicy grapes. The vines coiled over themselves and made a very impressive and thick bush atop the garden wall. As Henry was searching, the others were getting confused. How is Henry not seeing a person sitting right above him? Henry then walked around the wall, trying to see if there truly was someone.
“How do you not see? He’s just sitting right there. Who is he Henry?” Megan said as she pointed to the same spot that the others also pointed to.
Henry was now just confused instead of startled anymore. They all stood there pointing at the same spot that the supposed seated man was. Then when Henry asked for them to describe him, they all described him.
“He has a straw hat!” said Susan, lifting her own elegant sun hat for just a moment.
“Yeah, he does. It looks like the one that I saw in a downtown store window yesterday!” said Barry.
“Oh yes, I remember it really does! I can even see the silhouette of the little red ribbon that it had!” as Megan agreed with Barry.
“Oh, the one from the children's section, right? I was thinking of getting it as a gift for my little girl,” said Randy as he tried to squint to get a better view.
Henry knew what they were talking about since he had also seen the same hat. It was so sophisticated and made a perfect sun hat with its round rim. Now he was even more confused as he looked on top of the covered garden wall.
“Nothing but grapes and grape vines. Are you guys playing a trick on me?” said Henry after taking his third lap around the wall.
“No, we just see the shadow of someone sitting there. They are sort of just… What's the right word?” wondered Susan.
“He is just chillin 'you know? He ain’t bothering anyone but he is just sort of relaxing in the garden,” interrupted Randy in a way that convinced Henry that they are actually talking about someone.
Henry decided to climb the wall, which was easy because of all the vines. He struggled as the others continued calling for this unknown person. They asked what they were doing in the garden after dark. Then they started asking Henry if they should come in and help, but Henry resisted.
“You need to be extremely careful since it is dark and all the flowers have just started to bloom. Just leave this up to me,” grunted Henry as he was almost at the top of the wall.
Henry rarely climbs the walls since they are weak from the overgrowth of the garden. The others continued calling, and Henry finally made it on top of the concrete wall. He carefully stood up and walked along the wall to see if he could see the man. The others became frantic and hysteric at the fact that Henry didn’t see anything.
“Henry, can you see in the dark?” chuckled Randy.
“Oh my heavens! Is he going to step on that poor man?” Megan said in disbelief that Henry didn’t see him.
Henry walked on top of the wall from end to end as the others yelled louder the closer he was supposedly to the man.
“Stop right there and look down and to the right,” yelled Barry as he was climbing the fence.
“Yeah, to the right. He is only a few feet from you!” screamed Susan.
This started some inner thoughts that there was something wrong since he couldn’t see the man. But how is the man not hearing any of them? Now Henry was calling for the man just like everyone else was, with no reply. He grabbed the vine, and the others were roaring at the fact that Henry just grabbed the man's neck. Henry jolted back and saw nothing but vines. He then jumped off the wall since he was worrying about his eyesight and who the man was. Seeking comfort from his friends, he ran to them. While running, he looked back and saw a man. He stopped and was astonished at the perfect silhouette of a man wearing a straw hat. It even had a ribbon, just like how he and the others had seen before. Henry was beyond confused, but then his mind became tranquil when he realized. He then walked back to the wall.
It was a bunch of vines up close. He then walked back to the fence and saw a man with a perfect summer hat. But while you are next to the wall, you will see delicious grapes that will be picked for jam in a few months.
The gate was opened and he took the others with him to see the man in a straw hat.
Time turns still when my mother leaves the house; opportunities of a lifetime begin to appear.
I always knew the house was haunted but now I have the freedom to converse. I took a breath.
“Hi, my name is Morty Smith. What are you?”
“I am a gremlin of the deep, here to eat your skin.”
The gremlin emerged from the floor and leaped towards me.
I once watched my mother get eaten alive very slowly—it was terrible. I was disgusted.
Why I Don't Like Scary Movies by Finn Martin
I never got the rave of scary movies. A while back, I was visiting my girlfriend. She lived 10 miles out from this old, tiny town in the middle of nowhere. She was my everything. She had something big to tell me but wanted to make it a surprise. “Wonder what”?
I had to go through the town to get to her house. The town was peaceful. Robin Ridge I think it was called. A serene glow radiated from each building. The smell of sweet and salty fish filled my nose. Sickening. The water reflected the bright blue sky. The statue in the middle of the town square was nothing but rubble. Rusting away from all the salt of the sea.
I drove up the trail to her house. saw the charred house of my girlfriend. My mind flashed to worst-case scenarios. What if she was in there? What if she burnt to death? I tried to create positive outcomes, but they never came. For once I couldn’t be in denial. Even if I forced myself to be in denial.
I unbuckled my seat belt and dashed to the charred building.
The walls were gone, the roof collapsed, and the furniture was nothing but ash. However, something stood out to me: where the rug might have been there was a trap door. Coated in metal, it glistened in the small beams of sunlight that seeped through the windows.
Maybe she was hiding in there. The thought caused me to be elated, so I ripped open the small door. I walked down into it, each step creaking all the way down. The room at the bottom was small. Buckets and mops lined the walls. It smelled of mold and old water. Brushing my hand against the frigged walls I looked for a light switch and eventually found and flicked it but instead of the lights turning on, an old TV illuminated from the corner of the room, the sound of static.
Outside, I heard the sound of a car pulling up to the house. I gently cracked the door open just to see who it was. It was the police. I shut the door again. If they see me at the charred house of my possibly dead girlfriend, then I'm going to be blamed and sent to jail.
The officer slowly walked into the scorched remains of a door. He must have seen my car because he shouted “HELLO?” a good three times while holding a taser. His shoe stepped over the hole I was using to peak out from the door. Down below, the static from the TV cleared, revealing some old horror movie. Something about a fish monster with wings, how lame. For some reason, my girlfriend loved old horror movies.
The police officer started to head to what I would guess is their kitch…“O PLEASE HELP ME” said the TV, erupting with sound as if there was a remote and it cranked the volume to max. The steps above got closer.
“Hello?” the police officer asked in a questioning tone, probably wondering if he is hearing things.
A close call for sure.
I crept as quietly as possible to the TV to turn it down or better yet turn it off. “HEY,” it belted.
Is this thing sentient?
The police officer must not have heard it because the footsteps didn't seem to come closer. I remembered the fake light switch and tried to turn it off, but the TV never turned off. Instead, it showed a woman running by a lake and the monster slowly rising from the water.
Upstairs the police officer walked closer to the trap door, heading to his car. On the screen, the monster crept up behind the girl and yelled, the volume still turned all the way up as a horrified scream filled the hidden room, echoing through the whole house, piercing my ears.
The cop ran in and noticed the trap door at last and yanked it open.
“FREEZE, SLOWLY PUT YOUR HANDS UP!” he shouted.
I did as he said and pleaded that it was the TV, but now the TV was turned off, the remote resting on the floor, broken and covered with dust. The police officer grabbed me and cuffed me, then took me into the station.
My girlfriend has yet to be found and now I am the prime suspect in a murder, and I guess a forest fire?
To this day I still wonder what was up with that old TV.
She’s losing blood, and fast. “Eric! Get Dr. Zed in here, stat!”
I don’t know how much longer I can keep her stable.
It also doesn’t help that this “Dr. Zed” isn’t a real doctor.
“Hurry, Eric! She’s about to die!” I screamed.
Dr. Zed burst through the door with a kitchen knife and a plastic straw to try and stabilize the girl.
I appreciate that man.
Alone in the Library by Cole Francis
“And I only am escaped alone to tell thee!”
I cannot tell you how many times I have read that line. Moby Dick is, in my opinion, the greatest work of literature of all time, although most of my friends seem to disagree. I haven't seen my friends in a long time, I… don't know where they went. Lately, I've been spending a lot of my time in the Forest Library. I would say that I’ve read nearly every book in here so far, but I plan on rereading everything else. I don’t know what else to do with my time anymore. I’ve tried leaving but for some reason I just get sucked back into another book even if I know what will happen in the end.
Sometimes I try to make a new friend but it never works out. They always seem to run away or act like they can’t see me. My old friends never treated me that way. The last time I remember seeing my friends was standing in this very room surrounded by a bright light. After that, I was here and I have stayed here ever since like a dog waiting for its owner. I don’t know why I do this to myself, they're never coming back.
They really need to turn up the heat in here. I am freezing. They closed the library early today and locked me inside like they do every night. I just feel so invisible.
Sometimes I get flashes in the corner of my eye: everything in ruins, charred and burned, and then I look back up and everything is normal again.
I finally fell asleep last night for the first time in I don't know how long. I woke up around 10:00 and it was like everything I had been seeing in the corner of my eye had become a reality. The walls were gone, and everything was charcoal and ash. I walked towards the doorway and I still couldn't leave. Why? There wasn't even a door anymore, nothing holding me back.
I heard a crunch behind me followed by speaking, and I turned around to see a firefighter walking through the rubble. I started shouting “HEY!HEY!” but he kept walking straight towards me with no reaction. He got so close that he was almost touching me—“HEY WAI-” I started, but he just walked right through me.
How did he do that? Did I do that?
It would explain everything: why I couldn't leave, why none of my friends were there, but more importantly… it meant that I was dead, and so were all my friends, and for a while all I could think of was that line:
“And I only am escaped alone to tell thee!”
LISTS
How to Inspect a Forest after a Forest Fire by Holden Williams
Examine the forest and all the complexities of the forest.
Look for serrated leaves and if you find some don't stuff them into your pocket–you already have enough in your collection; one rose colored leaf won’t add or subtract from your life.
Watch out for spider webs, and the spider usually is not in the web but when it is people can hear my scream all the way into town, and when they look at you stressing out with your hair tangled in what look likes white strings sigh and say the classic adult saying that pushes our emotions deep inside and locks them away, “I’m fine.”
Follow the ashes and this time don't lick them; that did nothing the first time and the second time they tasted weirder than usual and the DNA test results showed questionable substances; never again.
Utilize the binoculars and don't fall into a long stare with a bird that makes your mind lose touch with reality and you began to hear your mothers raspy judgmental voice saying, “you don't have a real job”
Search for feathers and also don't put them in your pocket, though you are wearing gloves, when you arrived home last time your dog found the feathers and snuffled through them, and that $15000 medical bill for your dog only made you think of your mother’s voice saying, “If you had a real job you would make real bucks”.
a. What shape are the feathers, if you find any? If you don't…what another waste of time but alas.
i. Are they Round like your stomach?
ii. Are they Sharp like your mother’s voice?
iii. Are they Smooth like the magazine woman's stomach that make you feel guilty and then cry a little and then venture into the refrigerator to find an apple, but then realize that you don't like apples, so you open the freezer and see the ice-cream carton and open the carton and see nothing but frozen tears left. You then let out a hurley scream and your mind hears your annoying mother’s voice saying “Proper women do not act out like a child” Your anger then overcomes you and you remember that the magazine women are merely photoshopped, so you feel confident again until you open the magazine and see “How to lose twenty pounds and twenty days” and it is approved by Winfrey Oprah, so you cry some more and then take a jog outside.
1. Color?
a. Blue like the endless sky.
b. White like the empty vanilla ice cream carton
c. Cream like ice cream
d. Are they mixed like your opinion on your mother?
i. Striped liked the dress your mother got you but it does not fit.
1. Orange dots like the orange circles with pretty black writing on the magazine you read with that dumb column approved by Oprah Winfrey.
7. Search for burnt fur, but not like the dog fur you find around your house, which you clean up anyway, even though your husband is supposed to do the cleaning, yet he says “That is not masculine,” so then you argue with him over progressive opinions and then he says, “Fine honey” like he always says and then stumbly-walks over to the pantry and grabs the broom and then begins sweeping for about a minute.
A. Grainy like your teeth are as you grind them when your mothers shrill voice talks to you over the phone about marrying a better man, but then you argue with her saying he is not perfect, but he is still my love.
B. Rough like the relationship with your mother.
C. Soft like the fur of your dog.
8. Find remnants of mammals-corpses; you don't enjoy this part because it makes you feel sad.
A. Deer: they seem to always be on the forest floor in the blanket of leaves.
B. Fox: Hard to find but once you do, they are burned a little bit
C. Bear:
D. squirrel
9. Look for human waste
A. Feces
B. Trash
C. urine
10. Inspect the bark
A. Is it torched?
Ways to Belly Flop by Cole Francis
Jump off a cliff into a body of water
The water is freezing
The water is frozen
You are wearing a crab suit
You are ironing your favorite shirt while falling
You burn a hole in your shirt
You see a gray fin in the water
Is that a shark?
You don't even care at this point
The cliff is 3,000 feet in the air
The cliff is a plane at 30,000 feet
You get explosive diarrhea while falling
That stupid fountain in town square mocking you
You realize you will die when you hit the water
You say screw it and flip off the whole world watching
You plummet to the earth screaming and shouting
You realize that won't do anything and start flapping your arms
You realize that your an idiot for trying this
You see millions of people watching you below as you reach terminal velocity
The wind screams in your ears
They're bleeding
Your eyes fill with tears
You’re about to hit the water
Things I Did Yesterday by Gideon Williams
· Woke up
· Walked to the grocery store (watched out on the sidewalk)
· Bought corn, apples (enough for the whole bunch), bread, and milk
· Walked home (extra careful, they are more active by this point in the day)
· Put away corn and milk
· Cut up the apples into small little bits, good to remember that they can carry more than 5,000 times their own weight
· Grabbed binoculars and yard chair
· Went to park
· Laid the apple slices where they will be easy for them to gather
· Set up yard chair
· Guarded for the next 7 hours, can't risk anyone trying to destroy their hills
· Intercepted attackers if spotted (one got through before I could see him)
· Ran as hard as I could, and screamed for the man to stop
· Found it was too late; thousands perished
· Tackled the man to the ground, covered him with the “marked” pheromones
· As he walked off, I saw the death squad emerge from the neighboring hill
· Went home and cried; screamed in the mirror; punched the wall; wrote letters to the families of the deceased
· Cleaned up and went to 8 pm dinner with the Ant Queen in the alley behind the Flying Fish
· Further discussed the rise in human on ant violence in the cities of LA and Dallas
· Explain the tragic destruction of Hill 3234
· “Failure is not acceptable”
· Dragged away by royal guard kicking and screaming
· Beaten for an unknown amount of time
· Dragged back to the queen
· Reaffirmed my total loyalty to the queen
· Went home and cried; barfed blood into the sink; cried more
· Turned on the TV to the news and saw report about how a man was seemingly torn limb from limb by an army of ants and slept well knowing that justice was served
A Mother and Her List by Savian Sullivan
· Wake up at 5:00 A.M
· Put laundry in the washer
· Mow the yard quietly
· Wipe the sweat off of your forehead
· Shower with cold water
· Put on minimal makeup
· Put things needed for a school day in Roger’s backpack
· Ignore the knife with its curved edge found in the bottom of bag
· Place the bag on chair near the front door
· Put laundry in the dryer
· Check the time: 6:00 A.M
· Mentally prepare yourself for 5 minutes
· Carefully clean Roger’s room
· Avoid the broken glass and the hamsters body parts…
· Mop the floor downstairs
· Dry the floor
· Check the time: 7:00 A.M
· Start to make breakfast
· Go to the pantry for the pans
· Ignore it…
· Grab a couple eggs for yourself and Roger
· Make some toast
· Gather some strawberries from the garden
· Brush the weeds off the plaque in remembrance
· Start mashing the strawberries
· Add Sugar to the strawberry mixture
· Grab toast from the toaster
· Go to the pantry for something…
· CoNTroL yOuRselF
· Decide what to do with it
· Throw it out
· Ignore their stares as neighbors walk by
· Cook the eggs until they are perfectly scrambled
· Season with salt and pepper
· Spread butter on the toast then the jam
· Make the table
· Check the time 7:30 A.M
· Mentally prepare for 1 hour
· Wake him
· He is not going to wake himself up
· Put in earbuds
· Endure the protests and physical slaps
· Tend the wound later
· Stop thinking about the rat poison outside
· Bring plate from the kitchen table
· Place the plate on Roger’s bed
· Try not to cry as he tells you your worthless
· You are worth it…?
· Convince him to get up
· Try to hide the happy tears as he gets up
· Eat breakfast alone at the dinner table
· Try to ignore his screams
· Realize that Roger is feeling spicy today
· Run
· Lock yourself in the bathroom
· Close the door just in time
· Pull out the key
· Sadly open the cabinets
· Grab the needle and the tranquilizing liquid
· Hesitantly flick the needle until there are no bubbles
· Mentally prepare
· Open the door
· It must be time
· Look at the taped together clock from mother
· Check the time: 9:03
· We are almost late to the hospital
· Find Roger in the backyard with a dead Robin
· Sneak up behind him quieter than last time
· Stop moving since he is looking around aimlessly
· Start moving slightly faster since your patience is running out
· Stab the needle into his arm as he screams
· Run as fast as you can even thought the doctor's promise that the medication works fast
· Remember that it is okay that sometimes you can’t pull the needle out. You just needed to pump the fluid into him
· Lift his body and start to carry him through the house
· Pretend like you didn’t accidentally hit his head on the doorframe
· Carry him to the car
· Turn the music up until it can’t anymore
· Try not to look at people passing by the car who are probably wondering why you are blasting Adele during the morning.
· Drive to the hospital
· Extend his stay by 2 weeks
· Ignore the nurse when she asked: “Do you want to say: Goodbye?”
· Walk to the car
· Check the time: 11:14 A.M
· Drive
· Drive
· Stop at The Flying Fish and have lunch alone. Eat as you are watching other families with sadness. Eat an entire fried catfish with its very well seasoned crunchy crust.
· Hide your tears from the waitress and pay for the food .
· Leave and get into the car
· Drive
· Drive
· Drive
· Check the time: 3:43 P.M
· Go home
· Park in the driveway
· Should I?
· No I shouldn’t…
· It is decided
· Grab your clothes from the drawer
· Tell the realtor that the house is fully furnished
· Grab the taped clock
· Go to the car
· Never look back
How to Dump Your Girlfriend by Finn Martin
Leave
Hug her
Kiss her
Slap her
Don’t slap her
Give her love and attention
Then leave
It’s not you, it’s me
It’s not me, it’s you
Leave for no reason
Leave for a reason
Leave by slamming the taxi door in your girlfriend's face because that one book said you should.
Hire a small bald man to wait in a house with pictures of people just to die because your girlfriend grabbed a rock and was in the army.
Again just because of that one book
Make her go on a quest hoping she will just die
If you got that joke thanks
Have a party
Have a party then don't invite your girlfriend
Get a new girlfriend
Break up with your new girlfriend
Now both girlfriends are chasing me down for revenge
There gaining
They got a knife
They got a GUN
They shoot your leg
You fall
They stand over you
Aim for your head
Remember this is all in your head
Eat cake
Eat a cake but it’s your girlfriend's face
Throw a cake in your girlfriend's face
Throw a cake of your girlfriend’s face into your girlfriend's face
Throw fish in your girlfriend’s face
The fish flies
Its name is Jim
You make your girlfriend watch twilight
You torture your girlfriend
by watching Twilight
She screams “Nooooo just date Jacob!”
Make a list talking about ways to dump your girlfriends
Read the list
shred the list
You are in a classroom
You are in high school
Vandalize your girlfriend's house
Vandalize your girlfriend's town
Burn your girlfriend’s town
Hey that's what happened in that one story
Send this to your girlfriend
She gets EXTREMELY uncomfortable reading this
She starts to make her own list just to dump her boyfriend
How to dump your boyfriend
(The fish ending)
Leave
Hug him
Kiss him
Slap him
Slap him again
Keep slapping him
Think about the list your boyfriend made
Grab a knife
Grab another knife
Grab a Fish
The Fish flies
“Oh hey Jim”
Leave your boyfriend and start to date Jim
Yay Jim
CHEMICAL REACTION POETRY
Savian Sullivan The slime prepared to simply dance to a savory fire alarm that heavily bubbled throughout the scratchy sandstone. A vibrant angel flew into the smooth beach. | Holden Williams - The Rhythm of Delirium Vibrant paintings danced in the wall’s posters. Smooth Beaches swam through the slow song. Illusive Magics bubbled within the force of abstract love. Strange Angels flew above the fat mountainsides. | Cole Francis - The Puppies The human took the skinny rat while bubbling at the patriarchy. My dead puppies sat on my wall poster As I stared at the fluffy scarf Around my angel. |
Tatum Dunham Happy Heavy Metal Teenagers Foiled Moist Millennial, Fluffy Rat Elephant Flew up Dead Rat | Maddi Nowell The unhygienic teen danced to abstracted music by The Frights. Then, a thin dog from a bush ate the teens computer. | Grady Taylor The White stripes broke the heavy illusive Lightsaber crushed by the force. |
Amanda Davis Smooth sandstone S L I D d o w n savory slime. | | Gideon Williams Paradropping puppies from Love Beach expunge the idiotic patriarchy |
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