Table of Contents
Thieves by Alex Obert
Journey by Julia Randolph-Flagg
Preamble To the Life of Fritz by Khayman Hamilton
The Girl by Ariana Wilson
The Boy by Ariana Wilson
Drank Parent’s Alcohol by Leila Breen
No Reply by Alex Obert
Only for the Most Beautiful by Amanda Nguyen
Falling Up by Khayman Hamilton
Song of Sorrows by Amanda Nguyen
I’m Nothing by Eli Leech
A Reflection by Michaela Fitzgerald
A Door Down by Leila Breen
Minor Aphasia by Julia Randolph-Flagg
To drivers who drive 40 mph in a 50 mph zone by Alex Obert
A Demon Lives Under My Bed by Ashley Silvestre
Cucumber by Micah Kimi
The Mountains by Eli Leech
Nature by Micah Kimi
Death in the North by Leila Breen
The Thief by Michaela Fitzgerald
I’m a Guy Who Likes to Read Romantic Poetry by Ashley Silvestre
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Thieves
by Alex Obert
Elegance hangs on her hips,
Courtesy dangles on her delicate hand,
Freedom sway with stray hairs,
falling from the constraints of her bun,
Beauty covers her face,
Flirtation shapes her eyes,
Romance tugs on her maroon lips,
Wealth adorns her neck.
Dressed to the nines,
in a body hugging silk dress,
exposing her lower back.
Wisps of her soft hair,
float around her face.
Masked faces crave her as she floats around the room,
following her every move.
They take her figure in completely,
eyes wandering back to her,
words trailing off as she passes.
Not all have good intent,
a solitary figure,
eyeing not her hips,
but the diamond necklace,
adorning her neck,
just below the collarbone.
He prowls the room,
eyes never leaving his prey,
glowing with malicious intent.
They make eye contact from across the room,
a sly smile tugging on the corner of her lips,
a flirtatious look ablaze in her eyes.
He smiles back,
hiding his true goal,
behind the holes of his mask.
She saunters up to him,
presenting her hand promptly,
he lowers himself,
kissing it gingerly,
eyes wandering to her polished bracelet,
just beyond his nose,
before drifting up to her eyes.
They flirt, and lie,
completely oblivious to the other’s plans,
the piercing looks of disapproval,
and envy clouding the air.
They wander away,
into gardens,
where vines of flowers,
fountains of youth,
statues of love,
tilt their faces into the heat of their passion.
The night goes on,
filled with laughter, and dancing,
sneaking, and courting,
yet plans are not forgotten.
Under the moonlight,
he slips away,
an object obscured from sight,
hidden in his coat pocket.
He grazes its metal surface,
feeling the heat of her skin,
left behind as a memory of their night.
He hesitates as he walks away,
looking up to her window.
She leans out,
watching him go,
that sly smile still tugging on her lips.
The thief leaves with his prize.
Yet even he departs with something lost.
He glances up,
catching a glimpse,
of his heart held tight within her grasp.
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Journey
by Julia Randolph-Flagg
London, England:
The wind drifts through the narrow streets
maneuvering around the great Ferris wheel,
caressing wrappers and leaves,
lifting and dropping.
The smell of the local pub and chip shop
swirls in a lazy pattern,
imprinting memories of the narrow streets.
The malt vinegar fish
lures the small fiery fox
from the hard cold earth
to the rough cobblestones
of London.
Oaxaca, México:
Music pours through the cantina window.
Laughter bubbles, inducing a dancing haze
in the muggy late afternoon air.
The buildings and merchants a patchwork
of colors, infused with passion.
The epitome of contentment
a calico cat herds her kittens into
a single beam of sunlight skimming the horizon.
Suave, confident arms move to the tapping of feet
1, 2, 3, 4, the sway of hips
The Song of Oaxaca
Lampang, Thailand:
Water rushes cascading over smooth rocks,
Birds chorus in harmony to nature’s ancient song.
The air feels as heavy as the leaves when they bend,
full of dewdrops. The greens are darker, the water clearer,
creating a canvas for the picturesque elephants
that lumber on like happy grandparents,
wise yet joyful. They make their own path, crushing bushes
snapping branches, yet marching in a quaint line.
Nothing feels as old, or as pure as the great mermaid waters,
the bath of the vast jubilant elephants
in rural Lampang.
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Preamble To the Life of Fritz
by Khayman Hamilton
There was an unfamiliar bite to the cold October air. The town was alive with the banter and bustle of Oktoberfest. The entire length of the main road running throughout the village had been closed off at the ends to allow the road to be filled with booth after booth and the seemingly endless throngs of tourists.
“Come on, Fritz, let’s go grab us a couple steins before the Hat’s dry!” shouted my soon to be brother-in-law.
Oktoberfest marked the beginning of a season filled with the most eloquent of ales in my small village. The sweetest Belgian ales and the finest of IPAs were around every corner in the month of October - it was my favorite of all festivals.
With relative ease, I allowed Franklin to lead the way to our favorite pub, the Boar’s Hat. Many a good time had I shared with my friends there. As I began to recall those delightful times, that had up until that moment altogether escaped my memories, I faltered in my steps and began to slow.
“Dammit, Fritz, pick up your pace, Tilda’s waiting!” Yelled Franklin from a surprisingly large distance. I hadn’t realized it yet, but Franklin was almost completely out of sight. I picked up the pace as I started to anticipate the smile that would greet me on my fiance’s face at the bar. A broad smile began to claim my entire face as I caught up to Franklin.
Just as the tip of the Boar’s Hat came into view, the most enticing smell, wafting from the alleyway behind the pub, met my nostrils and caused my path to veer totally into the direction of that most fragrant of alleyways. The smell was one that had not greeted my nose for an age and a half. It smelt of a lavender perfume, mixed with the all too familiar aroma of adolescent promiscuity. Yet, gracefully floating upon this delicious fragrance was a hint of risque - the trademarked scent of tobacco aflame. By the time that this heavenly savor had driven my mind to the borders of insanity, my right foot was rounding the corner to the alleyway and Franklin was nowhere to be found.
No later than the second my foot had turned the corner, my eyes had fallen upon the most beautiful female specimen of life ever to grace the universe. Had I of had just another stein, I’d have been convinced this breath-taking creature was a Goddess, The Goddess. With superior grace, the likes I had never seen before, this pristine flower was lifting a lit cigarette to her bright red lips. I had never enjoyed the smell of tobacco, in fact, I detested it. My mother always had a lit fag clenched between her teeth when she would beat me. Yet, every muscle, bone, nerve, and cell within my body couldn’t resist falling into this black-hole of beauty.
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The Girl
By Ariana Wilson
Soft brown eyes
Silky smooth skin
Serene satin lips
Eyes filled with wonder
With curiosity
With sweet intentions
Skin kissed by the sun
Flawless
Lightly misted with perfume
Lips unkissed
Lined with peach lipstick
Lightly glossed
___________________________________________________________________________
The Boy
By Ariana Wilson
Who is that boy and why does he wander?
He searches for the thrill crowded rooms give
Everyone consuming sedatives
Music loud, bottom’s up, he’s a gonner
The lights, the crystal, his mind is squandered
Different faces every night, make him thrive
Future is unknown, but this is how he lives
Red eyes, huge sniff, but he’s not a monster
Strobe lights, long nights and nine ladies dancing
Clothes cover the sores all over his skin
Teeth broken or gone, and he’s way too thin
Staring at the mirror, regrets begin
He closes his eyes, his heart is throbbing
It’s over now, listen, all is forgiven.
___________________________________________________________________________
Drank Parent’s Alcohol
by Leila Breen
Its six o'clock in the morning. 250 sprinklers turn on all at once, bringing the grand arboretum into a foggy haze. Birds sing, swooping in the sky, weaving through the verdant multitude of trees, whose canopies stretch to graze the high glass ceiling. It’s a normal Saturday in June, in the largest greenhouse in the hemisphere. The palace guards routinely start their morning watch at six fifteen, giving the young prince in the flowers plenty of time to complete his clandestine escape that starts every Saturday morning at six, today being no exception.
Out of the gardenias, with the sluggishness of a snail, rumbles a boy no older than thirteen, hair mussed and decorated with dainty white petals, soft blue bruises blooming under his tired eyes.
As he stretches languidly like a cat, he enters the line of harsh summer light. With delayed response, he shields his eyes with one pale arm smudged with soil, struggling to support his weight with the other one. He lies on his side on the earthy ground and groans, voice tired and strained. The boy shifts his weight onto his hands and hoists himself into an upright position, peering curiously between the palm fronds.
His friends from the night before are nowhere to been found, just as his memory. For the prince, this greenhouse and this situation are far too familiar. He chuckles to himself and shakes his sleepy head: only if he hadn’t drank his parent’s alcohol again.
The Queen will, no doubt, be furious. The little prince imagines his mother in her heels, click-clacking across the marble as she scolds him yet again for his reckless behavior. However, he can rest assured she won’t be rebuking him for the greenhouse incident. The boy sends a silent thanks to the palace security guards.
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No Reply
by Alex Obert
11:29 p.m. the tears drip down onto the phone screen
i miss you
12:07 a.m. feeling empty inside
you left me like i was nothing
1:12 a.m. the tears have dried
please don’t leave just yet
2:46 a.m. i love you
read 2:59 a.m.
no reply
___________________________________________________________________________
Only for the Most Beautiful
By: Amanda Nguyen
Epilogue
Her long mangled hair flew off into the dark night sky. My throat burned from the countless yelling. I reached forward so that I would be able to reach her. My fingers just barely brushing against the split ends. I cried out to her. What a sight to behold… Knees on top of the newly made ashes of the pine branches, hands outstretched towards the pitch black nothingness, glass teardrops shattering as the earth ate them up. It stung. This pain in my chest. What is it? Please, I need help… Someone help.
5 years later
The dark trees whispered their quiet lullaby under the first full moon since five years ago. Five years since, that happened. I tightened my arms around her causing her to begin to stir. “Oh, sorry. Go back to sleep, it’s alright.” I whispered quietly to her. She snuggled closer placing her head against the crook of my neck. The scent of her was addicting. Intoxicating. She was a distraction. A good distraction. A wonderful distraction that diverted my attention from the rest of the world. From reality.
From how cruel reality is.
You see, reality just has this thing where it never seems to get enough. It will keep on demanding more and more from you till there is nothing left. Never ceasing to tax you, like a government in a financial crisis. But damn, thank god she’s with me. If it wasn’t for her I’d probably have killed myself already. How could I even live without her?
A frigid breeze blew across the forest. Feeling her shiver I tightened my arms around her slender body. In response her limp gelid body slouched lifelessly against me, bones echoing against the wind.
Oh, how I love her.
Chapter 1 :
A woman’s shrieks brings me back. Hearing the occasional screaming was common in these parts of the forest. For what reason? I don’t know why. Maybe one day I would go and investigate it. Maybe. Maybe today. It is a mystery indeed. And, oh, how I do love mysteries.
The shrieking begins to include this terrible wailing sound. It is as though I could hear the snot gathering in the person's nose, the tears that fall and water the young pine saplings. Removing my arms from her waist I reach quickly for her head, hands fumbling as they attempt to grasp her ears. Even just touching her like this seems to make me so nervous. Probably because she just seems so, frail. Frail, yet mine.
I lean in close to her ears, which are now covered by my trembling hands. Close enough to breathe in her cherry perfume, “Don’t worry, it’s just some noise. Don’t mind it.” I say, mumbling over the screams. Usually if we just wait it out it’ll stop. It never lasts more than a couple of minutes and besides, her silence told me she doesn’t really mind it at the moment. But the shrieks are beginning to grow much louder and longer. Her head begins shaking in my hands. I could tell that the sounds are starting to agitate her. And I especially know how she gets when something annoys her.
The sounds continue on for a minute or so, droning on to an hour. Ah, the screams are starting to get to me also. I honestly don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to handle this. “You got to be the patient one,” uttering the words she would’ve told me. 8 more minutes pass by, I wish that girl would just shut up. Why doesn’t she shut up? Dammit. Just SHUT UP. What an absolute imbecile. She is clearly disrupting my precious time with my forever and only love. How come she doesn’t just close her damn mouth? My toes curl in and out on the dirt as an attempt to calm myself. I am beginning to become very very annoyed. God, women. Always bothering others with their rather annoying disposition. Without them I’m sure the world would be a better place. But well.. not all women though. Mine is undoubtedly unlike the others. Out of everything that I know, I know that for sure. She isn’t like that screaming hideous hellcat. She’s... different… Unique… Exquisite… Beautiful. Definitely beautiful. Utterly beautiful. The most and only beautiful blooming tulip out there in that disgusting corn field of women.
An unusual loud scream interrupts my thoughts of my poor tulip. I definitely need to get down to this issue at hand. Maybe I’ll finally get to figure out why people scream in these parts of the woods. I feel her move slightly in my arms. She knows what I’m about to do and she’s worried for sure. I can tell. I smile gently at her and say in an attempt to reassure her before making my leave, “I know. I’ll come back soon. Please don’t worry about me. Nothing will happen. I’ll be fine.” My feet drag along the soggy earth. It was drizzling just a bit ago. I enjoyed that moment. Holding her close underneath the canopy of leaves. Pine needles and dank leaves cover the ground, muffling my footsteps. I head towards the direction of where the screams seemed to originate from. They are definitely growing louder, piercing the still damp air.
The sounds start to die off into tiny whimpers. Huh. It kinda reminds me like that one puppy I had as a kid. I hate that puppy. I hate the attention it got. I hate my mom for spending more time with it than her own child. I hate my mom. I hate my life. Everything about my life was terrible the moment I was conceived. It was as though I could still remember the screams of my parents. Hearing my mother’s never ceasing sobs. The glass shards that tore and rested near my mother’s lungs. My father’s last words and shouts accompanied by a slam of the door. Being born was not a wonderful experience either. It’s like I can still recall the grimaces and turned heads of the doctors and nurses. And my mom. My mom’s last smile that dissipated the moment I was shoved into her arms. Tears streaming down her pasty cheeks trailing down to her chin. A sudden sweet, yet salty metallic smell suddenly filled my nostrils. My head reeled violently towards the smell. It has been a long, long time.
Now that I am no longer stuck in those terrible days without my tulip, I catch sight of, it. There a small petite body lies, still moving. Well, trying to move. Small quiet whimpers come out of her thin pale lips, as she is trying to move her legs into their proper anatomical position. But it seems as though it is a bit too late for that. I saunter on over to her crumpled body, not even bothering to hide my footsteps. Her small head starts to turn slightly towards my direction. Pain fill her green eyes and a slight scream escapes as soon as they laid themselves on me. “Shush, you’re making quite a ruckus. It’s ok now.” My melodic whispering seems to calm those panic-stricken eyes. Gently, I sit next to her side, holding her hand with both of mines. The delicious smelling scarlett blood spreading onto my palms. “You’ll be alright now.” My smirk makes her panic once again, muted green eyes widening as I place my bloodied hands on her scabby dirty blonde hair.
snap.
___________________________________________________________________________
Falling up
by Khayman Hamilton
I'm falling through the air,
Wind cutting through my hair,
Yet no sound is reaching my ears.
Though torn away from all my fears
But I can see. Oh, how marvelous the sight.
The entire globe.. through fall or flight,
Yet it isn't getting larger. It's becoming smaller.
I'd hate for it to catch my fall,
My blissful, peaceful fall not done,
My sight now graced by none but the sun.
It drifts behind the planet blue,
Lighting up the atmosphere, alike an angel's halo.
Beneath the bright halo of this planet is only dark
Like a hole of black. No light. No spark.
The planet shrinks and the sun it peeks out behind the rock once more
As I look towards the shrinking marble that is now shimmering shore of blue,
A sea of effervescent memories of a life I once lived and knew
Come rushing back to my conscious again.
Filling my mind with a rainbow reflections.
Thoughts of every family, song, food and friend, justice and crime.
Becoming blurry, barely visible, tiny, swallowed by time.
Am I alone?
Am I still me? Still flesh? Still bone?
The further I float, the more my vision is filled with the sun’s allure.
What I once thought to be a yellow ball aflame is now unadulterated white - only pure.
No. I am not alone, nor was I ever. I am here, with the sun.
Or am I nothing...huh...either one.
Every one of my senses is picking up the existence of my most gigantic mass of fusion.
The warmth on my skin, the soft blaze a roar in the distance, almost feels as an illusion,
Yet it is so clear to me. The familiar scent of what my mind recalls to be home…
The taste of rapture.
___________________________________________________________________________
Songs of Sorrows
By: Amanda Nguyen
Tangled hearts and broken confidence trapped in the valley of our minds,
the crimson tears fallen upon the crushed dreams of our young lives.
Dangling legs from the towering strong oaks in our backyards,
ever-bleeding wrists belonging to those with bloodshot eyes.
Singing their sorrows towards the ears of the deaf,
with their frostbitten fingers never to know the sensation of warmth.
Meddling with schemes that decrease our existence,
the melody of insomnia heard from the empty parking lots.
To be concerned for the well being of oneself,
is simply something that we have not been informed about.
___________________________________________________________________________
I’m Nothing
by Eli Leech
waking up in the morning to the sun beaming on your face
Helps you realize that you are a disgrace
you spring out of bed and throw on some clothes
Only to realize that it is not even dawn
When your schedule is always the same
It is not your routines to blame
But when you have a day off
you don’t know what to do
Try to go back to bed, or think of something to do,
But when you get out of bed your body doesn't feel like you
So what else is there to do other than watch Netflix and play with your do.
what has your life turned into,
Nothing just like you
___________________________________________________________________________
A Reflection
by Michaela Fitzgerald
Six
Six days left to live.
Eighty-five years of living
and only now do I begin to reflect on my life.
A butterfly flutters onto my window sill
spreading its wings out to rest.
The orange and black striped pattern of its wings
remind me of the tigers I once saw in Thailand.
Five
My mom used to make me kale.
Kale chips, kale salad, kale everything.
I miss her, I wonder if she misses me.
They say even an elephant will cry if a lover is lost,
so why didn’t I cry when I lost you?
Four
I lose my soul in the sound of the sea,
letting the salt from the water cleanse my skin.
I would give anything to once again
feel the sand between my toes.
Three
Reality has moved in,
like an unwanted cluster of cells
that will never stop dividing.
Eighty-five years of living and
all I have left is my old dog.
Years after years he has
stood and stayed by my side.
Two
I once won a silver medal.
Despite what most people thought,
it was a constant reminder of my failure.
I had come so close, but yet the gold was so far.
But that’s how life works right?
You work so hard and you end up losing what you never had.
One
I have heard him every Sunday morning,
in the choirs of the church,
in the voices of my father and grandmother,
and only now do I turn to listen.
A Door Down
by: Leila Breen
506
The gray and weathered granny
hobbles from the whining copper kettle
that used to softly sigh like a kitten,
to the ivy laden kitchen window
that welcomes her with the familiar view
of the paper boy on his daily route
507
The shy magnolias awaken a door down,
cajoling a young girl into the new dawn
enchanting her as she solemnly flits
to the bedroom window with the butterflies
smile dissipating in the absence of
the shrouding metallic rainclouds she loves
508
A building over, a couple cozies up
on their landlord’s beat up sofa.
they gaze coyly in the golden light
overflowing the wide windowsill,
pooling on the slowing warming floor
inspiring the nostalgic song of the cardinals
___________________________________________________________________________
Minor Aphasia
by Julia Randolph-Flagg
“Yes! she is sooo...
It is at the tip of my tongue
I can feel the letters tugging at my brain
lounging on my tongue
I think it starts with an M
or maybe it’s P.
Let me ponder this for a while
I swear it’s achingly close, imminent
so I’ll just think of more elementary
word for now.
Maybe I could just name off nice words
that start with M or maybe P
Magnesia
Mandala
Macaroons,
no I’m just hungry
Partisan
Platinum...”
“ Ahem,perhaps, magnanimous?”
“ That works too. Oh well I will think of it later”
Later on…..
“Courteous! That's it, of course”
___________________________________________________________________________
To drivers who drive 40 mph in a 50 mph zone
by Alex Obert
Excuse me, can you read?
Do you know the difference between 40 and 50?
(It’s 10 by the way)
There is a thing in your car called a gas pedal,
when you press it, the car accelerates.
Amazing right, it’s like magic.
Please press it.
Use your foot, that’s why you have one.
I know the importance of driving safely,
And everyone has their own limit of how safe they feel,
but I don't understand how going this slow keeps you safe.
If another car hits you, you're still wrecked.
The momentum of how fast that car is when it hits your car is still going to do damage.
Even if you’re old,
you might as well live on the edge of your wheelchair before you die.
If you hit another car,
well you should probably stop driving.
Permanently.
You better have good reasons for going this slow.
If you have crap in your trunk which could land on my car,
you need your space,
and I understand.
If you are in the midst of a battle on the phone with your girlfriend,
go yell at her in person after you drag yourself down the road.
If you are eating a burger you just ordered from McDonald's,
park yourself in some deserted parking lot,
and eat without shame of someone watching you eat that greasy burger.
Yes, drive-throughs are for when you are in a rush to get somewhere,
but you are obviously not in that big of a rush,
if you are going below the speed limit.
If you are a tourist,
and the sheer amount of grass and green is so overwhelming,
you have to slow and appreciate the beauty;
pull over on the side,
and you can sit for hours admiring the grass,
and how you can actually see the stars at night.
Yes, it’s beautiful. I know.
You know what is also beautiful.
A single road, and double yellow lines.
If you're old, I’m sure the remainder of your life is very important,
so take your time,
we all know you don’t have much of that left.
It's a general fact that you can go 5 mph over the speed limit,
And cops aren't going to condemn you to the depths of hell,
Hell, you could go 10 mph over and I doubt they'd care.
But cops have places to be too,
and your inadequate style of driving is as much a pain to me as it is to them.
Unless of course you're old.
They understand.
Sorta.
How bout you just follow the speed limit though.
That would be nice.
___________________________________________________________________________
A Demon Lives Under My Bed
By: Ashley Silvestre
I’m awaken by the sound of raucous breathing
Because my demon is lonely
I count the stars on my ceiling
Luminescent, artificial, peeling away
I have staring contests with the moon leaking through my bedroom window
Bright light, possibly a conspiracy
My eyes are burning, the chill numbing my nose
My demon is lonely
Because my demon is lonely
I count the stars on my ceiling
Luminescent, artificial, peeling away
I have staring contests with the moon leaking through my bedroom window
Bright light, possibly a conspiracy
My eyes are burning, the chill numbing my nose
My demon is lonely
It steals away the sheep
I tell my demon stories
Why not converse with it? It seems nice enough
It doesn't really talk at all
Its blank stare fixated on me
I tell my demon stories
Why not converse with it? It seems nice enough
It doesn't really talk at all
Its blank stare fixated on me
Its damn pathetic face with its permanent frown begging for company
So, I tell it about the places on the map
That hangs loosely on my wall
I tear off bodies of water
Draw in new streets
Scrape away mountains
My demon and I
Yea, we're pretty cool with each other now
It whispers to me secrets of the universe
They spill out of its mouth like silk sheetsSo, I tell it about the places on the map
That hangs loosely on my wall
I tear off bodies of water
Draw in new streets
Scrape away mountains
My demon and I
Yea, we're pretty cool with each other now
It whispers to me secrets of the universe
About why the moon is actually real
Why my cat ran away
Why I'm as lonely as it’s feeling
But my demon doesn't like to leave my room
Never greets me at the light of day to share a piece of slightly burnt toast
Never waves to me in the dank subway amidst angsty teens
It seems as though my demon prefers
To be shadowed by night
Whispering in hushed tones
Sharing secrets only mine to keep
Just two lonely demons
___________________________________________________________________________
Cucumber
by Micah Kimi
My cucumber is green
His cucumber is mean
Her cucumber is lean
Their cucumber is queen
My cucumber is called Cathleen
His cucumber is called Eugene
Her cucumber is called Arleen
Their cucumber is called McQueen
Our cucumbers were eaten
___________________________________________________________________________
The Mountains
by Eli Leech
From the second I walked out into the Sawatch Range with 7 teenagers who I knew very little about, I restrained myself from thinking about how it was going to be an interesting 5 days. All of our packs weighed about 50 pounds except for Jack’s, which was a whopping 75 pounds. As we started our strenuous hike up to our base camp on Mount Belford, I noticed that no one was in shape except for Jack and Samantha. Yes, I wasn’t even in as good of shape as them. On our hike I felt like we bonded, and I realized that all of these people are alike in a lot of ways, except for Jack and Samantha. We would tell jokes and funny stories, but they seemed heartless, and out of touch. They wouldn’t laugh and didn’t seem interested in what we were talking about, but were more interested in getting to our base camp before anyone else.
By the time we finally made it to the top it was around four thirty. Jack and Samantha left us about half way through the hike because the pace that we were going was causing excruciating pain to them. When we got to our designated X they were nowhere to be found, and their belongings were nowhere to be seen. It scared us because we couldn’t imagine what had happened to them. We decided to have half of us stay at our X and wait to see if they came back, and have the other half hike further up the mountain in case they got lost. I started hiking on the trail up the mountain with four others when we heard some weird noises in the bushes. It sounded like two animals fighting or mating. In case it was them we decided to check, one foot after another I led us into some bushes to see what we would find. Something grabbed my neck; I turned around and saw Jack and Samantha cracking up, thinking that they were the funniest people alive. I got frustrated and explained to them that it wasn’t funny when we were all looking for you guys and concerned that something happened to you. The only thing that they said was that they could be funny too.
By the time we got back to camp it was dark, luckily we had amazing tarp mates who started cooking us dinner, and set up the tarps. We told scary stories about a man who went crazy in the woods. He thought that it would be funny to kill his fiancé in her sleep and wake up like nothing had happened. After that note we were all frightened to go to sleep, but snuggled up close to our tarp mates and passed out.
I woke up the next morning with Sam screaming, crying, and frightened out of his mind. I jumped out of my sleeping bag thinking that a bear or something else was attacking him. When I ran over to where he was I saw him standing over his two-tarp mates dead. I took a few steps back and asked him what happened. He told me that he woke up this morning moist, and when he looked at his sleeping bag it was covered in blood. Philip and Weldon were lying there with slashes in their necks and must have died from bleeding out. I was scared out of my mind when I realized that this must have been one of us who committed the crime, unless a murderer wandered into the woods to kill two high school kids, but that didn’t make much sense. I look around and saw Samantha cooking breakfast, thinking why she is up so early. Then I think about how Sam was in the tarp with them. I had no clue what killed them, but could only think that it was one of the five people who I was with, which scared the shit out of me.
I realized that the only way for me to get over that fact that two of the people on my expedition had gotten murdered was to have some alone time. I told the people in my group that I was going to go for a day hike by myself to clear my head and my freak time was in five hours. I started my hike, started to sweat, while my head was spinning in all different directions, thinking how I might not safe, but then how it could have been a random stranger. Finally I get to a nice grassy field where I flopped on the cold ground and went to sleep by accident. By the time I woke up it was four hours later, and I knew that I better start hiking back to our base camp. From the second I walked onto our base camp I knew that something felt fishy. I didn’t see anyone out in the obvious, but heard people talking somewhere. Then I heard Samantha a girl from south Dakota tell me that they were up on the hill. As I walk to the top I see Ennis and Jackson tied to the tree. As I got closer I realized that they were dead and had identical slits in their necks. All what I could think about is that I was next.
“ Jack, Samantha, and Sam what happened?” I yelled
“ I have no clue, I know as much as you do because I just got here.” Samantha explained
Everyone said the same thing as Samantha because they thought that some space would help them too, so they all went their different ways and relaxed. They were planning on meeting back at four. When Ennis and Jack didn’t show they got worried and went looking for them only to find their dead cold bodies tied to a tree.
I didn’t know what to think about what they were telling me. Out of everyone who I was with they were on the top of my list of murders. Now all of my tarp mates were dead, and I would have to sleep alone which I would prefer than sleeping with any of the people I was with. It was about eleven thirty and I was exhausted, but frightened to go to bed. I figured that if the murder was going to kill me I would die tonight because there was only two other people left and he or she strikes in pairs, but if two people woke up and two dead they would know who it was. I tried hard to stay awake but could feel my eyes drifting off into a gaze. Then I was awake, I look at my clock and it says eight AM, which honestly surprised me because I thought that for sure I wasn’t going to live to see another day. I walked out of my tarp to see Samantha cooking breakfast.
“Where are Jack and Sam?” I asked
“Why don’t you look for yourself.” She shouted
I turned around and looked in the tent to see two more bloody people. I now knew that she was the murder. I almost shat myself when I felt an arm come around my neck; turned around and got punched in the face. What she doesn’t know is that I know how to defend myself. I kicked her across the face and we end up brawling on the ground until she pulls out a bloody knife. As soon as I saw the knife I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. She kicked me in the balls, and pulled the knife pack getting ready to stab it into my heart, simultaneously I grabbed my Swiss army knife and stabbed it into her back. Watching her slowly fade out of cautiousness I realized that I just killed someone, and that everyone is going to think that I killed all of these bodies that lay around the mountain range.
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Nature
by Micah Kimi
No other person is here
it is only me.
Lying in the middle of an open field
I watch as the tall grass sways from left to right.
The sun beams down upon the flowers
and a gentle mist falls upon the land.
Birds are flying through the mist
bees travel to each flower
never returning to the same one
A single ant wanders alone
I long for someone to share this experience with.
This place gleaming with sunlight
full of life, thriving with exotic plants and animals.
Flowers with bright colors flooding the field
In time this place will be forgotten.
The flora and fauna that inhabit this place long gone.
Never again will we see what has been seen today.
Life in this beautiful place will die
I lie here
still
as the sounds that nature makes surround me in her majesty.
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Death in the North
by Leila Breen
A windward
gust. Seagulls crow madly alongside
the rhythm of the choppy purple sea, never ceasing
to fill my ears which have not met the silence
In the center
of my view growls a grounded mountain
hardened from grim experience-
the north provides
These harsh
biting conditions that no one,
not even the volcanic rocks and the pebbles,
have begun to become familiar with
My mind crawls to
the seals of the summer
who must feel such warmth inside
with their memory of the dead
Of winter
crisscrossing and embedding
itself in the lives of some
-no, all, of the futile creatures
In the northern
seas who so desperately
cling to sun and solstice but
lose their grip in the rush of the tide
The Thief
by Michaela Fitzgerald
there exists a thief
hiding in the spines of every book
the cracks and crevices of countless cupboards
within the ink on each pieces of paper
underneath the stones in the soil
above the clouds, above the sky, above the universe
this thief is ubiquitous
everywhere, universal, omnipresent
you can not escape him
he'll take the food from right under your nose
or the cracker right out of your hand
he'll pickpocket you left and right
he might even just steal your whole damn bag
if your sock goes missing, you don't need to ask who
if your laptop gets up and walks away, ask the thief
if your wife gets up and walks away, blame the thief
but the thief is not always bad
he might be spiteful or a little messy
but he does not always try to seek vengeance
sometimes he'll even help you make lemonade
after he gives you lemons
sometimes he'll give you your bag back
minus the money
but you can't hate the thief
you can't be mad or be angry at him
you can't yell at him or torture him
you can't even plan on catching him
because this thief
is merely a reflection of yourself
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I’m a Guy Who Likes to Read Romantic Poetry
by Ashley Silvestre
Mom walks up to me one day.
She says, “Son, I found your stash.”
I panic. “Mom, this isn’t what it looks like, I swear.”
She reassures me that it’s normal.
But, Mom, I don’t feel normal. At all.
My friends, they barge through streets,
They drive fast cars, make out with girls,
While I try to make out words on paper.
I try to talk to my counselor, then.
Shit, I even got a counselor.
He sits me down, tells me, “Everyone goes through a phase, kid.”
“You’re lucky you aren’t doing drugs, kid.”
But, man, how wrong this jackass is.
Letters on the pages take root in my bloodstream.
God, maybe I should just start messing with drugs.
Be normal.
Later, I take the poems out from underneath the mattress.
They don’t look that great anymore. Unbecoming, actually.
Foreign, unreachable, revolting.
I leave the house to join some friends instead, that night.
I’m a guy who used to like to read romantic poetry.
I don’t anymore.
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Biographies
Michaela Fitzgerald enjoys stepping on puppies and small animals while writing poetry for fun. She loves her dog and eating a gluten-free diet, filled with cucumbers, bread and steak.
Julia believes that under a full moon she becomes Queen Kitty and prances around the neighborhood shouting “I’m Queen Kitty, HEAR ME ROAR!!”
Eli Leech enjoys surfing Kealia barrels with his cucumber body board. He also believes that school is not important and only wants to learn how to eat cucumbers better.
Micah Kimi enjoys spending time at the beach eating cucumbers, doing nothing, and making his mom happy by teaching her how to be the best cucumber eater.
Ariana Wilson enjoys relaxing at the beach with her moist cucumbers and spending time with her family. She loves adventuring and traveling along with other vegetables.
Amanda Nguyen is a lover of cats aspiring to travel the world and immerse herself in many different languages and types of cucumbers. She spends most of her time leisurely lying in her bed, playing video games.
Alex Obert is a lonely soul, who is currently homeless. Please donate money, space, and cucumbers so that she may re-enter society with her dignity and honor.
Ashley is a struggling artist trapped in the oceanic barrier of the Hawaiian islands. She seeks exploration and creativity through poetry and knitting matching sweaters for her and her cucumber.
My name is K-man Hamilton and I have an affinity for literature and being in the air. I love flying supa high with huge cucumbers.
Leila is a self-driven individual who enjoys excelling in school as well as in cucumber eating competitions. She was born and raised in Canada by a pack of wolves. Leila is looking to become a professional super hero or a cucumber master.
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Staff
General Organizer/Planner: Julia Randolph-Flagg
Chief Editor: Ariana Wilson
Editors: Eli Leech, Micah Kimi, Khayman Hamilton
Content Organizer: Alex Obert
Biography and Credit Editor: Michaela Fitzgerald
Publication Designers: Ashley Silvestre, Amanda Nguyen
Voting Manager: Leila Breen
Teacher: Nicole Street or Ms. Nikki to us.
