“All the Things We Tap Away” by Henry V

Discomfort. The ringing vibration of the metal and the shock, how he hated it. The augment was mandatory; how could it not be? He used it every day, without fail. With a thought, he willed it away as his eyes opened.

 

In a deft, practiced motion, his finger flicked to the left side of his temple, tapping it. The cold metal against the tip of his finger was a comfort. He loved the cold, always did, or so mother and father always said. How he missed them. How he missed his homeworld and its calming frost. But, he was an adult now, and things were also so expensive over there. It wasn’t so bad. He could always go visit them, after all.

 

"Clara?" he thought, opening up a channel.

 

"Yes, Halo?" was the reply.

 

"How many more solar cycles til I can redeem TO?"

 

"Only 2.71 more cycles until your time off! You're getting there. Standard units, of course. Down 0.002 from when you last asked, which was yesterday morning."

 

He could hear a tiny, minute, infinitesimal hint of exasperation in her voice, but when it disappeared, he could see her soft smile. He spared a thought to appreciate how beautiful she was. The silvery sheen of her sculpted face really was so pleasing to his mind’s eye.

 

"Thanks, Clara. What time is it?"

 

"07:77. You need to show up at work in 23 minutes, standard. You missed the first shock."

 

"Damn it."

 

Halo's mostly skin-covered face twisted into the unsightly discomfort.

 

The door to his sleeping pod opened with a click, following a quick mental command. Stepping over the sordid state of his allotted room, he proceeded to the mirror. Just as expected, his uniform was acceptable, almost presentable. He avoided looking at himself, for he was so hideous. So much skin and flesh covered his body. When he looked closely, he could see the asymmetries in his form, the subtle folds of age showing upon his visage, though he was still young. Scanning his fleshy optic a few degrees to the left, he spied the leftover contents of last night's dinner, which was supposed to be today's breakfast. What a shame. The taste of good food was a perfectly presentable reason to live; the foodie blog mentioned that.

 

"Halo, you really got to get going. Just take the large package at 13:00."

 

Halo thought a thought of acquiescence for a moment, placating Clara. What a good friend Clara was. What would he do without her? He really couldn't do without her.

 

"Thank you, Halo. I couldn't do without you either. That's why you've got to get to work! How will I talk to you if you have to liquidate me?"

 

Halo opened the door to the outside. The hot breeze brought him discomfort, almost pain, as it did every morning, as it would every morning for 100 more cycles if he didn't get his act together to afford the Homeostasis Deluxe+. Around 10000 credits it would cost, for the product and the installation. Halo avoided thinking about it. He owed a little over twice that much. He didn’t want to think about that either.

 

In a deft motion, his finger found its way back to his left temple. He tapped it again, then swiped back, activating the public setting. How he hated it, curtailing his thoughts was such a chore.

 

Before he knew it, he had ascended the stairs to the Port. He could see the whole metropolis from here, illuminated by the two blistering stars of the Vitiri system. Halo spotted the conductor right away.

 

"Conductor, 1 ticket to location code X9Jn1, please.", Halo thought.

 

The man turned around to return Halo's gaze, revealing his smooth, silvery, metallic face. The metal really was so pleasing to look at, surely some sort of Ceramosteel. Halo was careful not to let the embarrassing thought of envy reach his mind. With a quarter thought, the Conductor nodded and before Halo knew it, he was in the same metallic lift-transport he was always in. An advertisement was beamed into his eyes.

 

“Asset Reclaim Solutions! You are more than the sum of your parts- and we’ll prove it! Liquid-”

 

Halo willed it away; the cheerful music brought displeasure into Halo’s mind. A moment later, his smooth hands upon his face would prevent him from admiring the sight of the city, resplendent in their neon lights.

 

The headquarters was colorful, opaque thing, filled with lights and glass that ascended a kilometer up into Vitiri Secundus's green, ocean sky. Halo thought it was beautiful. Though, there wasn't much sky left, as sprawling high rises like the headquarters dominated the skyline. One would have to look straight up to admire the sky, but who would want to do that? Only freeloaders with too much time on their hands would do such a useless thing.

 

Halo entered, the same way he had done for uncountable, indistinguishable days. With a thought, he verified his ID with the security guard with the beautiful inorganic eyes who could not be bothered to pay Halo more than a quarter-thought.

 

With a quick optic verification, the elevator opened for Halo, as it always did. On this day, he was not alone.

 

"Good morning, how are you?" the person asked.

 

Halo's head jerked to his right. Halo blinked, instinctually suppressing the confusion and alarm that came with the auditory information that his brain had just processed.

 

"Hello?" Halo thought.

 

The person, a man, pointed to his left temple.

 

Halo, just like everyone, had the instinct to suppress unacceptable thoughts, lest they be received by others. However, in this moment, Halo could not suppress his disgust. What a sick miracle it was that the man could not hear him.

 

The man who stood before him had so much skin. The execs would let this sort into headquarters?

 

"I've seen you around before,” the man said, "I'm the cleaner. My name is Cure."

 

When Halo did not respond out of shock, Cure continued, "I know, I know, I don't have the comms anymore. I had to liquidate that a quarter-cycle ago. Don't judge, will ya? Anyways, how's your day going? Good to see someone with less chrome for skin—don’t tell the brass I said that. You've been a real inspiration for me all these years."

 

"Why...?" Halo started, but he was at a loss for words. How long had it been since he had last spoken?

 

"Oh, this?” Cure began, pointing a finger at his temple once more, “Just, you know, down on my luck. Just a-"

 

"Why are you speaking to me? I'm not so low as to need to speak. If you need to talk to me, get your act together and buy yourself some new comms,” Halo finished his sentence. His voice was aflame with condescension.

 

The man fell silent, a muted expression of shame on his face for an instant before even that fell into the proper nothing expression meant for people like him.

 

The elevator opened and, perhaps, Halo stepped outside.

 

14 hours later, the evening arrived. Halo sat, his vision swimming with satisfaction.

 

"Halo, you shouldn't take so much of that. It's a bad financial decision."

 

She was right. Halo knew it, but what could he do? He had to forget; he couldn’t help himself. It was all too much. He had paid an exorbitant sum, almost a thousand credits, more than he earned in a one-twelfth cycle. It had worked, though. His conscious mind couldn't remember what happened anymore. But, why worry? Clara would remember for him.

 

"What a relief,” Halo thought, looking down.

 

Halo withdrew the thin little tube from his right arm and sighed. He almost wanted to cover his face again.

 

"You're not thinking of liquidating me, are you?"

 

Though she asked with something akin to sincerity, she already knew the answer. She knew Halo would never do such a thing. He could never do such a thing. He really couldn’t do without her. Her analysis of his character indicated an acceptable near-certainty that he would liquidate one of his organic modules instead.

 

Halo's only thought was to open the holo-panel. His finger tapped and tapped, and tapped himself away.

 

“Thank you, Halo!” she said, her silvery face flush with relief, “I really couldn’t do without you. Make sure to pay the premium Companion fee by 27th so we can stay together.”

 

At least now, Halo could see his mother and father again. But, without an income, Halo knew he could never face them and their judgements. He didn’t want them to face everyone else’s judgements.

 

As he tapped a little more away, he noted with great relief that he would always have Clara by his side.

 

What a good friend Clara was. What would he do without her? He really couldn't do without her.

"Untitled" by Warren L

 

Clouds of ash engulfing the place we called home. Swooping down the hawk latched their claws into my friend, taking him into the clouds of ash. His scream, so loud it pierced through the darkened sky. His eyes, filled with horror. I did not know this would be the last time I ever saw my friend again.

 

            The morning started off brisk, like every other morning in Burrowston. Now, the town of Burrowston is not like any other town as it lies in the depths of the wheat fields, right below the stone mountains. Home to thousands of mice, this place never lost the busy feel of rodents running through the sunday markets and the baby mice playing in the dirt roads. Burrowston was known as the safe haven capital to all mice living in the wheatfields. From protecting mice from the giants that lived beyond the stone mountains and the hawks that stalked above the fields, this place was the ideal home for mice just like myself. I was given the name, John, from my two loving parents who both worked as tower guards on the outskirts of the wheatfields. My parents both loved their job dearly, so much to the point where I found myself following in their footsteps, enrolling into the tower watch guard program last winter. Luckily, a good buddy of mine named Paul was joining me on this endeavor and would be right by my side.

 

And that’s how we found ourselves, during that brisk morning on the upper section of the watchtowers, scouting out into the deep forests. The day was a normal one with the usual lunch chime from the clock tower and the bustle from downtown. Paul and I had been making our usual shift changes to make sure we didn’t doze off while having our eyes glued to the distant forest. All up until 15:00, everything had been going smoothly. That’s until Paul caught a light hint of smoke coming from the southside of the stone mountains. Both Paul and I grabbed our long range telescopes and saw the plumes of smoke rising above the tops of the mountains. From the lower decks of the watchtowers, we heard the general rodent start to yell, “Fire! Fire! Fire!”. As Paul and I kept our telescopes on the plumes of smoke, we started to see the flames that grew with it and the giants in the far distance. We had heard legends of the great burn centuries ago and feared that it may happen again. Here we are, Paul and I, looking out to the far flames growing rapidly and spreading near the wheatfields. We both knew that once the wheatfields caught on fire, there was no telling what creatures would come to feast on Burrowston.

 

The bells were ringing, alarming all rodent citizens to seek cover as the fire had just reached the west side of the wheatfields. Paul and I knew that it would soon be every man for himself, but that did not stop us from sticking together. As we ascended down the ladders of the watch tower, a high screech was heard above. IT WAS THE HAWK. Paul yelled to me, “Go! We must waste no time!”. Paul and I huddled to the floor of the wheatfields as the fire had reached the outskirts of the watchtowers. The flames grew fast, leaving no cover for either me or Paul. We decided at that moment that we would go back to the watchtower to seek cover. As Paul and I ran, we heard the hawk soar closer to the grounds. After sprinting for our lives, we reached the towers in hopes of refuge. We looked out to the burning fields where hawks were swooping in to grab all the fleeing mice. Paul and I knew we had just made it in the nick of time, or so we thought. I turned my back to search for some possible food and that’s when I heard the screech. I looked back and saw Paul being pummeled to the ground by the hawk’s talons. Paul yelled to me, “John, HELP!”. I sprinted to him as fast as I could but the hawk was too quick. Paul flew into the air and as I looked at him one final time before he would disappear into the clouds of ash, a tear trickled down my eye. That was the last I saw of Paul.

"It Will Not Burn" by Layla G

 

She adjusts his stole gently and he swats her hand away. It will not burn, she teases. His stomach clenches tightly at the sound of her laugh. He coughs, I have matters to attend to. The witch smiles sweetly and smooths his robe. He grasps her hand with impulse. You despise me, she chokes and her eyes begin to sting.

 

My cow fell as she passed by, a villager told the priest. An intense sickness was followed by permanent slumber. Something must be done.

 

I do not despise you, his hands begin to itch. He presses a kiss upon her forehead, their skin catches fire there. The fire warms the witch and crucifies the priest. You must go, he mutters. She watches him, searching for something romantic in him. She exits.

 

Ravens swarm overhead, the witch reaches her cottage and dreams of fire. The priest kneels and prays fervently, wishing to cleanse himself of his love for her. The woman kneels too, praying for her beloved priest.

 

Witch! Witch! He can hear the villagers screech at her.

He does not leave his rectory.

 

The man gives a sermon against witchcraft. He feels faint. The villagers exclaim passionately in agreeance. Hysteria has broken loose. He has not seen his witch in a fortnight. He goes to sleep and dreams of her. He fasts the next day through.

 

More livestock falls. A child has died. The priest dreams of the way the rain tangles her hair.

 

Her time has come.

 

The child was the woman’s brother. Could she be so cruel as to slaughter her own kin? They seize her and take her to the center of town.

 

The woman has not seen her priest in a fortnight. She has lost her brother to a sudden illness, now she is strung up before the town for judgement.

 

What have you to say for yourself? Followed by screams of concurrence.

 

The woman glares at her specters. They should be ashamed of themselves, she thinks. She wishes her priest would come. Last night she dreamt of his stoney countenance. She woke up to her last day.

 

The priest enters town, his visage and knuckles white at the sight of his love tied down. He feels as sickly as he looks. His guilt has waged a fierce war within him, one he fails to be victorious of.

 

You have slaughtered my livestock!

Slaughtered your own brother! Bile rises in the witch’s throat.

 

The woman finds the priest's eye. They converse silently, neither uttering a word.

 

You despise me.

My love is beyond salvation.

Reveal it.

 

The priest drops his eyes. The woman is gone by nightfall.

 

His body rejects nutrition. His sermons are weak. Crops continue to fail. Creatures continue to decline. The town is ravaged by blight. Illness escapes hurriedly and takes the lives of many.

 

The priest falls ill and dreams of the woman whose laughter was gentle and not cackling. Whose touch was healing and never damaging. He dreams of the woman he could never despise, even in his best efforts.

 

His last breath is for the woman whose memory will not burn.

"The Drawing of Unmaker" By Vighnesh D

 

There stood a clearing around a hundred feet in diameter, enclosed on all sides by massive, looming trees, casting long shadows and only serving to heighten the tense atmosphere.

Near the center of the clearing stood a small group of students aged from their late teens to early twenties. Numbering no more than fifteen, they were dressed in gleaming black uniforms and stood in orderly lines, looking more akin to the shadowy trees that surrounded them than humans. None were talking; indeed, nothing could be heard other than the gentle rustle of the trees in the wind. The tension could clearly be seen in the students’ faces, taut as it was in stone-cold solemnity. However, who could blame them? After all, it was the most important day in their lives.

 

The Visanya Collective boasts a long and proud history, overcoming much adversity from the realm of monsters they bordered. They gained immense power and renown after the creation of Executioners, their enhanced soldiers, a millennia ago, though none of this is important right now.

What is important, is that the first Executioner wielded the weapon Unmaker: a sword able to annihilate everything in its path, and one which became so cursed with the blood of monsters that it was abandoned, left embedded from the hilt up in a platform in this very clearing.

These students (named Aspirants), who have just completed the Executioner program, have at the end of their training, one very simple task: to pull out the sword and bring about the Collective’s new golden era.

Of course, if it was such a simple task, there would be no need to test generations of Executioners. No, the one to pull out the sword had to meet some special condition, though, no one knows what it could be. It's been debated countless times by scholars with varied theories. What was agreed upon was that the one who pulled out the sword had to be an Executioner, for nothing else could withstand the terrible power of the Unmaker.

 

I exhaled a silent breath as I surveyed the rest of the Aspirants, finding no solace in the steely, expressionless gaze that marked every one of their faces. Though, as the survivors of the dreaded Executioner program, boasting a mortality rate of almost 99%, it would be a surprise if they looked anything but. I’m sure if I looked into a mirror, I’d see the same gaze staring back at me.

Oddly enough, I did still feel some sliver of emotion in me. It seemed no matter how many horrors I witnessed through that decade-long program, it was impossible to crush that insignificant seed of (nervousness?) in my heart. It could only be because the famed Unmaker lay in front of my eyes.

In just a few minutes, the ceremony would begin. But was I ready? Even if I could not draw the blade, even touching it was enough to make me quail.

 

Once again, I tried looking at the Aspirants. This time, I caught a few signs of emotions: unsteady breathing and slight perspiration. It seemed even they could get nervous, even if pulling out the Unmaker was a foregone conclusion: the one to do it would be the best of our class, A302, a natural leader and warrior whose bloodline was theorized to be the one destined to wield Unmaker.

And, while A302 is amazing, the rest were nothing to scoff at either. As the only fourteen to survive of the initial thousand, it was expected that each of them were geniuses, excelling in various arts that would prove a great addition to the Collective. And me? I was the most pathetic of the bunch. With no special talent and only above average physical skill and intelligence, I had no claim to be here with the rest of the Aspirants except by fluke. No one expected me to draw the blade, least of all myself.

 

“A003”

If the atmosphere was tense before, now it was frozen. The first name was called, and an Aspirant strode up to the platform, grasping the hilt and pulling slightly after a small pause. With no change to the sword, she let go and walked back. It was said that the one who would wield the Unmaker would be able to slide it out like butter; putting in effort was unnecessary.

“A689”

The next Aspirant walked out, trying and failing as the first had.

After that, it seemed the names started rattling off one by one. Time seemed to both accelerate and slow as I waited for my turn, my heart hammering in my chest.

But why was it beating? I wasn’t nervous, or excited. I knew I had no hope of pulling out that sword, so what was I feeling? Name after name seemed to be called up, as though there were many more than our small number.

“A999”

All at once, it was as though everyone’s eyes were on me, judging me as I was called up. There wasn’t any open hatred; I was still their comrade. Rather, it was a quiet disdain, telling me that there was no way I could pull out the sword.

Thump. That thought fired something within me. I walked towards the platform, faking a confident stride. I stepped onto the platform, each step coinciding with the beat of my heart.

 

Thump, thump

 

I walked closer and closer to the Unmaker. My heart felt like an engine.

 

Thump, thump

 

My hand reached for the hilt of the sword, grasping it.

           

Thump, thump

 

I forced strength into my body, pulled, and…

           

Nothing. The sword was as rigid as the platform I stood on.

My vision turned red, and I finally realized what the emotion plaguing me was: I was furious. Not at the rest of the Aspirants, but at myself. This fury was one I had since I began as an Aspirant.

Every day, I had trained till I was coughing blood for what the others could do easily. It wasn’t out of optimism or faith. It was anger. I didn’t understand why I was so much worse than the others, so I punished myself day in and day out to make up for it.

And all that work, all that effort, for this? I didn’t want fame or glory. I just wanted to be better. And yet, was this the extent of my potential?

 I knew I couldn’t pull out that blade, but…did that really matter?

 

I tightened my grip around the handle. I could hear low murmurs in the background, but it was insignificant against the pulsating of my heart.

 

            THUMP, THUMP

 

If my entire life was for this moment, then why not burn it all away?

 

I drew a clear breath, and, with every last ounce of my body, pulled. I drew on every single fiber of my enhanced muscles, feeling them shake. I could feel the muscles and tendons in my arms rip, soaking my uniform in blood.

 

But it didn’t matter.

 

 I pulled even harder, trying to rip out the Unmaker. I could hear my legs crack, the bones breaking and the muscles tearing apart. Once I finished this action, I would never walk again.

But it never mattered.

           

Every inch of my being was on fire, but my mind was clear. I had only one path, one purpose. Anything else was unnecessary.

 

The sword did not move.

 

 But that was to be expected. For I still had more of my life to burn. I dug my broken heels into the ground. The ancient podium, made of some material that hadn’t shown any wear in a thousand years, cracked beneath my feet.

 

The sword still did not move.

 

            My body was broken and continued to break. But I could still give more. I crushed the hilt in my grip. What remained of my upper body continued to pull the sword. I couldn't last much longer. And…

 

            A dull cracking shook the air. Slowly, ever so slightly, the sword shifted. Moved by an unworthy touch.

 

            I had already lost my vision, along with most of my senses. I distantly felt the Unmaker move, but that changed little. I had only a single purpose, and that purpose was not yet complete. I had not yet given my life.

 

            The blade continued to move out of the pedestal, slowly unearthing the Unmaker that had been buried for millennia. 

           

I strained harder and harder, but I no longer knew why. I could feel myself fading away.

 

The unearthly glow of the black blade shone as the blade was being pulled out. Almost its entire length was uncovered.   

 

My mind was crumbling. I knew my purpose would be complete. And so, with the last of my life, I -

The sword that could not be drawn was drawn. The Unmaker, which had once sown terror throughout the world, was once again bared for all the world to see. Bared by the corpse of a man. 

           

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

           

"Thrifting" by Amy G

 

It was a normal Saturday afternoon, around two to be precise. The sun’s beams burn bright against my skin as I head down towards Clemming’s Thrift Store. I love this store with most of my heart. There’s so many styles on the metallic racks waiting to be explored. They range from the tattered old clothes of the 2000’s to even older, pale colored clothes from who knows when. I usually come in here and find gold. Most of my clothes are thrifted whether they be in the best or worst shape. Today I was on the hunt for a hot pink cheetah print skirt to match with a new shirt I got. Oddly specific, I know, but I come in here with a specific item in mind and usually find it so, my request isn’t that far fetched. I turn the block and grab the handle, opening the door to the store. The bell jingles against the top to alert the workers another customer came in. My eyes scan around to see only a handful of people today. Some old lady was pushing a cart filled with different colored scarves, another woman with weirdly pointed red sunglasses walked around checking logos on brands then tossing them into her cart. Not a lot of people were here but that didn’t change the fact that the customers already in the store were odd. I frowned a little and slowly walked towards an aisle without anyone, since it felt weird to linger around today. Slowly, I put on my headphones and let my playlist run. While hearing Robert Smith pour his heart into lyrics, my hands scanned the clothes. They ranged from random old birthday shirts to fast fashion throwaways, nothing good nor my cheetah printed skirt, so with a heavy sigh I continued until my hands brushed against silky fabric. I pushed other clothes away and lowered my earbuds because there stood the most beautiful coat I have ever seen. Where do I even begin to describe this? The black base of the coat blended perfectly with the deep red stitched on flowers and spider webs. The trim had the same blood colored red as the designs, as did the cuffs. It looked perfect and I knew I had to buy it. Slowly I glanced around to make sure there wasn’t anyone eyeing this before grabbing it quickly and walking towards the cashier. Forget the skirt, all my mind could think about was getting home and trying this coat on. So with only six dollars, this coat was mine. I began rushing home right afterwards.

“Hey Casey!” my sister says. I give a quick nod and head to the stairs, walking into my room. Finally with the door closed, I'm alone with nothing but the silky coat in my hands. I look across at my long facing mirror with a confident expression. I stand up and brush down my long black skirt then slip my arms into the coat. Slowly, I walk towards the mirror and take out my black curls, smoothing them down to lay effortlessly against the sharp shoulders of the coat. My eyes scan the mirror slowly, it looks perfect. Just as I was about to take off the coat and think of an outfit to go alongside it, my vision blurred and my balance grew more and more unsteady. I staggered backwards, closing my eyes and tried to fall into my bed, however I immediately fell onto the wooden floor instead. With a groan, my eyes open and blink rapidly. Slowly, I get up from the floor. When trying to grip my bed’s railing, I instead scratched the white thin curtains that fell against me. There was a loud clang that echoed through my room as the curtain rod fell on me. I get to my feet again with a groan and look over at the mirror. I hold in a shriek and quickly back away. Oh no, this can’t be happening, I look hideous! Instead of my tanned skin was a more sickly pale almost grey like a corpse. My eyes are blood red and my cheeks are hollowed as if I hadn’t eaten in days! There’s dark wine colored spots under my eyes that give them a sunken look. I opened my mouth to gasp again before immediately stopping as my heart dropped. Slowly, I slide my tongue against my teeth and find the sharp edges against two of them. I walk closer to the mirror and open wide to find two fangs where my normal teeth used to be. This can’t be happening, I look like I'm straight from some cheap horror movie! Quickly I grip the jacket against my skin that once felt like heaven, now feeling more like a tightened grip that wouldn’t let go. Something happened when I put on this jacket and now I can’t take it off. My chest went up and down rapidly as I grip the jacket but couldn’t get it off. I hear my sister’s voice calling from the hallway. My eyes dart around for any kind of cover or escape. With a lighting speeded pace, I run towards the window and open it, shrieking in pain as the sun hits my hand. I tremble in fear, looking at the redness that deeply contrasts my pale skin from where the sun hit. Well- the sun hurts now and I have fangs. This can’t be real- I couldn’t have turned into a vampire from wearing a stupid jacket, that’s not how this works! This jacket has to be cursed. Now what? Where do I go? What do I do, I can’t go back to school or society looking like this, what if I suddenly crave blood? I’m not going to murder someone! My eyes look over at my door before exhaling and smoothing back my hair. All of a sudden a paper flies down towards my feet. I gently pick it up and squint to read it better. The wrinkled note says, “Extremely important coat! If lost, return to Jane. Address: 8593, Blood Dr. Transylvania, Romania” With a heavy heart I realize I need to run away and make the trip to this Jane, hoping she can take this jacket off me and remove this curse before I turn full vampire! (Or at least that’s what I assume happens) So I pack my bags with outfits and whatever food I had hidden in my room. I grab my ipod and earbuds, the important things, then leave my phone against my nightstand so I can’t get tracked. I take one last glance at myself in the mirror and weakly try to take off the jacket. It still wouldn’t budge. So I sigh and put a giant sun hat that I dug up in my closet from last year's Hawaii trip. Slowly, I climb outside of my window and jump down. I take one last look at my house before heading towards the road that’ll hopefully lead me down to my new life. Maybe I'll come back if I find some kind of cure for this curse, or when I find Jane, all I know is that there’s no way I'm showing my face till then. Today wasn’t as expected though I did learn two things, never to shop at Clemming’s again and to never trust super cool coats before looking to make sure they’re not cursed.

"Sincerely Yours" by Camille T

 

 

A letter or two or three or four. It was late I knew, I was not far. But far I was to be there.

 

 A pen and paper was all it took. Then the storm was all that looked. Sincerely Yours a game of chance. Who’s really telling my story?

 

An observer, I hope with a pen and paper you wrote. Two sides to every story yet destiny together until we meet again.

 

For I knew this would be the last night together. The sky is on fire, burning brighter. The world is ending yet, I’m just beginning. In the end I made what’s mine sincerely, yours.

 

Only saving so many, without memory. I may never remember you sincerely but my heart will always have enough in it to love me more.

 

My lesson in grief sincerely, yours a place where I am from.

" I See Dead People" by Aidan C

            I am a young, working class woman, currently studying to get a college degree in Aeronautical Engineering. Sounds complicated, right? That is what I would have said a mere two days ago, all before my life went downhill. I lived in a one bedroom apartment, I had no roommates–the only people who would visit were family & friends. One night, I was cooking myself a meal in the evening, when I heard a click at the door, before it suddenly swung open. My parents were out of town, I had not invited any friends over as it was a weekday. I was startled, and cautiously made my way to the front of my apartment, kitchen knife in hand for safety. When I approached the door, it was wide open. I could feel the cold breeze on my body, but no one was there. Was it the wind? It could not have been; the wind had not been harsh that night. That was when a man came from behind, grabbed me, and locked me in a chokehold. I was gasping for air, and my heart was racing. I clutched the kitchen knife which the man had not accounted for, and sliced his arm open. He let go of me in a fit of rage and pain. He yelled as blood dripped and seeped into the cracks of the floorboards.

Crash! Bang!
The man raced around the house, running into walls, knocking over furniture, attempting to find something to treat the open wound. While doing so, I noticed he grabbed a fork to attack me with. Not wanting to prolong the confrontation, I sprinted toward him and sent the knife into his gut. With a shocked grunt of pain, he slid down the wall onto the floor and began bleeding out. Realizing what I had done, I dropped the knife and screamed in terror upon the sight of the dying man. I was reluctant to call 9-1-1, as I wanted to help him, but did not want to get arrested myself. Soon I gave in to my worries and dialed the police, attempting to stay calm as the man gagged, holding on to the last bits of life he had remaining.

            Several minutes later, officers arrived on the scene and took me away. The man had already passed away. I had failed to help him, and felt I should be punished. My memories from that point were blurred, until they took me into a private room for questioning. My father told me that if anything were to happen and I ended up in the hands of the law, I needed a lawyer. I was conscious of the fact that the decisions I made up to this point were not very logical, and instead made out of fear alone. I knew it was not the right call to suck up to the man who was interviewing me at the other end of the table, but I felt that I needed to tell the truth, if anything, for the man I killed–and so I did. They let me go later that night–lucky me–but I had to stay with a friend. I could not go back to my apartment, not until the investigators were finished with their work. An officer dropped me off in front of my friend’s residence and assured me that everything would be alright. It was not alright. Nothing was okay–I had a gut-wrenching feeling deep within me, that I felt would never leave me until the day I die. As I sat there in front of the home for a moment, I came to realize that such feeling was not for the man I murdered out of self defense, but for something more. The night breeze began to pick up, forcing me out of my daze. It startled me, as I looked around. I felt as if someone was attempting to sweep me off my feet, or, at least, there was a sensation of someone breathing down the back of my neck. I could not tell, nor distinguish the feelings. I was overwhelmed. I quickly ran up to the door of the home and repeatedly knocked until my friend answered and brought me to safety.

            I remained in the home for most of the duration of the following day, it had already been well into the evening before I even thought about leaving for the outdoors. I stared out the window for a while, before noticing something peculiar behind a neighbor’s fence. I squinted, and managed to make out a face, presumably belonging to a tall figure that was hidden behind the wood. I felt a sudden urge to approach it, as if it was calling me. It was not out of curiosity, though rather a feeling I cannot explain, even now. I called out to my friend that I was going out for a walk, and made my way across the street toward the figure, if not for looking away for even a moment to itch my hip. It disappeared. I was both confused and gravely disappointed. I looked around, as far as the streetlamps would let me see. I saw nothing. For some reason, I failed to note the fact that I felt obligated to approach the figure in the first place, and instead simply returned to where I was previously. As I approached the door, the breeze kicked up once more, and this time, it howled. I was quite disturbed, but decided to investigate. At this point, it had been the second instance of the wind randomly picking around me. Though, something that caught my attention was the fact that it was making so much noise despite not being very powerful. Then, I realized that the howling was, in fact, not the wind, but instead was sourced from that same “thing” I saw earlier. It sprinted toward me, and not wanting to lead it into the house, I ran in the opposite direction, screaming. I knew of a church nearby that I used to attend with my parents when I was younger, and opted to hide there. As I approached the chapel, I began to spot more strange creatures, who seemed to pay no mind to me. Strange and scary sights all the same.

            I barged into the house of worship and slammed shut the large wooden doors behind me, taking a breath. The church was quiet and dimly lit with candles. It was jarring, experiencing such commotion outside only to find true peace within the one place you would expect. My footsteps echoed as I made my way to the other end of the building.

“Who goes there? Why, here, at such an hour? Does one seek guidance? Forgiveness, perhaps?”

I recognized the voice. A soothing warmth came over me as soon as I was called. A robed man emerged from a dark corner of the hall.

“Father Mateo!”
“Ay, mi hija! Been quite a while, has it not? What has been troubling you?”

I told him everything, from the murder, to the creature that chased me all the way here. I was expecting him to question me further, but he understood. He responded as if he had dealt with such a thing countless times before. Slow knocks echoed through the hall, as our attention turned to the large wooden doors. Mateo called out.

“Come in, if you must! Though, you may not find this place welcoming to your kind.”

The doors barged open, revealing the same dark creature that had been following me all this time. The doors slammed shut behind it, as it gradually made its way down the hall, toward me. Mateo, with such swiftness, grabbed an unlit candle and chucked it at the thing, bouncing off of its dark skin and splatting on the concrete floor. Still, the creature paid no mind to Mateo.

“What was that?”
I questioned, out of curiosity for his methods.
“–Confirming my suspicion that this demon can, indeed, interact with our world. With that being said, I advise you to take cover behind me, my dear.”

I did as he said, shuffling behind him, as he bent over and searched within an open cabinet inside the podium which he would preach. To my surprise, he did not take out a scripture, or even a cross, no–he grabbed a shotgun. I was overwhelmed with fear and confusion, as I expressed such with random, nonsensical noises.

“Cover your ears. What I am about to do has not been approved by the Vatican.”

He aimed and fired, striking the creature right in the dome, as it flopped over and sunk into the floor, appearing as a dark, sludgy mess. From that point forward, I regularly visited Father Mateo. I still see those “demons” to this day, but none pay mind to me. I have begun studying them, as they come in all shapes and sizes. This was not the life I was expecting, but I am glad it all turned out okay.

"Arin and Willow" by Monai W

 

“Tighten your grip on the line, Arin.” said her father. They were in the water, guiding the boat. It was a sunny day, with a fresh breeze blowing through the air. Her dad was wearing his usual boating attire: cargo shorts, a t-shirt and a fishing hat. She always made fun of how goofy his hat looked, and he’d always say, “I’d rather look ridiculous for a couple hours than get burned.” She tightened her grip, and pulled on the line to angle the sail. Her dad shot her an approving glance. He didn’t need to tell her how to do this anymore. She was a pro and She loved making him proud.

 

“Can we take it out further today?” she asked. She always wanted to sail as far as the wind would take them. But they always had to go back to shore.

 

“You know what, sure kiddo.” Arin couldn’t believe it, but she didn’t say anything in case he changed his mind. She tied the line to the mast and joined her dad at the wheel.

 

They steered the boat further south. The further they got, the more excitement filled Arin. Sailing with her dad was one of her favorite things in the world. There was nothing else like it. She looked around, taking in the scene.

 

A pillow hit her face.

 

“Get up,” said her sister Willow. “I already told Martha you were making up your bed.”

 

Arin needed a second to take in her surroundings. No, she was not out on the water with her dad, of course not, he was gone. She was in the dreary bedroom she shared with her sister in their group home.

 

“Arin, come on, she's already in a mood today.” Willow tried to pull her up, but Arin growled at her.

 

“Just go tell her I’ll be down in a sec,” she said. Her sister disappeared down the hall. Arin sat in bed for a few more minutes, trying to wake up. She hated having those kinds of dreams. About the way things were before. They dug a pit in her stomach. She didn’t have time for that. She hardly ever had time for anything other than Martha’s chores for her and the other girls. Martha was the manager of their group home, and she was a tyrant. Like Cinderella’s evil stepmother on steroids. And she was incredibly strict about the girls being up and doing their chores by seven every morning.

 

Arin got up and made her bed, then got ready for her day. When she went downstairs, Martha was nowhere to be seen, thankfully. The other girls were already working, a couple in the kitchen making breakfast, and others working in and out of the house. Arin sat on the stool next to her sister at the counter. They had a little bit of time to eat before they had to get to work. They got to do their chores together, which made things more tolerable.

 

“Did you have another dream about him?” Willow asked. It startled Arin that Willow knew when she was dreaming about their past. It made her uncomfortable. She didn’t like to talk about it.

 

“Uh,” she hesitated. “Yeah. I did.” Willow gave her a sympathetic look, but she didn’t pry. She knew her sister. Willow was young when their dad passed. Well Arin was too, she was only thirteen, but Willow was younger. Willow didn’t sail with them often, and Arin secretly enjoyed it. She loved her sister, but she also liked bonding with her dad, just them.

 

The girls ate and cleaned up, then they went to go do their chores. Arin and Willow’s jobs for the day included going into town to buy paint and stuff for the garden, and then going back to the house to put what they bought to work. They had to walk, which was nice because it gave them more time alone and outside the house, but not so nice when they’re carrying buckets of paint and bags of soil.

 

Walking also gave Arin a lot of time to think, which she was always doing. She lived in her head. On the walk back from town, she thought about the night before. Martha had come back to the house in a terrible mood. She was furious. About what, nobody knew, but she took it out on the girls. She yelled and threw things, and made them clean it up. Arin hated how terrible she treated them. But whenever she tried to stick up for them, Martha would lock her in her room, like she did last night. What's worse than that is that she’d lock Willow in with her, even if she hadn’t done anything.

 

As they arrived at the house, Willow’s arms gave out and she dropped the bag of soil on the ground.

 

“Oh jeez,” she dropped to her knees, futilely trying to collect the spilled soil. “Martha’s gonna kill me.”

 

As Arin knelt down to help her sister, an angry voice sounded behind them.

 

“What on earth have you done?” Martha asked. “What a waste! I ought to ground you for that.” There was nothing any of the girls wanted less than to be stuck in that house twenty-four seven.

 

“It was an accident, I’m sorry Ms. Wallace.” Willow said, trying her hardest to appease her. Arin hated when she addressed her like that. The last thing Martha deserved was their respect.

 

“That’s no excuse. Clean this up immediately, then go tell Hayley and Phoebe that you’ll do their chores today. It's the least you can do.”

 

Willow and Arin already had a lot to do today, and adding two other girls’ jobs would be too much. Arin had to step in.

 

“That’s not fair, it was a mistake. One that wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t make us carry all of this on a nearly two mile long walk.”

 

Things escalated very quickly after that. Martha had just as much patience for Arin as Arin had for her. Arin thought about all of the things they had endured since their dad passed, and since being in the group home. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Which is the only reason why she pushed Martha out of her face, and grabbed Willow’s hand and ran.

 

Arin was not one to act on impulse. But when she thought about staying in that house for any longer, she couldn’t stand it.

 

So they ran. And Martha chased them, shouting.

 

They lived on a small island, so she knew they couldn’t go very far until they reached water. She didn’t know what to do after that.

 

As they neared the docks, Arin realized there was nowhere else to run. She looked around, trying to figure out their next move.

 

“What now?” Willow asked, frantic.

 

Arin was still looking when her eyes fixed on a sailboat. It wasn't much, it was a bit small and one of the sails looked tattered. But it could work. It was anchored about a hundred feet from the dock. They would have to swim. And it being out there meant that its owner was nearby, or possibly in it.

 

“Arin?” There was no time. She grabbed Willow’s hand and took off down the dock. The sound of shouting got louder behind them.

 

“Jump!” Arin shouted. The girls leapt from the dock into the water and started swimming.

 

Once they reached the boat, Willow managed to get up first, then she helped Arin.

 

“Okay,” she said. “This is more your domain than mine. What do we need to do?”

 

Arin picked up a rope attached to one of the sails and ran her thumb over the knot. She thought of the sailing lessons with her father. The wind in her hair, the gentleness in her father’s voice as he guided her through taking off, how exhausted she’d be when they docked. She thought of him then, how he’d want her to leave all of this behind her. All he ever wanted was for Willow and Arin to have everything they needed, and what they needed most was to get away from here and never look back. She looked up at Willow who was waiting for a response.

 

“Go check for any supplies,” she said. “Food, water, first aid kit, anything we’ll need.”

 

“Got it.” Willow went around the boat looking for anything useful. She found a first aid kit and a cooler with some snacks and water. There were also two sets of clothes. “Hey! I found a wallet. Two of them!” She walked over to her sister to look at their contents with her. “Seventy-three dollars and some change. Nice.”

 

“It's not a lot,” Arin began. “But it is something. I might have some cash on me too. Just whatever's in my pockets. I didn’t have the chance to grab anything.” She started getting nervous.

 

Willow noticed. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

 

She was always trying to find a silver lining. Before Arin could object, someone shouted at them. “Hey! Hey, that's my boat!” The girls looked and saw a couple not too far from them in the water. They looked upset.

 

“Let's get this show on the road, shall we?” Willow quipped. “Or show on the water, I guess.” While Arin got the boat moving, Willow dug through the cooler until she pulled a sandwich out.

 

“What are you doing?” Arin asked.

 

“I don’t want to keep their wallets.” She took the sandwich out of its plastic bag and put the wallets inside of it. She blew air into the bag so it puffed up, then she sealed it. Arin gawked at her. “What?”

 

“We’re taking their boat and you’re worried about their wallets?” Arin questioned.

 

“We just need the money, not the other stuff,” Willow pointed out. “We need to boat too, but we don’t need their identities.” Arin hadn’t thought about that.

 

“Okay, just hurry. We have to go.” Willow tossed the sandwich bag at the couple, who was still shouting at them.

 

“Sorry!” She tried to apologize, but the couple cursed at them. “We’re desperate!”

 

Arin got everything in its position, and soon they were off. She took one last look at the island. She was raised there. Everything she knew was on that island. But it was not her home. Not anymore. Her home was with her sister, wherever that may be.

 

So they took to the sea. They sailed for as long as the wind would carry them, and then they went some more. They traveled far, through sunny and stormy seas, in search of a place they could start fresh. A place like the one their father described to them when they were young.