Spiral Staircase May/June 2022 Issue

From the Moment I Saw My Sister’s Face by Evan Fularz

As my aunt opened the heavy hospital door, the sun glared in from the window. Then through the light, I saw a glimpse of what looked like my mom cradling this tiny object. As I approached closer and closer, the object became more visible. Then within a couple inches from it, the puny objects' facial features came into focus. While I slowly approached, my brother darted right past me to the hospital bed. It was like he was running for his life. My three year old brother lacked any ability to contain the massive amount of excitement he was feeling. I remember it was like he had an entire four pounds of sugar. Time seemed to stand still the moment I first saw my sister; the first time we met face to face.&nbsp;

Then I think back to the tall nurse, who took us back. I memorized her flowery fragrance. As I walked I noticed the nurses' big steps, compared to my puny strides.&nbsp; As the nurse comes to a stop I hear “this is the room” this was it. Then for the first time I got a good glimpse of my sister's face. I glared at my sibling, it was almost like I had found what I had been missing for a long time. That puny being was another family member in my life, another friend or sibling to rely on. As me and my mom, dad, my brother Trevor, and my new sister Kenzie walked out, I felt like our family was completed. From the moment my sister first entered the house the lives of me and my family would be changed indefinitely.

All of a sudden in the middle of class, I was called to the school office. As I walked to the front desk, I had this nervous feeling and I thought, “Is something wrong?&nbsp; Am I in trouble?” Then when I got to the front desk, the lady smiled at me and handed me the phone. 

I opened my eyes only to have an extreme amount of light pouring in from the windows; as if it were trying to blinding me. I laid there, attempting to get used to the light, and I suddenly got this ray of excitement shooting up my spine; like a bolt of lightning. Today is the day where I will meet my sister. I sprung out of bed, only to find that I was not the first one, to dart out of bed. Then before I knew it, I was at the hospital. When we arrived, I remember the sharp scent of the hand sanitizer. 

and dairy section. I loved this section because this is where my holy grail breakfast item was. Eggo Waffles. I had a blueberry Eggo waffle for breakfast every weekday before school. In fact, I still do with the addition of a Chobani yogurt smoothie. This was yet another example of my love and need for routines and control. We would check out and head back towards the elevator. We would take it down with me pushing the buttons, of course, and head back to our car. While my dad placed everything in the trunk, my job was to take the toilet paper and paper towels and put them in the back next to me. Then I would grab the eggs and watch over them to ensure they didn’t break. We would arrive home and since we only had one garage, we would park in the driveway and carry our bags up our hilly driveway and to the front door. I would always insist on holding and bringing at least one bag to prove that I could be helpful and was strong. My dad would proceed to put everything away in the kitchen according to his system, while I rested on our couch in the living room. That was my Saturday, and I loved every minute of it. From the routines to the organizational systems to the race car shopping cart. Everything was perfect and nothing was left to chance. I was in control and that brought me comfort.

Violin was a huge part of my life and helped me feel all the emotions I could never describe with my words, like when my father had died.&nbsp; I had come home from university for Thanksgiving when I was faced with the news that my father and stepmother had died in an accident two weeks ago. The memories of the funeral came flooding back to me. I remembered Amara kneeling beside her mother’s casket, a look of complete devastation on her face. I had wiped the tears off her face and told her I was always there for her. That I would always be her real sister. The loss of two important parent figures in my life was hard enough, and now this?&nbsp; &nbsp;I slowly reached my shaky hand out to grab the gun, the awful weapon that had killed such an innocent girl. I felt anger rise within me as I stared at it, and I gripped the gun even tighter until the tips of my fingers turned ghost white. When I couldn’t bear to look at it any longer, I tossed it across the room and covered my face with my hands. I sobbed and sobbed by Amara’s side until I heard an alarming knock on the door. That must have been the police. I stood up, wiping the tears from my cheeks and clearing my throat.

I took my time walking to the front door. I wasn’t in any rush for an interrogation, and I’m sure my mother wasn’t either because I heard her talking on the phone. There was a distinct male voice on the other end of the line. “I have to go, the police are here,” she said in a quiet voice. &nbsp;“Yes, I’ll see you later to talk.” Mom looked mad now and began to talk in an angry whisper.&nbsp; “I’m not an idiot, Rob. I’ve got it.” &nbsp;She turned the corner, and I acted like I had just arrived and hadn’t heard any of her conversation. What on earth was she talking about? Who’s Rob? I had a thousand questions, but the knock on the door suddenly turned into banging, so we rushed to open it.&nbsp; Mom turned the handle and moments later, we had three policemen standing in the foyer. I suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of nervousness. I hadn’t done anything wrong, of course, but the police didn’t know that. Mom and I had barely any proof that both of us didn’t murder Amara. We were the only people present in the house.&nbsp;

At the time, I had the common sense to deduce that she was talking about possible-to-be-true/real ideas, unlike this case: completely impossible (or so as it seems). *************************** But right now, I have the Seed. How am I to go to Mars? I went through ten science books. And then, the answer popped into my brain. The fighter jet was the solution. Exactly how does the fighter jet work? How could I fly the plane?&nbsp; Thus, I went into four months of training. Take off, taxi, landing, what to do when facing turbulence…you name it: I have mastered it. What I needed the most, however, was oxygen. For, there was no oxygen in outer space.&nbsp; The next morning, I took off. I flew right into outer space, and navigated to Mars in just three hours. I grabbed the seed, set the detonation alarm, and flew back to Earth. I landed on Mars again fifteen minutes later just in time to see the seed explode.&nbsp;

I had enough transformium for a lifetime. The moment I came back to Earth, I began to work on the blueprints. Once I had the transformium, making the prototype was simple enough. I followed every step I planned and eventually, it FAILED. But I knew what was wrong. And I knew how to fix it. Before the crack of dawn, I woke up only to await my finished product. I was proud.&nbsp;I could finally claim the title of an inventor. I could now sell this new and exotic prototype. It was amazing! My work is just sitting there (not) rotting… Anyways, I was very proud of myself when I finished.&nbsp; My parents were happy that I succeeded.&nbsp; The world could rest now. They could think of any place, and the prototype could take them there without one step from themselves. I just lay on my comfortable bed, thinking about all I have done. At last, I could Rest In Peace.

Chapter 3 &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Everything made sense. It was like an unsolved puzzle, and the last piece had finally clicked. The hushed phone conversation; mom not telling the police the truth. It had all come together.&nbsp; &nbsp;Her phone was pretty empty for the most part, but there was one thing that stuck out like a sore thumb. The contact ‘Rob’. Mom had at least a thousand text messages with Rob about Amara and Dad’s will. Apparently, Rob was Mom’s new boyfriend, and both of them had plotted to kill Amara and frame me. Rob bought the bullets, and Mom killed Amara that morning with a gun and made it look like I did it by telling me to move the gun. She knew my fingerprints would show up, and that I would be guilty. Her plan was for her to kill Amara so the money would go to me. If I was framed for murder, I would go to jail and wouldn’t get the inheritance but Mom would. It was a perfect plan. Too bad Mom was stupid enough to leave everything the police needed on her easily accessible phone.&nbsp;

Now I had evidence. Evidence of my innocence, and evidence of my mother’s intentions. I felt angry. Not angry, enraged. Enraged at my mother, of course, but also because my step sister had to die just for Mom’s selfish need of money. Amara was only fourteen and had so much ahead of her. The only thing Mom and her disgusting boyfriend had ahead of them was prison.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Just then, the police car came zooming into the alleyway and stopped in front of me after hitting a dumpster. The cops hopped out with handcuffs at the ready and a hand rested on their holster.&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I just stood my ground, calm as could be. “Officers, please wait a moment.” I told them.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;They halted slowly but still kept a firm grip on their guns.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“I have proof that my mother is the woman who murdered Amara Thomas,” I said, a slight smile on my face.&nbsp; The officers shared a skeptical glance as I pulled up the messages. I offered the phone out in my hand, and one of the officers snatched it with aggression. I stopped myself from letting out a sigh of relief. The messages proved everything and justice would finally be served.

He quickly points me toward the opening in the tree.&nbsp;“I’m sure you’ll be pleased.&nbsp;It’s surprisingly large once you’re inside,” he shouts. I don’t know if I should trust Harry; he’s always more brave than me. I might have to just go with it because we are already too far into this.&nbsp;Nope. I’ve decided not to go.&nbsp;No, I’m not going. I’ve made up my mind. But then, I feel my feet start to slip.&nbsp;The mud beneath my feet is sliding!&nbsp;It has been raining for days. I begin to tumble toward the opening in the tree. I’m grabbing and stretching, reaching desperately for the weeds and the grass and the tree limbs and anything else that I can grasp.&nbsp;I don’t want to enter that dark crevice of a hole in the tree.&nbsp; “Come on!,” cried Harry.&nbsp;“We don’t have much time.”&nbsp; “No! This is a bad idea!&nbsp;We will drown in the rain.&nbsp;You’ve heard the stories,” I protested in return.&nbsp;Inside, I am terrified! I’m going to die! Get over yourself! I have to go in because we haven’t heard from her in days, and the town has already checked everywhere else except the tree.&nbsp;I don’t know what is in there, and I am afraid.&nbsp;Outside, I am a rock.&nbsp;

Just as I’m about to refuse, the last limb I’m holding onto shatters, and we slip into the dark cave in the tree.&nbsp;There is no turning back now.&nbsp;I have no choice but to keep moving.&nbsp;Harry plunges into the darkness right behind me and lands on top of me with a thud. It’s dark and wet, and I can’t even see my hands in front of my face. I twist in the thick and sloppy mud and scramble for the tiny flashlight on my keychain.&nbsp;I click its faint light on and shine it around the darkness to investigate as best I can.&nbsp;I’m surprised to find a tunnel system.&nbsp; Harry jumps up and screams “Woo hoo!” and takes off running down the tunnel on our right. I can’t figure out why he chose that one until I see her filthy pink baseball cap that she wears every day discarded on the ground.&nbsp;I quickly sprint down the tunnel with the found hat in my hand to catch up with Harry even though the ground is caked in mud. We run for what feels like forever until we can’t breathe anymore.&nbsp; I stop abruptly. My chest is heaving, and I’m gasping for a breath.&nbsp; When we finally stop, we are in a cavern filled with water up to our knees.&nbsp; We don't have much time because I can hear the rain outside.

I also snatched her car keys that were lying in her purse, which was near the front door. I heard the loud footsteps of the police behind me, and I willed myself to run faster. I sprinted to the driveway and got in my mom’s car.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The gears and controls were unfamiliar to me. I was used to my old, beat up Honda that I had gotten for my sixteenth birthday, not my mother’s fast and new Mercedes. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I rested my hands on the sleek steering wheel and hit the accelerator to the floor just as the police got into their car. They were fast, but I had a head start. I shot forwards and hit my stomach on the bottom of the wheel, but I kept driving. I looked in my rearview mirror and realized with alarm that they were advancing on me. I pressed down on the pedal as hard as I possibly could, and I was sure I had broken at least twenty speed limit laws.&nbsp; I soared past Twenty Eighth Street, and all the children in the playground stopped to watch and stare as the car zoomed past. An old woman began to cross the street behind me, and the cops had to stop for a few moments to let her pass. I was far ahead of them now, but I knew I was still in their line of sight.&nbsp;

Then they turned their siren on, and the whole neighborhood watched in awe as the police struggled to keep up. Just then, I noticed an empty alleyway not too far off. If I timed it just right, the police wouldn’t be able to see me go in that direction.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I made a sharp turn and the police turned with me. I suddenly made a quick reverse and before the cops could notice and reverse themselves, I had driven into the dark alley.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I noticed a mangy stray cat hanging around a rusty garage. I laid my head on the cushioned headrest, and let myself take a few deep breaths. I could barely fathom what had just happened.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I suddenly saw a patch of sunlight reflecting off of my mother’s phone. I almost forgot I had grabbed it. I had seen her enter her password about a million times, so I punched it in and scrolled. I scrolled through her texts, her contacts, her search history, and more. I was bound to find something. And when I did, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Determination is A Boomerang by Colette Griffith

It is summer It will be a bummer When it comes to an end For now I shall not worry &nbsp;I will not be in a hurry To get things done With the 95 days that I have I will not be sad For it is summer

Determination is a boomerang, It gets thrown and thrown and thrown and thrown, Away from the direction it needs to go, Whirling and whizzing through the air, But then it turns right back around, With all the strength it’s got, Heading straight to where it wants to be, And the path it wants to be on.

“Well, then I have to tell her that I can see you. That I can see a ghost.”&nbsp; “Just leave it in her mailbox. I need to know if she’s okay. I saw her when I was passing by town, and she seemed alright, but I love her. I need her to know I still love her.” “Wow Mr. Goldforth, I’ve never seen you like this. I always thought that you were a grumpy old man who hated everyone.” He chuckled, “Well I am a grumpy old man, but I was different around Dahlia. I was myself. You know, she always said that my heart and her heart were very old friends.”&nbsp; I looked up into Mr. Goldforth’s eyes. They had a sense of sincerity that I had never seen before. That no one had ever seen before. Well, maybe except for Dahlia.&nbsp; “Ok, I’ll go later tonight and drop it in her mailbox. You know sir, you’re really not too bad. If you had let people see you like this, then they wouldn’t have hated you so much.”

Mr. Goldforth didn’t respond for a while. We just sat in silence, but he finally responded, “Harper, you sound just like Dahlia. Now, get outta here and deliver that letter.” He signaled me out of the room, and as I was walking down the creaky hallway, Mr. Goldforth called my name, “And Harper, read the letter before you deliver it.” I nodded my head and walked down the stairs. I didn’t tiptoe, I walked. I didn’t care if anyone heard me. I opened the door to the driveway and biked to Mr. Goldforth’s house. Dahlia’s house. I had always quickly walked past this house, in fear that Mr. Goldforth would yell at me in his raspy, old voice and tell me to get off of his lawn.&nbsp; The sun was setting as I opened the rusty, white mailbox and slid the letter in, but I stopped myself. I remembered to read the letter. I didn’t question it, and I gently opened the envelope.

&nbsp;&nbsp;“Good day,” the tallest of the officers said with a completely straight face. He certainly didn’t look like he was having a ‘good day’. Mom and I gave him small smiles that neither of us truly meant and led him to the attic while the other officers looked around the house. I immediately saw his face twist in disgust from the musty smell once we got up there. He walked to Amara’s body and stared at her for a minute or so. His expression was ice cold; I had no idea what he was thinking. Then he shifted his attention to the gun. His eyes narrowed for a moment until he finally spoke. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“We’ll need to check this gun for fingerprints. We’ll get back to you in a couple days.” “Thank you, officer,” Mom said, glancing at me. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I nodded in agreement, but I felt like I was going to pass out. They would find my fingerprints on the gun. They would think I killed her. But, it was okay. Mom would tell them she told me to touch the gun. She would tell them I would never, ever murder Amara. It would be okay. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At least that’s what I told myself because it had to be okay. But there was no guaranteeing it.

Chapter 2 &nbsp;A few days later, the police showed up at our doorstep again. It was the same tall officer from before, but he just had one other officer trailing behind him. He asked to come in, and I knew this wouldn’t be a simple ‘we didn’t find anything’ situation.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;We began to sit in the living room while Mom made herself busy, offering refreshments to the officers, which they politely declined. Mom still headed to the kitchen and made some iced tea while the men interrogated me. I felt calmer than I would have expected because my mother was here for me. When Mom came back into the room, the taller officer turned to her. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Do you by any chance happen to have a copy of your ex-husband’s will?” he asked. And I’m not sure what it was, but at that moment, I saw a hint of danger in my mother’s eyes. Her mouth turned upwards in a stomach lurching smile and she said,“In fact, I do. Let me go get it.” &nbsp;&nbsp;The next few minutes were filled with the small clinking of ice against cold glasses. We all drank the disgustingly sweet tea to avoid sharing so much as a glance. Mom returned with a printed copy of the will and handed it to the officers.&nbsp;

Happiness is an axolotl That rejuvenates over time That will take long to expire That prevails through any attempts at destruction That shocks you with its resiliency That adapts to its environment That never capitulates That always returns eventually

The cold water surrounding me The whooshing waterfall in my ears Whispering soft songs of comfort The wispy clouds fading above Washing my worries away The rocky edge evoking excitement It feels like home.

“Hello, sir! My name is Mia Limen, and this is Mr. Jonathan Burks. We are here to see the manager about the James Thompson murder.”&nbsp; The man looked up at her and extended his hand in greeting, saying, “Hello, miss, my name is Samuel Johnston. I was a friend of Mr. Thompson. The manager is just over there, talking to the lady in the pink dress." If I can be of any service or answer any questions you may have, please feel free to ask me.” He went back to his book, a silent way of asking them to leave.&nbsp; “Come along, Miss Limen. The manager awaits us.” Mr. Burks started walking towards the manager. Mia took one last look at Mr. Johnston and followed Mr. Burks in the direction of the manager.&nbsp; “Excuse me, Mr. Grant, I believe? We have some questions for you,” Mr. Burks said.&nbsp; “Yes, what would you like me to answer? Are you two of those detective people? You know, from that strange agency.” Mr. Grant had a husky-sounding voice. “If so, the body is right over there.”&nbsp; “Really? Wow, thank you, sir. We still need to ask you some questions, though.”

Mia and Mr. Burks walked over to the body and hunched over it. They pulled back the cloth, and Mia gasped.&nbsp; “What is it, Miss Limen?” Mr. Burks asked.&nbsp; “I know how James Thompson died,” Mia responded, looking grave.&nbsp; Use the QR code to keep reading!

A Room Without Windows by Kristen Appleman

He lives in his body like an uninvited guest. A stranger in every room. He tries to cover it up by painting on a smile. But it always rains. And the smile always washes away.

Time passes. Seconds pass. Each action. Each moment. Each decision. Passes with a flash.

In a room without windows It’s every time of day It’s morning with hours&nbsp; Of work to be done It’s midnight with regret&nbsp; Of all that hasn’t been done It’s a radiantly sunny day Full of opportunity&nbsp; It’s a cold dark day&nbsp; Full of worry In a room without windows The line between what&nbsp; Is wished would happen And what does is insignificant&nbsp; A room without windows is freedom It is everything&nbsp; And the lack of anything &nbsp; A room without windows is a fluorescent light Trying to be the world

“What’s her record?” “We don’t know, we might’ve found a birth certificate that matches hers, though. It’s difficult to tell, but we’re about to get the DNA test results back.” “And the brother?” “He’s a slippery one. We couldn't find any sort of record on him, but their DNA matches. They’re siblings.” “Fingerprints?” “Burned off.” The officer rested his head in his hands. This case caught them all by surprise. He looked at the doctor again. “How do a child and a teenager burn off their own fingerprints?” “We don’t know,” the doctor replied, but something seemed off. He kept shifting his weight from one leg to the other, occasionally tapping his clipboard. A nervous tic.

“What’s wrong?” the officer asked, a feeling of dread creeping up his spine. “Well…” the doctor began. “We looked at the security tapes and…” “And what?” The doctor took a shaky breath. “It’s better you see for yourself.” He spun his clipboard around to face the officer. A tightening feeling crossed his scalp. There was a photo of the children, seemingly from a security camera inside the house. The two children…half of their faces weren’t there. That is to say, half of their faces were sewn on. From what the officer could see, cloth stretched across the children’s bodies, sewn onto the skin, a simple button for an eye, hair of yarn. They looked like puppets. The officer went over the case file in his mind. These young children—or whatever they were—broke into a house and

He sat down on the bed and laid back, sighing at the fluorescent lights above him.&nbsp;Exhaustion waved over him, and soon enough, he drifted back to a turbulent sleep. *&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;* Ray was jolted awake by a loud beeping. He slowly raised his head, still half asleep, and saw one of the Instructors—this one with the head of a giraffe. As soon as the Instructor realized Ray was awake, the beeping stopped. “It is 0700. Time to wake up. Arrive at the dining hall promptly at 0730. I will escort you. Please get dressed,” it said. Ray groggily sat up on the side of the bed. He was already in uniform, having fallen asleep in it. “There is a mirror in your closet,” the Instructor informed him. Ray patted his hair. Was this a polite way to say that he looked like a mess? Turns out it was. Ray looked at the floor-length mirror installed in one of the closet doors. A sickly yellow spread out from underneath the band-aid on his cheek, and his hair was a mess. There was nothing he could do about the bruise, so he hastily brushed out any knots in his dark hair with his fingers, smoothing out his bangs. There, he

thought after a few minutes. That looks better. He looked at the Instructor, who had already started for the door. Hurriedly, Ray followed it. They came out to a corridor, colored with a barren shade of gray. Doors lined the sides of the corridor all the way down. Ray turned around to look at his door. It was labeled as “Number 4034: Eldar, Ray.” Beside it, “Number 4035: Emmerson, Jacob,” “Number 4036: Erdogan, Emre,” and so on. When they finally reached the end of the corridor, an elevator waited for them. They went down three floors, each labeled as something in which Ray wanted no part. “Testing Wing,” “Experimental Wing,” “Combat Wing”...What did they need a Combat Wing for? At the ground floor level, the Instructor strode forward to double doors barely two meters from the elevator and escorted Ray inside. The bustle of the dining hall was surprising at such an early hour. Children with the light lost from their eyes moved mechanically to tables all throughout the room. The giraffe-headed Instructor pointed to a table in a corner and said, “That is where you will sit for this cycle. The next cycle’s seating is yet to be determined.” Before Ray could even ask

Read "The Phantom Queen: Part One" in our first issue!

When Morrigan awoke, she was in a dark room, alone. Tied to a chair. Morrigan scoffed. As if measly ropes would hold her.&nbsp; She broke the chair easily, and tossed the ropes aside. That’s when Dr. Elliot entered the room.&nbsp; “You.”&nbsp; He smiled. “Me.” “What is the meaning of this, Elliot?! And how in the world did you escape?” “Easy. Any good leader has men on the inside.” “Leader?! Leader of what!? Idiocy?”

He smiled condescendingly. “Oh Morrigan, Morrigan, Morrigan. You really don’t get it, do you? Leader of the Rebellion, of course.”&nbsp; Morrigan didn’t think for another second. She attacked.&nbsp; “Mm-mm.” He shook his head. “Force field.” He tapped his temple. She growled and stalked around the shield.&nbsp; “Now, Morrigan. Let’s get down to business, hmm? I am going to say this bluntly, as I have never been one for small talk.”&nbsp; “Ha! You got that right.” “Morrigan, the Lost Ones are a ruse. A ruse for those who have betrayed the Union. They erase their memories and send them into the woods.”&nbsp; She halted.&nbsp; “Think about it, Morrigan. Where have you seen Olivia before?” She concentrated, then realized her mistake. “Olivia. She was Violet before. Same eyes, but blond hair.” She was at a loss for words as she realized that every Lost One she had ever saved was a lie. They were the same people, just with different appearances. She could not believe that she had been so blind.

leaving Ray by himself. END OF EXCERPT

"Morrigan!"The Director shouted her name calmly, as if he expected this turn in events. “Stand down now, and no more harm will come to this pathetic excuse for a rebellion.” His stare never wavered from Morrigan as she looked around.&nbsp; At first glance, the Rebellion was losing badly. Soldiers had fallen or were hurt, but when she looked closely, there were many more dead children than injured. The Capitol soldiers were untouched.&nbsp; The children were nothing more than human shields. Sacrifices in order to keep the Capitol’s defense strong.&nbsp; “Perhaps the Rebellion needs some shields, hmm?”&nbsp; Elliot smiled, the only sign that he had heard her message.&nbsp; She closed her eyes. She imagined wisps, ghosts of fallen men and women rising from the grass. The ground started to shake, cracks splitting through the dirt. Hands clawed at the ground as they stood up, righting themselves and helping others up. “What are those?” The Capitol soldiers' screams echoed through the field, but Morrigan no longer cared. She clenched her eyes shut, fists balled.&nbsp; She let out an ear splitting shriek, then collapsed onto the ground. “Grab her!” Capitol soldiers rushed at her, but it was too late. Ghost-like people rose from the ground, surrounding her.&nbsp;

The soldiers halted, staring at the wisps in the air.&nbsp; Morrigan smiled, standing up. “Attack.” The word was barely spoken, drifting along the wind. But it didn’t need to be. Hundreds of phantoms rushed at the soldiers as they fled.&nbsp; They ran like scared children, everyone of them leaving until it was only the Director left. The phantoms were advancing, closing him in.&nbsp; “Stop! I am the most powerful person in the Union! In the phantom realm! I demand tha—“ His sentence was cut short as his scream split through the air.&nbsp; Olivia was standing there, her blade inserted in his stomach. He fell to his knees, then face first onto the ground, dead.&nbsp; She stood up, covered in his blood. “I believe,” she proclaimed, “that the most powerful person in the Phantom Realm is the Phantom Queen.”&nbsp; She bowed, low and gracefully.&nbsp; Morrigan turned, seeing thousands of people bow. To her. She smiled, feeling power pulsing through her veins. This was her destiny.&nbsp; Two months later…

Oh, little mushroom underneath a tree, I look at you and you look at me You grow from the grass in a single night with your round hat and your head so white You have no hands or feet to walk You stand and watch The people talk Oh, Mr. Mushroom What if I were you? But, Mr. Mushroom I will never be you&nbsp;

A house&nbsp; Sitting on a hill By itself&nbsp; Alone No one to visit No one to call it home Just a house&nbsp; on a hill Alone Abandoned&nbsp; Mistreated&nbsp; And teased A house On a hill&nbsp; Alone But slowly&nbsp; Like whispers from a far away land In a fairytale with magical creatures&nbsp; Healing the wounds Patching the holes And once again Someone may call it home

At last, the world could rest in peace. It was time, time to be satisfied with work. The sky’s the limit. But there is no sky.

tones. They seemed very shaken. The count held out the scroll again, shaking it in the other mens’ faces with a giddy atmosphere. He was smiling now. The others began to smile too. They clapped each other on the backs and shook hands. The count, the first to lose to the excitement, now the first to compose himself, walked over to the father and child. “Under direct orders from the King, your daughter belongs to the Capital now,” he said. “No!” the father blurted out. He clapped his hands over his mouth. Slowly, he took them away and repeated in a more calm tone, “No, I respectfully refuse to hand over my daughter to your business. Without a proper reason,” he added, trying not to directly come across as refusing those ranked infinitely above him. Still he and his daughter knew well enough that he would never give her away under any circumstances. And that scared them. That he would rather die than give up his daughter. Where they came from, one’s own life was worth more than anything. People would willingly kill their family if they would get something out of it, whether it be money, food, or even a proper house, but not him. No, nothing mattered more to him than his daughter.

The count laughed. “Not even if I promised riches? See, your daughter is needed. We’ve been looking for someone of her magical power since our King’s great-great-grandfather ruled the land.” “But she doesn’t have magic.” The count cocked an eyebrow. “And how do you know this?” The man, realizing how much slipped out, attempted to fix his statement. “She never showed any signs. No levitating things, no plants growing quicker than they should…” Back when his grandparents were very young children, magic wasn’t illegal the way it was now. Not reserved for only magic scholars and royal wizards or witches. Anyone could learn. Now, if someone who was not going to a private magic school, or didn’t have a license to practice magic, ended up doing intentional magic, the punishment could be as bad as execution. This was the King’s special way of keeping order, to make sure nothing will threaten his place as the supreme ruler. The following kings emulated his example. Of course, there were still village witches in the far reaches,

Just tall enough to chip my teeth against the doorknob, six-year-old me stood at a towering 3’6” and 34 pounds. By keeping my mouth shut (most of the time), my behavior clip chart lingered on the default green. Around once a month, it migrated above into turquoise like when I was the only one refraining from starting a riot over bootleg chess, also known as checkers. It never dove below into yellow or orange, except for one time when someone hurled their coloring paper at me and instead of throwing it back, I dropped my fat, triangular pencil, crumpled the paper with both hands, and tossed it into the recycling bin, rainbow style. Each morning, I trekked with a couple other first-graders to the second grade math class, where I came face-to-face with Mrs. Anger (not her real name). She taught one of five second grade math classes, sported buzzed silver hair, and wore glasses thick as a TV screen. Perhaps she was more fond of math than she was of children. If I had a dollar for every day she yelled at us, I’d probably have around forty-five dollars, enough to buy five Thomas the Tank Engines, or even a medium-sized Lego set. One day, probably in January, she peacefully sat us down with her favorite phrase, “Sit down and shut up!” When a few kids didn’t do as she commanded, she hissed in a quick breath and pursed her lips into a straight line.

From my front-row seat, I saw her hand swiftly approach the bucket of rulers. She flung a metal one across the room. It slapped a bookcase face on with a crack. “I SAID SIT DOWN!”&nbsp; Everyone briskly sat down, almost in unison. We reviewed the homework, the few pages that she assigned. During a free period the day before, I completed the entire workbook. I kept this secret, thereby protecting my face from the end of a flying ruler. All of my classmates got number fifteen wrong. I didn’t. The problem read, “If Sally has five apples and Billy has four, what is the sum of those apples?” My peers answered one. A single apple. They thought that 5 - 4 = 1, which it does, but they didn’t understand what the word “sum” meant. Hearing this, Mrs. Anger turned away from the class, pounded her fist on the whiteboard, groaned loudly, and yelled:&nbsp;“YOU IDIOTS! RAISE YOUR HAND IF YOU THINK SUM MEANS SUBTRACTION!”&nbsp; Everyone raced to raise their hands except me. I scratched the top of my head, lifted my right hand and elbow to shoulder level, and paused. Looking around, I counted eager hands, jiggling fingers, and swinging arms.&nbsp;Wow, I’m the only one. I’m clearly wrong. These are mostly seven and a few eight-year-olds who’re raising their hands. That means they’re right and I’m wrong.

You just didn’t care. At ALL! Now take this stupid necklace from me! I don't want it anymore!” The necklace he gave me is getting heavy. The moon opal glistens in the lantern light. It was his mother’s, and before she passed, due to The Republic’s laws, she had given it to me.&nbsp;

He flinches again and solemnly walks over to me and gently unclasps the necklace. He stands up, but I reach my foot out, and he is down on the ground within a second. He looks at me as if I am a monster. Yeah right. As if I’M the monster. Blood trickles down his face, and I realize this was the first time I hurt him. It will also not be the last. “Sarah, why? Why are you doing this to me? Why-ow!” He stands up quickly. He cradles his hand, and I see more blood dripping over. Shards of the opal necklace fall, leaving the broken pieces at my feet. He flinches again and solemnly walks over to me and gently unclasps the necklace. He stands up, but I reach my foot out, and he is down on the ground within a second. He looks at me, shock and anguish written in his expression. Blood trickles down his face, and I realize this was the first time I hurt him. It will also not be the last.

Beauty Is it true Must I be Perfect Must I feel this way This constant need, nagging at me Perfect Perfect Perfect Be better than you are You aren’t good enough But you are Beauty isn’t the outside It’s inside Who you are How you act What you believe What you say So be beautiful On the inside

It takes one To change all One person Can change so many It’s up to you Will you Change the world Or will you Watch it crumble To itsy-bitsy pieces Will you save humankind Or not It’s up to you Stand, don’t sit Fight, don’t watch Shout, don’t whisper Watch, but listen See, then Act Do What is Right Save one Save all Save us

Right? But Ray knew. He knew he was lying. He thought back to their faces outside the facility. Those weren’t the faces of people who would willingly sacrifice their son. They were scared. They knew they couldn't do anything, so they didn’t. They knew it would just put Ray into more trouble. He had known this, of course, all those years ago, when they had promised him they’d never be separated…he just wasn’t ready to believe they would be. “Are you okay?” Ray snapped out of his thoughts and looked up. The girl, Sophie, was sitting in the chair in front of him. Both of her sleeves were folded up despite the cold, and Ray could see a bandage on her arm. That was new. “Are you okay?” she asked again. “You were crying.” Ray quickly wiped his eyes, surprised to find tears stuck on his eyelashes. Sophie walked up to him and peered at his face. “You might want to change that bandage on your lip. Replace it with a new one,” she said. Ray just nodded, heat creeping up his neck. His eyes darted to her bandage, the

new one on her forearm. Motioning to it, he asked, “What happened there?” Hurriedly, Sophie lowered her sleeve to cover it, her face turning red. “I-it’s nothing,” she stammered, gripping her arm tightly. “Standard procedure.” Standard procedure? For what? Ray’s stomach churned as he considered what that could signify. “What does that mean? ‘Standard procedure’...?” he asked. Sophie’s blush deepened. “Don’t worry, it won’t happen to you,” she said. Ray instantly felt terrible. He should’ve shown more concern toward her. Instead he worried about himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid… “A-are you alright?” he asked. Sophie nodded, grip still tight on her arm. “Is it a cut?” “Yeah.” “Does it hurt?” “...Yeah. A little bit.” “How did you get it?—if you’re okay with answering.”

To my hockey stick; Why do you make me thrilled when I&nbsp; grasp you? Whenever I am &nbsp;in desperate need&nbsp; You are there You have My back You are the key To a new world You’re Like a friend I can always&nbsp; Count on you&nbsp; You grant me power, I feel untouchable&nbsp; and unstoppable&nbsp; When you are in&nbsp; My hand, I feel like&nbsp; a person&nbsp; beyond compare

You are a candle. Once non existent, But here now Bumps and gusts of wind will be up the road, And they can be challenging to get back up. Whoosh! B’dump! B’dump! But sometimes,&nbsp; A stronger wind blows, And you can not get back to your summit Your light no longer shines bright Everything goes away Looking back at bumps and bruises We see the story of your life. It was a good one,&nbsp; Filled with dancing and delight.

The Sky's the Limit, But Where is the Sky?

As technology evolved, people’s hunger for information only grew. However, the main question is this: are all technology dreams possible? Perhaps… and perhaps not.&nbsp; Just two centuries ago, there weren’t even devices; the basis of communication. The rapid evolution of new automations was increasing at a speed that one can’t even measure. However, there are certain technologies that shall remain only in our dreams: for now, and forever.&nbsp; As Einstein once noted, wormholes exist. The power of gravity could ‘bend’ the universe such that a distance that takes nearly one hundred light years to reach could merely ‘fold over’ to a distance a rocket could even reach. However, the human race had never, and will never, even in the distant future, be able to manipulate this exotic power.&nbsp; How has the human race ever gone this far with technology? What have they done? They asked questions. That’s the answer.

The question was this: “Why?” Whenever introduced to new information, that’s the question.&nbsp; So I asked myself why. Why I was sitting on a bench trying to recreate Albert Einstein. Trust me. It did not work well. The real question is if the evolution of machinery has a limit.&nbsp; The sky’s the limit! But where is the sky?&nbsp; To infinity! But that suggests that it is possible to exceed light speed. Even if infinity is possible, we still need to take it one step at a time. A step accumulates to ten thousand… and eventually, if it is possible, infinity.&nbsp; And that leads to a new form of technology. Perhaps even better and greater than wormholes. Exceptional. Completely mind-blowing. Exotic. Impossible. Teleportation.

The kitchen where I spent all night trying to learn how to make meals for my mom. The days and nights that I spent looking out the window, waiting for my mother, and she was there now, finally. There with my sister. I was petrified. I stared in awe.&nbsp; &nbsp;“Is this a joke?” I was astonished. They were in the same clothes they had worn when they left. “No, but neither of them has said anything about what happened.” &nbsp;I walked up to them. It was like staring at a statue.&nbsp;“Mom?” &nbsp;“Yes, sweetie?” I was surprised to hear those words. She never called me that.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;“Where were you?” I asked, scared of the answer. “What do you mean, sweetheart? I just went on a walk.”&nbsp; “Mom, you were gone for two years.”&nbsp;

“What?” “What do you mean? Mom and I just went on a walk,” my sister cut in sharply. “You and mom?” I asked now, even more confused. “Yeah, duh.”&nbsp; “Don’t you find it shocking that everyone thinks you’ve been gone for two years, and you have no memory of it?” I wasn’t quite sure whom I was talking to.&nbsp; “Nothing shocks us, we're doctors,” my mom and sister said in perfect unison, which was probably the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard. Neither of them had the slightest interest in medicine. Suddenly, nothing felt right. My heart starting to pound in my chest. I didn’t know what to say. I was so hurt, angry, and confused. Where had they been? More importantly, why couldn’t they remember anything? I went to my room, unable to say anything else.

I scanned the room one last time, watching for unraised hands (there were none), and cautiously lifted my halted right arm past my shoulder and above my head. Mrs. Anger raised her eyebrows, blinked rapidly, and let out a huge breath. Six-year-old me didn’t know how to read body language and gave her a blank look. Then, Mrs. Anger laughed. Laughter is good. But before I could fully absorb the fact that she was actually laughing, her laughter turned into growls: “YOU’RE ALL WRONG! ALL OF YOU! YOU IDIOTS! YOU’RE ALL WRONG! ALL OF YOU! GOD!” Mrs. Anger’s right hand clenched around another ruler. Every vein bulged as her grip tightened. This one was wooden. She shot it across the room like a boomerang that never came back. It sailed past the children, but it hit a basket of erasers. After rattling the basket of erasers, the ruler fell to the floor. No one dared to speak. I sat back in my chair. My feet stopped stretching for the ground and decided to dangle. I rested my head on my hand and waited. I was right. I didn’t believe myself, but I was right, and the seven and eight-year-olds were wrong. I was right. If I had shown courage, Mrs. Anger would have applauded me, and maybe I would’ve gotten closer than a mile from her bad side:

“YOU IDIOTS! A SIX-YEAR-OLD JUST OUTDID YOU! YOU SHOULD BE EMBARRASSED!” That’s what could’ve happened. All the big boys and big girls would’ve stared at me, “You see that kid whose lip is bleeding? He hit it on the doorknob, and he knows what sum means. That’s crazy. Can you believe that? Neither can I.” To this day, I still think about what would’ve happened if I didn’t raise my hand. I wish she knew that I actually grasped what the word meant. I’m fairly certain that everybody in that room understands what sum means&nbsp; now, and maybe that would probably make Mrs. Anger happy. Problem fifteen taught me how to speak up and say what I think, and I should make sure that people want to hear it before I say it. Quite surprisingly, I was fairly quiet up until then. I also learned that if I know something for sure, I’ll feel it in my bones. And if I ignore this voice, I’ll regret it. I’d like to think that I’ve grown into the kind of guy who knows when to keep his mouth shut and when not to, even if, and especially if there’s a ruler flying towards my face.

“Well, James Thompson, a well known aristocrat, was just murdered as you probably know. It was in the papers this past February. Mr. Thompson’s wife has asked me to try and solve the case, as Scotland Yard was of no help.” Mr. Burks took out a manila file labeled “Thompson Case” and opened it. “We do not know who murdered him yet, or how. I was hoping you could help me out on this case.” Mr. Burks handed the file to Mia so that she could read it.&nbsp; Name- James Robert Thompson Age- 42 Current Residence- 19 Mapletree Lane, Bristan&nbsp; Death- Between 2 and 5 AM, Palace Restaurant, 147 Elizabeth Street&nbsp; Family Members-&nbsp; Emily Anna Thompson, wife. Age- 37 Samuel Jonathan Thompson, son. Age- 17 Ella Mary Thompson, daughter. Age- 12 James Robert Thompson II, son. Age- 20&nbsp; Suspects- Johnny Sampson, bartender Timothy Eglebert III, rival Samuel Johnston, friend&nbsp; Edith Samuels, jealous ex-girlfriend Margaret Jennifers, secretary Mia looked over the case, then said, “What a long list of suspects. Do we have any evidence or other information?”

Mr. Burks pulled out a piece of cloth and unfolded it to reveal a pen, with the initials RBS engraved on its glossy black surface in brilliant gold. “Only this. I have not yet been able to visit the scene, I was hoping you would like to accompany me there.”&nbsp; Mia smiled, excited to be back in the crime business. “That sounds good, I just need to make sure that I am back by 1:00pm. That was the time I told my chauffeur to pick me up. ” “Of course, we will be back in plenty of time. Will you be alright walking in heels, or will I need to call a driver?”&nbsp; “Excuse me, I’m not an amateur at walking in heels, I can get there just fine, thank you!” Mia huffed as she smoothed her pale green dress. “You ready? I am.” She grabbed her coat and opened the door. Mr. Burks walked through the doorway, and she followed suit, closing the door behind her.&nbsp; -------------------------- The sun was shining, unusual for a Wednesday in May. Mia was walking at a brisk pace through the bustling village, making it hard for Mr. Burks to keep up. Soon, they arrived at the Palace Restaurant.&nbsp;Mia strode in and walked up to a man sitting at a small table.

In the life of a monkey It’s playtime and fun&nbsp; And bright bananas in the sun Running while eating Swinging and jumping Like a kid on the monkey bars&nbsp; Its fur coarse and stiff And eyes like big bright balloons&nbsp; His tail like a whisk&nbsp; whirls around like a whip

Seldom solemn Mostly mischievous You love to swing from&nbsp; Branch to branch by Your fingers Toes and Even your&nbsp; Tail How does the&nbsp; World look Up Side D O W N ?

With the amount of brain activity from the past fifteen years, it indicates that you had a different life when you were in the coma, and may have lived a life made from your imagination.” “What? All of that was real, take me back to the palace immediately,” I demanded harshly. “Maya will need a mental hospital,” the doctor told my family, ignoring my protests. “Whose Maya?” I asked, confused. “You.”

her face. ‘Imperfections’ like her birthmark are pretty rare as it is, and especially foreign to the Instructors. That’s probably why Instructors follow her around like dogs.” He laughed. “Hey, look, it really is the dog-headed one this time.” Ray’s heart skipped a beat. He turned his head to see the Instructor that shackled him and gave him his cut lip. The cuts hurt even more looking at it. Ray quickly dropped his head, trying to get his breathing under control. His hands balled into fists. The older boy noticed this and kept quiet, only to speak up again a few minutes later. “My name is Charles, by the way.” They got up to put their breakfasts away, throwing whatever was left—an untouched sandwich from Ray—into a garbage can, then giving the empty plates to an Instructor. Charles went back to his table, but Ray milled around for the time they had left. What comes next? What are they going to do to me? A voice over the loudspeakers said, “It is now 0800 hours. It is now 0800 hours. Please make your way to the testing rooms. Please make your way to the testing rooms.” Is that what the ‘Testing Wing’ is for?

Children moved to the double doors at the back of the hall, sweeping Ray up in the current. Instructors guided them to the elevators, and from there, the “Testing Wing” floor, which was lined with doors and rooms similar to the area of the facility where Ray woke up. Being in the first elevator to arrive, he and a dozen other kids were escorted to the first testing room. It was not what Ray was expecting at all. The room was pitch-dark with black curtains criss-crossing from one side of the room to the other, forming small cubicle-like stations. Each one had a chair, a desk, and a computer, which were the only sources of light in the entire room. Each child made their way to one of the cubicles, pulling back curtains to get to one in the middle, sitting readily on the chairs. Ray was the last one left, and the Instructor gave him a push. He stumbled forward, almost falling, but regained his balance just in time for the Instructor to close the door. When he made it to the last remaining curtain cubicle, a loud voice over a speaker blared, “It is time for your first test of the day, lasting from 0810 hours to 0900 hours. There will be 60 questions on basic mathematics. Good luck.” The computer screens glowed brighter as the first question popped up on the screen. Ray’s eyes widened to the frenzy

The man’s face paled until his dark tan skin nearly became white. Sweat gathered in pools on his body. They were looking for his daughter. They were looking for his daughter. What would they do to her? Could he protect her? What could he do? What could he do? “She—she’s right out—out back,” he whispered. Had he just sacrificed his daughter? The men on horses smiled. “Thank you for your cooperation.” They headed out to the back of the house. The father followed them, shaking violently, cursing himself. A girl was standing there. Vivid bluish-gray eyes framed by locks of dark brown hair, possibly eight or so years old, seemingly starving. The men took all the details in, occasionally checking the scroll they carried with them. She was wearing a ragged dress that was too small for her, the skirt barely reaching her mid-thigh. Her mouth opened ever so slightly, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she bowed to them, slowly and calmly. She didn’t rise until they told her to, and even then she bowed her head, her gray eyes pensive and searching for something none of them could see. The father held his breath.

Maybe they were here to send her to school. Maybe they were going to give them a job opportunity. Maybe they would finally leave this place. The father grasped at these unsubstantial dreams, keeping his mind away from any thoughts involving harm to his daughter. Even though he knew that they were here for an entirely different reason. Even though he knew there was no escape from here. Not truly. After what seemed like an eternity of the noblemen scrutinizing his daughter, as she stood stiller than a mountain, they turned to the father, and the head of the pack, the one in the ponytail, said, “We need to take her with us. You are welcome to join. She may need you.” The whole situation was so surreal he wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to run away. Run far, far, far, away from here. But alas, he didn’t get a choice. He simply nodded, being careful not to reveal the war rampaging through his mind in front of his daughter. The man smiled. “I believe it is time for introductions. I am Count Xavier. If your daughter is the one we are searching for, we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other. If not, you can forget you even met me.” The father knew he’d never

“Morrigan.”&nbsp; The doctor’s sharp voice snapped her out of her reverie. “What do you want now? You told me what you wanted to tell me, now leave me alone.” Her desire to capture him had melted away, and had been replaced by the need to rush to the Capitol, to avenge the so-called ‘Lost Ones’. The doctor took on a smirk. “Morrigan, do you ever wonder why you are the Union’s most prized warrior, even though you have no money, property, or even no influential parents?” “I know why. I am the best fighter they have ever seen. I am the most skilled warrior.” He started to laugh. “If you are their most skilled warrior,” he said, doubled over from laughter, “then why is the only thing you have ever done rescue Lost Ones?”&nbsp; “I…” She stared into space. “I…” “It is because, my dear Morrigan,” Elliot said, wiping his eyes, “You…are the true Queen.”&nbsp; Morrigan started, dumbfounded.&nbsp; “You have the most powerful magic in the universe, Morrigan, because you are the Queen. The Union is an uprising that kicked you off the throne, wiped your memories, and gave you a job as their ‘best warrior’ so that they could keep an eye on you.”

Morrigan’s fist slammed on the shield. “You’re lying,” she snarled, eyes feral.&nbsp; “Tell me, Morrigan. Do you think I am lying?”&nbsp; Morrigan slammed her fist against the force field once more, then pushed herself off and paced. “So what do we do now?”&nbsp; Elliot scoffed. “WE? You were the one who was attacking me earlier.” “Elliot, don’t make a fool out of yourself. You brought me here for a reason. And that reason is not to tell me I’m the legendary Phantom Queen, then send me on my way.” “Hahaha. Perceptive as always. Come along now.” He retracted the magnetic shield and opened a hidden door. Morrigan followed, walking down the steep passageway. The walls were a cold stone.&nbsp; He led her into a circled room filled with computers.&nbsp; “These are the most high-tech computers we have, solely focused on calculating every possible outcome of the rebellion. You are the queen on our chess board, Morrigan. The most powerful piece.” “Well then, who is the king? The queen may be powerful, but she is also expendable. The queen is easily replaced by a pawn who infiltrates the other side.”

My cousins and I leap towards the candy store, seeing who could reach the entrance with the fewest steps. We push each other and laugh the entirety of the way there, expecting to be met with the delicious and sweet taste that would soon be in our mouths. Finally, we took our last steps and arrived at the door. Excited to explore the interior of the building, we burst through the doors. Our hopes and dreams of the mountains of candy of every type we could imagine were quickly extinguished and our attention was quickly diverted from the assortments of candy displayed among the walls, to the woman with tears in her eyes furiously shrieking at the candy shop cashier.

I vividly remember when I saw her, she had a very distinct look on her face. She didn’t look mad or furious as you would expect with the tone of her voice, but frantic and worried, almost frustrated. After listening to the woman distraughtly curse the workers out, we began to semi-understand what was happening. She was yelling at the workers for not giving her a cup of water? Still thunderstruck and puzzled, my mother politely asked the woman what the problem was. The woman and my mother conversed, and within seconds my mom sprinted out of the store and to our car. In a flash she was back with my inhaler and gave it to the woman and together they ran out of the store.

Eleven-year-old me was shocked, why had my mother just given my inhaler to a stranger, and ran out of the store leaving me and my cousins unsupervised in the store? I was very concerned about my inhaler and less about the strange woman's problem. Soon my mother returned along with the other woman who was frantically thanking my mother for some reason. After the unexpected situation, we left and nothing was said about the incident, well not to me at least.&nbsp;

When a shark sees you&nbsp; Plowing forward catching everything in its path Like a farmer assembling&nbsp; The crops that were just pulled It moves through the water&nbsp; Gracefully&nbsp; Like a track runner running The fish sinking into the shark's mouth Like steph sinking shots King of the ocean&nbsp; The loner Has nothing to fear It makes me think Of power and strength&nbsp; It is Unstoppable!

Fur dark like Ash, Eyes luminous like A moonlit&nbsp; Pond. Your reflection, Blurred, Twisted. Made a monster. Together like Cement. Two hatchlings In a&nbsp; Nest. A litter of Cubs in a Den.

You hunt Together. Swift as a&nbsp; Leopard. Paws lifting, Flying through&nbsp; The air, Like a hawk After prey. You stay Together. You hunt Together. Yet you stand Alone.

&nbsp;“Miss!! Please get down from there! I am sure your parents would not like you being up there!” a man with black hair and black eyes said, his eyes wide with worry.&nbsp; “Don’t worry, mister, I won’t fall!” a girl's voice called out. The black haired man squinted his eyes in order to see a red haired woman swinging her legs on top of one of the crows nests. Drops of sweat could be seen forming at the man’s forehead, and he anxiously gripped the end of his sailor uniform, thinking of what could happen. The more he thought about possible outcomes the tighter he gripped his shirt. &nbsp;If the girl were to fall, then he would certainly lose his job. He could just see it happening, too. His captain would walk towards him, a fake smile painted on his ugly yellow face, and he would say in a very kind voice, “Now, Robert, you know we can’t take the risk of any more of our passengers getting hurt.” Then the captain would be likely to sigh. A fake regretful look on his face. “I am very sad to inform you that we will have to drop you off at the next stop.”

“Miss!! Please get down from the crow nest! You could fall and hurt yourself badly!” Robert called out again, more annoyed this time and wishing that the girl would just listen to him and get down already. The girl’s light voice brought him out of his thoughts. “Alright, alright! I am coming down! No need to be so pushy about it!” The girl carefully came down the ladder that was there for the sailors and looked at Robert. The girl had an odd hair color. One that he had never seen before. The girl had bright red hair that reminded him of the sunset. Robert bet the girl’s hair could rival a field of strawberries. Robert, or Rob as his mates call him, was once again torn out of his thoughts by the red haired girl’s voice.&nbsp; “It is awfully nice meeting you, sir, but I am afraid I have to go.” Robert snapped out of his trance and nodded, stepping aside for the red haired girl to pass. “The same to you,” he replied. Robert scratched his black hair for a little bit and shrugged his shoulders.&nbsp;If he did not get back to work soon, then the captain was sure to have his hide later.

She clambered down the stairs, burst open the medicine cabinet, grabbed the thermometer and clambered back up the stairs, “Use this,” she said. I stuck the thermometer in my throat and waited frantically. The thermometer beeped and Amelie pulled` it out, “It’s 97 F, I guess you don’t have a fever. Maybe you’re dehydrated, or tired. Do you feel lightheaded?” “I feel fine. I mean I’m a bit shocked because I just saw a dead guy. But I- I feel fine.” “Go take a nap, drink some water. Just rest, alright?” Amelie reassured me. I nodded and walked to my room. Worries intruded my mind, but I tried to push them out.&nbsp; “I know you're worrying, just get to bed, please,” Amelie yelled across the hallway. I snuggled under my sheets and tried to fall asleep. But I mean c’mon, I just saw a dead guy. I stared at my ceiling for a while and tried to make myself fall asleep. Long story short, it didn’t work. I needed to go back. I needed to find Mr. Goldforth.&nbsp;

I crept out of my bed and tiptoed up to the attic. I got to the door and stopped myself. Should I really do this?&nbsp; “M-mr. Goldforth?” I whispered. “You’re back?” he croaked. I jumped and stepped back.&nbsp; “What’s the problem?” The door creaked open, and I saw Mr. Goldforth in all of his glory. His sharp, green eyes still seemed as if they were piercing into my soul, and his presence made me shiver. “Sir, I have a question?” I said, trembling with fear. “Yeah and so do I. How on earth can you see me?” he bellowed.&nbsp; “Well I’m really not sure. But we’re going to have to figure this out because I really don’t think I’m hallucinating anymore,” I said frantically.&nbsp; Mr. Goldforth rubbed his temples, “Alright, but first can you deliver a letter for me. To Dahlia?”

The Comfort of Control: A Grocery Shopping Expedition by Maya Agrawal 

“Number 96?” The man at the deli called our number after a wait that seemed to last forever. He was an old man with an insanely bushy beard that looked like a sheep on his face. I rushed to get my dad from the fruit aisle, so I didn’t have to order myself. Once he got there, he began listing off everything we needed, American cheese, Swiss cheese, Turkey, and last but not least a single sliver of provolone cheese. I slowly unwrapped the small slice and threw away the brown wax paper. I began to take my first bite. To be honest, the actual cheese was nothing special and it was actually kind of terrible and smelled weird, but it was part of my Saturday routine. My dad would wake me up in the morning so we could leave. We would take his old, rickety, gray BMW that we had driven for over 12 years. It was almost falling apart at the seam and we were constantly taking it to the repair shop, but it was our George. Yes the car's name was George and no I didn’t name it, my dad and mom did when they first got it. I hopped in the backseat and off we went. We would pull into the dark parking garage and collect our bags. My dad was always very insistent that we used reusable bags. He hated using those crappy, blue, plastic Giant Eagle bags that would always break from the weight of our groceries. He would hold my hand which was almost three times smaller than his, as we headed over to grab our shopping cart. I bolted to find a seat in my favorite shopping cart, which was the red race car with the checkered pattern on the side.

This was by far the most important part of our entire shopping experience. The only way I would ever step into that Giant Eagle is if I was sitting in that cart. There was no debate; it was routine. We would take the elevator up and of course I pushed the button. It would be bustling and crowded once we reached the first floor. Grandparents, babies, college students, and single moms or dads were everywhere. It was like the entire Giant Eagle was alive with all different types of people. My dad would unfold his list with his perfect handwriting on a post-It note. One of the things I loved about my dad was how organized everything was. He had all of our groceries categorized by area and type on the list and the shopping cart was perfectly organized. He liked to fill his own bags and put the diary items with the dairy and the fruits and vegetables together. I was fascinated by his system. I loved it. Everything had its place and there was always a right answer. Later in life, I would find out that I had the same systemic approach as he did. We would start at the bakery area and grab bread and cookies and cupcakes if needed and then we would head to the fruits, vegetables and deli section. This is where I received my routine slice of provolone cheese. Like I said before, it was actually kind of disgusting, but it was part of my routine. The same way I loved my dad’s organizational system, I loved routines. It was the same idea. Everything had a place and time and there was always a right answer. Furthermore, I was in control of the situation and knew exactly what was going to happen. There was nothing left to chance. We would finish shopping in the frozen food.

Who was it? It was my mom! She informed me that I would be meeting my sister tomorrow, and that my aunt and my mom's friend Jamie would be picking me up from school. For the rest of the day all I could think about was my new sister and imagined what she would look like, what color her eyes would be, and what her personality was. Even throughout the chilly Halloween evening, I still couldn’t comprehend that I was a brother of two younger siblings. I lay in bed tucked under my warm covers, thinking about how big of a responsibility it was going to be to have two younger siblings look up to me.

Their eyes moved up and down as they scanned the text and shared knowing looks. Then the tall officer looked me straight in the eyes. “Your father’s will states that you were to inherit your father’s company, house, and most of his money in the circumstance of anything happening to Amara. Is this correct?” he questioned. &nbsp;&nbsp;I gave a small nod, and I felt myself begin to sweat. It’s true; I was second in line after Amara to receive the majority of my father’s assets, but it hadn’t bothered me when I found out at the will reading. My father knew I wanted to start my own company one day and make my own money. So, he gave Amara most of the money, his company, and his colossal home. He gave me a small vacation house he had in the Bahamas as well as a few jewelry items that were his mother’s. I was more than grateful, and although Amara couldn’t use her money until she came of age, I knew she was too. Especially since her mother had passed, and her father was in jail. She didn’t have anyone to take care of her except my mother.&nbsp; &nbsp;I understood what the officers were getting at: that I killed Amara in hopes to gain the fortune after she died.&nbsp;

&nbsp;“We also identified your fingerprints on the gun. And although they were&nbsp; &nbsp;smudged, they without a doubt belonged to you.” &nbsp;&nbsp;I stared at my mother, silently begging her to say something, to defend me. But she just sat there with a shocked expression on her face. Then she turned to me. &nbsp;&nbsp;“Bella, how could you do this?” She looked betrayed. I bet she didn’t feel as betrayed as I did.&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“B-but Mom, you know I didn’t,” I stuttered. “Y-you told me to grab the gun.” &nbsp;&nbsp;I wish I could tell my voice to stop wavering and stop making myself look more guilty, but I just felt so mad, so scared, so hurt.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“We’re going to need to take you down to the station,” one of the officers said, while the other one walked towards me with a pair of handcuffs. &nbsp;&nbsp;Before I could think, I started to run. I ran out of the living room and spotted my mother’s phone lying on the wooden coffee table and quickly grabbed it.

One of the four elements As basic as sliced bread Yet as useful as a Swiss Army knife&nbsp; Flaming fire fights fear It fights the fear of freezing Keeping people warm in the winter Consuming wood like a hungry child&nbsp; Fire has its downsides though Fire is a virus spreading from building to building&nbsp; Not stopping until it has infected every flammable thing Cough-cough Another forest is gone

A moose Is a brick wall Too big To take down Too strong&nbsp; To stumble With antlers&nbsp; To kill Like an offensive linemen Too substantial&nbsp; To drill&nbsp; Or as big as a building Towering over its surroundings&nbsp; You drive down the road&nbsp; With your foot on the gas It smacks the glass You both go splat&nbsp; And that is that

A blanket is&nbsp; The soft moss Of a tranquil forest A blanket is a friend Heals you in a time of need My hands are tickled As I caress the fibers of The plush fleece I drape the cloak of comfort Over me&nbsp; It hugs me tight&nbsp; Warms me to the core It is a shoulder to cry on A bunker of safety It allows you to rest When overwhelmed&nbsp; It holds you and Melts your troubles&nbsp;

Hear the alarm clock, Cold as ice, Ringing downfall to the night, Unavoidable, Snuggle up into your covers, As they become cool, crisp, and crumbly Hear the birds chirp like kryptonite to your ears, Telling you to wake up, See the light as your sheets vanish, Only to return at night, Knowing the night is over, Enhance the dreadful light

of triangles, lines, and circles across the screen. “Find x”…? From this? What? How? Confusion and panic began to set in as he watched the timer in the corner of the screen. 48:39, 48:38, 48:37… Pretty soon, he just began to guess the answers in hopes he’d be correct. What did the Instructors see in him that was smart enough to solve these tests? Why was he even here? Soon enough, it was 9:00. Ray sighed. At least he was able to answer some questions without guessing, and he marked down an answer for all of them. He thought back to what the girl, Sophie, had said. “Do good, and you’ll be rewarded. If not, then…” Her face at that moment…how it darkened, filled with both grief and anger. She had seen something grave, that much was for certain. Ray briefly wondered if he would see something like that, too, and bristled. What if it happened to him? The same voice came over the speakers again. “It is now 0900 hours. It is now 0900 hours. You will be given a brief break. Report to the Combat Wing at 0930 hours.” As Ray left the room, he noticed a sitting area where many children were conversing. “Conversing” was the wrong word. More like “sitting blankly making small comments to the people beside them.” Ray sat down in one of the chairs, surprised

at how comfortable it was. Of course, he thought, this place isn’t an actual prison. Makes sense that the seats are comfy. They want us to feel at home here. He tensed up at the thought. It was like the bed he woke up in. Comfortable, warm…the shelves filled with books… What else were the Instructors going to provide in order for them to stay? There was no use trying to convince the kids, anyway. There was no escape from here. Ray rested his head on his arm and recoiled at the stinging on his cheek. His injuries had been bothering him all day. And the Combat Wing? What even was that? He expected more injuries to follow after spending time there. His eyes scanned the room. There were bookshelves and tables with tiny cupcakes and fruits. A clock, which read roughly 9:10, was on the wall. Ray peered at the clock. It boasted an old-fashioned design, with a black background and silver arms reaching to Roman numerals, a rose surrounded by geometric shapes intertwining around each other in the background. His mother had a similar one. He looked away. It was too painful to think of her now. Besides, it was because of her and his father that he was here. They let the Instructors take him away. That was that.

For the rest of that week, the thought couldn’t leave my head. What had happened at the candy store? Finally after a week or so, I built up the courage to ask my mom. She told me the entire story. The mother was taking her kid with her to the grocery store and her kid suddenly began to have an asthma attack, and the closest place to her was the candy shop. Quickly she pulled over and ran in. She asked the employees for a cup of water for her son, so she could possibly aid him and help him get some air in. They refused even though they had all of the resources necessary to help her son all because of the Covid-19 guidelines in place at the store and how people might see them if they break them. So the mother, terrified she may lose her son because he couldn’t breath, had lost it. All of her emotions cascaded out. Her fear, worry, anger, and frustration all were unleashed like a tsunami on a city. When my mother asked what was happening she understood the other woman's situation and ran to get my inhaler to help the woman's kid. They ran out of the store together and helped her son use the inhaler. Finally he could fill his lungs with oxygen.

This moment will forever resonate within me because I remember looking back on it. Similar to the young boy , I have asthma. I know how he felt. Terrified.&nbsp;That was his first severe asthma attack. When anyone experiences an asthma attack for the first time, you are suddenly confronted by the overwhelming fear of the unknown. This kid had no idea what to expect and that is horrifying.&nbsp;The part however that I was truly disappointed with was the fact that the workers were too worried about what people would think of them if they broke a COVID-19 rule to even do the smallest task to assist a fellow human being. The more I think about it the more it comes to my realization that sadly, in our day and generation, some people are more attentive to others' perception of them than they are about the well-being of others. People are putting their reputation before anything else. In specific situations, this might be acceptable, but in cases like my own where I witnessed people putting their fear of being judged before the life of another person, it is tragic. I have hope that in the future, our society can come to understand that others’ opinions of us do not matter when it comes to&nbsp;the importance and value of humanity.&nbsp;and that we will once again treat each other with the respect and care that we each deserve.

Murder in the Mansion&nbsp; by Anna Grace Shultz

It was a sunny May morning in Yorkshire, England. World War II was ending, and everyone seemed to be happier. Even the weather seemed cheerier, with the sun acting like a big yellow lemon drop amidst a light blue sky filled with puffy clouds.&nbsp; “Miss Limen, can I be of any service?” Mia Limen’s butler walked towards her in a fashionable one-piece suit.&nbsp; “Oh, Carson! I have told you a million times to call me Mia! Miss Limen is my older sister, Veronica, not me.” Mia laughed and kept scribbling in her journal.&nbsp; “Miss Limen, you know that I can not call you Mia, it would be against my moral code. I must call you Miss Limen, and again I will ask you if I can be of any service,” Carson asked respectfully.&nbsp; “Carson! I don’t need a single thing! I just need some peace and quiet so that I can document my past cases.” Mia looked up from her journal, exasperated.

“All right, I will let you be.” Carson left, his shiny black shoes shuffling along the study floor. As soon as he had left the room, the telephone rang.&nbsp; “Hello?” Mia called. “Is this Mia Limen?” a gruff voice asked from the other side of the line. “Yes, how may I help you?” Mia replied. “I am Jonathan Burks of The Burks and Bailey Detective Agency, and I would like to offer you a new case to solve.” Mr. Burks’ voice softened immediately as soon as he heard Mia’s voice.&nbsp; “Oh? What type of case would this be?” Mia inquired, thoughtfully perching her pen behind her ear.&nbsp; “Oh, Miss Limen, you know we only solve murders. How about we meet up this morning to discuss more. ” Mr. Burks took a bite out of his apple.&nbsp;&nbsp; “Alright, where are you located?” Mia got out a notepad and took the pen out of her hair.&nbsp; “3rd floor, 173 Park Avenue, in the village of Yorkshire.”

Hello there! My name is Ralphie! I’m a dragon and I live in Cloudsburgh with all the other dragons. My dream is to be a doctor. I’m Doctor Steve’s apprentice right now. Well…technically I’m an assistant, but I think “apprentice” sounds cooler than “assistant.” Doctor Steve says that I’m a really good assistant/apprentice. I organize all of his notes by importance, relevance, and color twice an hour. Doctor Steve gave me a special walkie-talkie. Everytime he needs me to do something he reaches me through the walkie-talkie. Now if you excuse me, I have to get a doughnut. I like to reward myself with a doughnut when I complete a task. I just organized Doctor Steve’s notes so I’m rewarding myself. “Ralphie!! Do you have my chocolate?!?!” Doctor Steve yells as he crackles from the other side of the walkie-talkie. “On it!!” I call back through the walkie-talkie.

Doctor Steve loves chocolate. I’ve tried to get him into chocolate doughnuts because doughnuts are clearly the superior treat. However, Doctor Steve doesn’t like chocolate flavored things, he just likes chocolate. I ran to the secret supply in the back of the office. I grab two pieces of chocolate because Doctor Steve has been really stressed lately and I feel like he could use the extra piece. I also grab my doughnut while I’m back there. “Here’s your chocolate,” I say, handing him his chocolate and chewing on my doughnut. “Thank you!” He said. “Sorry I snapped over the walkie-talkie. I’m just really confused. There’s been a lot of people coming to the hospital recently with strange symptoms. Some of those people have even disappeared from the rooms and all they leave is some food behind.” “That is odd.” I contemplate. “Do you want time to organize your notes about this situation?” “Oh no, you’re good. Go home and rest. We will have a big day ahead of us tomorrow,” Doctor Steve answered. I walk home, excited for what tomorrow will bring. I wave

to Rosemary. She is the prettiest dragon in Cloudsburgh. Her scales are a pink ombré, and her holographic midriff is absolutely gorgeous. I look foolish standing next to her with my blood orange scales and lime green midriff. I’ve had a crush on her since the 2nd grade. When she bats her eyelashes, I feel like I’m going to faint. I’m 15 years old now and I’m working up the courage to ask her out, but today is not the day. I have to go home and get ready for tomorrow. I will have school until 3:45pm tomorrow and then have to head into Doctor Steve’s office.&nbsp; I see my best friend Mike on my way home. Mike has bright tomato red scales and sky blue midriff. “Hey Ralphie! Wanna come over and hang out?” Mike asked. “Sorry! Busy day tomorrow, I gotta rest up! I’ll catch you later,” I replied “You’re always working! You’re no fun!” Mike scolded. “Mike, you know this has always been my dream,” I said, slightly annoyed with his tone towards me. I soared home and got a snack. I grabbed fresh raindrops, I just love those!

I watch an episode of my favorite show, Ninja Dragon, and get ready to call it a day. I snuggle up in my squishy cloud (us dragons have our own personal sleeping clouds as our beds, they are the best) , and I feel my tired bones relax.&nbsp; I wake up the next morning and get a new record time of getting ready for school. I’m so excited to help Dr. Steve solve the puzzle to this mysterious illness after I finish school. I come into the office with a half dozen box of doughnuts for me and two bars of chocolate for the doctor. “Thank you, I needed this,” Dr. Steve says with an undertone of relief in his voice. “You got it!” I said with a little smile. I organize all of Dr. Steve’s notes so we can start fresh with this puzzle. I notice that the first 5 to be infected were female, but Dr. Steve says that is just a coincidence because later on there is a variety of males and females. We decide to interview the current patients who were infected. Dr. Steve does the behind-the-scenes stuff. He works on research and creates medicines and cures, while Dr. Fred is on the frontlines taking care of the patients and giving them

unbearably pitiful attempt—but she easily dodged it. She spun around to face him and grabbed his head in her hands, shoving him down onto the sewing table, a delightful cracking noise ringing out. “I’m sorry I have to do this,” she murmured, wrestling the needle out of Roma’s hand. Then she sped out of the Sewing Room. The only things left were Roma, in a daze, silent tears slipping from his remaining blue eye, and the abundance of ragdolls cascading over the walls and floor of the room. Each one was modeled from Nadezhda’s targets for Roma and Sasha’s missions…or they were of past children she “created”. Children who turned out to be failures. Roma tried to stand up, to reach his sister before it was too late, but he fell to his knees. He looked at the dolls. Sasha would be joining their ranks soon. *&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;* The officer and the doctor looked at the newly-arrived DNA test results for what felt like the millionth time that hour. The little girl’s DNA didn’t match anybody they had

as possible suspects. They couldn’t find any records on her existence, either, but did find an old birth certificate from about seven years ago. The downside was that the only photo of it was charred, as if it had been in a fire. All records of a “Sasha Ami…” were missing afterwards, without a death certificate. Did someone steal them? The officer groaned. He was still sickened by the faces of those children, how they brutally stabbed the old couple as seen from the security cameras. How did those kids come to be like that? It felt straight out of a horror movie. He shuddered. He had seen too many of those to handle this case without fear. Suddenly, a woman ran into the room. She was working on the case as well, and the officer could tell from the urgency in her eyes that she had important news to share. She held a paper in her hand. “I—I found,” she spluttered, “I found something!” The doctor was the first one over, and he snatched the paper from her. The officer walked to them. The paper was an article that told of a young girl going

The Instructors pushed Ray to the large, steel doors covered in bolts and locks and sensors and everything else designed to keep humans away. Ray peered at the two Instructors, one with a cat’s head, one with a dog’s head. He had heard about them, of course; they were the robots in suits with animal-like heads that took kids away to their research facilities. Their simply-designed, cartoonish heads were meant to appear “approachable” and “cute”,&nbsp;so as to not scare children away. Ray would’ve laughed at that. Approachable, really? But he didn’t laugh now. Now, it was his reality. When they came to his house to take him away—only a few hours ago—, they threw him into a white shirt and pants and handcuffed him before explaining anything. As if there was something to be explained. Everyone feared the day their kids would be taken away for research. All parents would pray to whatever omniscient entity they believed in that their child would have a safe and happy life. They’d hope that someone, something, anything, would listen. But that wasn’t always the case.

Ray observed his trembling hands. The cuffs had damaged his wrists, leaving bright red skin and bleeding lacerations. He winced. It really hurt. Ray’s parents stood a little farther off, staring at the Instructors and the vast research facility behind them with wide, fretful eyes. The cold turned their faces pink and red. This was the last time he’d ever see his parents, Ray realized. His eyes watered, and the ugly, large bruise and bleeding lip on his face that the Instructors had given him stung ever harder. The cat-headed one’s voice box crackled, indicating that it was about to speak. “Go on,” it coaxed. “Say goodbye to your parents.” Ray hesitantly walked towards the place where his mom and dad were standing. He knew he couldn’t make a run for it, so at least he could start getting used to doing what the Instructors asked of him. He remembered what his parents said to him a long time ago, words of comfort after he first learned about the Instructors from a classmate whose sister got taken away. “Don’t worry, Ray. We’ll never be separated. Don’t be

I am broken&nbsp; My soul is shattered My heart is a void Empty&nbsp; My mind is cracked Memories slipping through Lost in the current of the wind&nbsp; I can’t think Nothing but rage&nbsp; Madness&nbsp; Everything is lost&nbsp; Nothing has purpose Nothing will have purpose&nbsp; Until&nbsp; I&nbsp; Have&nbsp; My&nbsp; Revenge

Until I make Them hurt&nbsp; Hurt like They have hurt me&nbsp; Broken like I am&nbsp; Mad like I am&nbsp; Then&nbsp; I will have my peace&nbsp; My serenity&nbsp; But until then&nbsp; I am insane&nbsp; I am broken&nbsp; I am shattered&nbsp; And I will be&nbsp; The Joker&nbsp;

Masters&nbsp; Overseers&nbsp; Directors&nbsp; Puppeteers&nbsp; The ones who commandeer&nbsp; My&nbsp; Every&nbsp; Move&nbsp; I am in debt to them&nbsp; They use that to control me&nbsp; I failed once I cannot fail again&nbsp; I have the power everyone fears&nbsp; I must prove I am worthy&nbsp; Or I will be replaced&nbsp; I am controlled by the strings of the game&nbsp; Trapped until the strings are cut&nbsp; The Puppet

But it didn’t make sense, why my mom and sister? Why not the king, or the next in line for the throne? For the next few days, I barely slept; all I cared about was finding them. I didn’t talk to anyone, and even though no one said it, we all secretly knew there was no hope.&nbsp; &nbsp;“Your majesty.” I looked up to see that it was Ali. He and I got along better than most guards.&nbsp;“King Sulaiman wishes to see you.”&nbsp; &nbsp;“Tell him 5 minutes.” On my way to the throne room, I felt uneasy. What did he want? I felt like I was being watched. Maybe I was just on my guard after the recent events, but I didn’t think that was it.&nbsp; &nbsp;“Abiya, I was wondering when you would come.” I looked up and there he was, my father.&nbsp; “King Sulaiman, a pleasure that you would have me,” I said with a bitter taste in my mouth. “Abiya, I have need to speak to you as a father.”&nbsp;He looked.. Scared?

“You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to always be absent, never talk to me, never look out for me.” Anger was fueling my voice. I wanted to storm out right there. &nbsp;“You know I’m busy, and that I do what I can.” &nbsp;“You never did anything for me! You made Ali do it for you because you could never make time for your children.” He looks at me with sadness on his face. “This is not why I called you here, Abiya.” “Then why did you? So you could pretend like everything’s okay? Like mom is not missing?”&nbsp; “Your mom was a honorable woman, but-“ “But what?” &nbsp;“I think it’s time we stop the search.” &nbsp;Thoughts rushed through my head. Had I heard him right? “How could you say such a thing!?”

They came at dusk. On horses. Beautiful, with glossed coats and braided manes. The four men were well dressed, with the green uniforms of the Royal Guard. One was thin and shorter than the others. He had his brown hair tucked in a ponytail and an old, ragged scroll in his hand. It was odd for these men to come this far out to the country, to a poor farming village like this. All the people who lived here had nothing to do with the Royals, and those at the heart of the kingdom rarely bothered about what happened here, here at this village of dilapidated cottages, village witches who have long since forgotten how to cast a spell, ruined men taking pleasure in excessive drinking and debauchery to release their worries or fears. Yet the four men came, scrunching up their noses at the mess that was the home of many. All of a sudden the land quieted, and the people hesitantly wandered back into their homes, in fear of being arrested or taken away, unsure of what the men were doing. But the men rode right through the village, ignoring everyone else, and striding straight to the house that looked the most

dilapidated. The man with the ponytail slid off his horse and went to the doorway. There was no door, it had fallen off its hinges a long time ago. He paused for a moment, uncertain whether he should knock or not, and ended up rapping his knuckles to the wall beside the open doorway, to let whoever was inside know that they had arrived. A man, tall and starved, came to the doorway from the darkness of the house. His eyes were wide as he surveyed the scene. Smoothing down his clothes, he asked, “What can I do for you, Your Excellency?” His eyes grew ever wider than before as he realized his mistake. He bowed immediately so his face almost touched his knees. He had spoken before being spoken to. He would surely be executed. “Rise.” The man paused, assuming he misheard. “Rise,” the nobleman said again, with a grave expression on his face. The man rose. “Where is your daughter?”

Nothing. One second. She looked up from the stone to the ceiling, as if the gems would have an answer. They shined ever so brightly. Five seconds. Her heartbeat sped up. What would they do to her? Nothing had happened. They were expecting something to happen, weren’t they? Or were they glad nothing happened? Was the absence of change a good thing? She had never been so afraid. Nine seconds. She was about to turn around and search the faces of the nobleman for an answer, but before she could… Light. Bright light, coming from the cracks in the stone. The same green as the gems, as the brightness before entering the cave. The light brightened, increasing in intensity until the party was blinded by it. The father’s fear for his daughter had never been stronger. But what if it was

fear of her? That thought he couldn’t bear to think. Covering their eyes and turning their backs, the noblemen grinned. She was it. She was the one. When the light died down and everyone felt it safe to open their eyes again, the girl, still standing by the rock, peered at it. Her gray eyes widened. The markings on the stones had changed. Now they were written in a spiral motion, the center of it being a golden butterfly, the same shade of gold as the script in the door. The count walked up to it, disbelief and awe etched in his face. This was the first time he showed any sign of emotional weakness, and it scared the girl to watch. Oh dear, what would become of her? Frightened tears welled in her eyes. The noblemen crowded around, gently guiding her away from the stone. She looked at her father, but received no reassurance, for he wore the exact same terrified expression. He had finally given in to the fear. Here was one thing that differed between them: he gave in or gave up too easily. The girl was determined to put up a fight. Seeing her father’s hopeless expression reminded her of this decision, and she managed to keep from crying, at least for the next minute. The nobleman discussed among themselves in hushed

And the door swung open. The party silently wandered inside, led by the count, shocked by the sight they had seen. The girl turned to her father, her eyes asking if he was okay, when she saw the look on his face. It was a mix of terror and wonder. She followed his gaze out to the rest of the cavern the door led them to…and soon had the same expression on her face. The cavern seemed a little over 20 meters long. The floor was covered in a layer of rich green grass that traveled up to the middle of the girl's lower leg. A few large boulders were scattered around. It was lovely. But the real magic happened when the count blew out the torch. All of a sudden, stars began to glow across the ceiling of the cavern. Wait, the girl realized, not stars. Crystals. An immeasurable number of green crystals were splayed across the ceiling, each of them a tiny glowing dot, lighting up the cavern. The beauty of it all, coupled with the boulders and bright grass, took the girl’s breath away. So this is where the green glow came from. So this is where the magic came from. The count led the group into the cavern. The grass was

much softer than it seemed. As they wandered between boulders to the center of the space, a differently-shaped rock appeared. It was to the waist height of the count, small at the bottom, widening out at the top, like a table or panel. Across the top there were markings in the same foreign language as the door and scroll, carved into the gray stone. The count looked down at it. He turned to the girl. “Touch it. Please.” The girl stared at him, raising her eyebrows. She turned to her father, his face blank and gray. He nodded to her, and she turned back to the count. He wiped at his face with a handkerchief and nodded to her as well, his face stone. Shakily, she walked to the rock. She inspected the markings, the care taken to etch the foreign letters and words into the stone, the line weight varying with each stroke, as if it was as simple as painting it on. Elvish work again? This time, the girl could not be sure. It didn’t feel as true. After a few moments, she turned back to the noblemen for a final time, unsure of what was waiting for her. They only looked back expectantly. With clammy hands and a raging heartbeat, she touched the stone.

what a cycle was, the Instructor left the hall. Ray looked around and saw kids forming lines to kiosks. He followed them, but on his way there, someone tapped his shoulder. He stiffened in surprise and turned around. Behind him was a girl. A very beautiful girl. Long, wisteria-colored hair and curtain bangs framed expressionless brown eyes, and a giant brown birthmark engulfed half her face. She opened her mouth to speak. “Those kiosks are reserved for people who have been here for at least three cycles. You need a special key for those, a certificate of surviving your first year here. They also give you better food. That’s the system here. Do good, and you’ll be rewarded. If not, then…” Her face darkened. “Anyway, newcomers like you go to the kiosks over there.” She pointed to the side, then leaned towards him, whispering, “That’s a nasty bruise you got there. Sorry it happened.” Noticing his face reddening, she stepped back, waved goodbye, and walked to her designated table. So a cycle is four months, Ray thought, the image of the girl’s empty expression in his mind. Is that what was to become of him? Like all the other kids he’d seen, would he turn lifeless? He walked to the kiosks the girl had pointed out, tapped the screen, and saw different breakfast options

come up. He absentmindedly chose the first one, a breakfast sandwich, and the number 47 came on the screen. As if on cue, a “Forty-seven!” was sounded over hidden loudspeakers in the ceiling of the hall, and Ray, seeing some other children walking to the counter, followed them. When he found his sandwich there, he brought it back to his assigned table, numbers continuously ringing through the speakers in the background. There were four other people around the circular table, three boys and a girl, all in the same uniform as Ray. A boy with curly shoulder-length hair nodded to him with a small smile. “You’re new?” “Yeah,” Ray responded. His hand went up to his face, suddenly conscious of his wounds. The other boy nodded again. He seemed a few years older than Ray. He turned his head back to scan the hall. The girl with the birthmark was a few tables away, but there was something strange. An Instructor was beside her, standing almost like a guard. The older boy at his table noticed where Ray was gazing and said, “That’s Sophie. She was the youngest person to be…‘recruited’ here, and probably the most observed one too, because of both her intelligence and

“There are too many factors to count. She is the One. However, there is a downside,” the count continued. The man knew. He knew, he had read the stone already, and it said the worst news any father or mother could possibly hear. But the count just continued, voicing this fear that was rooted in the heart of every parent in the world. “She will save us all, but unfortunately lose her life in the process.” The words echoed in the father’s brain, and he, numb all over, turned to his daughter. Her face showed no change, but her eyes voiced everything, looking to him for an answer. A desperate plea. They welled up in tears. Are you going to save me, daddy? The way you always do? they seemed to cry. He didn’t know. …No, he did know. The answer was that he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything about it. He knew about the prophecy. Grandmother had seen it that last night, foretelling the nobles’ arrival. Oh, how far away that time seemed. She will save us all, but unfortunately lose her life in the process. The words haunted his mind. He looked at his daughter, her vulnerable, terrified eyes, and fell to his knees. He did the only thing a father could do when faced with

this moment, this time, this truth. He embraced his daughter, feeling her tears pour down on his shoulder, and whispered in the language only the two of them shared: “Everything will be okay.”

However, it’s too late. I feel myself shrinking. My bones condense into dough, my blood thickens to a jelly filling. I am now just a doughnut on the floor, the floor of a mouse gray windowless office with one single table with papers scattered on top. I am just a doughnut on the floor.

killed the old couple living in it. The seven year old girl and the thirteen year old boy. Siblings. Not entirely human. Murderers. Who sewed on the cloth? Did they do it to themselves? Are they working with anyone? What were their motives? Who are they? He rubbed his temples. He wasn’t going to sleep that night, that’s for sure. *&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;* From the moment Nadezhda heard the door open from her Sewing Room, she knew the children had completed their task. Sasha’s footsteps swiftly maneuvered down the wooden floors of their cottage, her voice ringing out, “We were indecisive on a method for the job, so we used their kitchen knives. They were very nice. I brought three back.” When she came to where Nadezhda was, she held up three small kitchen knives, caked to the hilt with dried blood. Roma, her older brother, lightly smacked the back of Sasha’s head and said, “Idiot. See how dirty they are? The

police could track us with their dogs if they get the scent of that old couple’s blood. Plus they’re too dirty to eat with.” Sasha lowered her hand, defeated. Nadezhda sighed and shook her head. “What an amateur mistake, Sasha. I save your life and this is how you repay me? You know how difficult it is to move the house again.” Sasha bowed her head and took a few respectful steps back. Roma bristled. Nadezhda made sure not to let her satisfaction show on her face. She knew their history and how to get the responses she wanted out of them. She sighed, feigning forgiveness. “All right, go play outside. Roma, move the house with me.” Sasha walked out, and Roma glared at the ground. He whispered, “You’re not going to leave her this time, right? You did it before…” Nadezhda sighed, for real this time. She walked over to Roma and caressed his face. “My beautiful boy, she’s slowing you down. I made you perfect. But no matter what I do, little Sasha will never be like you. If you leave her now—” Roma jerked away from her.

Dear Dahlia, You may be wondering how you are getting this letter, and I don’t have an explanation. I always have an explanation. But this time, I don’t. All I can say is that I’ve had a little help from Harper Mintz. Yes, the girl that I would always yell at for biking on the lawn. But I need you to know that I love you. That my heart belongs to you, and yours belongs to me. Your heart and my heart will always be old friends. Love, Dewey&nbsp;

like their village, but they didn’t pose any threat. The only spell they could cast was one for healing a small cut, which healed at such a slow pace that it wouldn’t have been very different than if it healed on its own. But Grandmother truly knew magic. Was extremely well-versed in it. She would teach the man’s daughter anything she wanted to know about magic, and she would teach it well. The problem was that she didn’t have a license to teach, or even practice magic, and the girl certainly didn’t have a license to learn. The count eyed them both up and down, then sighed. He would need to tell the whole truth if he wished to retrieve the girl. “You won’t be swayed…I suppose I'll need to tell you everything.” He looked at the other nobles for approval. They nodded, and he turned back to the father and daughter. “Forgive me for this rambling story from far back in time. I suppose we have no other choice, though. “Ages ago, when Our King’s great-great-grandfather, King Alexander V, was ruling the land, his magic scholars saw a prophecy. Magic scholars never dream unless it’s an urgent prophecy, as you know, and this one was seen by every one of them, near and far. Not only the magic scholars, but the court wizards and witches, too. Everyone who

professionally practiced magic saw it, despite the fact that no one other than magic scholars ever saw prophecies. “The prophecy itself foretold a tragedy. A comet speeding toward the planet, bound to destroy it. All life will be lost. But the prophecy showed a bright future, as well. There is one person in this country who can stop the comet—only one. After searching for generations, we had just begun to lose hope, until we found your daughter. She is the One. She will protect us from the comet. “It is clearly written in my copy of the prophecy, and the writing on the stone panel that your daughter just touched before it changed explained it as well. And after it changed, it only gave more confirmation that whoever touches it is the right person. But you know this, don’t you? You read it, right? You know this language,” he whispered as the man’s face turned grey again. He nodded. He had read it. He did know the language. And he knew that it was true. The air pulsed with magic. Grandmother…she taught him magic and the old language. The Old Tongue. So he taught his daughter how to speak it. She couldn’t read it though, which was a good thing, considering what he had seen chiseled in the stone. Something that would change both of their lives.

“We need you to stand up,” the Instructors chorused again. Ray finally lifted his head and looked at them. He didn’t need to say anything. His expression voiced everything he was feeling. The Instructors’ response? They simply looked at each other, an understanding flickering between them. Then, the cat-headed one kicked Ray in the face. As soon as his head cracked against the hard, metal floor, the world went black. *&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;* Ray woke up with a gasp. The world was blurry around him, and panic began to set in. He rubbed his eyes furiously, gasping for more air than his lungs could hold. He blinked aggressively until he could get his bearings. As the world around him became clearer, he realized that he was lying down on a bed. Not a prisoner’s cot, a real bed. Soft sheets covered him up to his chin, and a pillow rested beneath his head. He quickly sat up. Suddenly, a splitting pain exploded through his skull. He instinctively brought his hands to his head, pulling away abruptly when the pain doubled on his injuries. There were bandages on his face. He tentatively touched his cheek,

fingers brushing against a giant square band-aid. Wincing, Ray moved onto his lip, where he felt gauze taped over the cut. There was a bandage around his head as well. Tears sprang to his eyes. The pain was unbearable. Ray looked around the room. It was a nice size, larger than his room back home. The room he’d never return to. His eyes wandered. No, he wouldn’t think of that now. This room was rectangular, with his bed in one corner, two couches and a coffee table in the center, a carpeted floor, walls lined with bookshelves, a closet, and a large desk with a lamp and a small plant. Everything had a uniform color scheme, reflecting somber shades of white, gray, and blue. There were no windows. Ray slipped out of bed and looked down at himself. He was out of the white shirt and pants the Instructors had given him when they took him away. Instead, he was wearing what seemed to be the uniform of this place: a gray sweater vest over a white button-up shirt, a tie, gray pants, white socks, and, placed beside the bed, brown dress shoes. He put them on and looked at his wrists, which were well covered in bandages. It hurt like fire. He peeled back the bandages on one wrist and was relieved to see that it didn’t look infected.

~&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;~&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;~ They rode until midnight. The girl tried to stay awake—successfully, at that—but her eyelids kept drooping over her stormy eyes. She kept telling herself that it would be improper to sleep in front of the nobleman, and that there was a chance she would fall off the horse, since the count would never catch—or touch, for that matter—someone of her origin. So she decided to stay awake. She kept wondering where they could be taking her. Didn’t they ask for her specifically? She did nothing wrong, other than take a few magic lessons from Grandmother without direct authorization from the Capital. She didn’t have magic anyways, so those lessons had gone to waste. Magic was something you were born with, and unfortunately, the child had no magical gift. They rode far out from the village. In fact, there had been no human settlements in sight for five hours. Now they were in a flat, grassy land with dust kicking up behind them and the light of the moon turning the small plants a sickly shade of blue-green. There was a rocky hill up ahead, the only tall landform this far out into the country, and in the middle of the cliff face, an opening omitted a faint green glow from inside the formation. It was difficult to see the light from inside the cliff at the distance they were at, but the girl saw. She saw it vividly.

The light beckoned to her, and she sat up straighter, hearing rustles of the men’s clothing as they turned their heads to her, seeing her change in posture, seeing her grow more attentive. They were nearing their destination. When the horses finally stopped by the rock formation, the gaping entrance of the cave nearly blinded the girl with its green light. She shut her eyes so tight and covered them with her hands, but it was as if the light was imprinted in her brain. She felt her father’s hands lift her off the horse. They were his hands, she knew because they were rough and calloused from working in the fields all day and night, and they were always warm. Warm like the sun. She held on to that image as he led her into the cave. Once they were in, the bright light seemed to decrease. Her hands fell to her sides and she looked into the pitch darkness. Where had the light gone? She looked at the men. They seemed unbothered. She turned to her father. He seemed on the verge of insanity, running his hands through his hair, wiping at his face, rubbing his arms as if he were freezing despite the humid summer air. This was a side of him the girl had never seen before. It bothered her, and she clutched the folds of her skirt, gripping them as if letting go would be the death of her.

“True. But you are the last queen. The last option. The last pawn. You must help the cause.” “I never said I wasn’t going to help. I simply asked if I was expendable.” “Expendability is necessary in the game. The pawns are made to be sacrificed. All pieces are to be sacrificed for the king. In this instance, the king is the cause. The people we are trying to save.”&nbsp; “Elliot, sometimes I forget how…how…callous you can be at times.”&nbsp; He smirked. “This is war, Morrigan. If you cannot see that, then you are not the person for the job.” She rolled her eyes, then browsed the computers, fingers running along the shiny keys. “Impressive. Where did you get the money for these?” He looked at her, secrets glimmering behind his eyes. “Morrigan, if the rebellion was a few measly soldiers, I wouldn’t have shown you this until much later. We have the forces we need to overpower them. Well, save for you, naturally.” “What do I need to do?”&nbsp; Elliot chuckled. “Always perceptive, Morrigan. The battle is mostly fought. The Union is just very good at covering their misgivings.

We just need you to stand on the sidelines while we infiltrate the Capitol, then make a grand entrance as our new ruler.”&nbsp; She frowned, the displeasure apparent on her face. “So I am to be a ghost ruler? Someone to sit on the throne and look powerful while you rule for me? I’m sorry Elliot, but I refuse to be controlled.”&nbsp; “Morrigan, you will be the ruler. None of us are fit to rule but you. You are the heir. However, they would immediately target you. You have no idea how to control the power you yield. You are a novice to your own magic, which makes you a dangerous person to have on the front lines, or even the last lines.”&nbsp; She scowled. “Well, when is the battle going to take place?” Her voice was laced with bitterness.&nbsp; “Tomorrow morning. When the sun breaks the sky, we will attack. Go home, Morrigan. Come back in the morning and we will show you to a viewing room where you can watch the battle and make your entrance. Alright?” He looked at Morrigan questioningly.&nbsp; “I understand, Elliot.” She walked out of the room, thoughts swirling around her head.&nbsp; When she arrived home, she collapsed into her bed, still thinking things over. She couldn’t believe that she was the Phantom Queen. We had thought it to be but a childhood myth.&nbsp;

And I eventually did. After years of confusion and people's pointless attempts to fix me I was diagnosed with Dyslexia: a variable often familial learning disability involving difficulties in acquiring and processing language that is typically manifested by lack of proficiency in reading, writing and spelling. And the first eleven years of my life were answered.&nbsp; Ultimately, looking back I can trace the adversity I faced surrounding my LD to people's lack of education surrounding neurodiversity, and because people tend to forget what others have going on.&nbsp; The only way we can terminate this ignorance is for neurotypical individuals to learn about different neuro diversities and gain understanding of what the world is like for us. “Us” includes some of the most brilliant minds in history like Albert Einstein, Leonardo da Vinci, and Agatha Christie.

Thank you for sharing in our work! Lit Mag wishes you a wonderful summer!

Shady Side Academy Middle School Literary Magazine

His deep green eyes locked eyes with mine, and it was that moment that I knew I would never give up, nor would I ever obey this man who claimed to be my father. “Well, we spent so many hours, and some many men have given up. We need to use our forces for more.. important needs.”&nbsp; “Important needs!?” I said with so much anger in my voice that the castle practically shook.&nbsp;&nbsp; “There is nothing more important than my mother, I will not give up.” I started to cry, emotions flowing out of me. “I’m sorry, but we need our men in other places. It's been four weeks, Abiya, If they don’t turn up soon, well...” &nbsp;“I can’t believe you would give up hope so easily.”&nbsp; “We’re not giving up, just… putting our guards elsewhere.” &nbsp;“Well, I’m not giving up, whether you work with me or not.” I made sure he knew where I stood. “Goodbye, Abiya,” he said sorrowfully.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;

I walked out, tears streaming down my face.&nbsp;I didn’t talk to anyone for the next few months unless it was my guards giving me food. Words couldn’t describe how much I missed them. After months of working, I still found nothing. ...................... As I searched the newspapers, I saw a silhouette walk into my room. My heart leapt for a moment, but it was just my brother.&nbsp; “Abiya, they’ve been found! &nbsp;“Who?” I say, even though I already knew.&nbsp;&nbsp; “You know who.” &nbsp;“Where are they?” It felt like my words were stuck in my throat. &nbsp;“The kitchen.”&nbsp; The kitchen where I spent endless hours playing games, cooking, and reading with for her.

Prologue (Sarah ) Why? Why would he do this to us? To me? He told them that we were in the woods! He sold us to the republic. I hear laughter behind me. I turn quickly, surprised that he has found me already.&nbsp; “I really fooled you, didn’t I? Glad it worked.” I flinch, as if he slapped me. His brown hair covers one of his beautiful blue eyes. Tears stream, hot liquid pools down my face. “You better be careful whom you trust. Ha! You thought you could trust me! How ridiculous!” He grabs one of my arms and drags me into a room with bars. The stone floor is ice and handcuffs hang on the wall. A whimper escapes from my mouth.&nbsp; I look Callum&nbsp;in the eyes. “Why?” I whisper. “Why?” Something blurs his eyes; they fill with something I can’t decipher.&nbsp; Clink!

My hands are handcuffed to the wall. He walks towards me and looks into my eyes. A single tear slides down his cheek. “I'm sorry. They have Em. I have to,” I remember that Emily or Em, is his 14 year old sister.&nbsp;Why do They want her? She is just a kid… Suddenly Callum comes close to me and cups my face with his hand. He leans down and kisses me, sharp like a slap but quick like a thunderstorm.&nbsp;“I'm sorry…” He turns and walks to the door, and he shakes. Is he crying? Why should he? He betrayed me. ME! I did not betray him! “I hope to see you again…” He turns and faces me, tears sliding. I snarl. He thinks he can weasel his way out of this?! Ugh! “I will NEVER forgive you!” I spit at his feet. “I TRUSTED you! And you just BETRAY ME!! You CANNOT just act sorry and&nbsp;expect forgiveness!!” He backs away as if he is suddenly aware of how mad I am. He is such an idiot for thinking I would forgive him! “Sarah, I am sorry. I thought you would forgive me when you learn they-…” I cut him off. “Callum! Seriously, you need to actually think for once! You knew the risks that this would happen!

Sonnet inspired by Robert Lopez’s Into the Unknown by Becca Shriver

Stop calling; your beckons art undesired I ask pardon, Enchanter, for I ignore your calls Within these walls lives all that I admired I loathe your calls, trying to break my walls Proletariats behold disorder, There are masses of reasons to leave hither I haveth done this endeavor before My grievances have remained without wither Whatever does thee desire in existence? Has thee cometh to bewilder my city? Ending with agreement or resistance Or is thee someone much the same as me? Thee persuaded me to come, leaving my home How does one follow into the unknown?

Trust is hard to come across Reminder: never forget that U can’t always tell That the person you love most Hasn’t gotten your back In the worst situations Some people never stay but That doesn’t mean everyone&nbsp; Hope will always persevere at the End of the day Kinda nice to know that Every once in a while You find that one person that knows that the

For some reason, I allow the tears to fall. The waterfall gushes down my face as I walk over to her. She opens her arms, and I fall into them without a question or second thought. This is all I needed. Someone to actually care. I sit there, sobbing for a minute or two before pulling away. Finally, my senses come back to me, and I make a face of discomfort. “S-sorry!” I stutter out, not sure how she’d take the situation.&nbsp; She gives me a small smile. But it’s not pitiful. More of an understanding one. “I was like you when I was younger, you know? I kept everything inside because I had no one to be there for me, and it led to many problems for me. I’ll say it again. Do you wanna talk? We have a little time, and I’ll write you a pass if I need to. You don’t have to. I won’t force you to, sweetheart. But I’d encourage it.”&nbsp; I feel something crack inside of me. Like a hole in a wall. Like I have a sudden freedom from myself. So I talk and talk and tell her everything. The bullies, Annie, my mom and brother, etc. Everything. When I’m done, I feel dizzy. I just told someone who barely even knows me everything about me.&nbsp; She listens with warmth in her eyes, and she starts to write a pass. It is fifteen minutes into homeroom, and I've probably already been marked late at this point.

She looks me in the eyes and says, “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to share all of that with me. I’m very sorry that all happened with the bullying and with your friend." I give her a half smile and look down at my feet. “What I do know,” she continues, “is that it’s hard, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to feel better, but trust me, dwelling in the past will only lead you to more problems.”&nbsp; I nod at her and start walking to class. I stop myself at the doorway, “Thank you so much,” I say, looking back at her. She smiles back and replies, “Anytime, Zayn.”&nbsp;

&nbsp;I was almost there when I saw her. The same girl from the coffee shop. The one who had smiled at me. I didn’t even realize I was staring until she asked if I needed something.&nbsp; &nbsp;“Oh, uh, no! I- you just looked familiar,” I stuttered. She considered my answer for a moment.&nbsp; &nbsp;“Oh!” She realized, “You came by the coffee shop earlier!” she exclaimed, as if it were a hard math problem she had just solved. I laughed politely. &nbsp;“Yep! You make an excellent espresso,” I complimented. She smiled before answering.&nbsp; “Thanks. I’m Rhea,” she stuck her hand out. “Thomas,” I shook it.&nbsp; “It was a pleasure to meet you, but I’ve gotta get home, my cat has separation anxiety and she’s been alone for about an hour now,” Rhea said.&nbsp; Over the next few days, we would constantly text. Rhea even asked to meet at the park nearby. I agreed. It was in an hour.&nbsp;

I would have gotten up earlier, since she wanted to meet at 10am, but I overslept. I quickly jumped in the shower and picked out a suitable outfit. I looked at my clock. 9:39 it read. I grabbed a hat and locked my apartment door. I quickly drove over to the park, and since I was early, I bought some popcorn from a nearby booth to feed the ducks in the pond.&nbsp;They eagerly waddled over, led by the buttery smell. I mindlessly tossed kernels at them. When would Rhea get here? I wondered. How would I greet her? Should I act formal? With butterflies in my stomach, I waited eagerly for her arrival.... To Be Continued...

We the people&nbsp; The unnamed ones&nbsp; The hidden sacrifices&nbsp; The insignificant&nbsp; We the people We died in the fight&nbsp; We perished in the battle We the people&nbsp; Unrecognized by history&nbsp; Snippets here and there&nbsp; Then forgotten&nbsp; Whisked away by the trials of time&nbsp; We the people&nbsp; Our sacrifice forgotten&nbsp; Our lives lost in the wind&nbsp; Nobody remembers&nbsp; We the people&nbsp; We died for our country&nbsp; We died for our general&nbsp; We died for our families&nbsp; Only to have our memories&nbsp; Lost

We the people&nbsp; We the soldiers&nbsp; We the colonists&nbsp; We the Unnamed

missing. A low-quality photo of the girl provided showed that she had uncanny resemblance to the doll-girl that murdered the old couple. “Read more,” the woman said. “She—she has a brother. And…” But she didn’t finish her sentence, because the doctor and the officer found the section she was going to describe already. Little Sasha Aminoff had gone missing shortly after her older brother, Roma Aminoff, set fire to their family home. And pushed her in.

“Yes, you should definitely not be bogged down by a job at 15,” He kindly says. “Thank you so much for understanding,” I respond. Dr. Steve sneezes. “Are you alright?” I ask, concerned. “Oh yeah there’s just a lot of dust,” he replies. Time goes by. I’m living my best life. I’m always hanging out with Mike, I’ve been dating Rosemary for some time now. Things are great. However, I’ve been having more food-like symptoms. I’m sneezing sprinkles, coughing icing, I’ve even randomly thrown up dough. I’m thinking about telling Dr. Steve about this.&nbsp; I’m in my room chomping on a doughnut, of course, when my parents come flying in. “Dr. Steve has been admitted to the hospital; he’s not doing well,” they inform me. We rush over. Right when we get there, the staff shows me

to his room. It is painted washed out pea-green. There are curtains on the windows that look as though they came from a picnic blanket. “I’m so sorry. I should have been with you,” I say through a curtain of tears. “No, no. You had to be a kid. You did the right thing,” He says in an attempt to comfort me. He coughs up what looks like melted chocolate. I try not to look at it. I don’t want to make him self-conscious. “Listen to me, the doughnuts. They have the notes. YAWYE. YAWYE.” He says in a weak voice. “I don’t understand what you are saying,” I admit to him.&nbsp; “The doughnuts. The doughnuts,” he repeats “You want a doughnut?” I ask as I leap to leave the room. I run down the dismal hallway of benches outside of rooms with dragons crying for their loved ones. The walls are off-white, the floor is an alternating white and light blue

Great Minds Think Alike, But Fools Rarely Differ by Regan Mulderig

What right did they have to think I was defective? To think something was wrong with me? I was offered zero explanation for why I was there. I sat down in this foreign room, not open to normal kids. My head pooled with fiery disappointment. This section of the basement they used to fix problem kids like dogs that needed to be trained. I could almost hear words of degrading encouragement emanating off the walls they used on them. I was smart. I was normal.&nbsp; I had to put my confused rage on the back burner and start focusing on the speckled white laminated notecard in front of me. “The name letters, which are out of place?” After I stumbled over the alphabet I had to “pronounce nonsense words as best you can.” None of the words clicked. It was like reading Russian with how many consonants they crammed into a word. We moved on to audio clips and tests with the computer. It was like playing brain test, but it was all the levels I skipped.

I was escorted back to my classroom and met just outside it by my teacher. “Well with your whole spelling situation,” as she began I just wondered why there was so much fuss about my spelling. To me it wasn’t even that bad, but my whole life I’d been told differently. “We just wanted to know If there was anything…you know…going on. We want to make sure if there is something, we can help you. But if nothing is wrong, it’s just like come on, Regan, you know, step it up.”&nbsp; I nodded. My perspective changed a little with those words. It was a reality check I heard from my teachers over the years. To ‘step it up’. I guess it makes sense if I aced all my math tests to wonder why I failed my spelling tests. Everyone meant well. Being told consistently by one's role models that your best seems like you aren’t trying bites. It is so discouraging when it takes you hours at home to come up with something deemed adequate for a fifteen minute in-class writing assignment.&nbsp; So at that point I wasn’t angry about being seen as divergent. I was angry at those ever present words. Now I hoped I had an LD so everyone telling me to ‘step it up’ could choke on their words, so I could have a valid excuse for being good enough.

“Bella,” she said, breathlessly. “Amara needs help.” I sprinted after her until she reached the end of the hallway. When we halted, she pressed on a hatch in the ceiling and grasped my wrist tightly. She pulled me out of the way as stairs descended downwards from the hatch. We made our way upstairs and the foul air of the attic made me sick. Maybe attic was the wrong word. This place looked more like a cell, just upstairs. I had never seen this part of the house before but my mother didn’t even bother to explain before she walked towards Amara, a solemn look on her face. There was a blood stained gun lying next to her unmoving body, and you could clearly notice the place where the bullet punctured her. I took two fingers and delicately placed them on her neck. I didn’t feel anything except her cold, soft skin.

“I need to call the police,” Mom said as she began to walk down the stairs. “Please stay here with Amara, and let me know if anything happens. Try to move the gun, we don’t want to disrupt the blood patterns.”

I saw her dab the tears away when she turned her back to me. &nbsp;Per Mom’s request, I stayed up in the attic with Amara, my beautiful stepsister. I had felt an indescribable feeling at that moment. It was like my heart stopped. It was as if I had just been pushed off a cliff, and I just kept falling and falling, into an endless pit. The attic was a blur in an instant since my eyes had begun to fill with tears.&nbsp; We were never that close, considering the fact I had moved away to college soon after Dad remarried, but I knew she was a kind soul. I remembered when it was only my first week in college, and I felt terrified. My birthday had just rolled around, and I was delighted when I was told a card had come for me in the mail. I had called Dad to thank him, but he said it was all Amara. She had decorated and wrote the card, and I was shocked as well as overjoyed. &nbsp;In the time I did talk to her, I learned she also had a passion for the violin and in a way, I felt closer to her.

You are a bear, unlike any other. They are ferocious, savage beasts that bring naught, &nbsp;but destruction and demise. Yet you are kind, caring and calm. You are a friend, greater than any man. Tumbling and wrestling,&nbsp; Running and jumping and having fun. You are playful and Jubilant and Faithful. You are a symbol that stands above the rest. Protecting the endangered, With your adorable little face. Alongside this,&nbsp; However,&nbsp; You are lazy.&nbsp; Lounging, and lethargic and slouching, Sleeping all the time.&nbsp; You are a wonder: Mysterious, yet known. A cute Yin and Yang.

Your color even,&nbsp; An inky black, like ebony or onyx&nbsp; Surrounds you eyes, while an ashen white, like&nbsp; Frosted snow after a chilly night Colours&nbsp;your whole body. Sharp, piercing teeth,&nbsp; That would never harm a soul. Playing like a dear friend, Yet with an ever serious face, Hopeful and protecting,&nbsp; But also near extinction. A true enigma,&nbsp; a paradox above all. Continue to protect, To prosper, To play, To relax, To lead, And above all, to Be yourself.&nbsp;

&nbsp;“No, she can’t be gone,” I said, quivering. “Not her too, not again”.&nbsp;I didn’t want to lose another person who was dear to me. “Ma’am, I know it's hard but-“ “I said, she's not gone!” A little louder this time. Determination in my voice. She’s not gone, she can’t be gone. My dad pulled me away from the officer. “I’ll talk to him, go to your room.”&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; “Dad, I'm not a kid anymore, you can’t tell me to go to my room. I need to&nbsp;know about this,” I was used to not knowing about anything, my royal family always had to be so mysterious. &nbsp;“Go to your room, Abiya, I will talk to you later.” I sigh and walk up the stairs as loud as I can. In my room, I can’t&nbsp;stop crying. My mom and my sister in one month. I knew they’re dead, but I can never admit it. What was happening to my family? My brother walked in, and I hurriedly wiped my tears.&nbsp;

“Hi, Mahir,” I responded, biting my lip to keep back the tears.&nbsp; “Hey,” he said in a quiet voice.

“She’s not dead, you know,” I said. “Abiya, don’t give yourself false hope….” “I won’t give up hope. We can send out search parties. It’s not too late….” I begged, trying to convince him as much as myself.&nbsp; “Be real, Abiya-”&nbsp;I stormed out of the room, unwilling to listen.

The next day I got out of bed. I was in such a rush that I didn’t even brush my hair. &nbsp;“You look like a mess,” my brother smirked, but I didn’t care.&nbsp;All I knew was that they would be found today. I commanded the guards to send out as many people as they could. I quickly went to my room to think. I figured someone was targeting us. My family was one of the most hated families in India.

I am like a light bulb Bright but dim at times&nbsp; But always alive inside I am like a plant&nbsp; Alive and happy at times&nbsp; But if not watered&nbsp; Can die I am like a backpack&nbsp; I can hold things and store things Like information and memories Just waiting to burst out and share&nbsp; I am like a door I can hold out all of the bad things And keep in all of the good things

Infinitely intricate and fine Like capillaries Winding and twisting To fill every cell it occupies Self similar&nbsp; Yet always different With a similar shape appearing Over and over and over again Like the DNA of every cell in our body Always different&nbsp; Yet somehow the same With a boundary&nbsp; That can never be located Like the elusive end&nbsp; Of our endless quest for knowledge

How Unexpected by Allen Hoe

Randomly Red Rocks Bewilderingly Blue Blot Round in a circle

Raindrops on wet days, Songs on sunny days&nbsp; Water fills up cups

Roaming forest paths Underneath afternoon light&nbsp; Hawk in ashen oak

The air blows by fast The sky turns emerald green Glimmering sun gone

Just a Dream by Leanne Li

The crow was perched&nbsp; On a bare branch in the woods Watching time fly by&nbsp;

The peaceful river A beautiful waterfall Oh - it’s just a dream

Dear Readers,&nbsp; First of all, a big thank you to our awesome teachers, Mrs. Cannon and Mr. Jenkins. Mrs. Cannon offered great advice and feedback for our stories and poetry, and Mr. Jenkins gave superb input and tips on how we can develop our skills as young artists. Another big thanks to all the members of Literary Magazine for sharing encouragement, suggestions, songs, and snacks every afternoon. Finally, thank you to everyone who submitted artwork and writing; our issues would not have felt complete without your voices and talents. Through our imaginations and creativity, we are able to put on paper our voices and messages for everyone to see and feel. In Lit Mag, there are no limits or judgements, and we always have a safe space to express our emotions and ideas. We allow our hearts to guide through reality and fantasy, and we hope you will do the same.&nbsp; It is our sincere wish from everyone in Lit Mag to have a fantastic end of the year and to continue to create anything and everything you wish through the summer and years to come.&nbsp;&nbsp; Sincerely,&nbsp; Avani Agrawal and Chloe Will

Mia scribbled down the address and shoved the notepad inside her purse. “Yes, I’m on my way.” She hung up the telephone and walked out of the study. “Carson! Where are you?”&nbsp; “May I help you Miss?” a dainty voice said from behind her. Mia turned around, expecting to see one of the chambermaids, but instead saw their head housekeeper, Mrs. Mays.&nbsp; “Yes, actually. Would you please tell Carson to alert my father that I am going out?” Mia requested. “Yes, Miss. Anything else?” “I should be back around 2, in time for afternoon tea. Please tell the chauffeur that I am in need of a ride.” Mia walked out of the house, shutting the door behind her. She walked out onto the gravel driveway, careful not to get any pebbles in her heels.&nbsp; “Miss? You left your cardigan on the chair. Would you like it? It is a bit chilly out,” Tibby, Mia’s lady’s maid, called out the window.&nbsp; “Oh, yes, Tibby. You are a lifesaver.”&nbsp;Tibby turned away from the window and walked down the regal marble staircase and to the door to give Mia her cream-colored cardigan.

Mia put it on just as the chauffeur, Thomas, drove up. Mia climbed in the back of the car and told Thomas to take her to 173 Park Avenue. He drove there at surprising speed, the countryside whizzing past them on the way.&nbsp;When they had arrived, Thomas poked his head out of the car window, asking, “What time should I pick you up, Miss?”&nbsp; “Oh, how about 1? I’m not sure how long the meeting will last.” Mia walked away, and opened the door of the Burks and Bailey building. She walked up to the 3rd floor, where Jonathan Burks’ office was located. Knocking on the door, she reapplied her lipstick quickly before Mr. Burks opened his door. “Mr. Burks! How nice it is to meet you!” Mia exclaimed, eagerly shaking his hand. “Miss Limen, what a nice dress that is. Shall you come in so we can chat about the case?” Mr. Burks said, pointing to the inside of his office.&nbsp; Mia walked in, taking off her cardigan and hanging it up on the coat rack. She sat down on an old leather chair, and Mr. Burks took the rickety wooden chair.&nbsp; Mia folded her hands upon her knees, saying, “So, what is the case?”&nbsp;

I let them take her away as she protested and said it was all me. Her words couldn’t hurt me anymore. I didn’t care what she had to say. Amara was all that mattered.&nbsp; I heard the door slam behind them, and curled up on the couch. The sun began to set,&nbsp; and the quiet chirping of birds comforted me a bit. I would like to think that at that moment, Amara was smiling down at me.

Perfection is a square Always has to be perfect Four right angles Instead of acute Fits perfectly in other categories And after a long time It never changes

Fear is the Thing with Waves by Sahil Chaudry

Fear is the thing with big waves It flows into caves&nbsp; Moves everything from the shore&nbsp;&nbsp; So can’t be stopped&nbsp; Drowning and killing&nbsp; Without regret&nbsp; Gigantic or small&nbsp; They can’t be fought&nbsp; Made from the Earth's rumbles&nbsp; makes everything tumble Fear

Bold little beauty What does it mean? could it be the models in magazines&nbsp; Or the ones who change how we see things Maybe it’s both but we will never know because Society Plant seeds that tell us&nbsp; We aren’t good enough to even be acknowledge in&nbsp; history a part of me hopes to think that one day Society will see&nbsp; that we are bold and beautiful In our own little world

There are many ways to wake up. You can wake up on Christmas morning, the smell of hot chocolate and cookies flooding your senses. You can wake up on the first day of summer break, about to get ready for school, but then realize you have the whole day to yourself. You can wake up after having an amazing dream; the drowsiness cheering you up as you remember what you experienced in your fantasy land. Or you can wake up on an old, itchy couch, hearing a blood curdling scream and the sound of gunshot.

Chapter 1 &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My heart was pounding a million miles an hour as I sat up and felt like I wanted to throw up. I had just heard a scream and my gut instinct should have been to run, right? Nope. My parents have always called me an ‘illogical thinker’, so instead of running away from the awful sound and most likely inevitable danger, I ran towards it. And I kept running, until I reached a hallway with a painting I had made in the 5th grade and creepy old statues. My mother ran towards me, looking sick with panic.

Where are you Shining your light on us Like glowing raindrops Against the darkness A pinprick From where you are But there Is a greatness In the light that comes However little A firefly Replica Of the vast universe Dotted with light

You look up And see The same star That another person Far away Is watching Your only connection Being farther away Than you are from them When you see a star Don’t wait Don’t wonder Wish And maybe It will come true

Hey Xbox The sound of the click&nbsp; &nbsp;When I turn you on Makes me light up inside&nbsp; I jump on my favorite game Mics synced, ready to play&nbsp; With my friends, I play like it’s a battle&nbsp; Every victory, loudly broadcast&nbsp; Xbox&nbsp; You might be angry inside when you think&nbsp; I’m screaming at you&nbsp; But I’m actually screaming &nbsp;at the game Win or lose, I have fun&nbsp; But when I hear the click of me turning you off&nbsp; The sound hurts my ears Though I know that I will Turn you on again tomorrow Click here we go mics synced once again

afraid.” He thought back to when the Instructors barged down his door. Ray tried to grab his parents and run,got beaten by the robots because of it, shackled and thrown to the floor, left bleeding. And his parents just watched. They watched. Just as they were watching now. Wide-eyed, afraid. Too afraid to save their son. They never believed their promise to him. They were hopelessly resigned to the truth. Ray’s tears flowed with even more force now as he lifted his head. “You promised,” he cried, softly, voice wavering. “You promised you’d never let them take me away.” The words hung in the silence between them; his mother finally broke down into tears, shaking and covering her face, and his father stood still, silent tears slipping down his cheeks. Ray immediately regretted it. His last words to them. Selfish and immature. He raised his hands—wait, let me start over—but was dragged away by the Instructors, who seemed to be getting impatient. They began work on unlocking the big steel doors. This can’t be it, Ray thought, I need to start over. I need to tell them… Tell them what? Ray couldn’t think; his mind just…blanked.

The Instructors finally finished unlocking the doors, much to Ray’s dismay, and roughly pushed him in. Ray looked back at his parents and opened his mouth to scream, to tell them he loved them, but it was no use. The Instructors closed the doors. As they locked them, which was a ridiculously meticulous procedure, the dog-headed one said, “What a bad child you are, making your mother cry like that. She’s the one who suffered great pain to bring you into the world, you know. Pity.” Ray just stood there. Eyes wide, breath trembling, mouth hanging open. Brown locks of hair fell into his face, and he didn’t even bother pushing them away. He fell to his knees, and the Instructors turned around. “We need you to cooperate now. Stand up. We need to go to your new room and get you cleaned up.” Cleaned up, huh? Ray thought, smiling to himself hysterically. His giant bruise and the bad cut on his lip throbbed. And whose fault is that? Yet the Instructors kept looking at him expectantly. One minute passed.

I’m certain that the cave is going to fill with rainwater, and we will drown.&nbsp;That’s what I feared from the beginning.&nbsp;I then jump into the murky water and start swimming towards the largest rock.&nbsp;When I climb onto the rock, I can finally see our friend, Sarah.&nbsp; She’s frantically waving her arms around and hollering to us.&nbsp;She looks wet and tired but relieved to see us.&nbsp;Unfortunately, the only way to get to her is if we swim under the rock.&nbsp;I can’t figure out why she’s down here until I see her cute puppy in her arms. Then I see her leg and my heart sinks. It’s twisted and stuck under a rock; there is no way she is able to get out without our help.&nbsp; I jump back into the water and dive down deep to find a way through.&nbsp;There is a tiny opening I think I can squeeze through.&nbsp;After I swim to the surface for one last big breath,&nbsp;I force myself through the tiny hole as fast as I can.&nbsp;I’m holding my breath and kicking as hard as I can.&nbsp;I’ve got to get to Sarah before the rains flood the whole cavern. My head breaks through the surface of the water; I run to her on the rock beach.

&nbsp;I grab the puppy with Harry surfacing from the water behind me.&nbsp;Together, we lift the rock that Sarah is trapped under. And then we see a tiny bit of light poking through in the distance. “It must be a way out!” I exclaim. “Hey guys, I can’t walk,” Sarah says with a painful voice.&nbsp; It becomes obvious that we need a new plan.&nbsp; &nbsp; Harry and I lift Sarah up and put one of her arms around each of us. I am trying to hold the wiggly puppy in my arms, but it’s too much.&nbsp; I put the puppy in my backpack and zip it in carefully. We stumble towards the light while we pull Sarah along. Finally, we emerge into the rain and collapse in a heap. Now we are safe.

Hello little pebble Oh, how I ponder What it would be like To hunker in the meadows like a languid baby deer Until the booming winds strike Like a cannon firing away And you waft with the current&nbsp; Ever so effervescently you Plummet into the dirt But then I realized&nbsp; How you survive through tough times&nbsp; You are not a pebble But instead a boulder

When times get tough you are the go to guy just like Lebron in the fourth quarter,&nbsp; you're not the strongest, the biggest or the fastest,&nbsp; but you're still the king of the jungle.&nbsp; What is it that sets you ahead? Is it your mindset like Kobe’s mamba mentality? Is it your loud roar, like a coach scolding his players? You're a jack of all trades and versatile&nbsp; just like Kawhi on defense&nbsp; You're so brave and fierce, but can be gentle too.

Steve agrees, so we head up to my room to get Mike’s portable cloud set up.&nbsp; I noticed my mom has cleaned my room. My video games neatly lining the shelves on my walls, the covers on my cloud freshly washed and pressed, my fluffy carpet vacuumed, she even re-taped the basketball posters I had against my bright blue walls. Her signature after cleaning is the lavender Febreeze. The faint floral smell is calming and nostalgic. It reminds me of when I was little because she’s used the same scent since I was born. We launch Mike’s portable case by pressing the shiny, red button and out comes the portable cloud (this is our version of a sleeping bag). We talk all night and I tell Mike that I’m going to ask Rosemary out. He tells me I should do it right now. I try to protest, but all of the sudden he has called her on my phone. “Hello,” I hear her sweet, beautiful voice say “Heeeyy,” I say, thinking about how to stall. “So I was thinking, do you maybe wanna check out that new restaurant that opened on Sweet Gum Road with me.”

“That sounds great,” She responds, excitement in her voice. “Perfect! I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 7:00pm,” I say. “It’s a date,” she responds with a little laugh. I can’t believe that just happened and neither can Mike. We’re so happy. That night we watch a movie, eat a bunch of candy, and then crash on our clouds. After we go to bed, I keep coughing. It’s not just any cough, though, I’m coughing up icing. It’s weird, but we did eat cupcakes, so I just assume it’s my body reacting to too many cupcakes. The next day, Mike helps me get ready for my date. I’m looking sharp. I pick Rosemary up and we have a great time. We eat good food, we have good conversations, and we plan our next date. It all goes perfect.&nbsp; When I get home, I realize that I’m a lot happier without the pressures of work and I decide to ask for some time off. I mean I’m only a kid for so long I may as well enjoy it. I call up Dr. Steve and he is so nice about the whole thing.

The Truth comes in divided packages, One at the stage of helplessness, One when fruitful, Another when matured, And the last when enlightened. The Truth must be learned, And it should also be earned, When the day of enlightenment dawns, The last package will be stern

The sun&nbsp; Burning the flesh of the world into being with its fiery, life-giving gaze Never taking its eyes off you&nbsp; Like the predator and the prey&nbsp; Killing your eyes&nbsp; Cremating your skin&nbsp; Giving you power with pain&nbsp; like the gunshot at the end of a war&nbsp; Baking the bottom of your feet with the support of hot pavement&nbsp; Never giving up sight&nbsp; Never dying&nbsp; Even when you can’t see it&nbsp; It is there&nbsp; Watching you