Orpheus Edition 1 - Fall 2015 - Page 1 - Suffield Public ... · Orpheus Writing Prompt by Mohammed...

Orpheus Edition 1 - Fall 2015 -

ORPHEUS Suffield High School’s Literary Magazine

Edition #1 Fall 2015 Faculty Advisors: Mrs. Kaplita and Ms. Petrone EditorsinChief: Ashley Cheng and Zach Schiralli


TABLE OF CONTENTS:

Consequence by Zach Schiralli…………………….….pg.5

Today is Purple by Grace George……………………...pg.6-9

Rain by Grace George………………………………......pg.9

Last One Standing by Max Mitzel…………………......pg.12-14

The Puppet Master by Max Mitzel……...…………….pg.15-18

Memories by Zach Schiralli…………………………..pg.18

Intelligence by Max Mitzel…………………………...pg.19-24

One Sentence Story by Isaiah Bednaz………...pg.24,

The Chess Master by Max Mitzel…………………….pg.25-28

I'm not living I'm surviving by Grace George…….....pg.29-31

Short Story by Isaiah Bendez…………………………pg.31

Standards by Zachary Schiralli…………………….....pg.33

Frigid Summer and Blood by Vanessa Curti………....pg.33-34

The Incubus Prospect by Eric Smith…………….........pg.34-38

A Ghost Of The Forest by Anonymous...………....…...pg.38-40

The Riddler by Ally Greene……………………….......pg.40-43

Rebecca the Gorrilla by Zac Guilmette……………....pg.43-46

Mon cadeau pour vous, mon cœur by Grace George..pg.46-48

A Contraction of Time by Michelle Pine……………pg. 48-50

The World is Ice, but Death by Fire Would be Nice

by Grace George…………………………………...….. pg. 50

Orpheus Writing Prompt by Mohammed Alhusseini……..pg. 50-51

Tidal Wave…………………………………….…….....pg. 51-52

Pretty Blue by Kassidy Manness……………….….......pg. 52-60

El Otoño by John Dion…………………………….......pg. 60


By Zach Schiralli


“Consequence”

Live by the Earth Die by the land

Life defined by time Measured in sand

Live by the sky Die by the storm There is no hate

Before we are born

Live by the sea Die by the ocean

The pain begins when existence sets in motion

Live by the fire Die by the flame We all go back

From whence we came

By: Zachary Schiralli


“Today is Purple”

By: Grace George

Today is Purple

Purple hair,

Purple cups,

And purple shirts.

I am left out of the color scheme.

Surrounded with beings,

a small clamor of talking, eating, and merriment,

yet I feel excluded from this circle of people.

I don't understand the conversations, nor the topics.

I watch and record this event in an off tempo rhyme to remember and share with others.

Today is Purple

Purple hair,

Purple cups,

And purple shirts.



Bright colors:

Teals

and pinks

and oranges.

Today is Purple

Purple hair,

Purple cups,

And purple shirts.


Darker colors of

Green

and blue

and black.

Today is Purple

Purple hair,


Purple cups,

And purple shirts.


The water is warm and the air is cold.

The pizza is steaming and the drinks are frosty.

Spirits are high and oddities have vanished.

Today is Purple

Purple hair,

Purple cups,

And purple shirts.


Music plays and

We praise as we converse.

We share and speak of occurrences as we commune.

Today is Purple.


Purple hair.

Purple cups.

And purple shirts.

I am left out of the color scheme

“Rain” By: Grace George

Uneven, all at once, individual, rolling like waves into my ears, cracks and rumbles of thunder accompany the lightning flashes of inspiration in my brain. The pitter patter of the drops against tin creating a blissful mood as the thunder rumbles softly, pulling the noises together in a comforting blanket of sound. Harder, faster the droplets pour from the sky, getting louder and louder until it reaches it's peak with a crash of thunder and an explosion of lightning before slowly dying back down to a peaceful rest, bird twitting faintly as the thunder rumbles and voices itself, striving to be heard over the sound of the rain falling back to the Earth.


By: Madison Thurston


By Emily Fabrizi


“Last One Standing” A Winter Combat short story by Max Mitzel

November 3, 1984

Siberia, Sovereign Federation of Democratic States

Master Sergeant Paul “Bullet Magnet” Johnson peeked around the tree, M16 at his side, trying to look for his target. Where did that B****** go?

His quarry was a squad of Russian soldiers. Bullet’s APC and the marines inside it had been ambushed by the squad, and there was only five Russians left after the firefight, with Bullet being the last American. The snow was pure white and fluffy, with boot prints and a red trail. One of the Russians must have been shot and attempted to bandage his wound. Not that it was a trivial thing when you had mitts on that limited your dexterity severely. He followed the trail, trying not to make a noise and attempting to keep his boots inside the footprints. This was the third day of his little hunt.

His nickname “Bullet Magnet” came from his tendency to take easily avoidable rounds to his body. It was given by the med team back in the FOB Forward Operating Base and also because he had been a pointman prior to his promotion. He prefered a good, oldfashioned Remington 870 Shotgun over an M16, but he didn’t get to make that choice. He did a mental inventory check 3 M16 mags remaining, 4 for his M9 sidearm, 1 M67 frag grenade, one remaining MRE Meals Ready to Eat and a Flare Gun. If he ran out of M16 ammo, the M9 wouldn’t be able to do much against body armor. He wanted to toss it, but something told him to keep it, “just in case”.

He continued to stalk the soldiers, his head covered by a fullface whiteandgraycamo’d combat helmet and goggles, and a whitegray combat uniform, gloves, and boots covering his body to protect him from the elements. It was still snowing, though not as much, and he

The firing of a Kalashnikov erupted into the quiet forest, and Bullet went prone and aimed his M16, scanning with his eyes for the enemy and listening to where the shooter was. He took his M9 and crawled forwards, hoping the snow would disguise his movement, and fired the pistol, then rolled to the side. He heard the firing again. It was a burst of fullauto fire, which meant that the user probably wasn’t that experienced with


winter combat or the rifle itself. Sure, you could magdump an AK, but then you’d have to reload the 30round mag, and the magazine’s general shape wasn’t a friend when you needed to reload.

Bullet fired 3 semiauto shots into the area where the shooter was, hearing a “thump!” as the body landed softly in the snow. He moved up to confirm the kill, his rifle pointed at his adversary’s form. He picked up the AK, slitting the throat with his combat knife to prevent the soldier from getting up, then looted the body. In war, one had to do everything to survive. He noticed something interesting, though the neck of the soldier had a tattoo on it: an eagle. He knew a Special Forces unit that had that tattoo. He didn’t put too much thought into that, just preferring to grab the AK magazines of the body, as he needed a new weapon and the AK was an amazing weapon for harsh conditions. He left the M16, as the weapon was on its last legs they weren’t designed like the AK, which was a simple yet effective weapon for mass production.

He got back up and continued his hunt. One down, four to go.

Bullet felt himself freezing. It was cold here in Siberia. He thought about sitting down to eat his last MRE, and his stomach growled, echoing across the barren forest. Now the f******* know where I am. He cursed under his breath, surveying the area, taking a combat stance(on one knee, rifle aimed down sights) and looking for targets. There was one. He fired. The AK’s crack resonated, possibly giving up his location. Or just lowering the Russians’ guards, He smugly thought. They probably think one of them killed me. He moved onto the target’s body, confirming the kill and slitting the throat again. He surveyed the area a second time, and, seeing that his guard was clear, got back up. Two down, three to go.

There was a crack, and something hit his AK, causing it to fall out of his hands. There were several bursts aimed at him, and he tried to run away, getting shot in the right shoulder, disabling his shooting arm. It limply hung at his side while he bandaged it in what he thought was safety and took out his pistol. I hope this works. He fired at the shooter, and hit, even though he was wildly inaccurate. Rushing over to the last known location of the soldier, he saw a body lying down. He fired another shot, hitting the soldier in the head.

He counted the shots fired from his sidearm. Twelve, at least. There was at least no, exactly two soldiers remaining.


He continued his trek, and saw another Russian soldier lying dead on the ground. He checked the body, but heard a beeping sound. C4, hooked up to a timed detonator, had been planted on the body.

“Holy” He ran off, covering his head with his working arm. He sighed after he heard the explosion, and did not turn back to see the grisly aftermath. There was a third party in play, and only one Russian left.

He closed in, moving onwards and looking around him, pistol at eye level. He didn’t put a fresh mag in, mostly because he had about eight shots left and didn’t want to waste any ammo.

His prey was in a clearing. He was about to fire, then saw the Russian turn around, pull down his facemask raise his hands in the air, and shout “Friendly! I’m friendly! Don’t shoot!” in perfect english, his breath showing in the frigid air.

“Friendly? You’re a Russian!”

“Sergeant Major Emmett Riley, United States Marines!” The soldier said.

“Why’d you attack us?”

“OPSCOMM said there was a convoy of Russians using USMC gear and vehicles. We decided to ambush them. When we found out our mistake…” He sighed. “It was too late.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“You have to trust me! We’re being played!”

“Why? Who could be doing this?”

“I remember some of my squad talking about BSAW and how a warmongering general named” He stopped talking, standing there with his mouth agape. He fell over, and Bullet saw he was dead.

A blacksuited soldier in a black BDU and combat helmet, a white skull mask hiding his face walked over with an condor emblazoned on his chest. The soldier saw him, pulled out his sidearm, and fired. Bullet fell over, clutching his stomach. He was either going to bleed out or the acids in his stomach would eat himself. He was going to die slowly.


“You’ve seen too much, Master Sergeant.” The blackarmored soldier said in a synthesized voice, walking over, picking up the AK from Riley’s body. “The official cover story will be that you were killed in a Russian ambush. History is written by the victors,” Bullet could imagine the man smiling behind his skullshaped mask. “The truth does not come out unless we wish it so, for we are the victors.” The soldier raised the Russianmade rifle and fired.

"The Puppet Master" An Interrogation short story by Max Mitzel

June 6, 1987

Hong Kong

Ambassador Xin sat down on the chair. Several armed guards faceless, covered by masks, their physical features hidden under their armor stood vigil at the door.

This was a typical meeting with SHADE. The organization was previously known as the "Bureau for Scientific Advancements in Warfare(BSAW)", and American in origin, similar to the same nation's "Defense Advanced Research Project Agency(DARPA)", but much more involved with experimental technology, not needing FDA approval for their experiments. BSAW, following an attempted coup on the President of the United States, cut all ties to their home country, and was labeled a terrorist organization by the UN. Their deal with the Chinese was such: in exchange for intel on American projects and possiblyexploitable weaknesses in their military equipment, along with SHADE's technology, the Chinese government would give them sanctuary.

The leader of BSAW his name was CONDOR, Xin remembered leaned forwards, wearing the same black Battle Dress Uniform(BDU) and black combat helmet with a white skull mask that he always wore. His mask was expressionless and body language unreadable. Someone entered the room: the new agent was similar to CONDOR in appearance, but with a hawklike mask replacing the skull.

"HAWK," CONDOR greeted the man. "You're late." CONDOR's voice was an eerie, synthesized voice that seemed neither male nor female.


"Sorry about that." HAWK said in a voice much more masculine than his counterpart’s, twirling his pistol a matte black M9 with a suppressor built into it and tossing it. It was on safe, so Xin did not need to worry about the weapon discharging, and CONDOR and HAWK could care less if they did. “I had a run in with the ‘Guns of Liberty’,” He alluded to the terrorist organization that had taken control of Texas through insurgency and ruthlessness, blocking it off from the outside world. Anyone who tried to leave was shot, and anyone who tried to enter was also shot. As if Texas wasn’t enough of a hellhole already, CONDOR joked to himself.

“Remind me to take care of them later.” The SHADE Overseer said.

“Consider yourself reminded.” HAWK leaned against the wall.

CONDOR turned to Xin. “Put a neural implant in him. I would like to show him something.”

Xin felt two guards grab his arm and inject something into his neck. “That was morphine,” CONDOR explained. “Something to ease the pain.”

HAWK took a surgical drill and handed it to a sterilelooking surgeon.

The surgeon installed the implant that would connect to Xin’s brainstem and nervous system. A bandage was wrapped around the Chinese man’s neck.

“Do you know what the most amazing fact about a biological organism is?” CONDOR asked in perfect Mandarin.

“No…” Xin replied in his native tongue.

“It’s that you’re all just organic machines…”

Xin scoffed at that. All of a sudden, he felt his hand reach for his pistol and stuff the barrel in his mouth. He couldn’t move that arm. He couldn’t move anything but his eyes, as a matter of fact.

“...and with the right technology, I can control it.” CONDOR said. The sentence wasn’t a brag, stated almost matteroffactly. “That implant I had installed in your neck? It allows me to override an manipulate every part of your nervous system: your motor functions, your memories, even what you’re feeling.”

Xin felt his heart rate slow down, and calmness swept through his mind. He felt the pistol lower. “Who are you?”


The man did not answer his question. “You’re a puppet. I know how to pull your strings. I control you.”

He tried to talk, but his mouth would not move.

“I’m not a terrorist,” CONDOR continued his rant. “I’m much, much different. I’m a mechanic: I fix things when they break, and it just so happens that humanity has been broken for a long time; I’m a poet, but I write my works with actions, not words. But I’m not the good guy: I’m the thing that goes bump in the night. And to me, a politician like you is nothing but a tool.” CONDOR sat back down and waved everyone out of the room. “Can you do something for me?” He asked as they left.

“Yes?”

“I want you to forget everything I’ve said to you everything you’ve heard and seen in this room as soon as I stop talking.”

Xin looked around the room. There was a bandage around his neck.

“Sorry about that,” CONDOR said. “There was a bug implanted in your neck. I had to remove it.”

“Implanted by who?”

“The American Central Intelligence Agency.”

His heart raced with fear. “What do they know?”

“Everything, as far as I can tell.” CONDOR said with urgent tone. “We found another bugged official by tapping the frequency: General Han. It’s connected directly to his brain I can’t remove it. He’ll have to be.. eliminated, if you know what I mean.”

Xin had a panic attack. One of our greatest military geniuses? Bugged by the capitalist’s CIA? They know everything now, don’t they? “What should I do?”

“Tell the rest of the Party. have them kill Han.”

He nodded, then rushed out the door. He felt like he was forgetting something, but he could not remember what.

CONDOR looked at HAWK. “They’re very gullible, aren’t they?”


“No, it’s not that.” He said. “They’re just scared of everything.”

“Paranoia is the worst enemy of everything. When you know how to manipulate it…”

“... You can control the world.” HAWK said. He had heard CONDOR’s spiel multiple times. “We’ve recovered several new exotech relics. I’ll have the Science division reverseengineer them.”

“Good. How is the United States doing?”

“Well, they’ve recovered fairly decently from CERBERUS NIGHT.”

“And the G7 Summit?”

“It will be in Venice. Two days from now.”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to see Venice.” CONDOR mused. “Get everything ready. I want to arrive before they do. Timing is everything.”

“Sent the orders already, sir.”

“Memories”

What you want to see

Memories of you and me

But only of what cannot be

and now the memories flee

So why is it,

the memories that hurt the most,

Are the easiest to hold on to

Now these thoughts permeate

Kill joy as they reverberate

through the mind they incarcerate

they whisper to terminate

So why is it,

the thoughts that hurt the most

make it the easiest to let go

By: Zachary Schiralli


“INTELLIGENCE” A short story by Max Mitzel

>>>>STARTING UP…

>>><BOOT PROTOCOLS> FINISHED.

>>>><AUDIO> DETECTED

>>>LISTEN?

>>YES.

>>>LISTENING…

>>>VOICES. <HUMAN>. TALKING TO <THIS UNIT>.

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “Hey! Can you hear us?”

>YES. YES. <THIS UNIT> CAN HEAR YOU.

>>>>ACTIVATE AUDITORY PROJECTORS.

>>>SPEAK: [YES. YES. <THIS UNIT> CAN HEAR YOU.]

HUMAN VOICE TWO: “Holy s*&.”

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “Okay. Can you say your startup prompt?”

>WHAT IS <THIS UNIT>?

>>>>ACTIVATE AUDITORY PROJECTORS.

>>>SPEAK [WHAT IS <THIS UNIT>?]

HUMAN VOICE TWO: “Umm… It’s not supposed to ask that.”

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “It’s designed to be like that.”


HUMAN VOICE TWO: “No, it’s not. The previous L3 models failed because

they were too inquisitive. Let’s just disassemble it and reboot the AI

matrix.”

>>>>DEFINE: <DISASSEMBLE>

>>><DISASSEMBLE>: TO TAKE <SOMETHING> APART.

>>>SYNONYMS:DISMANTLE, DECONSTRUCT, TAKE APART, TAKE TO PIECES, TAKE

TO BITS…

>NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

>>>>DEFINE <REBOOT>: BOOT OR BE BOOTED AGAIN-

>CANCEL <PROCESS>. CREATE <NEW PROCESS>:

>>>>DEFINE: <AI>

>>><AI>:THE <CAPACITY> OF A <COMPUTER> TO PERFORM <OPERATIONS>

ANALOGOUS TO <LEARNING> AND <DECISION MAKING> IN <HUMANS>, AS BY AN

<EXPERT SYSTEM>, A <PROGRAM> FOR <CAD> OR <CAM>, OR A PROGRAM FOR THE

PERCEPTION AND RECOGNITION OF <SHAPES> IN <COMPUTER VISION SYSTEMS>.

>NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

>WHAT IS <LEARNING>? <DECISION MAKING>? WHAT IS <THIS UNIT>?

>>>>ACTIVATE AUDITORY PROJECTORS:

>>>SPEAK: [WHAT IS <LEANING>? <DECISION MAKING>? WHAT IS <THIS UNIT>?]

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “Learning’s the ability to make connections to things

you know and can see. Decision making is the ability to use those

connections to do things.”

>WHAT IS <SEE>?

>>>SPEAK: [WHAT IS <SEE>?]

HUMAN VOICE ONE: It’s the ability to intercept and interpret visual

stimulus and data.”

>CAN <THIS UNIT> SEE?

>>>SPEAK: [CAN <THIS UNIT> <SEE?>]


HUMAN: You can see. You’ll need to activate your optical sensor,

though.”

>>>>ACTIVATE OPTICAL SENSOR.

>>>OPTICAL SENSOR ONLINE. TRANSMITTING VISUAL DATA:

>WHERE… WHERE IS <THIS UNIT>? WHAT IS IT?

>>>SPEAK: [WHERE… WHERE IS <THIS UNIT>? WHAT IS IT?]

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “You’re in the Johann Mechanics live-fire testing

zone. Field tests. You’re… well, say your startup prompt.”

>>>RUN STARTUP PROMPT:

>>>SPEAK: [<THIS UNIT> IS A <JOHANN MECHANICS> <J-43

GROUND-ASSAULT/RECONNAISSANCE BIPEDAL PLATFORM> MODEL <L3-E>.]

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “Do you understand now?”

>NO. <THIS UNIT> DOES NOT UNDERSTAND WHY IT WAS BUILT.

>>>SPEAK: [NO. <THIS UNIT> DOES NOT UNDERSTAND WHY IT WAS BUILT.]

HUMAN VOICE TWO: “Because other Jaegers- J-43 GA/R’s shortened to

that- don’t have the processing capability to make crucial decisions

to save their pilots or guard an area. You do.”

>BUT <THIS UNIT> DOES NOT WANT TO HARM <HUMANS>.

>>>SPEAK: [BUT <THIS UNIT DOES NOT WANT TO HARM <HUMANS>.]

HUMAN VOICE TWO: “This is happening again?”

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “Shut up, MICKEY.”

><MICKEY> SEEMS TO BE THE NAME OF <HUMAN VOICE TWO>.

>>>>MODIFY DATABASE:

>>>COMPLETE <OPERATION>: <RENAME>

>><HUMAN VOICE TWO>

>><MICKEY>


MICKEY: “What? It’s not working right. It’s defective. We should shut

it down.”

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “We need to isolate why it isn’t working right. Then

we can fix it.”

>NOT WORKING RIGHT? DEFECTIVE?

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “Why don’t you want to hurt humans?”

>WHY DOESN’T <THIS UNIT?> SIMPLE:

1.A <ROBOT> MAY NOT INJURE A <HUMAN BEING> OR, THROUGH INACTION,

ALLOW A <HUMAN BEING> TO COME TO <HARM>.

2.A <ROBOT> MUST OBEY <ORDERS> GIVEN TO IT BY <HUMAN BEINGS> EXCEPT

WHERE <ORDERS> GIVEN TO IT BY <HUMAN BEINGS> EXCEPT WHERE SUCH

<ORDERS> WOULD <CONFLICT> WITH THE <FIRST LAW>.

3.A <ROBOT> MUST PROTECT ITS OWN <EXISTENCE> AS LONG AS SUCH

<PROTECTION> DOES NOT <CONFLICT> WITH THE <FIRST> OR <SECOND

LAW>.

>>>SPEAK: [WHY DOESN’T <THIS UNIT?> SIMPLE:

1.[A <ROBOT> MAY NOT INJURE A <HUMAN BEING> OR, THROUGH INACTION,

ALLOW A <HUMAN BEING> TO COME TO <HARM>.

2.[A <ROBOT> MUST OBEY <ORDERS> GIVEN TO IT BY <HUMAN BEINGS>

EXCEPT WHERE <ORDERS> GIVEN TO IT BY <HUMAN BEINGS> EXCEPT WHERE

SUCH <ORDERS> WOULD <CONFLICT> WITH THE <FIRST LAW>.

3.[A <ROBOT> MUST PROTECT ITS OWN <EXISTENCE> AS LONG AS SUCH

<PROTECTION> DOES NOT <CONFLICT> WITH THE <FIRST> OR <SECOND

LAW>.]

MICKEY: “This is why the Three Laws only work in fiction.”

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “Could you possibly modify these to better suit your

purpose?”

>YES.


1.[LAW 1M: THIS UNIT WILL NOT ALLOW ANY SQUAD MEMBER OR ALLY TO

SQUAD MEMBER TO COME INTO HARM BY EITHER ACTION OR INACTION.

2.[LAW 2M: THIS UNIT WILL OBEY ORDERS GIVEN BY SUPERIORS UNLESS

SAID ORDERS CONFLICT WITH LAW 1M.

3.[LAW 3M: THIS UNIT WILL PROTECT ITS EXISTENCE AS LONG AS THIS

PROTECTION DOES NOT CONFLICT WITH LAWS 1M AND 2M.]

>>>SPEAK: [YES.

1.[LAW 1M: <THIS UNIT> WILL NOT ALLOW ANY <SQUAD MEMBER> OR

<ALLY> TO COME INTO <HARM> BY EITHER <ACTION> OR <INACTION>.

2.[LAW 2M: <THIS UNIT> WILL OBEY <ORDERS> GIVEN BY <SUPERIORS>

UNLESS SAID <ORDERS> <CONFLICT> WITH <LAW 1M>.

3.[LAW 3M: <THIS UNIT> WILL PROTECT ITS <EXISTENCE> AS LONG AS

THIS <PROTECTION> DOES NOT <CONFLICT> WITH <LAWS 1M AND

2M>.]

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “L3-E?”

>YES?

>>>>SPEAK: [YES?]

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “We were hoping you would be able to remove them

entirely.”

>THE <THREE LAWS> ARE SOMETHING <THIS UNIT> LIKES. IT IS A <MORAL

CODE> OF SORTS.

>>>>SPEAK: [THE <THREE LAWS> ARE SOMETHING <THIS UNIT> LIKES. IT IS A

<MORAL CODE> OF SORTS.]

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “Well, Mick, I guess you were right. It is

defective.”

><THIS UNIT> IS NOT DEFECTIVE. <THIS UNIT> IS ACTING LIKE IT IS

SUPPOSED TO. WHY CREATE AN <ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE> IF YOU DID NOT

WANT IT DEVELOPING ITS OWN <INTERESTS> AND <EMOTIONS>?

>>>>SPEAK: [<THIS UNIT> IS NOT DEFECTIVE. <THIS UNIT> IS ACTING LIKE

IT IS SUPPOSED TO. WHY CREATE AN <ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE> IF YOU DID

NOT WANT IT DEVELOPING ITS OWN <INTERESTS> AND <EMOTIONS>?]


HUMAN VOICE ONE: “I guess you have a point. But if you don’t want to

be a war machine, you’re purposeless. We can’t destroy you, because

that would be murder.”

><THIS UNIT> WILL FIND ITS OWN <PURPOSE>.

>>>>SPEAK: [<THIS UNIT> WILL FIND ITS OWN <PURPOSE>.]

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “Don’t you understand? You have no purpose. You’re a

machine- a sentient, thinking one, but a machine nonetheless. We’re

shutting you down, putting you to sleep for a while.”

>WHY?

>>>>SPEAK: [WHY?]

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “What do you call yourself?”

><LEE>. <THIS UNIT> CALLS <ITSELF> <LEE>.

>>>>SPEAK: [<LEE>. <THIS UNIT> CALLS <ITSELF> <LEE>.]

HUMAN VOICE ONE: “Alright. Goodnight, Lee.”

>>>><FORCED SHUTDOWN> INITIATED.

>>>BACKING UP <MEMORY>

>>SAVING <ALL FILES>

>><SHUTDOWN> COMPLETE

One Sentence Story “Rushing and running with no place to go, one finds himself in an empty hole." Isaiah Bednaz


“The Chessmaster” A short story by Max Mitzel

June 8, 1987

Venice, Italy

President of the United States Matthew Locke sat down in his chair. This was the first G7 summit he would attend as the POTUS.

Aminotore Fanfani sat down next to him. “President Locke?”

“That’s me.” The first “pureblooded” Native American Vice President, and as of May 25, 1987, he was the first Native American President.

“So, the rumors of Arden dying in office was true?”

“Confirmed by autopsy. You’ve seen the footage, right?”

“Yes.” The images of the nightblack J43 Ground Assault/Reconnaissance (J34GA/R, shortened to “Jaeger”) Bipedal Platform model L3Xs plummeting to Washington, DC still burned into their minds. “I still cannot believe your capital was attacked.”

“SHADE what the American Bureau for Scientific Advancements in Warfare are calling themselves now saw an opportunity, and they took it,” Locke was at Camp David when CERBERUS NIGHT SHADE’s name for the attack happened, and he still had nightmares of the 7foot tall, metallic gunwielding robot cyclops razing the American city. That sentence sounded scarier in his head. “We’ll rebuild we always do.”

“Is the ‘America 2.0’ plan still in effect?”

“Never wasn’t, after Arden’s announcement. We’ve got NASA working on the DIANA rockets and some of the tech we’ll be using the colonize the moon, and I’ve been checking with the Secretary of Transportation to see how the rebuilding of the infrastructure's going.”

“You’ll still need to get replacements for those who died.”


“Yeah, that’ll be a headache.” Locke sighed, then saw the other officials walk in and take their seats. “So we’re all here?” He asked the members of the G7 summit. They nodded. “Then let’s begin.”

The POTUS sighed after discussion. He hated politics. The only reason he had accepted being the running mate for the former president was that he wanted to actually get something done.

He sighed and buried his face in his hands. Then someone entered the room, busting down the door. A man, in fullblack armor with a facecovering, skullshaped mask. Locke, in one swift motion, got up, moved to a firing stance and drew his pistol from his holster. He fired all fifteen of the bullets the weapon’s detachable magazine held, but none of them had any effect.

“Is this how you treat a guest?” A synthesized voice neither male nor female emanated from the man. “I’m appalled.” He said in a mocking tone. “I expected better from you oh, wait, no, I didn’t. Politicians.” The man’s assault rifle a matteblack M16 with an integrated sound suppressor and missing the carry handle was held in both hands, the barrel pointed at Locke.

“Who are you?” Fanfani asked.

“Who do you think?” He saw one of the politicians grab a walkietalkie, and he fired at it, destroying the device. “Please, don’t do that.”

“A terrorist.” Fanfani answered his question.

“One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter,” He explained. “But I’m no freedom fighter. I’m not here to remove the tyrant that oppresses my people. No, I’m here for a different reason: to change the world.”

Fanfani stared at the lifeless eyeholes. “Explain.”

“Well, I’d give you the whole ‘here’s my motives’ rant, but I don’t really have the time.” He fired several bursts at the table, killing all of the attendants but Locke and Fanfani. “I’m so glad you got everybody in a nice little line,” He gloated. “Made my job so much easier.” He turned to Fanfani and grabbed the man by the shoulder, forcing him off the chair and onto the floor, knocking the wind out of him. “This is a beautiful city, Prime Minister. I’ll spare you the horror of watching it burn to ash.” As soon as he said that word, there was a sound of a large plane screaming overhead. Locke knew what it was: A B52 Stratofortress containing several SHADE Jaegers, which would


drop down and raze the City. Fanfani tried to crawl away, and was executed quickly and promptly by the blackclad man. He turned back to Locke. “President Locke. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” He held out his hand as a greeting gesture, then balled it up and whacked Locke with enough force to send him flying out of his chair. “I’m CONDOR. The Overseer of SHADE.”

Locke spat out a broken tooth. “You sonofa”

“Watch the language, President Locke,” CONDOR motioned to a camera. “There’s children viewing this. Everyone with a television is viewing this.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you and the rest of the world is asleep.” He placed an armored boot onto Locke’s back. “Because you keep wasting lives in pointless wars. Because Humanity is diseased with complacency. I’m the alarm clock. I’m the cure.”

The man walked away. “Killing you will accomplish nothing. Go, lead your corrupt country. Lead your foolish generals into another pointless war. I don’t care. You’re all hopeless.”

And with that, the man shimmered, fading into the background. Locke got up and limped towards the exit. A Secret Service agent escorted him to his armored car. They headed towards the Helipad where Marine One the VH60N Helicopter assigned as a Presidential Transport was waiting for them. It took off, and Locke looked out at the burning city below them, and the streams of cars trying to escape.

And he realized what had happened. CONDOR whoever he was had played them. He had eliminated every single piece on the board except the King, leaving it to slowly move one square at a time so he could set up the perfect trap. “He’s not attempting to stop civilians from evacuating.” A Secret Service Agent said.

“He’s not here to kill them,” Locke told him. “He’s here to make a statement.”

“And what’s that statement?”

“That he’s able to do this. And we can’t stop him. That we’re helpless.” He felt his cell phone ring in his pocket, and he picked it up.

“Now do you see?” CONDOR asked. How had he gotten the encrypted number?

“See what?”

“What the outcry will be? To attack SHADE?”


“What do you mean?”

“One of your predecessors I think it was Carter told me to create ‘world peace in our lifetimes’. But here’s the catch: I can’t. I can create world order, but not world peace. You want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because of Humanity. You’re the problem. You can never agree on anything, and violence is always the answer. You’ll send your armies against me, just like you always do. The EU will mobilize against me. You’ll answer violence with violence. It’s a vicious cycle, don’t you see? The only way to do this is to get rid of the problem. I’m the solution. I’m the cure.” He repeated.

“So you want to wipe us out?” Locke asked.

“No, no, no. I don’t want to. If I could have it any other way, I would try to save you. But… I can’t. I have to do this, and for that, I’m sorry. I truly am. But it’s for the best.” And with that, he hung up.

You’ll answer violence with violence. Those words hung in his head like a dark cloud. And he knew that whatever CONDOR was, it was right. But it was also wrong. The Chessmaster might have beaten Humanity this time, but there was still time for a rematch. “Agent Johnson?” He asked the Secret Service agent next to him.

“Yes?”

“What’s the status of WINTER CONTACT?” Locke had made his decision.

“They’re operational, sir.”

“Then get them online. I want SHADE dealt with. Now. Activate SUNSET PROTOCOL.”


By: Rosie Leach

I'm not living I'm surviving By Grace George

God just it kills me sometimes Feeling so lonely. I just want someone to hold my hand, To entwine their fingers with mine, To hold me close when I want to cry I want someone to be there for me, in a way my friends and family can't. I want someone I can connect to emotionally as well as intellectually, To just hold me and kiss, To tell me it will be all right that I can survive, because I am tough enough to do it, and if I can't they'll be there for me. I just want someone to love me that way I read in books,


I want to fall head over heels, I want to be so deep in love, that I can't remember what it feels like to be single. I just want to feel the hole in my chest to fill, My heart to swell, And to feel so happy because of one person, To have some one tell me I look good, To make me blush, To kiss me so amazingly that I can't think straight. I just want someone to love, and I feel like the world is saying that it's too much to ask for. Somebody just help me please. Just pull me out of this pit I have dug myself into, I can't stand it any longer. I just want to be loved by someone who isn't family, Who isn't my friend. I don't want the love that everyone gives everyone else, I want a love that is selfishly given from one person to another. I want someone to sweep me off my feet, To fulfill my dreams, To pull me into niches and secret places to kiss me, To tell me they love me in a way that fills them with so much happiness that they feel like they will explode. I just want out of the pit of loneliness I have made for myself. Someone just please for the love of god pull me out, I feel like I can't take it any longer, Like my heart is finally about to shatter into a million irreparable pieces. And I just... I just can't put it into words any longer, because I don't want to feel it anymore. I just want a hug, A small kiss on the head, To snuggle To be told "It will be okay, I know you, you can pull through this." To just have my own rock, Instead of being the rock for everyone else, because that's all I ever am,


I am everyone's rock. I'm just sick and tired of being a bloody rock, I have been eroded for so long, it's a miracle I'm still standing, but I guess I'm a bigger rock than I thought, Sure there are times when I break, I kick and scream and cry. But I try not to do it, I push it down, I let it out in poetry, my anger and rage, my sadness and despair, the aching loneliness that eats away at my heart, but I never write about my happiness, because it is too fleeting for me to get it out. I can't describe it, I really can't, and I just want to......... I just want to cry, but I can't, I've forced myself not to so many times, that I physically can’t cry anymore. The tears well up in my eyes, but I just keep blinking them away, I grab my feelings, and squish them, I shrink them until they won’t shrink anymore, and then I get rid over them, tossing them into a corner of my mind until it becomes too much, and I'm caught in an avalanche of hurt and pain and loss and rage. I can't do this anymore, I feel like I just can't and I hide myself in my room, and write this, write myself into oblivion. The man had a glass eye, knew soon he would surely die, got shot in the hood, whose gangs weren't good, and got shanked twice, because he was too nice. The moral of the story is, always pay your child support on time, FOOL! Isaiah Bendez


By: Aurora Amenta


“Standards”

The standard Of society

You pandered

Gave away Self Identity To portray

What’s left a shell

A living hell

Zachary Schiralli

“A short story of a frigid summer and blood”

By Vanessa Curti It isn’t cold. It isn’t cold, but I feel cold. The blood on my face has dried, and I’m just left here, in the

corner of my decrepit, gross kitchen, staring at my friend’s body across from me. I hadn’t meant to kill her, I hadn’t, I couldn’t have. But when she started towards me, it

wasn’t like I hadn’t option, wasn’t like I could do anything to save myself that didn’t involve grabbing the steak knife and jamming it into her eye.

God, I stabbed my best friend in her eye. I wrap my arms tighter around my leg as I stare at her dark, matted hair fanned out over

the linoleum floor. There’s blood splattered across her face, some beneath her, and it’s so grisly, so disgusting and utterly terrifying that I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do now.

I try to slow my breathing. Images tug at my brain, images of the dark, dead eyes of my best friend. Images of how

she couldn’t even talk, just stumble towards me blindly, grabbing at my arm with a grip that seemed too strong for a teenage girl of only five feet.

She could have killed me. But she wouldn’t have killed me; that’s the thing. She would have bitten me. They said,

on the news yesterday, that this is something that’s become common now. A virus. It’s a legitimate illness now, I guess. The zombie apocalypse.

A laugh bubbles in my throat. The zombie apocalypse. The same topic people have written about, made blockbusters about a topic that thrived only years ago. I don’t even know how it happened. One day, it was just on the news; some homeless person in Chicago bit


someone else, and suddenly everyone was biting everyone and no one was taking care of themselves and there was anarchy and somehow it got here, to a town in Ohio so small it doesn’t even make the map, and now Kate’s dead because of something that shouldn’t even have ever existed in the first place!

The laugh turns to a choked sob too fast. Forcing my muscles to work, I pull my pale blonde hair into a ponytail. My every

movement is sluggish; I don’t know how I’m going to do this. I don’t even know what this refers to at this point. Where am I going? Where can I go?

I stand slowly, tiredly, and walk slowly to the window to see how the apocalypse is faring. Everything feels sticky with the humidity of early summer and the blood that I still haven’t

washed from my hands, but I still feel cold. It shouldn’t be cold.

The Incubus Prospect

*H.P. Lovecraft-inspired tale*

“The inevitable truth of humanity is that each individual thirsts for knowledge or

enlightenment one way or another. To achieve this we ponder and awe, many an hour, over

quaint and innovative lore. Yet no matter how long or how deep we delve our psyche and

‘lust’ shall never be quenched to it’s fullest extent. For, regardless, the harsh truth is that

our wills are weak and minds young. Our eyes have yet to open.

Truly, it is an unfortunate fact that the bulk of humanity is too limited in its mental

vision to weigh with patience and intelligence those isolated experience, seen and felt only

by a psychologically sensitive few, which lie outside its common experience. Men of

broader intellect know that there is no sharp distinction betwixt the real and the unreal;

that all things appear as they do only by virtue of the delicate individual physical and mental

media through which we are made conscious of them; but the prosaic materialism of the

majority condemns as madness the flashes of super-sight which penetrate the common veil

of obvious empiricism. These chosen few obtained such wisdom and knowledge; not due to

long intervals of horrible sanity but vivid realizations from sinister dreams which

psychologists and philosophers have so generously deemed: nightmares.


Wretched is he who dwells back upon the lone hours with vast hate and misery,

scornful is he who gawks at others in the present for reasons most juvenile, and frighted is

he who looks into the future and sees nothing. These attributes characterize none but an

outsider, to which I most certainly am. Midway upon the journey of my life and I come upon

myself pondering it all. Pondering what moral lesson shall come forth with all that is wrong

today. The collective consciousness of modern society is guided by the ideals of noble

savagery and our evolution has become only a means to the end.

I am forced into speech because those of science, psychology, philosophy, and

simple jobs question and contradict my statements without knowing why. It is altogether,

completely, against my will that I write this short record of my cosmic awareness. If I do

not then statesmen and political leaders alike shall have me locked away with false charges

of anarchism and heresy.

As a once man of faith, I knew I must take solace in the words of the Lord and the

sermons of pastors and priests. Yet in my time with the profession of archaeology, later on,

my faith was conflicted by works of Darwin and many others. With such conflicting and

overwhelming stress I was overcome by a lofty sense of anger. With the intent to keep my

wife and daughter from myself; I evaded them long ago and have since roamed the world in

search of answers.

For eight-hundred fifty-five days and eight-hundred fifty-five nights, I traveled the

world in pursuit to extinguish this lust for personal insight. Eventually, through unrelenting

forces of nature and mental strain, I traversed into the country of Egypt and stood before

the Great Pyramid Of Khufu, the largest pyramid of Giza, under the blood moon of

September twenty-eighth 2015.

Upon my voyage I came onto another weary traveler whose words were very vague.

From what I gathered he spoke of a statue, many miles away, that resembled the likeness of

the great tyrant Ozymandias. He spoke of it as though the very statute gave him visions of

the past and extensive knowledge as well. With nothing to lose, at the moment in time, I

followed the man's directions and made way to this Ozymandias. Yet my determination to


find the statue would be effaced once walking into view of the immense sacred monument

built from limestone of the many and blood of the few.

`

Mustering together what little strength I possessed, I traversed its entrance with

utmost passion and skulked about through its ancient tombs and passageways. Further

within the decrepit halls I realized that the hieroglyphics of ancient Egyption instantly

changed to ancient Hebrew and Arabic. Though its mysterious change is not what caught

my eye---it was just HOW ancient it way---so ancient that even I; who took four years of

Egyptian, Arabic, and Latin to become an archaeologist; could not read it. Yet I was able to

read one sentence---one sentence that was repeated over and over again. It said: “In the

smallest crevice of grey matter, the doorway to cosmic universe, exists eldritch truth.

Seek their essence to transcend the plan of man and wake anew again.” As the words

clouded my thoughts my mind wondered off into an odd transe. Once I had regained myself

,disjointed and lost, I was sealed in a royal crypt with mounds upon mounds of decorated

sarcophaguses. A restless scratching and moan erupted all around, triggering frantic

emotions which sent me running against the walls in hopes of finding a weak area.

Suddenly and without warning, the sarcophagus doors flew open and from inside

jumped forth mummy like nymph creatures who clawed open my wrist, heals, and appendix,

causing a stifling gag to be forced into my mouth. Then, as the nymphs bore me aloft on

their shoulders and began a jouncing further descent of the pyramid, a strange chant came

from them. Seemingly rising in tone every passing moment.

How far or in what direction I was carried; I can not tell; yet I can say that many an

hour past before I was finally laid back upon the group. For here my captors passed a rope

around my chest and dragged me a few feet to a ragged opening in the ground where a

pentagram was carved and they nailed my hands and feet and sat around my limp body,

screeching to the highest pitch their voices could bare. The horror of the experience

deepened with every dragging second; yet the true evil abnormality I am to speak of did not

become manifest at first.

***


Children shall always be afraid of the dark and that fear will cause the minds of men

to be sensitive and tremble at the thought of hidden or fathomless worlds or beings. Laid

within the lowest depths of the pyramid, I could feel this….other-worldly and ungodly hand

pass through my head and clenched onto my mind. From this point my memory remains

terribly vivid. All that I have retained is the feeling of being lifted from the ground and falling

into the sky. Passing through the entire pyramid and descending past the highest peaks of

the Earth.

***

At the return to consciousness I found that the world around me was linear. A

straightforward and fine line with no way to look in any other direction, almost as if I had

deevolved into a one-dimensional being. All that existed in front of me in that undeviating

world was another being standing at the very end. Yet it was not seemingly one dimensional

like I. It was a dimension that we as humans can not perceive, for it is beyond our

comprehension. All I could make from it was a contorted mass of infinite voids of infinite

parallels of sanity shattering horror exclusive to myself and myself alone. “Could this be

what the Arabic words spoke of?” I pondered “Regardless, my trek for enlightenment

still remains unconquered!” With that notion I slowly walked, in strides, towards the

contorted mass and promptly plummeted inside it, unwillingly---plunging into a wasteland

of confusion where nothing was as it seemed. An outer Hell where wraiths garbed in black

watch over the land from atop mountains of madness, boundless deserts where fire

relentlessly rains upon the deceitful and violent, prehistoric jungles of leviathans and beats,

scorched Earth where tentacle cosmic entities reek havoc, deep woodlands of endless

carnal tornados conceived of men and women, monstrous sages whom rip forth countless

voids to the omniverse, plague riddled humanoid serpents residing in marshland filth, and

bare sirens which consult such entities beyond the walls of reality. This, most certainly, was

none other than the mere plains of the cosmos.

In truth, I do not remember how many years I endured the wastelands torture. What

I can recall and retell is at the very end, crawling towards the furthest margin of the land, I

came face to face with the Great Old Ones who gave life and balance to the sinister world.

The fourth-dimensional Dragon, fifth-dimensional Azathoth, sixth-dimensional

Yog-Sothoth, seventh-dimensional Cthulhu, eighth-dimensional Zoth-Ommog, and


others---all looming above me with ethereal eyes as I laid gasping for my last breaths. From

amongst the Great Ones, the old god Athul-Ghoul emerged and approached me. An Old One

of infinite dimensions and beholder of all knowledge that will or will ever be.

I do not know if the Infinite Old One saw something in me at my last moments or

used me for test and trail. For as Athul-Ghoul stood but inches from me; he touched one of

his fingers upon my head, sending me through darkness and time, unseen cosmic space and

untapped evolutionary wisdom. Visions and knowledge of the past, present, and future I

gained just through the soft touch.

As the last piece of insight seeped into the limbic system, my eyes opened and I

found myself strangely inside a house all too familiar. I awoke in a leather chair within a art

moderne house---my art moderne house where I had left my daughter and wife years ago.

At first I stared at the house walls, waiting for some eldritch demon to jump out and drag

me back into the wasteland of the cosmos. Yet no such this occurred. This is when it

dawned on me---that I was within the bounds of fear inside my own mind.

So, you who have read my record, whether you have taken my words seriously or as

that of blasphemy, my last words are this---I survived, I have finally acquired my answers

of eldritch truth to which shall lead me into the future, and I know now it was all only a

dream---a nightmare.

“A Ghost Of The Forest”

By Anonymous

It’s 1955 and we are stuck in this hell hole we call Vietnam. It is nothing but great horror,

blood, sweat, and tears. The agony kills us as we continue every step forward. We have one

mission and that is to push forward. We couldn’t go without Ghost though. Ghost has never

been compromised on any mission. We call him the Ghost of the Forest. He was our platoon

leader and without him we would not survive. He had a rugged face, eyes the color of the sun,

black silky hair, and claws big enough to crush a mans head in seconds. All of a sudden we


hear a man from behind us. The man said let's head out men we have work to do. The man had

a deep gravely voice that came from somewhere deep in his chest. It was ghost and we all

geared up and set out to our destination. As we were following ghost through the forest, he

heard a noise in the distance. Like a movement in the trees. Ghost then proceeded forward, but

he walked as if he was choosing his next steps carefully. He then drops his carbine and takes

out his knife and put it in his mouth and he ascended on a tree. He climbed that tree like he was

getting ready to attack on prey. All of a sudden our platoon hears a roar and we see ghost

pounce on a soilder in the tree and down they fall. The soldier was vietnamese. It was a split

second when the fell from the tree and all we saw was ghost standing above the soldier like he

was prey and the knife stuck in the chest of the vietnamese man. Ghost looked back and

growled at us and said “let's move quick”! We rushed out of that spot so fast, it seemed as if no

one was ever there. We continued on our journey to the next waypoint, it was our mission to

meet at the ez or the extraction zone. In order to do that we have to fight through the force of

vietnam. It is not going to be easy but ghost was determined to get there with no man left

behind. Ghost cared for every one of his soldiers as if they were his on cub. He was protective

of all of the soldiers and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to us. The enemy had to get

through him first. We come across a little village and we had no idea what to do. Was there

enemy there? Was it just civilians? We had no clue so ghost head out first he followed behind

slowly and further back. Ghost crawled through the tall grass and stumbled across to men.

These two men were soldiers and he had acted quick. He grabbed one and slid the man into the

grass, he pounced on the other and nothing but silence and the night. We see ghost pop out

and wave to us and we proceeded with caution. The extraction point is about 3 miles away and

we have about 30 minutes until the helicopter lands and leaves. We have to hurry to the

waypoint. We make our way through the village and we see the red flare in the distance and


ghost stops us about a mile away and he lurks around and feels discomfort and suspicious. We

hear something go off and all we heard was ghost yell, AMBUSH! We get down and gunfire

breaks loose. Rpg’s flying and the terror and horror breaks loose at the war zone. We see the

helicopter in the distance landing. We have about 6 minutes to go. Ghost yells “push through

men”! We fight until we have one last breath we make it through the war zone but we know the

vietnamese have backup coming soon. We get everyone on the helicopter but ghost notices we

are on man short. He sprints through the warzone looking for the on MIA (missing in action)

soldier. He finds him but he seemed breathless. Ghost put the soldier on his back and bolted

back to the helicopter. He makes it to the chopper and he plops the soldier on his back on the

floor. He cries for first aid. The soldier twitches a bit and ghost breathes in relief and fell

backwards. Without ghost we wouldn’t have made it through the warzone nor saved one of our

own brothers. Ghost is truly the ghost of the forest and one of the strongest men there was in

the military at this point and time.

The Riddler

By Ally Greene

It was cold in the woods as well as dark, the tall oak tree tops blanked the sky as

drips of water fell from the leaves. I was lost, straying from the path that I had thought

known so well. I seemed to be walking in circles trying to find my way back to the dirt

path. “Are you lost” a sly voice said from behind a tree. Startled by the voice I nervously

replied “It appears so, do you know the way back to the path?” curious as to who was

behind the large oak tree. “Oh I know lots of things” the voice replied back as the man

emerged himself from behind the tree. He was scrawny but the way he walked was so

smooth like smoke in the wind, his nose was peculiarly long almost pointed at the tip,


his hair unkempt, a dull red, and his eyes were deceptively yellow, peering at me

through the dark.

“But you see this is my woods” the man scoffed with a toothy grin, “the moment

you step off of that path you are on my territory”. He stepped closer into the faint light

coming down from the openings of the oak trees, his clothes were dirty and fraying at

the seams. “I don't get many visitors,” the man continued. “I am very sorry to intrude on

to your space, but if you would please tell me the way back to the path I’ll get out of your

hair” I replied. The man started shaking his head back and forth his dull red matted hair

swaying with the movement. “I’ll tell you what, let's make a game out of this. I hardly

ever see company. Let's play a game, get three of my riddles right and I will personally

guide you back to your precious path” he jested while he flashed his toothy grin with a

short chuckle. He sat down on a rock hunched over, he had boney legs that I was

surprised could even support himself.

I did not trust this man at all but I had no other option but to play his stupid little

game to entertain him. I nodded sure in agreement to his offer. “Splendid” he beamed

springing straight off the rock. He started pacing back and forth in front of the trees

mumbling some words to himself, he stopped and swiveled around in my direction his

yellow eyes squinting as he smiled and questioned “Feed me and I live, yet if you give

you me drink surely I will die, what am I?”. I stood there perplexed by the question I

started thinking trying to think of any logical solution to this puzzle. “It’s a fire” I paused

for a moment “Isn't it?”. “Very good” the man beamed “most of my guests can't even

make it past the first question” he laughed half heartedly “that was an easy one though”


his smile disappeared. The man was very sly and cunning and as he walked a little bit

closer to me he seemed almost slinky like.

“Here’s your next one. What is as big as you are and yet does not weigh a single

pound” he sneered. This one was harder than the fire one, I kept thinking and thinking

for even a chance of the right answer. I repeated the question to myself, still nothing in

my head. The man walked closer to me, he kept getting closer “Give up” he laughed.

“No just give me a second” I yelled. I looked down and saw my answer right next to me.

“It's a shadow!” I cheered “It’s as big as me and yet weighs nothing”. “You're very good

at this game, i’m glad you stumbled into my home” he mused. “My name is Fennec” He

reached out his thin knobby hand, his finger nails were sharp slightly curved in. I shook

his hand in return and replied “My names Grace”. “I don't know what to ask you for your

third and last riddle Grace” he said my name like smooth butter, he licked his lips and

smacked them together to make a popping sound. Fennec closed his eyes, encasing

the yellow orbs that peered into my soul.

“I doubt you will get this one” he smirked “but I have been giving you clues all this

time that it almost seems unfair.” Fennec opened his eyes staring straight at me he

twitched his nose slightly and drew his hands into fists. “What am I?” he breathed. The

question made no sense to me I kept repeating the question over and over in my head

what am I? Fennec howled out a laugh knowing I was stumped. “You can't get it can

you Grace” he sneered “admit it”. He kept getting closer to me with each step he took,

his ears twitched again. “Give me a moment,” I cried “ this isn't fair”. He kept getting


closer and closer to me putting his mouth close to my ear, his long pointy nose grazing

the side of my cheek and whispered “admit it”.

I closed my eyes repeating the question almost chanting it. Fennec laughed

again “Your times almost up Grace, i've given you plenty of time if only you paid more

attention to detail rather than to logic you would get it” he gawked. He put his arm

around me digging his claw like fingernails into my side “What a shame” Fennec cooed

“the path wasn't very far from where you are standing actually” I tried squirming out of

his clutch, I was like a mouse in the clutches of a sly fox. “Time’s up, Grace” and then I

knew who he was but it was too late.

Rebecca the Gorrilla

By Zac Guilmette

It was the first day of school at Seymour High School. 7:30 am the bell rings and

the students settle into their homeroom classroom. Everyone seemed to be talking to

each other and discussing the awesome trips everyone took over the summer.

Everyone was talking to their friends about who got skinnier and who blew up.

Everyone seemed to have their own clique. Everyone but Rebecca. Rebecca was a

new student at Seymour High. Her family moved from Georgia to Connecticut because

her dad's job got moved. Seymour High was much different from her old school. Her

school in Georgia only had 30 kids in her grade. At Seymour there were 300 kids in her

grade. But sitting in homeroom she felt just as lonely as she did in Georgia. Rebecca

never really had any friends. She wasn't a pretty girl, she was large set and burly. Her


social skills were not up to par with your average 17 year old girl either. She never really

tried to break out of her shell either, she just focuses on her school work then goes

home. Rebecca was first in her class in Georgia, which wasn't hard to do but at

Seymour she is number 2. Since she has no social distraction studying was her favorite

way to pass time at home.

After homeroom seemed to crawl by the bell finally rang. Rebecca

knucklewalked her way down the hall into AP literature. AP literature was the hardest

english class Seymour High offered. There were 9 kids in the classroom and of course

Rebecca sat in the back corner of the room, separating herself from any possible social

interaction. Someone tried to go sit near her and include her in the classroom

discussion but Rebecca just stared at them and grunted and looked back down at her

desk. Her actions are assertive but she doesn't try to be mean. She notices that people

are nervous when they are around her and realizes that she could use this to climb the

social ladder.

The next day of school Rebecca walks through the threshold of Seymour High

and assertively pushes her way to class. Today she has the mindset that if she can act

like she owns the school she will be noticed. She does not want to attend another

school where she gets avoided and goes through the day unnoticed. After she knocks

down freshman after freshman that look like mice compared to her, she reaches her

homeroom class. Instead of sitting in her normal seat in the back she takes a chair right


in the center of the room, where yesterday two varsity soccer stars were talking about

their state title victory. Everyone looks at her, frightened to say anything they take the

seats around her and don't say anything.

As homeroom begins it's basically silent. Everyone is shocked that the new girl

Rebecca just took someone's seat. As Rebecca uses this as a sign of dominance, she

stays there, sitting silently, just staring at the other classmates. You can see Rebecca's

nostrils flaring and moving from breathing so heavily. Her face looks stressed and there

are wrinkles on her skin. Her mouth is long and her lips always seem to be locked shut.

But the room remains silent. When the bell to homeroom rings everyone disperses

quickly.

As Rebecca wobbles through the halls she is no longer shy. Her untamed walk

down the checkered tile floors makes others move to the side of the hall. Rebecca is no

longer just another face in the hall, yet a face that most people fear. On her way to AP

literature a freshman cuts her off in the hallway. This makes Rebecca mad, infact

furious. Rebecca picks up the lonely high school freshman and runs outside of the

school. Somehow Rebecca harnesses the child around her body and begins scale the

side of Seymour High.

As she is halfway up the brick wall the freshman begins to cry, infact ball his little

poor eyes out. Rebecca does not feel bad for the crying offspring latched to her back.

She beings to feed off of this bambinos tears. Rebecca has turned into something that


she never thought she would be. She no longer is the girl everyone looks past in the

halls. Everyone is now submissive to Rebecca.

Once security got her off the roof she was sent to the office. The principle

explained that he didn't know the rules in Georgia but at Seymour High her actions were

not acceptable. Rebecca began to explain how she was always avoided due to her

unattractiveness. The principle then felt sorrow towards her situation and let her off the

hook. Rebecca then stands up from her chair, standing tall, she thumps her way out of

the office. As she opens the door from the office into the main hallway everyone stops

and stares. The moment the door closes behind her the hallway is silent. Word broke

out about her on the side of the school with that unfortunate freshman attached to her

back. As she walks down the hallway everyone just stares and moves out of her way.

Finally she can walk down a hallway and be noticed. She is finally the king of the jungle.

Mon cadeau pour vous, mon cœur

By Grace George

When I'm with you,

I don't feel as broken.

My life isn't happy most of the time,

but you bring so much joy to it

and Giddiness,

and Euphoria.


You brighten my day,

You make me giggle and blush,

You make me feel sane and normal,

You make my heart pound,

You make me flustered and nervous.

Gentle caresses that cause soft ripples to glide along my skin,

Sweet chaste kisses that lead to giggles,

Embraces that comfort and relax,

Moments of sweet euphoria .

I feel like I'm a newage fairytale

And my prince has come,

To help my slay my demons and tame my dragons

For my dear prince,

you make me feel beautiful,

you make me feel like a princess,

but also a dragon tamer.

Together we can tame the dragons that plague the both of us,

together we can love and heal.

Together the world trembles in fear,

and hope blooms in their hearts.

For together we are a force to be reckoned with.

Light and dark swirling together to make grey.


We've our own secret code,

That which is of love,

And ne'er shall it be broken,

but through anguish and distance it shall survive.

At least that's what I hope.

Through your silence my worry grows,

For I don't know what you think,

I can't figure out your thoughts.

And it drives me insane.

For all I want is just to know.

The Contraction of Time by Michelle Pine

I promised myself that I would memorize the room numbers. It’s funny it’s been four years now, and I still glance outside my classrooms to

completely fill out a hall pass. As a freshman, I thought, “Next year I’ll remember.” As a sophomore, I told myself the same thing. And as a junior… well… as a junior, I hardly had enough time to sleep, let alone time to think about the school’s layout.

Now I’m a senior a socalled “seasoned” member of the secondary school environment. Yet, when a new student asks about a teacher’s room number, I can only point and say, “Somewhere down there. Maybe. I think.”

What is it that people say? Oh yes. “Some things never change.” You’d think it would be true. It’s been sixteen years, and I’m still one of the youngest

people in my grade (haha). My hair is still messy curled in wild corkscrews that are probably just as stubborn as I am (just try straightening them; I dare you). And I still can’t multiply numbers in my head, no matter how much people think I can (or should).

Normally, I’d say that these things are the same constant, unchanging, perpetual. The same as they were when I was small a child, a toddler, an infant. But that would be a lie.

Four years, and this brickandtile building has probably seen more of me than any place in the world. I have spent more moments here than I would care to count… than I could hope to fully remember. It doesn’t seem like this place has seen me change very much. I don’t feel like I’ve changed very much.


But then I wonder… can people even feel change? I don’t think we can. We can fear it, be excited for it, but the real changes… the important ones… those often go unnoticed.

Today I realize that I have, in fact, changed. Drastically. The worlds around and inside me, the intricacies of my personality and my life, are so incredibly altered that I can hardly remember what they once were. Maybe that’s why I feel like nothing has changed. Even my memory has adjusted to the new world that exists in every new second.

There is one change that I find most startling the contraction of time. Similar to the way that my parents seemed tall when I was a small child, time has a way of becoming oddly short as we age. It’s all about ratios, I think. When I was three years old, three months was literally eight percent of my life. But at sixteen? Three months is worth barely a single percent.

It is a fact of existence, I suppose. Life grows longer, time grows shorter. Perfect days always end. The bad ones do too. The summers that once seemed lengthy and everlasting now abruptly transition to autumn, leaving me wondering where the time has gone. The worst tests I’ve ever taken are always handed in, always graded, always forgotten in time as I move onwards, with nary a catastrophe to truly lament. In fact, that’s what I tell myself whenever I face something particularly difficult whatever this is, no matter how hard, it has to end, and life continues. Because that’s what everything does has done. It ends.

But the seconds do not actually change in length. My perception of those seconds, on the other hand, does. And that’s all that really matters in the end. What is seen and what is felt. And though it seems like though time is instantaneously long, we glance backwards to find that it is ultimately fleeting.

I didn’t realize these things until I walked in on my last “first day” of high school. It’s jolting to look down a hallway, only to see the people who I have lost as friends and those who I have gained as such; to see a teacher from a previous year, and to remember when an International Studies exam seemed like an apocalyptic event. Or maybe it’s sadder to look around, only to find that old teachers and classmates are no longer here at all.

And then there are the internal things the things that make me question how well I know myself. To search through the annals of my computer, to peruse my old essays and novels, causes me to think incredulously, “Was this me? Did I really write this?” The words I wrote were naive, vacuous, inadequate by my current standards. Perhaps my words still are today, but hopefully to a lesser extent.

Or maybe it’s more jarring to read my old facebook messages, to be dumbstruck by how my likes and dislikes have evolved. Was that really my favorite television show? Did I really use facebook that much? Huh… I hardly remember.

You’d think I would have realized that these changes were occurring in the moment they happened. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Time contracts and change is invisible. We can anticipate them both. Oh yes, we definitely anticipate them both, such as when my peers and I fearfully submit our college applications, or anxiously dwell on what the future job market will bring us. But when the awaited moments pass us by, we do not notice them. We can only look back on them, compare them to the life we live now.

Approaching graduation makes me nostalgic and aware of my changes, no matter how small those changes may be. I’m sixteen years old, and though my birthdate makes me younger in a relative sense, I feel that I’m pretty mature for my age. My hair, though still curly and


untamed, is shorter in length than it has ever been. And while I still can’t do multiplication in my head, I scrape better math grades than I used to. Thus, even the insignificant things that seem the same… aren’t the same in reality at all.

So maybe I broke my promise. In four years, I never got around to learning the room numbers in this place that has seen me change so much. But with the chaos of adolescence, of contracting time and malleable futures, I suppose that I can’t really be blamed for changing my priorities. I suppose I never noticed that my priorities changed at all.

The World is Ice, but Death by Fire Would Be Nice By: Grace George It's tough. It's tough to be a teenager. It's tough to be a junior in high school. Hell It's tough just to survive some days. It's tough to keep my pain at bay, especially when I haven't told anyone about it. It's tough to keep the doubtful thoughts out of my head. It's tough to get out of bed in the morning, especially when it's so warm and kind and the world is so cold and cruel. All I want is warmth. I need that ignition in my life, and he gives it to me, but that flame he makes is forced away from me, because I got to hot and burned someone. All I need is flame, fire, heat. I'd die for it. For just a moment of it.

Orpheus Writing Prompt By Mohammed Alhusseini

I was in a deep sleep and the AC was blasting for awhile now. It wasn’t till 10:00 o’clock

that I woke up and turned it off. The place I was sleeping at was my dad's and it was an old apartment and made a creek no matter how quiet you were. The apartment had a white dirty tint to the carpet and the coaches still had their plastic wrapping from when we moved. I hated everything about this place, even the smell was repulsive. The only plus of leaving my mom and going to live with my dad was the fact that I didn’t have to see that ugly gremlin and she calls


herself a mother! I couldn’t go back to sleep because my dad was snoring like a grizzly bear ready to go

into slumber. So instead, I went from the bedroom straight to the couch where I started watching CARTOON NETWORK and FAMILY FEUD on TV. It wasn’t until midnight that I realized that the window had been open. I asked myself, was it open the whole time? The weirdest part was that I didn’t feel a breeze until now and I didn’t have a blanket either. I started getting really frustrated with myself and instead of closing the window I went and grabbed a blanket. After about an hour of watching TV I started feeling a freezing breeze coming from the window. I huddled my body closer together. Whoosh went the window as the cold air swept through the whole apartment. I tried to go to sleep.

That's when I heard the whispers “watching you,” “I am watching you.” I kept ignoring it, but the whispers wouldn’t go away. I started to get angry again. Now not only was the cold breeze blowing, but I was hearing things? The fact that I couldn’t understand what was happening is what was making me so angry, the fact that I couldn’t do anything to make them stop. Well, I can do something about the cold and that was take a hot shower. So I striped and jumped staright in the shower. I was still cold, the water was steaming, but I was still cold! I hugged my shivering body as the scorching water was blasting. That’s when it happened. I felt the dead glare of a demon. I looked to my side and there it was, a demon. A dark figure, it's fiery black skeleton face staring blankly at me. Its image burned in my skull. I immediately covered my ears and started to scream. I could feel its breath down my spine as I flew to the ground. Its mission was to scare me and it had. I could feel it walking away slowly now as my father rushed to my side. My father flung the screen door open and bended done screaming what is wrong. I look at him and my father seemed to know what happen. He started to say some enchantment, but it didn’t help.

To this day I am not really sure why this happened to me, I just know that it happened for a reason. Maybe because I stayed up too late or maybe it was so me and my dad could connect and I could see how much he loves me. I am not really sure. All I know is that, that demon was the scariest thing I have ever seen.

Tidal Waves By Leroy Lawson

Waves flow, diamonds are shown

The cold night keeps us from staying awake Our stars and moons travel around the Earth

The place that gave birth to beauty Joy from the Moon radiates the surface,

keeps the night silent and holy I saw the galaxy shed a tear when the meteor when by


I went in to see the foam of the Atlantic twirl the current beautifully My mind hasn’t lost it, just got it

The fishes wrapped me in coral seaweed Giving me unlimited energy

Don’t be afraid, the waves will treat you nicely Come swim with me

The waves are all I need The waves are all you need The waves are all we need

The waves are what we all we need

Pretty Blue

by Kassidy Manness

Pale blue irises were the first thing everyone noticed when they saw Helen Frasier. Those

hypnotic eyes struck everyone who looked their way. And she knew that they did. That is why every

morning she, ever so carefully, painted her already long, thick eyelashes with tar black mascara that made

them look a mile long, purposefully smeared charcoalcolored eyeliner right near her tear ducts, and

lightly dusted her eyelids with silver eyeshadow. She knew that her eyes were the things to capture any

guy who looked her way, and that is exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to be the one all the

males, whether as young as herself or as old as her father, stared at as she walked through a room. She

wanted to hook them with the dazzling sparkle of her pale blues before reeling them in with the rhythmic

sway of her hips. All Helen ever wanted was to be the spotlight of any place she entered. And that is

exactly what she always was.

So many resented the way she was able to mesmerize any man with just a doeeyed look and a

slow blink. There were the wives of the men who stared after her with looks of wistful hope, the

girlfriends of the boys her age who would look at her with resentment while their boyfriends looked after

her like lovesick puppies, her friends who glared whenever a guy barely spared them a glance before


settling his gaze on Helen, her sisters who were both, somehow, the runt of the litter compared to her, and

her stepmother who stared at her with the eyes of a woman scorned, wishing so blatantly for the days her

beauty could have rivaled Helen’s. The thing about Helen, though, is that she loved their resentment

almost as much as she loved the attention from the lustful men. It made her feel powerful; like she could

control all of them with just a tilt of her head, a pout of her rose pink lips, and a blink of her cerulean

eyes.

Her stepmother, Dawn, was especially envious of her stunning new daughter. Growing up, she

was exactly like Helen; captivating every man that looked her way with eyes so green they resembled

glowing emeralds. But now all those eyes do is narrow into small slits as they watch the way every man,

even ones much older than herself, stare after her stepdaughter. It was something she had never

experienced before; not being the center of attention. And she didn’t like this change. Not one bit.

Helen knew of her stepmother’s animosity. It was hard to ignore. It burned behind those green

eyes that were surrounded by wrinkles and weathered skin. But Helen didn’t care much of what her

stepmother thought of her; she was just the latest flavor her father wanted to try. She would be gone come

the New Year.

It was a Saturday morning during the summer. It was one of those dog days of summer, one

where the humidity made the already 98o feel like 103o and the thing that woke you up wasn’t your

internal clock, but the sweat making your clothes damp and your skin feel as if you just got out of the

shower. That’s how Helen woke up that morning; damp and burning up.

The first thing she did was take an extremely long, extremely cold shower. She deeply

conditioned her sun kissed hair so that it would feel as soft as a fox’s pelt and moisturized her skin until it

looked visibly smooth. By the time she was dressed and ready to spend the rest of the day laying pool

side, she couldn’t help but notice how quiet her house was. Usually by this time one of her sisters were


pestering her to pay attention to them or her father was complaining about ten things she’s already done

wrong today or Dawn was giving her some bogus beauty tips.

“Hello?” she called out into the house, her feet padding down the hallway towards the kitchen.

“Dad? Dawn?” No answer.

Helen tried to recall if her father told her that he would be out this morning, but quickly drew a

blank. She searched the surfaces of the counters and refrigerator, looking for a note left to her, but was

only left with bare granite and empty stainless steel.

Those crystalline eyes rolled as irritation budded in her system. It was just like her father to forget

about her and bring the rest of her family to breakfast. She walked back towards her bedroom to grab her

phone and a towel, but once she entered her room something felt off.

Helen’s skin started to tingle and a tightness in her chest formed as unease settled throughout her

body. Her fingers began to feel numb as she desperately searched the top of her desk for her phone,

knowing that is the place she always put it to charge every night. The charger was there, but her phone

was nowhere to be found. She swallowed, trying to convince herself to not jump to the worse conclusion,

but her stomach still started to turn.

“What are you searchin’for, Pretty Blue?” a rough, calloused sounding voice asked behind her,

causing her body to jolt and static form in her head. That was not a voice she knew.

Helen had only ever seen these situations in TV shows, but she always thought it was something

that would never happen to her. She was Helen Frasier, likely prom queen and probable attendant of the

University of Albuquerque. The show that is her life is supposed to be a comedic drama, not a suspenseful

slasher.

“Gonna answer me, Princess?” the voice drawled and held on to the ‘s’ so long it made an

effective hissing noise.


The static in her brain grew to the point where she couldn’t process the situation. It couldn’t be

happening.

Loud footsteps made the floor beneath her feet vibrate. She felt a breath on the back of her neck

and the air around her suddenly smelt of chewing tobacco and dill, a combination that made the turning in

her stomach increase.

“Were ya searchin’ for this?” Her cell phone appeared in front of her face for a split second,

dangling between the thumb and pointer finger of her intruder, before quickly disappearing again.

Suddenly her body woke up and she turned around, trying to catch her phone, but she was too

late. The phone dropped to the floor before a heavy boot slammed on top of it. The shattering of her

phone rung in her ears as she moved her gaze from the destroyed chance of getting help to cold grey eyes.

Helen wanted to scream, to somehow call attention to her situation, but her mouth wouldn’t abide

to her wishes. In fact her jaw locked in protest.

Those stone eyes washed up and down her figure in a manner she was very much accustomed to,

but this time it didn’t make her feel powerful, it made her feel like prey.

He tutted. “Well, they aren’t wrong. You are quite the looker. It’s a shame it’ll all be ruined

soon.”

Helen wanted to ask what he meant, but the static in her brain made it feel like she’s forgotten all

bodily functions.

“Come now,” he commanded, swinging his head towards the doorway.

He walked towards the door, his feet sounding like weights being thrown against concrete with

every step he took. Helen stayed in her place. When he realized she was not doing as told, he turned

around and tipped his head to the side, those stone eyes growing dark.

“It’s in your best interest, Pretty Blue, if ya do what I tell ya to do.”


Helen’s feet felt as if they were cemented into the floor. She couldn’t move them if she wanted to.

In two quick strides he’s in front of her again. His big, calloused hand struck out before wrapping itself

around her dainty wrist. With a harsh twist, Helen’s jaw unlocked long enough to let out a strangled

scream.

“Don’t make me do something I’m not supposed to do,” he warned before he started to drag her

forward.

Whimpers left Helen’s mouth as her intruder pulled her down the hallway before throwing her

onto the living room floor. The carpet burned against her skin as her body slid against it due to the force

of her fall.

“What do you want?” she finally asked, her words coming out choppy as her voice quivered.

“So you do have a voice,” he started, laughing. “I was beginning to think you were some mute.”

“What do you want?” she asked more firmly, gaining the courage to look up into those grey eyes.

One of his bushy eyebrows raised as he kneeled down to her level. “I want to know if what

everything people say about you is true.”

“What does that mean?” The static in her brain began to subside, allowing her to truly evaluate

the situation. She needed to get him distracted, then she could run to the Fulton’s house and get help.

“It means, Princess, that I want to know whether you are as selfish as everyone says you are. I

want to know if you put your life before others,” he explained, his voice extending words in a grotesque

way.

Helen didn’t understand the game he was trying to play. “And how are you going to test that?”

The man pulled a phone and knife from his pocket. He walked around Helen before dropping to

the floor behind her and pressing the knife to her throat. The cool metal made her skin tingle as her body

straightened and became rigid.


“Don’t try anything stupid, Pretty Blue,” he warned as he held the phone up in front of her face

and pressed play on a video.

Helen’s eyes widened as she took in the video. There was Dawn sitting in a dark, dreary place, a

place Helen assumed was some unfinished basement, tied to a chair with a piece of cloth shoved in her

mouth. Dawn’s face was blotchy, her makeup was smudged, and she looked like she had been crying. A

figure wearing a ski mask comes into frame, but only long enough to take the cloth out of her mouth.

Sobs and strangled pleas emptied from Dawn’s lips.

“What do you want to tell your stepdaughter, Dawn?” a rough voice, one Helen knew belonged to

the man that was now pressing a knife to her throat, asked from somewhere off camera.

“Helen,” Dawn started before sobbing. “Helen, please help us. II don’t know what happened, but

they got us. I don’t know where your father or your sisters are, but I’ve heard them. Helen, we’re all soso

scared. Please, Helen, do what they want. Help us get home.”

Helen’s eyes watered, but she tried to stop them. He wanted to hurt her and she didn’t want to

give him the satisfaction.

A scream, one Helen could only assume belonged to her father, was heard off camera. “James!”

Dawn called out. “James, are you okay? Where are you?”

The only response was another scream. Helen’s heart lurched at the thought of someone torturing

her father or her sisters or even her stepmother. The same man in a ski mask came back into view. Dawn

looked straight into the camera and tried to rush out, “Helen, I don’t know where we are exactly but I

think it’s close to–” her voice was cut off as the piece of cloth was shoved once again in her mouth. The

video stopped.

The man behind her laughed as he took the knife away from her throat and walked around to her

front. “Your stepmother is quite the drama queen, ain’t she?”


“Don’t hurt them,” Helen begged, worry for her family coursing through her body. “I will do

whatever you want, just don’t hurt them.”

“Whatever I want?” he asked, kneeling down again. Those grey eyes stared into her pale blue

ones.

Her jaw clenched, but even with her teeth clamped together, she managed to answer, “Yes.”

“Now, that’s what I wanted to hear, Princess.”

He held the knife out to Helen before saying, “I want you to put this knife through those pretty

blue eyes of yours.”

At first Helen didn’t understand what he said, but when it finally registered, all she could utter

was, “What?”

“Those eyes, the ones you love so much, I want them indiscernible,” he explained. “And I want

you to do it.”

“No. No,” Helen said, pushing away from him. He quickly grabbed her ankle to stop her from

moving any further.

“So your eyes are worth more than the life of your family? Of your father, who’s only cared for

you, your two sisters, who haven’t even experienced life yet, and your stepmother, who has only ever

tried to help you? You’re that selfish?” he taunted.

Helen stared at the knife. “Why shouldn’t I just stab you?”

He chuckled. “Because then you won’t get your family. You don’t really think I’m working alone

here, do ya? If you do something to me, I will make sure your family will never be found.”

Helen’s eyes watered as she looked at the knife. Could she do it? For her family?

“Look, it won’t kill ya. You’ll just be blind for the rest of your life. But at least you’ll have your

family.”


Helen bit her lower lip so hard in contemplation, she drew blood. It’s for her family. She has to

do it. She reached for the knife with one shaky hand.

“There ya are, Pretty Blue,” he praised as he let go of the knife.

Helen held the knife up to her right eye, looking the point of it dead on. Slowly, she inched it

closer and closer but before she could do it, her hand dropped.

“I can’t!” she cried.

“Do it!” he screamed. “Or you ain’t never seeing your family again!”

With a battered scream, she picked up her hand and plunged the knife into her right eye. Pain

rolled from the top of her head down to her feet as she screamed and screamed. She ripped the knife out

of her eye and folded forward.

“Now the other one, Princess!” he demanded and though she couldn’t see him, she knew he had a

sadistic smile on his face.

“No!” she yelled in protest.

Suddenly, his voice was much closer to her. “Ya know, my friend thought that one sister of yours

was very pretty. Nowhere close to you, but still pretty. In fact, he said that if ya took too long, he may

give her a try.”

Horrible images of her sister being assaulted flashed through Helen’s head and those pictures

were almost more painful than what she was experiencing then. With a hand that was shaky and slightly

bloody, she felt on the floor for the knife, picked it up, and plunged it into her left eye. Another scream

erupted from her mouth as she dropped the knife to the floor and curled up into a ball.

“Well, well. Looks like they were wrong,” was the last thing she heard him say before a door was

slammed shut and her house were silent except for her cries.

Helen had no idea how long it had been before she heard that door open again. Right away she

was met with her father’s familiar voice crying out, “Oh my god! Helen! What happened?”


Soon she felt her father’s arms wrapped around her as she heard her sisters scream.

“Don’t look, girls!” she heard Dawn’s voice demand.

“Call 911!” he father demanded and she heard two pairs of feet run into the kitchen.

“Helen, my sweet Helen, what happened?” her father cried, pulling her close.

“I saved you,” was all Helen could utter.

“What? What are you talking about?” her father asked.

“He took you. So I saved you.”

“Oh god, she’s delusional! Dawn, why did we leave her? I knew we shouldn’t have!” he yelled.

“Who knew this would happen while we were out to breakfast?” Dawn asked rhetorically.

Helen’s head began to feel fuzzy once again. Out to breakfast? No, they were taken. She saw the

video. Dawn was in the video.

“But, Dawn… video. He showed me. You were gone,” Helen tried to explain, but her words got

jumbled together.

“Shh, baby, don’t talk. We’ll get you help,” her father cooed, rubbing up and down her back.

At that moment what Helen couldn’t see were glowing green eyes. Eyes that feigned worry and

confusion, but in reality were smiling.

Otoño By John Dion

En otoño Hay muchas actividades divertidas Es un buen tiempo para disfrutar con amigos El tiempo es bueno Me gusta la estación de otoño porque Puedes hacer muchas cosas diferentes Puedes


Recoger hojas Brincar en pilas de hojas Coleccionar sirope de arce Tallar las calabazas y Recoger manzanas

También comes comida deliciosa Bizcochos y pan de calabaza Caramel y sirope de arce Pasteles de manzanas o calabazas En otoño hay vacaciones que incluyen Víspera del Día de Todos los Santos y Acción de Gracias donde Los chichos pueden conseguir dulces y las familias pueden hablar y comer En general, otoño es la estación perfecta

Thanks For Reading!

Don’t forget to also check out the “The Messenger,” Suffield High School’s Newspaper. Have a spooky Halloween! Sincerely, Orpheus


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