1. family and parenting
2. children

WRITTEN
PORTRAIT
2015 Literary Journal
Niwot High School
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Editors
James Baker
Olivia Barton
Gabriella Bondi
Alana Carlson
Christopher Dierks
Ohdomm Dul
Mimi Fisher
Javier Flores
Sergio Francia
Kaitlynn Gardner
Helen Halpin
Maresa Ikeda
Ebony Jackson
Lauren Krebs
Marissa Kuhn
Samuel Leonard
Rocky Melcher
Kenneth Olson
Leslie Perez
Joshua Plaza
Curtis Rebhan
Aaron Sanchez
Bethany Self
Keyler Smith
Lexey Stewart
Jonathon Wahl
Hannah Whittaker
Kailey Wintergerst
Faculty Coordinator
Terry Kroenung
Cover Photo by Kailee Stobbe
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CONTENTS
Early Riser
Ila Katechis
4
The Hero’s Tragedy
Karen Herrera
5
I breathe, I know, I breathe
Megan Majors
7
Humanity’s Humiliation
Jacquelyn Metivier
8
The Black Scare
Steven Schaetzl
9
I Write Letters to Forget You
Kailee Stobbe
10
The Rest of Me
Gabriella Lettow
19
Love by Doves
Lexey Stewart
20
Cities of Light
Daniell Plomondon
24
The Sixth Sense
Shanleigh Sullivan
25
The Legacy
Will Krebs
27
Why I Sing
Abri Judson
28
Fire
Trevor Quinn
31
The Immortal Twins
Chris Dierks
32
Different
Maxwell Nieberger
36
Mother and Father
Nick Breyer
37
Remember the Joy
Noah Woeste
39
Avoiding the War
Elizabeth Arens
40
Frail, Tired, and Alone
Madison Barrow
47
A Peep in the Dark
Gabrielle Bondi
48
Just Listen
Audrey Ryan
49
Nergali Orphan
Terry Kroenung
50
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Early Riser
Ila Katechis
A sunrise is like a burning fire
The sweltering warmth rising from above
Many say they sit back and just admire
Many watch and just fall in love
The pastel colors fill the distant horizon
Many are asleep but I am awake
They may change depending on the season
There is only so much beauty I can take
Orange and red light up the newly lit sky
Many times they get taken for granted
It is pure candy to the human eye
The city skyline ever so slanted
The sunshine brings hope to the unknown day
I will face the day without a single delay
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The Hero’s Tragedy
Karen Herrera
Alison is a young woman who has been raised in an incredibly privileged household. Alison is
the daughter of a politician who is actively involved in many important affairs of the United
States. In the town of Concord, Massachusetts, Alison has many friends and a seemingly perfect
life. When her parents inform Alison that they will soon be moving to New York City, she is
disgusted and refuses to leave her friends and home. Alison and her parents argue over the
possibility of moving for several hours, before she leaves the house in order to collect herself and
her thoughts. When she decides to return to her home, Alison is horrified to find the mansion
that she once inhabited engulfed in flames. She approaches the scene with caution, and is
distraught by the chaotic situation. A firefighter on the scene recognizes her, and advances with
a somber look. The fireman soon informs her with great despair that both of her parents have
been killed by the fire. He explains that the source of the disaster is unknown.
After several weeks of attempting to cope with the tragedy that has taken place, Alison finds
herself incredibly guilty and miserable. With her deceased parents on her mind, Alison finds it
necessary that she move to New York City and fulfill their wishes. Alison packs up the few
possessions she has left and embarks on one of the greatest journeys of her life. She is picked up
at the bus stop and feels bittersweet about her departure. After several hours on the bus, Alison
is forced to get off. She feels incredibly lonely and afraid. A deep depression begins to consume
the teenager and she decides that she must avenge her parents death. Alison faces anger, and
sadness, but realizes she must continue her journey.
A man in the town she is now in offers to give her a ride to the city. Occupied with distrust,
Alison has a difficult time allowing herself to accept the offer. Her subconscious filled with her
parents last wishes, however, she forces herself to go with the man. After much delay related to
weather, Alison arrives in the city and decides she must attempt to create a new life for herself.
To begin, Alison must find a job. After stumbling around the city for several hours, Alison
approaches an old restaurant advertising “the world’s best pizza.” Appearing promising, she
enters the restaurant to find a dark interior setting with a mysterious ambiance. As Alison
attempts to leave, she is greeted by an elderly man. He inquires about the reason for her visit,
and realizing she needs a job immediately offers her a position at the restaurant. He claims that
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business is busy and additional assistance is recently required. With hesitation, Alison accepts
the position. She discovers her work at the restaurant will start the following Monday.
Immediately after arriving at work on Monday, she is faced with a difficult situation. Alison’s
manager wishes for her to set traps for rats, which have invaded the restaurant. The young girl is
extremely fond of animals and has trouble complying with the order. The following day, Alison
must put out a fire that starts in one of the restaurant’s ovens, and is further motivated to quit
her job. However, after collecting herself, she realizes she must be persistent in order to fulfill
her parents desires. After a week at the store, Alison feels life is improving vastly. On the
following Friday afternoon, Alison is especially glad she did not quit her job, as a beautiful man
walks into the shop. The man has dark hair and blue eyes, and seems god-like. She finds the
man’s name is Brad.
After several weeks of dating Brad, Alison finds herself falling in love. She is tempted to
abandon her initial plan. Brad helps Alison to forget her parents death and forces her to put
trust in others. Alison believes life is nearly normal again, when she is visited by her deceased
parents in a dream. Her parents applaud her bravery, but encourage her to remember herself
and acknowledge her origins. Over the next several days, Alison is regularly visited by her
parents, in her imagination, and realizes that they are watching over her from heaven.
Remembering her parents death, she is filled with anger. She once again feels obligated to find
the person or source of the fire, but in light of recent events, comes to the realization that is it
necessary to forgive and forget. Alison feels her parents want her to create her own happiness.
Although she was able to ignore her temptations to avenge the death of her parents, she is not
able to get rid of the persistent urge to move back to Concord. She is extremely reluctant,
however, to leave her new acquaintances and boyfriend in the city.
Ultimately, Alison realizes home is the best place for her to be as she continues the healing
process. Alison once again embarks on an incredible journey. She believes her journey will be
easier, but is once again placed in frightening situations. A man attempts to steal her money,
and while Alison attempts to get away from him, she gets lost. Alison is injured after fleeing her
attacker, and is more than distraught. However, she is soon saved by Brad, who has realized his
home is with Alison, and has followed her back to Concord.
Upon their return to Concord, Alison and Brad lead a successful life. Alison learns to trust
with Brad’s help and becomes more outgoing. Brad and Alison have a child and help the young
individual to put trust in others. Alison has a wonderful life with her new family, and knows that
her parents are constantly watching over her. Filled with power by her new life, Alison feels as if
she has recovered. Alison is no longer affected by the fears that used to consume her life.
Alison becomes a successful business woman, owning several businesses of her own, with the
help of Brad, a well known surgeon. After five years of living in complete hell, having to raise
herself on her own in a completely new city she manages to succeed and form a family of her
own.
With a baby on the way, the family decides it is time for them to move to a bigger home. For
years Alison thought moving to California was a great idea. Brad and Alison start looking for
houses. They find a beautiful house on the side of the beach, but notice that the house is
extremely cheap with all the luxury it has within it excluding the fact it was beachside. Without
any hesitations, they fly out to California and buy the house. Alison notices that the house does
not seem right, and that there needs to be an explanation on why the house was so cheap. But,
Brad insists that it does not matter and that she needs to give the house a chance.
Later that night, Alison started to have powerful kicks in her belly from her baby, which was
very strange since the baby was only six weeks old. This led Alison to having flashbacks from
when she was young and lost her parents in a fire. Without hesitation, Alison talked to Brad with
fear in her face, and repeatedly tells him that this house was just not right.
The next morning, Brad and Alison called their landlord and made her tell them what the
history of the house was. As the lady explained, everyone in the house had died from an
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accidental fire, without knowing how. Immediately, Alison started having a panic attack. Brad
woke her and rushed themselves out of the house to save their family. As they were leaving the
house, the house catches on fire leaving no exits. Alison and Brad look at each other ready to say
goodbye when something inexplicable happens. Alison and Brad and their kid wake up outside
the house. Not knowing how it happened, Alison looks up to the sky and thanks her parents,
because she knew it was them that led them out of this tragedy.
I breathe, I know, I breathe
Megan Majors
(i breathe. i know i breathe.)
It is three o’clock in the morning
The night so still I can hear the faint thump of my tiresome heart
Silence so pressing, my ears hang heavy
(i breathe. i know i breathe.)
How meaningless, the shortness of life, the vastness of death
It is like in the Bell Jar,
After wearing the same black turtleneck for 30 days,
Esther Greenwood declares she never wants to wash her hair again;
To do it just once, and forever be done with it
The repeated necessity of the task, too tedious to bear
(i breathe. i know i breathe.)
One day, in art class, I learned that Vincent Van Gogh used to eat paint
“Crazy!” the boy sitting to my left shouted,
“How mad one must be to ingest what is so clearly toxic!”
“Maybe,” I thought,
“He just wanted to get the happiness inside of him”
Maybe, he was so unhappy that painting the walls of his internal organs yellow
Seemed well worth it,
On the off chance that something so bizarre, might just work
Really, it is no different than falling in love or taking drugs
There is risk in everything we do
Whether the risk be getting your heart broken or overdosing,
People continue to take these risks everyday
Because even the slimmest chances of betterment can make all the difference
It is nights like these where I find it necessary to remind myself of these few things:
We all have our own yellow paint
And if no one else,
I can take comfort in knowing Sylvia Plath, too,
Understands what it is like when the matter of shampoo ascends to philosophical heights
(i breathe. i know i breathe.)
7
Humanity’s Humiliation
Jacquelyn Metivier
Motivation is a weird thing. There are different kinds of
motivation. As a kid, my motivation to get up in the
morning was to watch morning cartoons. SpongeBob
was the highlight of my day. I would go to bed in order
to wake up so that I could watch television. Now, it is
backwards. I wake up in order to go to sleep that night.
My motivation to shower, however, is still very small.
As a kid, my motivation to shower came from the
knowledge that I would not be able to see my friends
until I was done keeping up with my hygiene, which I
thought was not important as a little kid. Now, my
motivation to shower is so that I can feel comfortable in
my own skin. If I do not shower, I feel like I cannot
show my face in public. I hide behind clumps of black
matter, skin paint, and heated, frizzled, strands of hair.
Humanity is full of humiliation and hiding from it.
Humiliation is motivation itself. People pain
themselves to look good. Ads in magazines show
confident people: people that do not feel humiliation. It
is not the beauty that people want; it is the feeling of
self-confidence that they see on models. It does not
matter to people that that self-confidence is faked and
photo-shopped. All that viewers see are perfect
sculpted bodies, pore-less faces, long eyelashes, vibrant eyes, frizz-free, silky hair, and straight,
white, perfectly-sized, just-the-right-amount-of-gum teeth. Whether or not it means wearing
braces that pull teeth in directions that the teeth were not meant to be, burning fingers while
holding a hot metal that they hold against their hair to try to make it bend in a way it was not
meant to bend, or painting toxic goo close to the eye, sometimes too close to the point that it
irritates the eye and starts the slow process of blindness, people will do it in order to feel that
fake self-confidence that they unhealthily crave. Pain is beauty.
People motivate themselves to run and to lift weights. Most people work out to feel that
assurance they get from looking beautiful; some people work out in order to feel healthy, which
in turn makes them beautiful on the inside and keeps people from aging into a shriveled, fat,
cranky human. It all has to do with image. What would humanity be without image? Image is a
kind of motivation. If the world were image-free, there would be no humiliation.
With no humiliation, there would be no motivation. Imagine a world without motivation. I
see a world of dirty people with no respect for each other. I see people who pollute the planet
and go on with their lives while the creatures around them die from the toxic air that is ruining
their home and any hope of their continued existence. I see people who would not be motivated
to exercise, which would make them fat and unhealthy, which would speed up the process of
dying. It seems as though humiliation is needed for motivation to exist to keep people alive. So,
is humiliation the secret ingredient to a happy life? Is humiliation the definition of life itself?
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The Black Scare
Steven Schaetzl
Children in the streets are crying,
While men and women’s’ corpses are flying
Through the air of a city,
Without sorrow or any pity.
Black is the sky on this dreadful day
When down come the crows to feed on their prey.
Blood spilled far throughout the cobble street,
Drowning the old off of peoples’ feet.
The air smells of death,
With fires giving breathe
To a world changed forever.
Her people brought together
By a terrible outbreak
That man could not make,
Nor any doctor or witch
Could quite possibly stitch.
With no hope at all,
But to brace for the fall.
A generation lost,
But at what cost?
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I Write Letters To Forget You
Kailee Stobbe
Auden,
You meant nothing to me. I would spin fables and pretty lies for you so you would stay. I
needed you to stay with me. Instead of throwing pebbles at your window I would throw bricks. I
only did it once, but once was enough to make you think I could hurt you. That’s exactly what I
needed you to think. You couldn’t think that I threw a brick rather than a pebble so everyone
could hear me; so everyone would know that I needed your attention and thoughts focused on
me constantly rather than on your sleep or dreams or nightmares. You couldn’t know the truth.
And you never did. To this day you believe I went into your room on a Saturday at three and
carried you while you were sleeping to my car because I needed you. Needed you to go with me
while my mind shot painful memories down my scarred back. Needed you to support me. You’re
so wrong. I needed you to be present. If I was going through that much pain then you would too.
We were everything together. You and me. Yet separately, I was chaos; and you were nothing.
You still are nothing. At one point maybe you were something; but only when I was at your side.
Why love, I was your everything. Without me, dust to stardust would’ve become you. If even
that. Maybe stardust was too pretty of a word to even describe you. For stardust meant that you
had to shine first. You never shined alone. Like Christmas lights without a power source, you
were useless. Do you know you still are? You mean nothing to me. You never did, and you’ll
mean nothing to everyone else as long as you live. I might have lost you that night, but you also
lost yourself. I molded you into something decent. People tolerated you with me. They didn’t
mind all of your weird sentences and strange behavior when your arm was securely hooked with
mine. If only they knew.
Jev
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Jev,
Love never seemed friendly to me at first. It never seemed like a good idea. I didn’t even like
socializing; just the thought of it made me anxious and clammy. My eyes that you called a
“watery mirror” flitted past others. I never understood the “watery mirror” until you explained
to me on one of our good nights. You meant to tell me that I reflected others, like a mirror,
because I didn’t have anything to make my own. I understood the watery without asking. I
thought we would be beautiful together. A couple that toed the line between swoon worthy and
jealous radiating. I was so wrong. I stared love in the face that night, and ever since, I’ve been
waking up screaming. Our love was loud, lost, and angry. You flaunted me like a prized
possession, yet lost sight of us when it was just you and me. You were so infuriated by that. Our
love was agony. I didn’t know it could be that way. That pain ached in my chest every time I was
reminded of you; of your presence. I would scrub my body raw to get the lingering thoughts of
you off my mind, but you were everywhere. Everywhere. I can’t drive down a road surrounded
by trees without your green eyes flashing in my thoughts. I can’t smell coffee without my tongue
tasting you with it. I want to forget you. I want to forget your name, your face, your hands, your
eyes, and your sadness. Your sadness is what you truly left for me. That sadness sunk into my
pores deeper than any of your kisses; of any of your trailing fingers and searing tongue. That
sadness made me see myself as that girl who seemingly spent her whole existence loving others
more than they would ever love her. That was hard for me to scrub off. For the longest time, I
believed that you saved me from myself. But looking back I start to think that maybe, just
maybe, you weren’t saving anyone but you.
Auden
Jev,
You were the boy that fell from grace. You stumbled down the social ladder the summer
before our senior year. You mixed yourself in with the wrong crowd, annexing yourself to the
misfit toys when you were from the hierarchy of the gods. It was when your lopsided group
drove off that night of the game, leaving you to lean against the cold fence to think. I tried to
make a silent escape; you stole my special place, and I was not happy.
“Want to hear a story I just made up?”
Your voice cracked against me, and it did exactly what you wanted; it made me listen. You
didn’t even glance over to see if I stayed, as if you knew I would. So you continued.
“Once upon a time in India, there was a peacock named Quentin. Quentin spent a lot of time
alone, wandering through India, and he was content. But then Nia the tiger showed up.
“What’s your name?” said Nia.
And he spoke to her in awe; he would have told her anything she asked.
“Do you want to be in love?” she asked.
Quentin responded eagerly, asking what he had to do,
“Not much,” said Nia, “just let me take one of your beautiful feathers”.
Quentin had never really been in any sort of love, so he obliged. Maybe tokens of himself were
needed for such a relationship, he guessed. So every day he gave her a feather, and in return Nia
gave him attention and adoration. Quentin forgot what it was like to ever be alone, and he began
imagining spending the rest of his time with Nia. And every night Quentin lost a feather, until a
day came when Nia asked for one and Quentin had no more to offer.
“I’ve already given you all my feathers, what now?”.
And Nia looked and him with a smile and said, “I don’t need more feathers. I want the rest of
you”.
“But why?” he asked.
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And Nia responded, “Because that’s what love is for”.
When Nia finished her meal she was sad and lonely. She missed Quentin very much. So she
went on a search for another love”
You finished your story, and you still never turned around.
Auden
Auden,
They say perfection is perception, but you made me rethink such a petty phase. You were so
stunning in your autumn boots and scarf at the end of that football game. You were so fed up
with me, since I invaded the only time you ever had alone. That’s what I wanted to happen. I
waved off the calls of my name and ride offers to unknown parties. I wanted to be near you, and
you were going nowhere but the top of those frozen skeleton bleachers. You would sit there for
hours, avoiding the shots that tasted like rubbing alcohol and the people that were laughing and
unraveling themselves. And I wanted to be with you. If I had the choice to be with someone like
you I think I would want to be with you all the time, and that’s what I tried doing.
Leaning against that fence after finishing my made up story, I didn’t turn around to look at
you in fear of that look I always got. That pitiful, confused, partly scared face. I couldn’t take that
from you, of all people. So I just listened for your voice.
“You speak nonsense. Quentin’s death didn’t mean anything, philosophically for anyone. I
mean it meant nothing in any way. It meant everything to Nia, but nothing to the universe. The
truth is that there is no meaning to anything, no great plan, no single God watching from the
clouds. Life is meaningless. Love is meaningless. Meaning only exists when we provide it,” you
hushed at me, and I heard the smack of your own hand against you mouth as you realized what
you just blurted out. You couldn’t see me, but I smiled at you.
“You never told me your name.”
“You never asked me,” you responded, and with that, you and your sense of wit stole off and
away from me.
Jev
Jev,
After that night at the game, I avoided you at all costs. It’s not like we interacted much in the
first place though, so it wasn’t hard. We had no classes together, no lunches. You were a face
that blended with everyone else’s, and my shy behavior allowed me to only see the ground as a
scurried to class, or when I occasionally would walk with my one or two friends to lunch or out
of school, and they occupied me well enough that my eyes skimmed you.
You acted like you wanted me to notice you. You certainly noticed me. I could feel your sharp
green eyes on my back as I hurried to class, and would catch your stares and smirks as I turned
to address my feelings of being watched. Seconds after seeing you I would whip myself around to
face forward again, my cheeks flushing as I buried my face deeper in my stack of papers and
books that I carried. Such a beautiful human so focused on me made me nervous, flighty, and
clammy. I wasn't worthy of such attention, and I was avid to prove to you just that. And I
continued to ignore your looks, and got even better at leading myself through crowded halls with
downcast eyes and shuffling feet.
I was so embarrassed. My response to your weird, yet intriguing story drove me crazy.
Nobody normal would not answer back with a speech that held no real importance to what you
were actually saying, but questions or responses that would keep the conversation going. A
normal girl would have flipped her hair and walked to your leaning figure, and make you look at
her. But I think I have already proved myself to be strange.
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I hadn’t interacted with you for over two weeks until Mallory, a close friend of mine, dragged
me of my few friends, I couldn’t turn down an outing that Mallory needed me to go on. I had to
have at least one person at my side during my lunch period, and going would not only support
my friend, but would've kept her with me.
So I went with no complaint, even allowing Mallory to dress me in a very tight maroon dress
with her staple leather jacket and black boots. Glancing at myself in the mirror as I wrapped a
plaid, red scarf around my slim neck, I actually felt worthy of attention.
With this thought, my mind wandered to your unwavering attention, and how maybe, just
maybe I was worth it to you. For a girl who has spent her entire life seemingly loving people
more than they love her, your reaction brought out my insecurities which I kept hidden as well
as a strange bravery that only came with the girl who believed she could handle herself.
As we left I stared at the setting sky. Azure and rose strips splashed the horizon like paint on a
canvas, the sun a beacon in the burnt orange landscape. I took such a sight as a sign; something
good had to happen tonight. Mallory was bouncing her way to her car, her curls waving down
her back in streams and her dress fluttering behind her. Smiling to myself, I followed, trailing to
the passenger side as we made our way to the party.
We arrived just as winds starting picking up and swirls of leaves chased down my ankles.
Signs of a storm were evident, but party goers just glanced their eyes up momentarily while they
continued on. A little rain wouldn’t ruin any major plans.
Auden
Auden,
You became mine on a night without stars, remember? A night when the city lights lit up the
small town sky, and the light in your eyes made up for all that the moon couldn’t provide. You’re
hair was up and out of your eyes; what you used to do to feel beautiful. I never saw you in any
other way.
I had made my way onto a balcony and away from the crowd, opting to look up at the plump
clouds and wait for the storm to come. And you definitely made an entrance.
Throwing the door open your petite frame whisked across the porch, your body slamming so
hard against the iron balcony I was worried you would just stumble over. I’m sure you hadn’t
seen me yet; leaning my back against the house on the side, my legs propped against the lining.
“Rain please come soon,” you mumbled to no one but yourself and the weather, which made
me smile the first time that whole night.
“Why do you like the rain so much?” I questioned. I couldn’t leave you be. I never could.
Startled you glanced over, your large eyes widening as you took in who I was, yet, like always,
your mouth moved before you could get a grasp on the situation. That mouth of yours was even
faster than your sharp mind, and you struggled immensely with your control over your
responses. You were always so embarrassed after you did this; it was one of my favorite things
about you.
“It reminds me to keep living.”
Your responses were usually awkward and different, and I knew that and was ready for it
every other time, but you shocked me. Your response to me will forever be one of the few things
in my life I’ll always keep in mind, a phrase I will carry with me in every situation and as I
continue my life. I didn’t know how to take this, and I don’t think I ever will.
Jev
Jev,
I watched your shocked face, and smiled to myself smugly. I had never caught you off guard;
you were the only person I had never not, and damn straight I was proud. I told you the same
13
response I always responded with when someone asked me as I sat in the rain. Feeling confident
with my now upper hand I shot at you: “Aren’t you lonely out here?”
I had turned around by then, but your eyes still trailed me, I could feel it. And in a short time,
you responded timidly.
“I’ve spent my whole lifetime lonely. I decided very early on that I should get used to it. I do
everything by myself. I’m even happier when I have no interactions with people. I learned early
on to learn to always go by myself. One benefit of being me is that people don’t bother me. I’m
surprised you even talk to me. Nobody’s ever just talked back to me. It took me several years of
my life to even speak. And look at us now,”
You infatuated me.
Auden
Auden,
You were rubbing off on me. I spoke to you then with no care of the problems I would create
with you. The questions I would gain and the pity filled looks you would throw my way. I hated
myself for that. I still couldn’t take those looks from you.
Shocking me not once but two times in one night, you turned and moved toward me, placing
your hands backward on the railing next to my feet and lifting your body up next to me. You
wavered slightly, bobbing to the side and down to the ground. Throwing my hand out, I grasped
your lower waist, tilting your leaning body back to the right position. Blushing, you tucked your
chin into your scarf, and watched your feet swing.
“I’m here now aren’t I?”
And you were. For the first time since the bleacher incident, you came to me.
Twisting my legs to the side, I copied your position and sat right up against you, our thighs
brushing. I had asked you if you were cold, but your legs had stopped swinging, stilling yourself,
including your breath. Again, I copied you, freezing my movements and tilting my head to the
side to look at you.
I came face to face with you, the tips of our noses brushing so close I saw every color plus
more. I saw your brown eyes widen and your pupils dilate. The color turning to a darker, burnt
chocolate on the rims and your inner eye swirl like creamy cocoa. I saw you, what you were
feeling. And you were feeling me.
My hands moved up to your hips, and I tugged you forward so you were against me. My heart
stumbled erratically, my knees shaking from the feel of your torso. Tilting my head to the side, I
kissed you.
Jev
Jev,
You electrified me. My body was humming and buzzing. You tasted like stardust and cold fall
air. Your lips were possessive, kissing me with a passion I had never known was possible. You
laid claim on my lips, with your hips and hands keeping me against you. My arms went around
your back, clutching your soft shirt with my fingers. raw, full of need, but loving and gentle.
When you pulled back to breathe, you buried your face in my neck, inhaling quickly.
“That was supposed to sweep you off your feet not the other way around,” you whispered to
my neck, finishing your statement with a trail of kisses on my jaw. I had built dreams of kissing
you. Dreams of you.
Throwing my head back I laughed, realizing then you had made your way between my knees.
Kissing you was maddening and addictive and the best feeling in my life. Looking at you, your
eyes were darker than before, darker than the midnight sky or the bottom of the ocean.
“You kiss like the world’s ending,” I said.
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You smiled, “Is there any other way to kiss?”
Auden
Auden,
I couldn’t look away from you that night, and I still can’t. Two months and you are still mine.
I couldn’t look away from you if I tried.
I sure as hell didn’t deserve you. There’s nothing that I could ever do to deserve you. I didn’t
know anything more true. And I told you this. Whispered it into your hair one of the nights we
laid on the roof of my house.
“We don’t deserve anything. Life owes us no love, no sorrow, nothing. So take what you want,
cause in return we also owe life nothing. Realize that.”
This rocked my world. Never had someone spoken to me with such sureness. Especially when
that sureness involved me. Lifting my head up,
I leaned over you, “Ti adoro, mio amore,” I spoke the language I hadn’t dared even think of
since my life fell apart in ribbons a year ago.
Drowsily, you lifted your eyelashes and stared at me not understanding what I was saying, but
understanding I was speaking in importance.
I answered your unasked question; “I adore you. Auden, I love you. I love your bones. Ti
adoro , mio amore, and I’m never taking that back.”
Jev
Jev,
First love is incredibly scary. It consumed me, every piece of what I was. For the first time in
my life, my heart stopped beating for me, but beat for you. You clouded my thoughts,
and everything you said or did engraved into my soul.
I looked at you like you were the sun and the moon and all the stars and galaxies and planets
in between. I just kept thinking of you. About our kisses and shared stories and dances in the
rain. Our endless peals of laughter, shared coffees and sleep talks. About how you tasted like
stardust and how you looked when you held me in your arms at night. How when I looked at you
I never wanted anyone to hold or look at me the way you did. your value was nothing less of
everything. You told me you loved me on that rooftop that night, and I’ve been on that rooftop
ever since.
Auden
Auden,
I can’t make sense of anything now . I don’t know what to do with us now that I’ve felt you in
my bones. I was in pieces over you, millions of shattered pieces, and you didn’t even know it. I
started to need you so much that I would hold my breath every time you disappeared from me
for only a small amount of time. My breath Auden. Like I couldn’t have air without you.
I posses many faults, and I looked to you to fix them. That was too huge of a burden for
anyone, especially you. You saw me for what I am, and due to that you became my universe. If I
can’t figure myself out, there’s no way you could.
I started to drift from you, paddle away in slow strokes. I thought I could make myself less
noticeable to you, but of course, you noticed, you always did. I would catch myself looking at you
with no feeling, and your dusty eyes would find their way up to mine.
“Why do you love me?” I asked
Your hand would settle on my jawline, your fingertips palming my cheek as you lifted my
head so I looked straight at you.
15
“Why do you think I shouldn’t love you?” questions answered with questions. I asked for
answers and you gave me the one question I always asked myself.
Sighing, I moved your hand from my face, turning away to leave you before you could do that
to me. I couldn’t leave without the last word though, and with this I said to myself, knowing you
would hear; “You’ll be the girl that once saved me from myself”
Jev
Jev,
You threw a brick at my window. It went crashing through my glass leaving a trail of glass
behind on my floor. I looked out of my now gaping window and I searched for the person
responsible, and I caught your car squealing down the side street.
Auden
Auden,
Nobody ever stays. nobody is made from good intentions and pure ideas. Nobody
understands what really goes on. Hell, nobody even understands themselves as much as they
claim. You’re here now, gone later. I’ve learned a lot in my solitude and the days I sat alone in
my empty home. My parents better have bleeding tongues from all the lies they told me. Don’t
give me love. Love is just another word for pity. Wanna know the truth? There is no such thing
as love. People leave. They change like the weather and leaves you screaming. And you wanna
know the truth? It never gets better. You find the truth in between the cracks of the floorboard
when you’re too tired to get up. You wanna know the truth? I figured this out the day I told you
something I promised I would never take back.
Jev
Jev,
You came for me at three that morning the same night you shattered my window. You woke
me to a world of watercolor. A gloomy city portrait washing away under a foggy sky. You
wrapped me in my comforter, cradling me in your arms as you jumped out of my gaping
window. You placed me in the front seat, buckling me in, even though you began denying caring
for me. It’s the reason I pretended to sleep as you brought me with you. The reason I didn’t fight
you and stay at home.
You sped down the roads, your eyes forward but with one hand on the wheel and the other
clutching my hand. I gazed at you between the folds of my blanket, curled in a ball facing you in
your spacious front seat. You never realized I was awake the whole time.
We stopped at a small sandy beach, and you jumped out of the car the minute it pulled to a
halt. You stormed to the shore, allowing the small lap of waves to run up your ankles. I observed
from the safety of the car, and only came up when your knees hit the sand.
Ditching the blanket, I trailed after you at a cautious pace, reaching your shoulder blades.
And catching me off guard you reached back and tore off your cotton shirt. baring me your tan
muscular back scored with dozens of red and white slashes. It wasn’t my first time seeing it, but
every time I trailed my mouth down your spine in the past you had pulled away. I knew your
father had done it to you. Whipped you your whole childhood right before he took off. We never
spoke of it; there’s just things about people you get to know once you really know them.
“You can do better Auden, you can find someone who will love you back the right way.. It was
my fault for being selfish. I wanted to at least attempt love, and the reason I chose you was
because we had nothing in common. The only thing we had in common was the fact that we
were hopelessly in love with each other from the start. I wanted you to help me find out if I could
ever love,” you spoke quietly to me from your position on the ground.
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I had held it together the whole time I watched you drift away from me, the time I was forced
to see us tearing but could never fix it. Tears trailed down my jaw and made pools in my
collarbones. I cried for you, for me, for us. For everything you refused to talk about and
everything you tried to tell me.
“Why did we come here,” I asked
You huffed at this, “Why does it matter?”
“Because you matter Jev!”
I was fed up with you. My tears became angry and red hot, my eyes burning from the shame
of letting you get away from me.
“You promised me Jev! You said you adored me. You told me we had forever and I said
forever sounded perfect. You promised that you would always be there for me. That you would
never leave me behind. And you lied. You lied to me. What is wrong with you?” my words came
out shaking and unkept.
You finally got up turning around to face me, your brows creased in confusion while you
stared down at your open palms.
“Everything. Everything is wrong with me,” you whispered.
I moved to you, whispering your name as I cupped your cheek and sadness reigned over both
of us.
“Do you still love me Jev?” it was a question that could both end us and keep us from falling
to pieces, or unravel you .
You looked at me with those eyes of yours, and with you not responding to me I found
everything I needed. My knees buckled and caved under me, but your thoughts caught up swiftly
and lowered to the ground with me.
“I’m going to tell you something Auden. Don’t let a guy like me ruin you. Don’t let me ruin
your life. People like me, people past saving seem to have only one goal- to take as many people
down with us as we can. And we’re good at it. You’re a person with a high tolerance of risk and a
slave to the rain, and you loved me more than I could ever deserve. And that’s the thing with
promises. Nobody ever keeps them,”
And you were gone.
And I was too.
Except your heart kept beating, and mine stopped beating for you.
Auden
Auden,
Sometimes I think that morning was too much for you. So much that I was able to leave you
for good. I ran from you; far, fast, and still falling from grace. You took me in stride, like having
me was easy, and I tore you down like leaving you was easy. I wore you down to the watercolors
that painted our last moments together.
Do you want to know my secret for dealing without you? I simply just accepted that my life
would always rip my chest open.
There was never a reason for people and when they decided to stay and when to leave. Fight
or flight? No, just flight. Always flight. They were there, don’t get me wrong. Some of us for
longer and some of us not long at all, but the one thing we could always depend on was that they
would always leave.
Taking this in somehow made breathing easier. I never let myself hope. And with that I was
able to breathe without you.
Jev
Jev,
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Loving you so blindly , even though you painted my thoughts with every reason I shouldn’t. I
didn’t want to break it off in fear that I could never find another person who could love me like
that. We thought that we could fix each other, but in the end we just tear each other open.
It’s so messed up; love. I fell in love, and I fell hard. I crashed to the ground and I swear to
you everything in me broke. I shattered and I noticed too late because your mouth was trailing
my neck as you murmured Italian to me. But you left and I finally felt it. Now I am crying in
waves in the morning as I clutch my thoughts of you because it all you left behind for me. I am
trying to keep myself together but old memories wrapping my head don’t work like glue,
Wrapping them around my heart won’t fix the creak of my ribs. It won’t stop anything.
Maybe I needed to learn to stop falling in love continuously with our memories.
Auden
can. You have got to love yourself.
Auden,
Stop loving me. You have got to wake up and
look at yourself without seeing deep purple
flowers passed blooming smudged under your
eyes. Stop staring at the rain and wishing you
could go out there without your feet hurting from
the ghost of dancing. Drink tea and watch the
shooting stars in the universe without wishing for
me. Sit next to that raven haired boy at the airport
and not take a second look to see if it was me.
You’ve got to wash that maroon dress you still
have of your best friend’s that you have forgotten
because you still think you can see my handprints
where I held you. You are not holding your bones
together with our stories anymore. Make the
black sky do that for you. Compliment a girl’s
eyes and don’t tell her they remind you of cold
skeleton bleachers and shared unfeeling towards
anyone other than each other. The person who
killed you can’t be the same one to squeeze all
your broken parts back together. Remember that.
You have to stop letting things that happened
many moments ago get in the way of your present
moments. Stop overthinking all my reasons to
give up on you. Love yourself, since no one else
Jev
Jev,
I always get asked the same question these days:
“Who broke you so badly that you started to break yourself?”
And with that I always have to remind myself that broken people like you were always the
dangerous ones. You were a mess; you were chaos and Fall and everything that I loved but I
loved you nonetheless. And you can’t make me deny that. Ever. We tore apart for reasons I don’t
know, but we sure as hell never had any reason to fall in love. We just did.
I know how it feels now: how hard it is to be the one left behind and forgotten. It’s hard to be
the one left adoring.
Auden
18
The Rest of Me
Gabbi Lettow
I wonder if time could be erased,
What would I rewrite?
I could disappear all my mistakes,
Recapture what slipped away.
Turn back to yesterday,
But I have to let it go.
Just live in the moment,
‘Cause it's a beautiful ride.
Like a flower in the sun,
Or a perfect night that's just begun.
Like a lazy summer breeze,
Or a dance with the sea.
Time can't be bottled up,
Tic-tock with some luck.
Gonna make the best of this beautiful mess,
I'll make the best of the rest of me.
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Love by Doves
Lexey Stewart
SCENE 1
INT. DOCTORS OFFICE. DAY.
Eckman sits by Kat who is lying on a hospital bed. Her head is bandaged, covering most of her
hair and both of her eyes. She has scars up and down her arms and her skin is pale. Her body is
covered in bandages up to her neck and upper chest. Eckman strokes Kats exposed skin softly.
She jitters.
Eckman: You're awake. I've been waiting for you. And here you are. Do you know why you're
here?
Kat: No, why? Who are you? Why can't I see anything?
Eckman: You got in a crash my dove, and it took your sight away. You still may be a little fuzzy.
But you're here because you love me.
Kat: Love?
Eckman: Yes, love. You loved me flaws and all. That's why I am with you. That’s why we are with
each other.
Kat: Love?
Eckman thinks and nervously shifts, then gets an idea. He leans forward and kisses Kat on the
lips, wanting Kat to remember him. After a moment, Kat smiles.
Kat: Love.
Eckman: When you love someone, they express it through a kiss. The kiss is love.
Eckman kisses her again and she smiles.
Eckman: Do you like love?
Kat: Love is nice.
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SCENE 2
INT. DOCTORS OFFICE. DAYTIME.
One month later. Eckman visits Kat, as he does every day. Kat is finally able to sit up. Her head
is still bandaged but her scars fading away.
Eckman: I wish I could do something with your eyes. I wish you could see me. What's it like in
the dark?
Kat: I want to see you. The darkness feels like such absence. I want to be able to touch you.
She raises her hands.
Eckman: To see is the best gift anyone could receive. I promise you Kat, you will see me again.
Kat: I know, I miss it. I miss waking to your beautiful brown eyes, and running my hands
through your thick blonde hair.
Eckman: I miss it too.
Eckman smiles happily as she finally is remembering him.
Kat: Eckman?
Eckman: Kat?
Kat: Kiss me.
Eckman smiles, and then gets sad, because Kat is unable to see his smile.
Kat: I am confused.
Eckman Why, love?
Kat: It's not fair. Why did he have to crash into me? Why did he have to take my sight away?
Eckman: He was drunk Kat, and now he is in jail. Don't worry my dove, you will get your sight
back. Life isn’t fair, but that’s okay. Because you can get through it.
Eckman gently grabs Kat’s hand and kisses it softly.
Kat: Please don't leave me.
Eckman turns and holds her.
Eckman: I can't leave you. Why would I leave?
Kat: Because I can't compliment you. I can't see you. It's not fair to you. I love you so much and I
don't want you to leave me.
She kisses him, missing his lips, and he corrects her kiss.
Eckman: Why do you love me?
Kat: You give me everything. You are my world.
Eckman: I'll never leave you. You are everything I've ever wanted, needed.
Kat: Your love is all I need.
She kisses him again.
SCENE 3
CUT TO: He is on the bed with her, holding her. She is smiling.
INT. LABORATORY. DAY.
30 years later. Eckman is much older, looking very weak. Kat hasn't aged much, and is looking
healthier with scars that are almost completely faded. She has bandages over her eyes with glass
shades covering them. She rests her hands on Eckman's hands.
OLD Eckman: Kat, you are looking so well.
Kat: Really? Are they healed? My scars?
OLD Eckman: Perfectly. Can you feel anything? Are your hands working properly?
Kat: Yes, I can feel you. You feel so nice. I just wish I could see you, the touch is not enough.
OLD Eckman: Soon my dove.
Kat: Are you happy with me?
OLD Eckman: Always, I know how much you want your eyes, and I know you may feel
completed with them, but you have always been complete to me.
Kat: Ill be complete, and all yours.
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OLD Eckman: Until death do I part, Kat.
Kat: As do I. Eckman, don't say death.
OLD Eckman: Why?
Kat:: It sounds sad.
OLD Eckman: Death is not something to be sad about, at least not forever.
Kat: I don't want to think about you dying before I get to see you.
OLD Eckman: You've give me a lifetime of happiness. Never forget that. You've made life worth
living.
Kat: And you've given me life.
Kat smiles.
OLD Eckman: Can you do me a favor, and get me a glass of water?
Old Eckman starts coughing.
Kat: Are you alright?
Kat starts panicking.
OLD Eckman: I'm fine darling, just a little parched.
She kisses him. He gives her a sad smile.
INT. DOCTORS OFFICE. DAY.
Old Eckman moves slowly towards Kat, who sits on the edge of her seat. Eckman reaches for her
eye bandages with shaking hands, but she is moving too much with excitement. He laughs.
OLD Eckman: Hold still.
Kat: Hold still? I can barely stay on my chair I am so excited!
OLD Eckman: I hope you won't be disappointed.
Kat: That is nonsense Eckman.
OLD Eckman: I wish I could have given you sight long long ago. Eyes were all you wanted.
I'm so sorry you had to wait this long dove.
Kat:: But I see now. I will see.
OLD Eckman: Yes. You will.
Kat finally calms down and Old Eckman removes the bandages. Kat sees him, blinks and then
smiles so big that it was hard to follow it across her face.
Kat: I see you. Eckman, I see you.
She gives him a big kiss nearly knocking him over. Then she rushes to a mirror. She looks
happily at herself. Old Eckman comes up next to her. He smiles but has a sad look in his eyes.
She pulls him up to the mirror next to her.
OLD Eckman: You're a very beautiful woman.
Kat: You're a very handsome man.
OLD Eckman: No, I am old and look tired all the time. My aged eyes sag, but look at yours.
Yours will never sag. Maybe years from now, but not anytime soon.
Kat: Your eyes may sag, but they are just eyes, and like you said, eyes don't make a person
complete.
She looks at him, touching his face, then turns around happily touching everything she sees.
SCENE 4
EXT. ECKMAN'S HOME. DAY. 2 months pass. Old Eckman is getting more tired, and more sick
as the days pass. They are at his house now.
Eckman: I want to show you something.
He leads Kat outside to his beautiful garden. His backyard oversees the Rocky Mountains. She
gasps and nearly faints into his arms. He about falls trying to hold her up. They both take a seat
on a bench in his backyard.
Eckman: I wish I could stay a little longer to enjoy your new gift of sight with you. But soon, you
will not be able to see me like I am now, alive and up. And I just want to apologize. You deserve
the most beautiful sights in the world. Kat, I’ll love you forever.
22
Kat: Eckman, I'm glad you brought me out here. This is more beautiful than I imagined.
She looks at Eckman.
Kat: But nothing will ever be as beautiful as the sight of your face. Ill love you forever as well, my
dove.
23
Cities of Light
Daniell Plomondon
Whispers of wind of what had once been there,
Curling through the melody of a lyre.
Sways through trees with the leaves in the air.
A crack in the ground is simply a tear
Where earth, in defeat has begun to tire.
Whispers of wind of what had once been there.
Searching across a land that will lay bare.
A desolate wasteland where rain is dire,
Sways through the trees with the leaves in the air.
A sea that turned to stone and dust. Once there
Were bronze skies, cities of crystal spires,
Whispers of wind of what had once been there.
An endless, beautiful sight. "I once cared".
Swirling image of dust through the empire,
Sways through the trees with the leaves in the air.
The world was once fair; a girl had lived there,
With the sight of the world before the fire.
Whispers of wind of what had once been there,
Sways through the trees with the leaves in the air.
24
The Sixth Sense
Shanleigh Sullivan
I want you to use your imagination. Now, imagine a world with no warmth. No cold. No
cool lemonade on a hot day and no hot cocoa on a cold one. No leaves brushing against your
skin or breeze rustling through your hair and no pain or pleasure. What if those things were
all happening, but you just couldn’t
feel them? Imagine being trapped in a
bubble, surrounded by a micrometer
of air on all sides. You can’t
feel. Things that would brush against
you just contact the invisible field and
bounce away. Would you think that
somehow you have been converted to
antimatter and repel everything? Or
that your nerve endings are cut
off? Or perhaps the messages just
aren’t hitting the brain? Welcome to a
world engineered by scientists, where
touch is forbidden, a law reinforced by
a new law of physics; the atmospheric
force field.
Yes, people can touch things like
pots and groceries and food, they can
move them around, they just can’t feel
them. What is the difference between
“touch” and “feel” you may ask? “Feel”
implies that nerves are sending
messages to the brain, “touch” implies
that someone is able to hold, eat, or
drink without necessarily feeling the
action. However “feel” in its’ literal
sense is too close to the surface, so take it figuratively. People in the old world can “feel” the
rhythm of music, or “feel” ecstatic about winning a game, or just “feel” happy in the simplest
sense. No more. When people lost the sense of touch, away went their emotions as
well. Imagine and build on a world without emotion or the sense of touch. What do you
see? All I see is a mass of empty people, mechanically working like cogs in a machine,
meshing perfectly because they can’t think. Thought is a product of the desire to better the
world or oneself and if emotion doesn’t exist, then bettering something doesn’t really have a
point, does it? Thinking is lost with the “feeling” that something is right, or the “feeling” you
achieve when you think of a creative or original idea.
Imagine a world that is infinitesimally efficient. A proportional amount of children are
born around the same time. A proportional amount of the old die around the same time. A
proportional amount of food is farmed, consumed, and replanted. No one objects, and no
one complains. They don’t “feel” that this is wrong. The cycle continues through the end of
time, so long as the scientists don’t introduce the sense of touch back into these peoples’
lives. The loss of the sense of touch also causes the loss of language. It was determined
earlier that thinking required the sense of touch, so if language requires thought, then that
is lost too, along with logic and reason. No ability to think means no creativity. Creativity is
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required for the composition of music, the magic of story-telling or writing, artwork, poetry,
the list goes on and on. There are no schools because schools require thought and teach you
how to think, and if feeling is against the law, then, by extension, so is thinking. The world
is ruled by those who can feel, have emotions, and think. Their kingdom is a large amount
of empty, unfeeling people with no purpose in life. They can’t be depressed because of this
and it’s depressing that they can’t be depressed, because that is a feeling. A simple act of
kindness can no longer touch the heart in a way it will feel, a quick smile will never reach the
mind in any way. This is a world of people who live without emotion, thought, feeling, or
purpose. There is neither rhyme nor reason, literal or figurative, and there’s no way out.
Thank you for joining this experiment. Atmospheric force fields will encase you at this
time. Your collective imagination has created this world. Everything you imagined is now
true. Let this be an introduction to your sixth sense; a functional, creative, and effective
imagination. One that can build or destroy whatever you may want. But in this new
world you have just created, you have forfeited this ability as well as your ability to
feel. Step into this new world. It’s too late to go back. Welcome to your new
existence. Welcome to chaos.
Welcome to reality.
26
The Legacy
Will Krebs
The wandering seer
Seeks refuge inside a cave
Atop the mountain
Hurrying inside
The wind blows cold, but inside
A fire burns warm
The flickering light
Paints the shadow of a boy
On the cavern wall
As the seer sits down
He starts to tell his story
Weaving his soft words
As his story ends
The fire starts to die out
And the cave darkens
A young boy appears
And begins down the mountain
Leaving himself behind
27
Why I Sing
Abrianna Judson
I remember sitting on the edge of
my seat in the music room waiting
for my teacher, who we called Mr.
O, to ask who wanted to come up
and sing in front of our third grade
class. It was Friday. Every Friday he
would let the interested kids come
up and sing a song. All week long I
waited for Friday. Not because it
was the weekend, but because I
loved to be able to sing in front of
the class. I did not care that I may
not have been very good. I did not
care if most of the class was not
listening. I simply loved having the
chance to stand up and let my voice
be heard by someone, somewhere.
It was the only source of excitement
I felt. It was the only part of myself
I was proud of. I remember singing
being what separated me from the
from the majority of the population. Yes, I wanted to feel different. Since I was young, singing is
what has helped me to accomplish being an individual.
Later on, my love for singing became even greater. My sister, Makaria, was a starring role in
The Wizard of Oz. The middle school was putting on the production, but I was only in the fifth
grade. Although I could not be in the show, I went to every rehearsal. I memorized every single
line. I knew every song, every gesture, and every scene change that happened throughout the
musical. I had no expectations of being in the show itself, I simply loved being in that
environment. On opening night, Christine (who played Dorothy) became sick backstage and was
throwing up. They had no understudy for her, and no one in the show knew all her songs or
lines. I was sitting in the audience awaiting for the show to begin when my mom came up to me
and whispered in my ear what was happening. Because I was the only one who knew every cue
in the whole show, the director wanted me up on stage. My stomach had immediate butterflies. I
was not nervous, but excited. My hands did not shake, and my voice did not tremble. Instead, it
carried from the stage to the back of the auditorium, filled with joy. I had this fantastic
opportunity to be the lead in a show I had not even auditioned for. It was the most amazing
thing to me when I was little, and that day still holds a special place in my heart because I
remember it being a day when my voice was needed.
It is no secret that I am not the only person who holds this love for singing. The world is full
of hearts, young and old, that are in love with singing. I do not believe that anyone needs a
reason to love what they love, but I also believe that anyone who loves singing has a reason for
it. Whether an individual excels with their voice or not, they will continue to sing if they have a
love for it. From my perspective, people love singing for a deeper reasoning than simply “It’s
fun.” People sing because:
(i) It is a connection. Someone once said, “Sometimes you love people in a language they
cannot understand.” When someone sings, and I mean truly sings from their heart, they feel
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something that is irrevocable. Whether someone is a jock, a nerd, a cheerleader, a criminal, a
genius, or anything else imaginable, they could all relate when it comes to singing. It brings
people together. A choir sings songs with varieties of languages. A different language does not
mean a different meaning, though. Just from the sound of a song, the heart can hear what the
singing is about without words that their mind can comprehend. This brings me to a whole other
reason why people sing.
(ii) The eutony. A simple sound can be the reason so many thousands of people sing. A simple
sound can be so pleasant, so peaceful, that it draws others in. No one needs to explain why they
enjoy a sound, maybe they just do. That is something unique about music. There aren’t always
words to explain it, but there are sounds which portray the feelings of it. The sound of music can
be magical to the ear. That alone may be enough to keep someone singing for the rest of their
lives.
(iii) Optimism. The list of songs written to inspire people could go on for eternity. “In Better
Hands” was written to give hope to anyone in the world who has lost someone dear to them.
“Keep Holding On” was written to encourage those who are experiencing unimaginable
hardships to persevere and make it through. “It Gets Better” was written to remind everyone
that problems are temporary. “Skyscraper” was written to help people be optimistic whenever
they are beaten down, because they will rise up again. I could go on and on naming the songs
that have no doubt saved hundreds of lives. Singing is what gives so many thousands of people
hope that every storm will pass.
(iv) Elucidation. Words are not always enough to portray feelings. In fact, they are almost
never enough. What singing does is it gives a clearer interpretation of the emotions from the
depths of one’s soul. Speaking allows you to have a certain tone which can give an idea of what
someone is feeling, but nothing is quite the same as singing. Singing comes from the heart and
has the power to bring chills over an entire room. People sing because they can scream out
everything they have been holding inside in a beautiful way. When words cannot compare to the
hurt, excitement, love, or fear one is feeling, singing has the power to illuminate the emotion.
I sing because it is the main aspect of life that brings me acceptance. It is not socially
acceptable to cry your heart out in the middle of the room. It is not socially acceptable to
proclaim your love for someone or something loud enough for the whole world to hear. It is not
socially acceptable to scream at someone at the top of your lungs because of the misery they
have put you through. The thing is, no one can simply keep these emotions in while being a
healthy human being. The magic of singing is it allows me to do all of these things I listed while
remaining a “socially acceptable” person. Singing gives individuals an excuse to exaggerate every
feeling they have. Singing is the reason I am able to portray my emotions while being accepted
by others.
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I have had depression. I have had anxiety. I have been through the wringer, yet I am still here.
I am a firm believer that is because of singing. I used to feel as though I had no significance to
anyone. I felt that my voice would never be heard, and that my voice did not deserve to be heard.
I felt this way for years of my life until one life changing event occurred: I lost everything. Okay,
not exactly everything, but my whole world was falling apart. My parents had gotten divorced.
My grandpa had died. My sister moved out, my brother was in prison once again, and my best
friends seemed to be invisible. Why is it that so many horrible events made my love for singing
grow a thousand times bigger than it had already been? You could say I had an epiphany. I
realized that feeling sorry for myself was not going to get me anywhere. I realized that even if no
one wanted to hear my voice, I did not care. I wanted to be happy. Years of feeling as though my
voice did not matter took a toll of me, and I realized that my voice mattered to me. That was why
I kept singing. So many horrible events had happened in my life. Sometimes horrible events
make you realize exactly what you need to make amazing events occur.
I still remember sitting in that third grade classroom waiting for my name to be called to sing
in front of a group of people who did not care to hear me sing. I still remember going to every
single rehearsal for The Wizard of Oz when no one thought I would be needed there. I look back
on the last four years of high school and remember how not a single person knew me when I
came to Niwot High School, and I was still elected as President in my freshman choir class. I
look back on that freshman year and remember that I was voted the most valuable person in
that choir. Now, for the past two years, I have had the opportunity to go to New York City and
sing in a real Broadway show. I see how far I have come, and I can’t imagine my life being any
different.
Over the years by voice has matured, but that is not what matters to me anymore. I now only
care that I, myself, have matured. I would not have been able to become this proud teenage girl I
am today had I not been singing my entire life. I am not sure who I would be if I never
recognized singing as my life saver, but I do not care to know. My love for singing has lead to my
love for myself, which is something that thousands of teenage girls yearn for. I begun singing
because it was fun. I kept singing because I loved having my voice be heard. I will keep singing
the rest of my life because it connects me to an amazing world that I never would have
discovered.
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Fire
Trevor Quinn
The light shines bright while I stare into the dark corner
The heat from the small flame is all the warmth I have.
A small flame that has potential to start an elegant fire.
Fire is but a baby’s first breath,
Fire is the heat in a lover's heart,
Fire is the sun that keeps us warm,
The thoughts flow through my head just like a candle’s smoke rising.
My eyes only focused on a small glow.
I think, what can fire become.
Fire can become the reason someone has warmth,
Fire can become the food we thrive for,
Fire can become the rebirth of a phoenix,
Fire is in my eyes.
Fire is in my heart.
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The Immortal Twins
Chris Dierks
… Hey, Dad?
Yes son?
Can you tell me the story again, the one about the twin brothers, one of shadow and one of
light?
I told you that one last week! If you’re sure about hearing it again…
Following the Rise of the Golden Sun Empire, the former Empire of the Seven Stars, a festival
was held along the far eastern coast of Thael on the night of the first full moon of the summer,
and was scheduled to end on the first new moon. The festivities ranged from fireworks of a
thousand colors exploding across the brightened night sky to various sorcerers performing
magic shows. The fireworks formed a number of shapes, some moving and others still; dragons,
fireflies, serpents, fish, tigers… The Golden Sun Empire left out no exceptions, but the sorcerers’
shows were more than just spells and mind tricks. These shows represented a nation’s strengths
and defenses, their prowess with magic.
Each citizen wears a color on all of their clothing to signify their affiliation, and the type of
magic they focus on within their nation. The Golden Sun Empire wears yellow and focuses on
fire magic, using flames to strengthen their bodies; The Beastiary wears blue and focuses on
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summoning and shapeshifting; The Daughters of Yggdrasil wear green and focuses on healing
for the spirit and body; The Rangers wear brown and focus on nullifying and limiting
spellcasting. During the festival, the Rangers were to act as guards and make sure that no illegal
spells are cast, including blood magic and necromancy. But, no matter how many Rangers
protected the festival, none could control the anger of the spirits within the ocean. Across the
Sea of Mirrors, a bright beam of white light shot into the sky. In turn, a black beam of light
descended from the moon. As they collided, the night’s sky danced with all colors of the
rainbow, as well as one hundred unimagined. Two winged figures fell from the sky, one
surrounded by black flames and one encased within a bubble of golden water. Desperate and
scared, each nation sent out a boat to rescue the two mysterious men. As they were dragged to
the shore, and placed on the soft, powdery sand, each nation took a turn to examine them
carefully. Each brother looked exactly identical, with sharp jawlines, cleft chins and narrow,
small noses. Their facial features resembled nobility, aristocracy and uniqueness. Though they
seemed humanoid enough to come from this plane of existence, no similar creatures were
known to exist. The twins, as they were named, both radiated with an aura of gentleness, but
sheer cruelty. The one with black wings had long, shoulder-length white hair, clean and smooth.
The white-winged twin had equally long raven black hair, kept at the same style with the same
parting line on the left of the forehead, with a few strands falling down his cheeks. With shut
eyes, no breathing and no pulse, it was assumed that they were killed on impact when they
collided in the sky.
Taking turns, the nations of Thael gathered their sorcerers and began to examine the bodies.
First, the Beastiary took their turn, as it seemed they were summoned into existence, but no
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traces were found of such magic. Next, the Daughters of Yggdrasil, who attempted to heal their
wounds and waken them from unconsciousness, but their bodies rejected the magic almost
immediately. In hopes of waking up their muscles, the Golden Sun Empire sent their five most
powerful sorcerers to light their bodies in warm artificial sunlight. The twin with white wings
took in the sunlight and seemed to rise like a marionette puppet; limp arms and legs, a sunken
chest and no muscle control within the neck. On the other hand, the twin with black wings
writhed like a snake whose body were lit aflame, kicking up sand and shuddering with apparent
pain. Its throat opened, jaw snapping fully wide, as a howl of sheer agony resonated across the
cliffs and beaches along the Sea of Mirrors. What sounded like countless lives being stripped
away from living creatures all came from the mouth of this man. His eyes were the first to open,
and the wails of pain intensified. The right eyes was a black coal, with a single burning ember at
its core. The left eye was a swirling pool of black ink, void of color and emotion. Ripples of an
inky liquid dripped down from this eye and smeared his cheek with a glossy film of water. With
the sound of bones crunching under strain and pressure, this twin manages to speak a first
word, a single plea that silenced the planet.
“STOP.”
All sorcerers in the area immediately backed away, cancelling their spellcasting with
assistance from the Rangers. The twin with white wings awoke and dove to aid his counterpart.
To the surprise of every onlooker, this twin had a matching left eye, but his right eye shone with
blue light encased in a milky white shell. Neither of them spoke, but only stared into the eyes of
the other with anger, yet understanding; fury, but empathy; joy, but loneliness. Each twin stood
up and waved a hand down their chest, creating matching jackets and pants that shared their
wing color. Only their hair was different, and they seemed to want it that way. In unison, each
twin bowed before the leaders of the four nations, and spoke.
“Hello. We are the Immortal Twins of Light and Shadow. We are to act as the pillars
separating your world and the outside.” Their voices sounded exactly the same, only changing
with tone. The black-winged twin sounded respectful and soft, while the white-winged twin
spoke with sarcasm and boredom. Each took a turn stepping forward and naming themselves,
starting with the blue-eyed twin.
“My name is Abaddon Jaeger. I represent the Pillar of Shadow, the connection to Father.
Though I have white wings, I am not gentle. I am cruel, evil, and accepting of who I am. My
name means Demon Hunter, although that would mean I hunt myself.” Stepping back, he
motioned to his brother to continue. Spreading out his dark wings, the onlookers choked back
their fears as they met the gaze of his left eye, the swirling pool of ink that only radiated death,
and pain. When the white-winged brother gave the same gaze, his left eye gave the same aura,
but was calmed by the bright blue of his right.
“My name is Seraph Jaeger, meaning Angel Hunter. I represent the Pillar of Light, the
connection to Mother. Though I have black wings, I will show restraint and understanding to
your sorrows and troubles. I, too, would be hunting myself, if I followed my name. We, the
Immortal Twins, are opposites both inside and out: one white with a core of Shadow; one black
with a core of Light. Do not pity us, only love us or fear us, as is your choice. However, we are
here to stay.”
The inhabitants of Thael remained silent for one too many moments, causing the twins to
look pained and feeling unwanted. The leaders of each nation exchanged looks of doubt and
confusion, as whispers began throughout the crowd. Kastigere, the human leader of the Golden
Sun Empire stepped forward and bowed to the twins. His actions silenced the crowds, and all
eyes went to him.
"We honor your positions, and welcome your presence on our lands. I am Kastigere, the
Emperor of the Golden Sun Empire, to the near-West of us. If you have any questions, you may
ask the four nations for any and all infor--¨ The twins interrupted with a small hand raising,
each smiling kindly to the middle-aged emperor.
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¨Your kindness is shown, though we both know everything, and absolutely everything, about
your nations. We know of each war you have held, all lives you have spared or cut down to gain
your seats, and all secrets spoken under quiet breaths. Mother and Father see all, hear all,
and feel all. A wound to another creature is a wound against them. If we are to share
information, then we shall give you some in turn. Father, or The Umbra, resides at the core of
your planet. He sits and stirs within his prison cell, eating at your emotions. Mother, or The
Lumina, resides on her throne of the moon. She stares down at you all, and wishes to walk
amongst you, to feel your pain and hear your voices, but she cannot step down to this ground.
They sent us to aid you, and stop your wars and conflicts, and unite as one strong people.¨
¨But, if you are to unite us under their words, why would a being of Shadow wish for it to
disappear?¨ An elven woman stepped forward from the Daughters of Yggdrasil: Ashyl. Flowing
brunette strands followed her every step, and a crown of black, red and blue roses signified her
seat: the Elder of Yggdrasil, the highest ranking Daughter, and most powerful healer. Kastigere
knelt beside her as she stepped before the Twins, and her smile reflected upon Seraph, whose
blue eye met hers with a spark of conflict. Abaddon gently rested his hand on his brothers
shoulder, calming him.
¨I speak for Father,¨ said Abaddon, who had collapsed his wings into his back, folded nicely
into the crevice between his shoulder blades. ¨And my word is his own. He is bored of feeling
hatred, bored of seeing people suffer. Though it feeds and sustains him, he wishes to sacrifice
this source of food in exchange for his freedom. He, too, cannot walk amongst you, or share in
the delights and sorrows of this world. He is encased in chains, forged by all emotion, good or
bad, on this world. By hating each other, and wishing to betray each other, he is kept within this
planet's core for longer and longer amounts of time. Allow him freedom, not to walk with you,
but to leave entirely. Allow him to leave this plane of existence, and go back to Infernus. If he
were to leave, Mother would be allowed to return to this land, and help you in any ways within
her power.”
Sounding too good to be true, Ashyl exchanged looks with Kastigere, and Kastigere rose to his
feet.
“What you’re proposing is just not possible at the time… We have traditions to settle,
economies to fix. We cannot just forget all of our problems and change at the drop of a coin.”
Kastigere coughed and sent an apologetic look towards the people of the Beastiary, the least
wealthy and most impoverished nation on Thael. Though they understood he meant no harm, all
creature-folk hung their heads a little bit lower than the rest. Even the wealthiest of Daughters
and Golden Sun residents looked away from them in shame, not for the Beastiary being poor,
but for the rich understanding the implications of their economic wealth.
Seraph slowly walked up to a tanuki-person, adult-sized and patchy with spots of baldness
along his coat. “We will help you in any way we can. We promise you, by Mother and Father.”
Both Abaddon and Seraph knelt before the Beastiary’s assembly, and embraced hands with each
appearing citizen. We shall see if they keep this promise...
35
Different
By Maxwell Nieberger
When did the world become trapped in normal?
Building fences to keep others out,
then locking themselves inside.
How many look through their gilded bars
and for a moment, long to be free?
How many hide in plain sight
terrified that, for a moment, their mask slipped.
All of them marching the same old ground,
pretending the mud doesn’t stick to their heels,
following the same dirt trails
while we dance the rolling green hills.
When did the world misplace its wonder?
Looking so closely at every brush stroke
they cannot see the painting.
Do any of these look through their tiny windows
and wish to see the whole sky for once?
Do any of these dare to step back
and watch their countrymen march ever on?
An endless flow of individual people,
everybody different just like everybody else,
all of them thinking they walk a new trail
while we dream and watch the stars spin by.
When did the world start to leave me behind?
A solemn plodding into the future
I could never hope to match.
Will anyone look back and see me here,
slowing down so I can catch back up?
Will anyone see the incredible world around them
and wonder why the future is better?
Yet still the world walks ever forward,
all of them striving for an unseen goal.
All of them one step closer to the future,
as I fade into the flames of a sun-burnt sky.
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Mother and Father
Nick Breyer
There existed two beings, there was the body, Mother
Earth, and the soul, Father Cedar. The Soul represented the
non material things, like love, life, and trust. The body
represents the physical building blocks of life. These
physical things range from bodies of water, the earth, the
sand, and even the air itself. Our home was formed from
these bodies. Mother Earth carved a masterpiece out of
herself and used each of the bodies to portray beautiful
landscapes. Nothing could compare to the beauty of Mother
Earth, she was unique. She was just as large as she was
beautiful and as beautiful as was lonely. For years and years
she sat alone, painting more and more landscapes, slowly
changing her beauty, evolving into something more. Her
rivers became oceans, her stone became mountains, her
earth became canyons, and her sand became great deserts.
Deserts were her favorite canvas, so simple and her opinion
the most beautiful. Using the same materials over and over she knew she was missing
something to complete her work of art. From a place farther than the moon and the stars
came Cedar. Cedar was strong, he had energy, he was full of life and emotion. Mother Earth
was baffled by what he was. He was extremely deep with love and hate, each at an
equilibrium. Cedar named the love and hatred passion. When Cedar and Earth met
something new that has never happened before erupted. Father Cedar told Mother Earth, if
she chose to stay with him for eternity than he would have three gifts for her. He said the first
gift I give to you, is my family. Father Cedar put trees covering all of Mother Earth’s bodies.
Tree’s were the parents of all plants. Mother Earth finally had more materials to explore her
beauty with. She had an inconceivable amount of options now.
The second gift I give to you is my passion. Cedar’s soul surged through Mother Earth’s body.
She was filled with life and emotions, his energy swarmed her surface. She found the missing
paint she needed, It was life. Life was family and love. Life was protecting those dear to you. Life
is surviving to pass on what you had to your children. Life is trial and error. In all the millions of
years Mother Earth sat alone, she had never once Matured. By herself, her own limits are
defined, but with Cedar these limits are broke. Before she felt dry and bland, but now she has a
whole new perspective. Earth had many creatures, she was entertained for ages by all the
animals she could bring forth. Just with two gifts from another being, she changed, she grew,
she evolved. The oceans gave life to fishes, the mountains gave life to birds, the canyons gave
life to insects, and the deserts gave life to reptiles. She set up challenges for some animals and
pure unfairness to others, it was a world of chaos. But that was no matter to her because all she
is, is a Canvas. Chaos is what is shown because that is how the artist feels. Because of her
emotions, She brought forth forces of the winds and waters, volcanoes erupted, Earthquakes
broke mountains, valleys were flooded, the animals she created were no match. After wiping her
slate clean she experimented with a more subtle being, Why have creatures that are so
big(dinosaurs) to the point they dumbly destroy everything in their path, why not have a clever
small creature who won’t harm the Earth. Mother Earth had many attempts to finding the
harmony in peace and destruction. She made creatures of all forms and sizes, they lived in
places you wouldn’t even dream of. From high above the mountains, to the horrors that she
made dwell at the bottom of the sea. She decided she wanted to create small creatures that
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better the earth. An intelligent animal that would nurture its Mother. She would give each
animal an individual set of characteristics as well as a name.
After cleaning the slate Mother Earth was very excited for her third gift, but Cedar refused he
said, “Use what you have now because you are not ready for what is next.”
She trusted Cedar and she went on creating. She created millions of things over the years,
Earth knew she had an unlimited palette of things to use or create but she knew she was still
missing that one thing. The one thing that blows everything else out of the way. She begged and
begged Cedar for him to give her the final gift but he said she wasn’t ready. She didn’t
understand equilibrium, Cedar knew she favored some things over others. Simple things like
water over stone. Every year Earth would ask Cedar for his gift but he still denied her. Mother
Earth got fed up with it one day and decided that if she was gonna spend eternity with him she
needed that last gift immediately. Instead of asking Cedar for the gift she waited until he was
sleeping, and stole it. The last gift was Humanity. Humanity is the hardest, purest, and most
concentrated form of passion there is. It was more glorious than anything she ever perceived
before. Mother Earth’s greedy and lustful nature corrupted the humanity and through its
equilibrium off balance. Her evil overwhelmed the Humanity and made it turn black. When
Cedar woke up and found what she had done he was furious. His wrath was nothing like she had
ever seen, she had never seen this kind of anger from anything. For once in her life she was
scared. Cedar told her that she disobeyed him and he foresaw this gluttonous behavior. He said
her prideful and envious intentions were the end of them He said he was leaving her and now
she must deal with the corrupted Humanity alone. Cedar left and went back to his old home past
the stars. With her heart broken some of Mother’s passion died. She became inactive and
unmotivated, because of her depressed nature from great loss she stayed slothful. Her life
ended.
Mother recognized many of these evil characteristics within her own children. In fact the first
seven showed the characteristics the most. Although, nothing lasts forever, especially
entertainment. Mother Earth still kept her gift untouched. She looked at the dark humanity as a
curse and scapegoat for her evil untrustworthy nature. The day Mother used all her paint and
the masterpiece was complete, she questioned it. She questioned herself and what she was
capable of. She asked why was there always something missing. Why was enough never enough.
Mother threw herself into a rage and crushed the corrupted Humanity. The Humanity
overwhelmed her at first and surged far greater than life could ever. Humanity brought forth
love, hatred, despair, selfishness, evil, ignorance, and death, but that wasn’t the only thing
humanity offered. The black humanity brought sin with it. This entity of power could change
everything, she came up with a new passionate animal. One that represented Cedar, that
creation is Man. An intelligent animal filled with sin and reason. Man was also filled with life,
energy and passion. Mother Earth corrupted man, man was supposed to be pure and goodhearted. Mother Earth wept for Cedar to return but he never did. Over the years man evolved.
they became a parasite Mother Earth could not control. They destroyed her with ignorance,
burned her with selfishness, and purged her with despair. Mother Earth cried and cried.
Regretting the past, she couldn’t move to the future. Her beauty became destruction and Man
became its owner. Her life ended when Life left her.
38
Remember the Joy
Noah Woeste
How short life feels from well within our eyes.
I cannot see the future or the past.
I only feel the time as if it flies.
I grasp the hour as if it is the last.
I look behind and see what life has been.
I look ahead and see what’s yet to come.
The past is gone and can’t be tried again.
But dreams can alter where our plans come from.
Within each soul there is a plan to strive.
Just fill your life with lots of joy and smiles.
Rejoice each day so that you feel alive.
Enjoy each step as they turn into miles.
In the end look back and look at the joy.
Just like the child with a sparkling new toy.
39
Avoiding the War
Elizabeth Arens
It started out in a study. An ordinary place, books piled as high as a person, paper scattered
across the floor, idea after idea written down on parchment. A place of joy, and thought, and
peace. A lone boy was sitting at the table. He was not unlike any other boy of his age, skinny, not
too tall, not too short, green eyes, freckles, and short light brown hair that stuck straight except
for a couple funny ones that stood at odd angles. He had a special quality about him though. He
learned as a young boy that he was a very gifted inventor. He sat at the writer’s desk, scribbling
away in a new journal. It wrote:
This journal belongs to Arthur Warren Frost, born December 15th, 1902, Kingsbridge
England.
August 3rd, 1917 - I am proud to say that I am halfway through my training. I am a good
student who gets his work done and listens to instructions. Or at least, that’s what my teacher
tells the people who come to evaluate his student’s work. This is my first journal, but I find
myself enjoying getting my thoughts onto paper. My professor teaches that writing thoughts is
a great way of preserving the past, so that we may look back on it to learn for the future. On
that note, I think I’ll start off with saying that there’s a battle going on. The Archduke of
Austria has been assassinated and now King George V and the navy have decided to announce
war on Germany. This fight just keeps getting worse. They’re starting to draft men for an
army. Thank goodness I’m too young to have to go fight. I don’t understand why soldiers go off
to different countries to kill people they don’t even know, for a reason they don’t understand.
it’s all ridiculous to me. Why don’t they just try to solve this rationally? WITHOUT killing
people? Shooting guns at each other won’t solve anyone's problems! I guess it’s a lost cause
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now… Anyway, I hope I won’t be drafted for this ridiculous battle. Alright, back to training.
I’ve got a model plane due tomorrow!
He closed the book and went back to his work, gently tinkering the rudders of the small plane.
It was past sunset by the time he finally looked up. Out of the window, he could see a wondrous
spectacle. The study being atop a hill, he could see over the city below, the house lights brightly
shining in the dark, like thousands of lanterns glowing in the night. It’s beautiful, he thought.
He yawned, smiled out the window again and went off to bed satisfied with the work he had
completed.
A few months passed by; Arthur was doing well in his training, impressing his teacher with
everything he could. He was happy inventing and working. He strived for new things, and on a
rainy November 2nd, his teacher called him into his study for a special talk.
“Arthur, you know there is a war coming on.” He said sternly.
“Of course professor.” Arthur replied.
“And you know you’re almost 16 years old.”
“Yes sir.”
“Well that means that soon, you may have to be put in the army to fight.” his professor stated
sternly.
“I know… But-”
“It is for that reason that I have decided to…”
Arthur waited for his beloved professor to say that Arthur needed to start training to be a
soldier, not an inventor.
“I’ve decided to send you away to study with Thomas Edison.” His professor finally said.
Arthur was shocked.
“What?” he asked, bewildered. he was sure he was headed off to the army.
“Yes, Arthur, you’re going to study with Thomas Edison! It’s far too stupid to send a young
inventor with your talent off to the war and risk losing you! That’s why Mr. Edison and I have
arranged for you to study with him, at least until this war is over.” Explained his teacher.
“Are you serious?” Arthur asked, still stunned at what he was hearing.
“Of course I’m serious! Now go pack your bags! Your ship leaves tomorrow!”
“Oh sir, thank you! I’ll miss you very much but thank you! I’ll learn so much from Mr. Edison!
And when I come back, I promise I’ll come straight back here and show you what I’ve learned
and invented.” Arthur said, happy tears welling up in his eyes.
“I’m counting on it. Now go!” said his professor happily. As Arthur ran off he thought he saw
a tear run down his teachers’ cheek. But it was not a tear of sorrow, remorse, or loss. It was a
tear of pride, and joy, and memories.
That night Arthur wrote in his journal again:
I’m going off to learn and study with Thomas Edison! I can’t believe it! I didn’t think I had
enough talent to go study in America! But this means I’ll have to leave my teacher, all my
friends… I mean, I know it’s a great opportunity, and a chance to get away from the war, but I
don’t want to leave them… I’ll miss them very much… But I vow to write to them often! And I’ll
come back one day and make them so proud! I know mom and dad would be proud if they
were still here…
The next morning, at the pier, Arthur and his professor were waiting for Arthur’s ship.
His professor looked down at him.
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“I want you to know how much you mean to me Arthur. You’re like a son to me. I want you to
go out there and learn all that you can and change the world.”
There were tears in Arthur’s eyes as he looked up at his beloved professor. “I - I promise Mr.
Treaty. I’ll make you proud.”
“Call me Will, Arthur. I prefer to be called Will.”
Arthur stared at his teacher in awe. He had never learned his teacher’s first name before.
Then he realized: Ever since my parents died, I thought I was on my own. But I'm not. Will has
always been there for me. He’s- he’s like MY father…
“ I - I….” He couldn’t express words. He felt his teachers arms close around him in a warm
hug, and he couldn’t help himself from crying. This man was the closest thing he’d ever had to a
father! Arthur’s heart felt a thousand knives stab into what he had come to know as fatherly
love…
“I’ll miss you.” Arthur managed to squeak out.
“I’ll miss you too…” Will said in a low, soothing tone. They hugged once more, and Arthur,
tears in his eyes, got on the ship that was taking him to a new land he had never seen before. The
ship gave a long, deep blare, and pulled out of the harbor. Arthur stayed on the stern of the ship
waving to his teacher, until Will was just the size of a farthing.
Realizing he was on a real ship for the first time, Arthur was excited to see how it ran, what
mechanisms made it move, how it managed to be so heavy yet stay afloat! He ran to the bow of
the ship, weaving through crew members and ship stock until he came to the crest of the bow.
He leaned out to feel the open ocean, the white waves and spray of the sea… It wasn’t there. He
looked out, confused and saw another ship in front of them pulling it’s way further out to the
open water. Arthur could just make out the name of the ship on it’s stern: The Lusitania
“She’s a beauty isn’t she?” said a voice behind him.
Arthur whipped around, not expecting there was another person behind him, and tripped over
the man’s boot. He fell to the ship deck, surprised and the wind knocked out of him.
“Oh! Sorry chap! Didn’t mean to scare you.” declared the man as he helped Arthur to his feet.
As Arthur looked at the man, he could see that he was well educated. He was tall, and endearing,
but his deep blue eyes showed kindness and care. He had medium length, brown hair. He wore
a strange white lab coat, and he looked to be in his mid-30’s.
“Doctor Henry Audurn, pleased to meet you.” The man said, shaking Arthur’s hand so hard
he thought it might come off.
“A-Arthur Frost,” Arthur stuttered, not sure what he should think of the man. “ You’re a
doctor?”
“One of the finest young man, one of the finest! I’ve studied for years at Walden University
and I’ve had lots of experience in the field! Now administrations is sending me to Italy to help
out with the war.”
“I-” Arthur started but was drowned out by the blare of the ship intercom.
“Arthur Frost come to the control room, Arthur Frost come to the control room.”
“What? Why do they need me there?” Arthur asked himself as he started heading for the
bow’s staircase.
“Your destination had been changed.” the Captain said
“What? Why? Where am I going now?” Arthur asked
“We’ve just received transmission from a Mr. Thomas Edison. He asked us to make sure you
report to Italy instead of the U.S. Apparently he decided to take some time off, and vacation
there.”
“Um…. ok? When does the ship dock in Italy?”
“We make a stop at Venice in the morning. Mr. Edison can meet you there.” the Captain
replied.
42
“Thank you.” Arthur said, and left the room without another word.
“Well? What happened? Henry asked.
“I’m… I’m going to Italy.” Arthur said
“Fantastic? Are you meeting anyone there?” Henry asked inquisitorially.
“I’m meeting a new mentor…” Arthur replied.
“May I ask who? And for what? What are you studying lad?”
“I’m… well…” Arthur wasn’t sure whether or not he should give away information like that to
someone who had been his friend for a mere 20 minutes.
“What do you think I’m going to do, get information out of you and then use it against you for
the war? Be reasonable lad. The minute I met you, I could tell that you were a smart kid..” Henry
looked at Arthur for a minute. “Something happened. Where are your parents? You can trust me
Arthur.”
Arthur waited for some time, staring at the floor and an invisible cloud of sorrow hung over the
pair of travelers.
“I…. I don’t have parents. I never met them… They died when I was a baby. I’ve been with my
mentor Will ever since I could remember. I’m nervous about meeting a new one. What if I never
come back to England? Will he be heartbroken.”
“Arthur, look at me.” Henry said. “ Do you want to go back?”
“I never really wanted to leave” Arthur replied
“Then of course you will go back. Destiny is a funny thing my boy. Even though we can’t
control everything that happens in our lives, we can influence what is going to happen. Our
decisions make us who we are and help us find our paths.” Henry told Arthur.
“Thanks Henry…”
“No trouble at all my boy! Now, what are you planning on studying? I might know a thing or
two about it.”
That night, Arthur wrote:
I can’t sleep. I’m worried about what awaits me in Italy. All this time, I’ve been excited
about learning new things, but now I realize the danger of what I’m really doing. I’m leaving
my peaceful home, everything I love and I’m going to a country that’s been at war with
Germany from the beginning. It’s far more dangerous there than in the U.S! What if I get
pulled into the war? What if I never come back to England? There’s no turning back though.
I’m on a ship. Where am I supposed to go except where the ship takes me?
The next morning, Arthur was up before dawn. He was packed and ready to get to Italy to see
Thomas Edison and to finally learn from him. He was too excited to sleep much that past night.
He leaned over the edge of the bow, watching the stars slowly blink out as the sun began to peek
over the horizon, casting a pink glow onto the waves, lighting up the ship in rosy hues. Arthur
listened to the waves. They’re sound was melodic and peaceful, splashing up the side of the hull
as if wanting to play a game. The cool spray making a fine mist around the ship.
“help……” a small voice called, from far away. Arthur was puzzled. Had he imagined the voice?
He listened again. “Help….Help me please...” That was a real voice! Not Arthur’s imagination!
Arthur quickly leaned over the bow and saw a man floating on a piece of wood gasping for air,
barely enough strength to tread water to stay alive.
“He will survive, but barely. He’s badly wounded.” Henry said, examining the castaway. The
man was laying on the deck of the ship near the stern, deep gashes in his side, legs, and arms
and a burn mark that covered most of his right cheek. Several people who had heard the
commotion gathered to see what the trouble was.
43
“I need people to help me take him to the ship’s infirmary. He’ll be better off there.” Henry
said addressing some men in the crowd. Three men stepped forward and carefully lifted the
injured man, gingerly carrying him off to the infirmary.
A few hours later, Arthur heard a knock on his cabin door. Henry stood in the doorway.
“The man’s name is George. He was very lucky that you happened to be around and saw him
when you did. Another hour or two and he would’ve been a goner. Actually, he wants to see
you.”
Arthur followed Henry down near the stern of the ship. Around to the starboard side was a
small metal door that led into the infirmary, which the doctor and boy entered quietly. Inside
there was room enough for about five beds, only one of which was occupied. A nurse was bent
over the man named George, tending to his wounds and bandaging his face. Arthur sat down on
the bed opposite to the injured man.
“Uh...Hi.” Arthur said, not quite sure how to start a conversation with a man that had nearly
died.
“Hello,” the man said shakily. He tried to sit up a little, but a fit of coughing defeated him. “
I’m… George.”
“I’m Arthur. What happened? How did you get like this?”
“I worked on… the Lusitania. We were on our way to Britain when a German U-boat...struck
us down. They only shot one torpedo at us, but that was enough to kill almost everyone I knew…
By the time I was in the water… The boat was under me, and I was all alone, shrapnel from the
explosion stuck out of my limbs and my face felt like it was melting off…”
“That’s quite enough. He’s just a boy and you need your rest,” the nurse interrupted. “Visiting
hours are over. You can come back later to see him.” the nurse told Arthur.
“I won’t be coming back though. I’m getting off when we dock in Italy. I’m sorry. I hope to see
you again though.” Arthur replied.
“Good luck Arthur. And may all the luck in the world go with you.” George said quietly.
“And with you and your recovery. Goodbye.” Arthur said sadly. As he left the infirmary,
Arthur knew the burned flesh and the bleeding wounds of that poor man would scar his memory
for years to come.
“Are you Arthur Frost?” A tall, pudgy man with greying hair and half-moon spectacles waited
for the young, gangly boy at the dock.
“Yes sir. And… You are..?”
“Don’t you recognize me boy?” the old man asked looking almost hurt.
“Um… Are you? No! Are you Thomas Edison?” Arthur couldn’t believe it!
“That’s right. For a moment or two, I thought you would have to be sent back to England!
Turns out you’re a smart boy after all!” Thomas Edison chuckled. He put his arm around Arthur
and together they boarded a horse drawn carriage and took off down a tree covered dirt road
leading to Manarola.
“Wouldn’t you prefer an automobile? They are much faster than covered chariots and the
don’t tire horses out. Plus, the inner mechanisms of automobiles are truly fascinating.” Arthur
said.
“Well, you ARE smart after all. And you make a good point. But I prefer the covered chariot.
It’s calm and relaxing and you get to see more if the countryside this way.” Thomas Edison said
as he looked out the window at the beautiful Italian countryside. The rolling hills, the grape
vineyards, widespread red flowers covering the unused land, the shady trees, and the afternoon
light casting a golden glow over the landscape. Arthur was sitting on the left side of the chariot
and decided that his new master was better off left to his thoughts. He looked out the window
too, but after only a few minutes, saw a very different landscape.
44
“No…” Arthur whispered. Thomas was jogged out of his daydream by Arthur’s comment, and
looked out the window. What the two males saw was beyond their belief. Two groups of
hundreds of men were crouching in trenches on either side of the Isonzo river. As Arthur and
Thomas watched a small black ball was thrown to one side of the river. It rolled into one of the
trenches, and a fraction of a second later, it blew. Bright yellow smoke poured out of the trench,
and men in the nearest other trenches ran screaming in horror from the scene, only to be shot
down by the men on the other side of the river.
“Mustard gas” Thomas explained to Arthur as they watched. “ A hand grenade is thrown, and
the yellow smoke that explodes from it is so poisonous that it disintegrates your lungs from the
inside out if you inhale even a little of it.” Arthur didn’t have words. He was too stunned at this
awful scene to speak. The rest of the carriage ride to Thomas’ villa was spent in complete
stunned silence.
A few weeks later, Arthur still was not the same. He was better, but still had nightmares of the
appalling event he had seen. He had started learning things with Thomas (whom he called Mr.
Edison), and had even helped him finish the incandescent light bulb. It was November 30th
when there was an unexpected knock on the front door. Mr. Edison opened it, and Arthur saw
an Italian General in a standard military uniform. A grey green, long shirt with similar colored
long pants, and black boots the whole outfit tied together with the same grey green color belt
separating the waist from the lower half of the body, along with an Adrian pattern steel helmet.
“Mr. Edison, I have orders from Admiral Agrioli. You are to improve on the launcher for the
mustard gas grenades for the twelfth battle of Isonzo’s Italian front. In return for doing so,
Admiral will pay of the mortgage for your villa. You are asked to report to the Admiral’s quarters
with a newer version of this device on January 14th, 1918.” The General belted out the orders
like a machine, saluted, and waited for a reply. Mr. Edison was quiet for a long period of time.
When he finally spoke, it was a faint voice, like he spoke from another point in time, but the
voice quickly grew to that of defiance.
“...No. No. Arthur and I refuse to make or improve upon a weapon of such capabilities of
mass destruction. We refuse to be the reason or cause of more deaths than have already been
done in this war.”
“That’s right. Get lost! We refuse!” Arthur said. To this statement, the General turned to
Arthur.
“I will not tolerate that kind of disrespect from a mere child,” He said stiffly, and took Arthur
by the collar. “You’re coming with me to learn some respect. In the trenches!” And he dragged
Arthur out of the villa.
The trenches were terrifying, confusing, and dangerous. Arthur, even though he was only
there for a mere four hours, suffered shell shock. He was constantly pushed and shoved out of
the way, ignored or yelled at. Five times his trench was nearly bombed. Each and every single
time, Arthur was sure he was going to die, and each time the explosion was closer. First, it was
three rows before him, then two, then two behind him, then one behind him, each explosion
louder and more impactful than the last. The final explosion was on the flat land right in front of
the trench where he crouched. The explosion was deafening and the impact sent Arthur flying,
slamming him against the back wall of the trench. Arthur’s head spun. He couldn’t see straight
and there were shrapnel pieces everywhere. Once his vision cleared he saw the only thing lying
between him and destruction. A body. It was a man he knew but other than that he couldn’t tell
who it was. There was too much blood. The man was covered in it and his left leg, right arm and
half of his head were blown right off, pieces of his brain dribbling out onto the dirt. Arthur was
drenched in the man’s blood, along with mud and dirt from the explosion. He couldn’t
breathe. He couldn’t think. He just kneeled there, terrified at what he saw in front of him. He
45
crouched down and bent to move the body so that other soldiers wouldn’t run over it, but his
vision blurred again and everything went black.
Next thing he knew, he was waking up to a familiar voice.
“Arthur? Arthur are you there? Please respond…” It was Will’s voice. Arthur opened his eyes
slowly, and realising he was back in Kingsbridge, smiled. He sat up, with the help of Will, and
said slowly,
“Everything I learned… I’m back here… Where’s Mr. Edison?”
“He’s still in Italy. After he learned what happened to you, he sent you right back here.”
Suddenly, Arthur had an involuntary flashback of the body. He twitched violently, and an
excruciating pain shot through his abdomen. He glanced down, a small yelp of pain escaping
this mouth. His abdomen was bandaged, but he could feel the hundreds of tiny shrapnel wounds
cutting across his middle.
“Take it easy Arthur. You’re safe now. Go to sleep; you need your rest.” Will said quietly.
Arthur lay back down gingerly, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he knew he would never
go back to war, and that he was safe in Kingsbridge. The only thing he wanted to do at that point
was to make sure that the man who had died and spared his life was buried as a hero, but he
couldn’t do that now. I’ll make sure I honor him. Properly and proudly, and tell his family what
a brave man he was. I promise. He thought to himself. Then, he fell into a comfortable, deep,
dreamless sleep.
46
Frail, Tired, and Alone
Madison Barrow
When it was time for her daily bathe, she whimpered
And shook her head ‘no’.
She wanted it to be over.
She had been abandoned years before and was awaiting her time.
Her family rarely visited, her lips were dry and cracked,
And she was drained.
Her body felt as if it were a fragile chrysalis,
Waiting to release her soul.
Each day she listened to the steady beat from the heart monitor beside her bed:
Beep…beep…beep…
And each day, she prayed that she would hear only silence;
She would not hear the hospital vent turn on and off,
The squeaky lunch cart roll by at noon,
The impatient nurses repeatedly click their pens,
And even the sound of her own ventilator, breathing for her.
She felt trapped…exhausted.
Ninety-four strenuous, beautiful years.
She knew it was her time.
She stared at the off-white wall above her as the ventilator
Slowed her breathing, slowed her heart, and finally
Slowed her down.
She patiently waited:
Beep…beep…beep…
47
A Peep in the Dark
Gabrielle Bondi
You squint your eyes open, just to peep
Hearing a noise, that echoes and creaks
Scanning the darkness and seeing a heap.
Perking your ears up and hearing a weep
Shrill sounds cause your interest to pique
You squint your eyes open, just to peep.
Unease settles in, going skin deep
Urged to meddle, but won’t dare to speak
Scanning the darkness and seeing a heap.
Praying it’s gone, but chances are steep
At the foot of the bed, feeling a tweak
You squint your eyes open, just to peep.
You glance left and right, sheepish and meek
Pulling the covers back to glance at the sheet
Scanning the darkness and seeing a heap.
Fear nestled in you lets out a squeak
Eyes closed in prayer that it’s only a dream
You squint your eyes open, just to peep
Scanning the darkness and seeing a heap.
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Just Listen
Audrey Ryan
Your words seem to be spilling out of your mouth
unstoppable, endless and complete chaos
You’re trying to explain, to help me understand
but I feel the same crack that you do, just
by looking in your grey, grim eyes
I feel the heat of your skin, just
by watching the red blotches bloom like flowers under your surface
my breath becomes ragged as words steal yours away
my hands twitch tentatively as yours gesture
The words keep coming, short and long, loud and soft
Suddenly you’re yelling, your face red, veins bulging
but I can’t seem to hear you
Your words seem to be spilling out of your mouth
unstoppable, endless, and complete nonsense
I can only listen when I realize the fountain has stopped
There’s some kind of wonderful peace in the silence
“Say something.” more words. quiet this time.
“I have been.” I whispered
“You talk too much.” I whispered again.
49
Nergali Orphan
By Terry Kroenung
(Untransmitted message, found in the Woking cylinder after the Blessed Dying, 1898)
Monsters, they call us. The Gaians, I mean. Their
little brains broadcast feebly, the thoughts
disorganized and chaotic, like the mental sparkings of
our new-budded spawn. But that image is the
strongest, the most common. Over and over we hear it,
like some chant to the Great Old Ones in our temples.
Perhaps that is how they see us? As fell deities? That
would explain the terror. Any proper religion must
invoke cosmic fear. Who would follow a frail and
forgiving god?
I would…for that is just what I need on this final
day of our race. For I have doomed us all.
First Sun
Our cylinder impacted near their greatest
settlement, landing in a silicate pit. We found it
strange to find so many structures on the surface. But
the Gaians have not had as much time as we to ruin
their own world. Such growth! Botanicals everywhere,
and none of them reddish like ours. A vastness of
green. Though our Oculans who had surveyed the planet for a dozen orbits had assured us that
we would find it to be true, we had scarcely credited it. And water actually did cover most of the
sphere. Our cylinder burned across an immense blue-green ocean as it approached the landing
site on the flat island. Yes, we had seen it through the lenses, long studied it, ached to dip our
whips in its blissful depths. But deep down we had prepared for disappointment. This is our last
chance. If we cannot survive here, our race will fail. None of the
other worlds are suitable.
Though the dampeners cushioned our landing, as they had the shock of the Great Gun, it still
required some time to recover. Additionally, the ship’s hull had to cool before we could unscrew
the hatch. Groggy, I moved before the others. Our females are stronger, the first to return to
form. It has always been thus. Even my life-mate, the weapons master, proud of his physicality
despite our race’s veneration of the mind, lagged behind me. I often teased Sghllwe about it,
though never to the point of outrage. It is bad enough, to our fellows, that we dare to bond,
contrary to all Nergali custom. Outbursts of feeling would cost us our positions. Already we had
both lost promotions to command positions. Emotions are a weakener, a foible that softens
mental power, they tell us. We were not trusted.
I blinked clarity back into my eyes, unbuckled the securing mesh and dropped to the deck.
Holding myself upright with a pair of whips against the bulkhead, I tucked the rest of the
tentacles beneath me and crawled to the instrument panel to assess our condition. The
tympanum at the rear of my body detected the ticking sounds of the outer hull as its red-orange
color faded toward its normal pale metal. We had some time yet before it would be safe to
venture outside. Excited as I was at the prospect, I masked it so as to not broadcast such
emotional things to my crew. That would make a poor start to our great mission.
50
My instruments showed that we had struck our target perfectly and that the cylinder was
intact. All life-data seemed normal. The only problem indicated was that the cattle were all dead.
Scrawny of body and large of skull, their little gray corpses lay tumbled in the pen at the rear of
the compartment, big black eyes clouded. That had been somewhat expected. Bred from old
outworlder stock, they had never been vigorous. But their juices were nourishing and had
preserved us on the long journey. They had served their purpose. No doubt we would find other
food on our new home.
Sghllwe coughed, his wedge of a lip quivering. He scratched himself with one whip tip. The
other three also began to twitch, but my lover would be the first to return to duty. That suited
me. We could savor this success without their judgment. While freeing him from the mesh and
massaging his attractive gray-brown flesh I turned on the viewer to get a first look at the place
we had so desperately wanted to escape to.
Naturally we lay in an impact crater. Silicate and spoil had splashed up and out for a
considerable distance. Beyond it tall woody plants dominated the landscape. A thick greenish
carpet covered nearly every bit of ground. No barren rocky surface as on our Nergal. The sun
looked near to setting, as the light resembled the hue of home and the shadows were long. One
of the latter moved: a lone Gaian approached, stood at the edge of the crater to stare at us.
They resembled our cattle in size and overall form. Bipedal, with an organ sack above the
lower limbs. A silly little skull atop it. Much inferior to the heads of our food. Brains must be
rudimentary. Two tiny eyes. The poor Gaians would likely be helpless at night. Our cattle’s eyes
were many times the size. Only a pair of clumsy manipulators instead of our more useful sixteen.
Tender white integuments, so easily damaged that they wore protective pelts. Even our livestock
boasted tough gray leathery hides, as do we. All in all, it was a marvel that these sad creatures
seemed to rule here.
In my mind Sghllwe spoke. He had not yet managed to stand, but he could see past me to the
viewscreen. One of his whips caressed me. “By all the gods they are ugly things.”
“At least they can stand on their own,” I teased.
It must be acknowledged that they have some strength. They flit about with ease in this
wretched gravity of theirs, born to its fearsome forces. Out of the ship I can barely rise with all of
my whips beneath me. When the Divine left the cylinder, first to touch the new world (which
was his right, of course), he collapsed like an empty bag. The fall damaged him so much that he
actually vocalized distress, instead of sending a proper mental broadcast. As the ship’s Vivifier I
rushed out with my healing kit to aid him, but the same fate nearly met me. If I had not
managed to get a whip onto the lip of the hatch I might have tumbled onto him. A poor doctor
that would have made me, crushing my own patient.
Before the Great Gun had blown us from our sad old world the Flight Lords had warned us of
the tremendous weight we would feel. The third world is the same size as the second and its
attractive force roughly equivalent. When our scouts had taken Cythera they had been unable to
leave their cylinders without mechanistic aid. Not only had the gravitational attraction
overwhelmed them, but the poisonous atmosphere’s tremendous pressure had nearly imploded
the hull. Those wondrous clouds that had so lured us to venture there had turned out to be
nearly all spiritus sylvestre, creating temperatures hot enough to slay the Old Ones, to say
nothing of our devices. And the vitriolic rains did nothing to endear the place to us either.
A few of our more pessimistic Oculans had predicted that Gaia would prove to be as bad. The
clouds would be deadly Prussic vapors, they had said, and the oceans were not spiritus
nitroaereus phlogiston but liquefied voltaic gas. To our relief they had been proven wrong, but
of a certainty their warning about the gravity had been no error. We had struck the surface with
awesome force. Only our science had preserved us.
The Gaian had courage. After some time moving to and fro across the crater’s lip it
scrambled down the loose spill to approach us. It showed admirable curiosity. Could it be that
they had Inquirers, as primitive as they seemed? As it had no weapons or comrades I ignored it
51
as an unlikely threat. Instead I set myself to freeing all of my companions from their flight
restraints and aiding them in adjusting to our alien situation. Soon the auto-clockwork would
engage, beginning the unscrewing of our hatch. We all had to be ready for our assigned tasks by
then.
“Moisva, my ardore,” my mate said, already standing on his own whips and inspecting the
weapons pod, “see to Liehnnei. We’ll need his expertise before engaging those animals.” I felt
warmth in his mind as we shared mindwaves.
Our Inquirer had made his reputation studying the simpler galactic life forms and would
know what to do about the masses of aliens we would encounter. His work breeding our cattle
when most other food had failed had made his line renowned. Every budling learned to honor
the name Liehnnei as a savior of our ancient race. That was why he served aboard the Prime
Cylinder. Only those most qualified in their specialties would touch Gaia first. Krecla, our
Divine, had made his reputation not only as he whom the Old Ones spoke to in the Black Grotto
but also as a philosopher and sage, much needed for guidance as our attempts to salvage our
planet’s environment foundered. And our Artificer, Evren, had bested all others in his
technological abilities. It was said that he could build or repair any device out of mere rock and
wind, eyes shut and with nine whips tied behind him. That would be a precious skill here on this
primitive world. Until other ships arrived we would be on our own.
It had been more difficult for Sghllwe and me. Our affective bonding became common
knowledge, despite our expertise at veiling our thoughts. That put demerits against us. Yet our
masters could hardly send others in our places when we had bested all comers at the aptitude
and survival tests. Neither of us dared let the other down. We knew, however, that cold
judgmental eyes would be on us. One mistake and we would be exterminated without a second
thought.
Our defenses snapped up as Krecla broadcast to us. Divines led space missions and now he
gave orders. “Truly, the Great Old Ones have heard our orisons. Let us not incur their wrath by
failing them now. To your tasks, all. The hatch screw is already moving.” Divines always spoke
like that. Our people had embraced religion as their grip on survival weakened. Hope is a thing
common to all life, everywhere. Even the pathetic Gaians have it.
Evren, sturdy of body, whips already flying across his tools, replied, “We will have motive
capability by sunrise, if the locals remain passive.”
“If they grow aggressive I’ll send a few to their afterlife,” Sghllwe said, running a weapons test
at his console. He tended to overact his role as Battlon to deflect suspicion.
Stretching his whips and blinking, Liehnnei put an eye to his periscope sight. He positively
quivered with excitement at seeing the Gaian in the crater. “Don’t be so eager to vaporize the
local fauna. I need to have one to study, if we’re to live here.”
“I shall collect the specimen at our door when I go out for the Landfall Meditation,” the
Divine assured him. “Give thanks for our safe arrival and snatch the beast.” His blue tongue
slipped out from beneath his lip. “Perhaps they are more nourishing than our cattle.”
With a laugh, Evren pointed to the dead outworlders. “More nourishing than these cattle, at
any rate.”
“Do not drain it dry before I can examine it,” Liehnnei implored.
“Don’t worry,” Krecla assured him,” you shall have your toy. Though it may not be this one.
We must have an offering first.”
The Old Ones were only impressed by lives given. So said our sages. Mildness did not
become a warrior race, and meekness would only cause those in whose image we had been
created to despise us. A blood sacrifice always had to be given when first touching down, else
those we worshipped would only favor us with doom.
We need not have worried. Soon there would be more offerings to the gods than even they
could savor.
52
Second Sun
I fear that we shall find few friends on this world. Not after last night.
By the time the cylinder hatch unscrewed and dropped to the crater floor, the lone Gaian had
been joined by untold others. They darkened the lip, apparently greatly curious about us.
Though the first alien crawled back up to join them, we would have little difficulty finding both
an offering and a specimen for our Inquirer. Krecla crawled out with his votives to earn the gods’
blessing. But as I have already said, the planet’s awesome gravity seized him once out of our
dampener field and hurled him down. Excited chirping noises came from the ugly Gaian
creatures as he fell. Without thinking I dove out of the hatch to aid the downed Divine, only to
fall victim to Gaia’s grasp as well. Though I saved myself, I was in no position to assist him.
“Moisva!” cried my alarmed mate. His concern filled the cylinder.
Using all of my powers to mask my feelings, I warned him to do the same. Then I assumed a
professional tone for the consumption of the others. “Don’t worry. We are both uninjured. I can
see him moving. All appears normal save his new weight. It will take him some time to adjust.” I
accepted a descent harness and cable from Evren, then dropped down to Krecla.
When I did that all of the Gaians squealed and fled, save one who had been unlucky and had
fallen into the crater. Krecla, despite his struggles with the planet’s attraction, snatched him
back
down as he tried to crawl out. A moment later his steaming entrails lay across the votive as
prayers of thanks went out to the Great Old Ones. Our Inquirer was not happy that he would
have to wait for a live sample, but he seemed grateful enough to dissect this one. All that night
while we worked to assemble the armored Wayfarer he kept calling out the marvels of the
Gaian’s bizarre physiology.
The mistake Sghllwe made
cost us dearly, I fear. He
activated his weapons and left
them on Auto-Response while
helping us build the transport.
When the alien locals returned,
this time with some sort of
pennant, the Thermor reacted as
to a legitimate threat. Though I
could see none, merely an
attempt at communication, it
turned them into heaps of ash
before any of us could drag our
too-heavy selves back into the
cylinder and disable it. In fact,
all of the surrounding landscape
and any Gaians in range were
destroyed. Sghllwe eventually
managed to take control of it and
change the setting, but the damage had been done. No more Gaians came near us.
My love was distraught, though only I could tell. Talented as he was with a Thermor or a
Vaporine, he was really too soft-hearted to be a fighter. Every life he took burned him inside like
an acid spray. I had to escort him around to the far side of the cylinder for covert comfort,
leaving Evren and Krecla to work on the machine.
Embracing him with all of my whips, we lay on the silicate ground, happy to have it support
us for a while. Otherwise Sghllwe was not happy at all. “Their shrieks!” he wailed, using a
53
creaking voicebox unaccustomed to speech. But it kept him from sending full-power mindwaves
to the others. “Wanton death at my hands.”
I shushed him to get the volume down to a safe level. “The Thermor acted independently, you
know that. “Its default setting on a new planet is always too free, by design.”
“But it’s still my responsibility.” He held up a pair of quivering whips. “Their blood is right
here.”
After ensuring that we were not observed, I grasped his feelers in my own and pressed them
to my mouth. “And so am I.”
Once he had calmed enough to appear normal, we returned to work with the others. It would
take the rest of the night and most of the following day to build the complex Wayfarer and install
its dampeners and defenses. Battling Gaia’s gravity would double the time required. The four of
us labored in silence except when mindwaves were employed to coordinate tasks. Liehnnei
happily remained inside the cylinder, slicing up his dead animal and cataloging its weird organs.
On schedule the second ship plummeted to landfall near us, to the west. It would be carrying
the Marshal and his staff. A disguised entry during a meteor shower, just as we had done. The
rudimentary lenses of the Gaians did not detect us. More would follow. Soon we would have
allies in our scouting and settling.
Yes, settling. At that point I still believed that it was what we were doing. My delusions would
not last long. My race’s true purpose on Gaia had not been shared with me, a lowly healer of
wounds.
When the sun rose we were again briefly flooded with Nergali light. That brightened my
mood. I wanted to embrace Sghllwe and bask in the strong cheery glow, so much warmer and
brighter than what we were used to. Of course we dared not, now that the day was upon us. Even
if we hid on the cylinder’s far side again, our shadows would likely give us away. And now Evren
kept close to us, asking for aid he did not need or merely moving between us. Sghllwe mindwhispered to me that Krecla had pulled the Artificer aside and spoken to him at length, sneaking
sidelong glances at us the whole while. It had been no good trying to overhear their
plot. Divines learn how to mask their thoughts even before they detach from their parent. I
contented myself with dreaming of caressing my mate in a private cavern back home.
Home…this is home now. Soon there will be nothing to go back to but heaped bones in the
musty grottos. Will the Old Ones abandon Nergal when we are all dead there? The Divines claim
that they are already here, asleep at the bottom of some natrium-saturated sea, waiting for our
prayers and deeds to revive them. Have they ever been awake? Or are they a fiction we use to
justify our vicious behaviors?
All day we toiled in the unaccustomed heat, hiding in the shade of the cylinder when it
became too much of a burden. Krecla kept our heads full of religion and politics, so much of it
that I hardly had room for Sghllwe. The priest went on and on about our duty to the gods and to
our bloodlines, in equal measure. He made sure to get in digs against foolish feelings, those
betrayers of good order and logic. We had heard it all before, of course. How many other Divines
and army commanders had counseled, lectured, cajoled, or threatened us? My foolish musings
about preferring to mix essences in the old manner and give birth to a healthy hybrid had not
helped. ‘Proper and moral budding not good enough for you?’ they would say, writing it all down
in a report to my superiors. I must have had a file so heavy that even the Great Gun could never
have launched it.
What made it tolerable now was the air. So full of life! Phlogiston-rich, and almost thick
enough to swim in. It forced itself into the lungs without any effort on our part. We could work
at a much faster rate than on Nergal, with its cold ghost-thin atmosphere. And a good thing, too,
since we were expected to have our Wayfarer and our initial report ready when by the time the
Marshal’s own armored walker was up. That would be by sundown this day, as the first-wave
commander had a larger cylinder to accommodate his full staff. More whips for them meant that
they could assemble with great speed. By nightfall we were to link with them for the first patrol.
54
No Gaians came near us all day. The disaster with the Thermor had justly terrified them. I
considered how best to make amends while scanning with the viewer. Far away a crowd had
gathered, just out of weapons range. They had strange transport: little cars running on discs
rather than legs, pulled by tailed quadruped slaves. Our Inquirer shivered with the thrill of
discovery when I showed him these odd creatures.
“Toss one into the Wayfarer’s basket when you go out,” Liehnnei implored as he gave me my
final inoculation against Gaian pathogens. While examining his sacrificial specimen he had
discovered many new microbes to be defended against. “This planet is awash in diverse
biologies. Some of the fauna fly. Fly! In the air!”
Sghllwe peered into the viewscreen while submitting to his own aerjection. “That would be
where most things fly. Our own Etheros do it.”
“Yes, but our aircraft don’t really depend on the atmosphere to hold them up. Relying on
mechanistics and repellers isn’t the same as a primitive animal soaring on its own.”
Evren made a disgusted sound with his lip as he hauled himself into the cylinder for a gravity
break. “Who cares so long as their blood is sweet? I’m about to desiccate from hunger. The cattle
barely served to get us here.” He rudely shoved himself between Sghllwe and me to take his
bacterial treatment from Liehnnei.
Our Inquirer medicated him with a hiss of the dermic. “Gorge yourself until you explode. Just
so long as you bring me the scraps.”
“I hear and I obey, O Great Dissectus Maximus. Your wish will be granted soon. Orders just
came in on Krecla’s radiograph. From the Marshal himself. The range is great but it still boosts
the brainwaves. Move out at dusk, rendevous for first reconnaissance to the east. There’s a small
nest of Gaians just over the ridge. Plenty of rations there, I’ll wager.”
“Just bring one back intact. There are some tests that require a live subject.”
“I promise, it will only have been sipped at a little bit. Come on. We’re all needed to get this
beauty on its feet.”
Much hard labor on all of
our part managed to erect the
Wayfarer. Once it stood on all
three legs the Divine blessed it
and we took our stations inside.
It was always a proud moment,
looking up in admiration at the
great device on the way up to
the cabin. Slick gleaming metal
legs. A wide flat dome with
overhanging eaves to shed
elements and cut through
vegetation. Clever armored
silicate ports that were only
transparent from inside.
Jointed articulated tentacle
manipulators dangling from
the bottom of the pod, with the
Thermor generator and
Vaporine nozzles amidst them. Capture-basket in the rear for specimen and food collection.
Small mindwave receiver on top. A triumph of Nergali engineering.
Evren piloted, as that was his primary assignment other than device maintenance. Of course
Sghllwe controlled the Thermor and the Vaporine, if defending ourselves became necessary. I
noted that he kept his whips firmly in manual command. There would be no repeat of the first
55
night’s debacle. My natural function was to tend to crew health, but also to monitor mindwave
traffic from the Marshal’s operations post. His tactical officer would be in their Wayfarer,
relaying messages from the commander, who would remain in the other cylinder. More craft
would be landing and there was much to be coordinated.
The sun was nearly gone now. Again we were treated to that twice-daily shade of home, brief
as it was. With that good omen Evren activated the first leg and off we stepped in the familiar
rolling tripod gait. Krecla remained in the cylinder to oversee us and relay intelligence as it came
to him. Liehnnei lingered over his examining table, lensing the Gaian’s remains and longing for
more.
With ease we strode up and out of the crater, wading through the granular silicate and the
green vegetable matter. After a few long steps Evren halted for a systems check and to survey the
territory. We had not yet had a close look at it in daylight. Now that we had the advantage of
great height we could tell what was in store for us on this peculiar planet. And other than rolling
terrain, a great river that nearly made us weep with the very blessed impossible idea of it, and
roofs of dwellings in the near distance, one thing caught our attention.
Hundreds of Gaians stood between us and the small settlement. Armed Gaians.
Most bore some sort of personal small arm, nearly as long as they were tall. A cluster of
others sat upon the same type of four-legged slaves that had pulled the cars. Still more served
large guns that could never have launched a cylinder free of the planet, but seemed to work on
the same projectile principle.
North of us low booming noises came from the vicinity of the Marshal’s cylinder.
“Are they mad?” muttered Evren, whips on his guidance controls, awaiting a decision as to
whether to advance or merely evade.
“No,” I answered, “just afraid. What would we do if we were them?”
56
A sad cast appeared in my lover’s eyes as he realized our predicament. The little aliens were
assailing us. Their fear had turned to aggression, as with every species. They had that in
common with us, at least. And in my tympanic receiver I could hear harsh orders coming from
the Marshal. Commands to implement a set offensive operation, with no quarter given. This was
repeated by Krecla’s delighted mind-voice. Evren cackled with glee and acknowledged the
directive with a coded reply that no one had thought to give to me or to my lover. Our forces
were not defending themselves against this pitiful lashing out by the locals. We had already
decided on this course before the Great Gun had ever fired. The attack by the Gaian creatures
merely made the decision easier.
I tenderly lay a whip atop Sghllwe’s on the Thermor trigger. His pulse pounded through it, too
hard and too fast. We both knew that this would not end well for the Gaians. Just as awful
was what it meant for the two of us.
This was no settlement mission. It was a conquest. And if we refused to play our part, then
our traitorous ashes would befoul the lush Gaian landscape, commingled for eternity.
Ninth Sun
Truly the Great Old Ones guide the hand of our army. And they demand unending blood
sacrifice.
I dwelt upon this as I forced nourishment on myself. Our Divine watched me with focused
interest, so I had no choice but to suck on the pipette that plunged into the flesh of a gasping
young Gaian. The whelp had been plucked from the basket of our Wayfarer and dropped onto
the ground before me. We rested in a defensive pit not far from where we had first landed. Fivelegged Artificers, each controlled by a single Nergali, were at work improving the position.
Though the Gaian military forces had proved to be little more than a nuisance, they had
managed a handful of successes with their rolling guns. Lucky strikes, mostly, followed by
ruthless retribution from massed Thermors. Generally they never got within range, for our
Vaporines would project suffocant far ahead of the advancing line, poisoning all life. It had been
learned early that their marksmanship was not flexible and that if our Wayfarers kept moving a
57
hit was most unlikely. And once the first Ethero took to the air we became impossible to
surprise. Already the great capital had fallen to us. Now we were merely clearing out the last
pockets of
insufferable partisans.
As if on cue one of our airships, resembling a flat Gaian water creature -- the one with the
sting in its tail – landed near us with a swirling motion. Choking dust flew up as it settled and
powered down. That annoyance only added to my distaste at having to swallow the whimpering
budling’s fluids. Looking into its tiny eyes, I saw death begin to cloud them. A sort of bliss came
over its ugly features as its life flowed into me.
Someone on the Ethero let his guard down, for a shrieking Gaian female broke out of the
cargo hatch before she could be secured in the cattle corral. Occupied as I was, I did not react
until she was upon me. With that unnatural ease of movement that they all possessed she
dashed across the pit as my fellows lumbered after her. She snatched up the dying spawn and
clutched it to her organ sack, rocking and moaning. The pipette fell from my lip, crimson drops
staining the ground. Curious, I probed her simple mind to discern why she behaved in this
manner.
It was her budling, of course. That became clear in an instant. I saw her conceive it in a ritual
full of moist fumblings and raw emotion, anathema to my race. For what seemed like endless
moon-cycles she carried it inside her, the sac growing into an incredible and inconvenient mass.
Then it burst from her in a disgusting wounding that appeared to torture her to the brink of
death. Strangely, she exhibited a pleasured countenance at the end of the ordeal. All in all, a
loathsome spectacle.
I envied her.
But I was forced to suppress that feeling instantly, as I detected a vigorous probing of my own
mind. Still eyeing me, the suspicious Divine sought to read deep, to detect any signs of disloyalty
or dishonor. Alarmed, I throttled the mourning creature with three whips, sending out harsh
thoughtwaves like the most hardened assault soldier, healer though I was. Thus far had I sunk,
killing merely for show, to protect my sorry, and sorrowful, skin.
I had learned one thing, though, from the wretched episode, confirming a suspicion that I had
entertained ever since landing. Poor Sghllwe shared it with me, even as he sprayed them with
superheated death by the thousands. Every day I saw the misery in his eyes, following dreadful
orders given by unfeeling commanders who insisted on pure and unyielding obedience.
The Gains were not animals, or livestock, or brutes. They were sentient beings who loved
their offspring and one another. Even the lowest of them hoped, dreamed, loved. Had they not
built that immense capital, seat of Gaia’s greatest empire? Did they not laugh and cry and tell
elaborate stories? We burned spectacular libraries, great buildings full of art. Would dumb
animals create all of that?
It is true. We are monsters. And no matter where in the galaxy we stand, there is only one
thing to do with monsters.
Will the gods give me the strength to do it? For it is certain that they must be monsters, too.
Thirteenth Sun
Today we carried supplies back to our cylinder. While there we would receive more
inoculations, as Gaia had proven to be awash in aggressive microbes that we had to counter. And
the Wayfarer needed some routine maintenance. The men chewed rufousfrond, which relaxed
them and prompted hours of war stories. As if this was any sort of proper war. Every ship
seemed to have smuggled the hallucinogen aboard, despite strict regulations. Apparently plenty
of its spores had been dropped, because the creeper grew everywhere that we had marched, in a
wildly lush manner quite beyond what it did on Nergal. Back home it barely amounted to a stain
on the cavern walls. Here the same conditions that had so energized us had made it burst across
the landscape. It even threatened to choke the watercourses that gave it extravagant life. Now
58
that we were victorious weary
soldiers partook of it openly. Even
Liehnnei joined in. I excused myself,
claiming that I had to take stock of
my Vivikits. That gave me the
opportunity to covertly research the
knowledge I would need to save the
Gaians…and our honor.
Though it had been long suncycles since my academy schooling,
the essentials of bacteriology proved
to have stubbornly clung to the
recesses of my mind. It helped that
Liehnnei had just been working in
this discipline and the needed
equipment and references were at
hand. Culturing what I required
took less time than I had feared. The
difficulty was masking what I was
doing from the others whenever
they drifted by on the own business.
Luckily that only happened a few
times, thanks to the rufousfrond’s
mirthful effects. I kept a pair of
Vivikits atop the table to cover much
of the suspicious items and to make
my story plausible. Whenever
curious whips started to pry I turned
the conversation around to the
health of the busybody and asked
when his last deep-tissue examination had been. That served to nudge them away.
As if I had planned it thus, the party ended just as I completed my work. Liehnnei made his
way back to his station to continue romping through the guts of a small bushy-tailed tree
mammal. I hastily cleaned up my own items, using every available whip, and tucked the vials
into my personal Vivikit. Now came the difficult part. This would require Sghllwe’s aid. We had
to find time alone so that I could obtain his support and expertise. And there was only one likely
way to manage that.
“Sghllwe, did you say you need to clean the Vaporine projector?” I asked in a mindwave
strong enough to imprint on all four of my comrades. “If you’re going up there I need to
exchange some old dosages and restock the whip regenerators.”
His lovely eyes blinked. After I squinted meaningfully he took the hint. “I do, actually.
Wouldn’t want them to clog and backfill the cabin with that stuff.”
Evren, no doubt responding to a masked prompt from Krecla, asked if we needed help with
anything.
“No, thanks,” I told him, straining to keep my tone pleasant. “Mine’s a simple enough task
and then I’ll assist with the gas gun. You stay there and enjoy the languor of your weed.”
Before he could force himself on us I tapped my remote and lowered the grapplers. Just to
annoy him Sghllwe wrapped his whips around me in a clearly affectionate manner. The tentacles
lifted us up to the bottom hatch as the Artificer stared.
Once safely in the cabin I drew up the tentacles and set the hatch lock. That could all be
overridden but we would at least have some warning. I set Sghllwe to working on the Vaporine
59
for the benefit of our ground-bound spies. As the external mechanism moved I refilled my kits.
After a long pregnant silence I coughed to clear my rarely-used vocal apparatus.
“Raise a good mind-veil,” I said aloud. We had become artists at a sort of scrambled mental
tone that was easier to manage than an outright block. “Then use real speech. That doesn’t
broadcast well.”
“All right,” he said, sounding hoarse. We spoke this way more often than most of our kind,
but usually in hushed romantic whispers. Even then it would be brief. “What’s going on?”
I stroked between his eyes with one whip. He felt warm and supple. “So much pain here. You
try to hide it with charm and banter, but I’m not fooled.”
He sighed, leaning into my touch. “You aren’t the one I need to deceive.”
“True enough. And we shall both have to maintain a pretense a while longer.”
“How long?” His voice already betrayed wariness. “What are you up to?”
I rocked forward until we touched bodies. “This isn’t war. It’s genocide. That was always the
plan from the Lords. Exterminate the poor things as if they were inconvenient vermin in a
cavern. The high-minded talk about settlement and peaceful co-existence was just a sham to
gain the cooperation of the few like us who might have objected. To keep the troublemakers off
their guard.”
“Why is that a surprise?” He sagged. “Haven’t we shit all over our own garden already?”
That called to mind the ancient tales of a livable Nergal. Long ago it had been, if not precisely
a glorious garden, at least not the nightmare that had caused our desperate migration.
Breathable air without requiring machines to manufacture it. Native flora blooming and verge
underfoot. A variety of animal species in a complex balanced ecosystem. All ruined long ago by
selfish wars and greedy industry. Slow suicide on a planetary scale. Now in our time we were
clinging to subterranean survival by a whip’s end. Even that would soon cease, as our energy
resources neared depletion. Those who dwelled on Gaia showed all the signs of indulging in the
same recklessness, but they had time yet to yank themselves back from the precipice. What right
did we have to kick them over it? Or even worse, deny them the choice by wiping them all out?
The Nergali plan might be to sustain them as captured cattle, though that was hardly better than
obliteration.
“That we have, love. We are a disease.” I laughed, making my throat hurt. When had I ever
laughed except in my masked mind?
“Is that funny?” Sghllwe asked.
“Ironic, at least. I’ll explain later.” I took out the vials I’d cooked up in the Inquiry Lab and set
them down carefully.
“What would those be?”
With a catch in my voice I took one of his whips in mine. “Redemption.”
I told him of the distraught mother I’d seen in the grand pit, of reading her anguished history
as she held her dead child, the whelp whose poor life had preserved me to butcher more of her
kind. She had been the culmination of many such incidents the past days. A Gaian Divine who
had mourned his blazing temple. Three soldiers choking on black Vaporine smoke as they had
tried to rescue students from a school. Libraries in rubble as old men wept. Whole communities
huddled together in museums, in sports stadia, in houses of commerce. All their minds had
wailed their emotion at top pitch as their bodies failed, so clearly and intimately invested in the
welfare of their brethren. Compared to them we were fiends in stories made to terrify children
into obedience.
For the first time Sghllwe confided the same to me, instead of clutching it inside him. He, too,
had prowled in the synapses of our victims and found them sentient, caring, noble. “They aspire
to the stars, ardore. Their hearts long for knowledge, for unpacking the eternal secrets, as ours
once did before we lost our way. It is not a nest of beasts that we are clearing out.” Something
like a half-sob escaped him. “We are committing the grossest sin.”
60
The words poured out of him like some earnest confession to a Divine. In our belief that is
precursor to execution, a purifying of the bloodlines. When the guilt metastasizes inside us until
it can no longer be borne, we unburden ourselves of shame and life. It struck me as fitting,
considering what I planned to do.
I explained my scheme, holding him tight as I did so. At first he drew back, appalled by the
enormity of it. But soon he relaxed, nodding agreement. No other course of action felt as right,
as cleansing. And it would end the problem for all time.
When I had finished speaking he stood up tall on all sixteen whips. “I am proud to call you
my mate. Who else would dare to conceive such a bold thing?”
He had no idea just how bold I could be. It was past time to consummate the rest of my plot. I
embraced him hard, jerking him from his whips as if to feed on him. Our females have always
been stronger. Around us the atmosphere seemed to grow even heavier than it already was. My
sight blurred. Far past the point of common sense, we continued stroking one another, all time
dilated. The act’s enormity struck me, passion-blind though I was. There was no sign that
Sghllwe had yet realized its finality.
Our kind no longer indulged in this behavior. In fact, in most of us the organs of increase had
all but dried up, made redundant by gene-splicing and hormonal tinkering so that each
individual would simply bud offspring without the intervention of another. So efficient, so clean,
so uncomplicated. And so much more survivable, given our reproductive physiology. Eminently
logical, like all else that we did. This, though, was how life should be created, like the Gaians did
it. A messy ecstasy, a rejection of all logic. I had reversed my engineering even before we had
been loaded into the Great Gun. And now we re-enacted that launching with a tremendous
explosion that sent us off into a new existence.
We lay there, linked in love and longing, until swellings subsided and breath returned. I kept
hold of the controls of the killing machine, conscious of how fitting that was. A moment later
Sghllwe gasped. Reflected in the Thermor’s dark targeting screen I saw him slump in a corner
beneath the dampener console. He, too, had finally realized what we had just done.
Our biotechnicians had developed budding for a perfectly valid reason. The old manner
inevitably killed both parents.
I had known that, of course. Even without Vivifier training all Nergali are aware of the facts of
life. The male languished and died within days and the female expired almost as quickly, as soon
as the eggs were laid. An evolutionary design flaw. We had just committed glorious suicide.
Lying on the floor, stunned look in his eyes, Sghllwe whispered, “We’re dead.”
“You certainly are,” sneered a harsh triumphant voice from across the cabin.
I turned in a daze from the panel I had been leaning on. Krecla glared at me with disgust.
Beside him Evren aimed a whip-held field Thermor at us. They had snuck in while we were
distracted by our passion. Clearly they had been there a good long while.
Creeping backward until I touched my distraught lover, I showed the Divine my most pathetic
look. That made him puff up with smug satisfaction, which was just what I wanted. His arrogant
overconfidence might just save us…and the Gaians. “We crave your pardon if we give offense.”
His eyes widened and he snorted. Then he shifted to mental speech, broadcasting in that
powerful way that all clerics master. “If? If? Quite apart from befouling a military vehicle with
your sick, unnatural lusts -- in wartime, no less -- you misappropriated laboratory equipment
and manufactured a lethal toxin with no authorization whatsoever.”
Yes, they had been there a long while. Probably listening with the hatch cracked while I
convinced Sghllwe to help me save our souls.
“All capital crimes, yes?” I whimpered, bowing my head in submission. He was too close for
me to mind-whisper my intent to Sghllwe. My mask likely wouldn’t be firm enough to keep out
a Divine.
“Immorality…theft…treason. I’d say that a quick merciful execution would be the best that you
could expect.”
61
I caught the glee in his voice and
turned it to my advantage. “But you have
something else in mind?”
“A Purity Sacrament. To reconsecrate
this Wayfarer and our entire
compound.”
For his benefit I let out an audible
sob, much exaggerated. A cleansing rite
involved much torture and slow
evisceration, all to appease the offended
Old Ones and evade their wrath.
Something told me that he was likely to
enjoy that entirely too much.
Holding my whips in the air, save
those I used to support myself, I
carefully rose, backing against the wall.
Sghllwe collected himself and did the
same. I couldn’t tell if he had gleaned my
plan or not, but there was no other
option now. “Of course we submit ourselves to your justice.”
“The first bit of sense you have shown since we left Nergal.” Krecla gestured to Evren. “Bring
them down.”
I stayed put, drawing the armed Artificer closer. The less distance between us the better.
When he had drawn almost near enough to touch, I eased a whip to my right along the wall and
slid the dampener control all the way down.
All four of us slapped to the deck with a single thud as the artificial gravity increased fivefold.
Air whooshed from Evren’s lungs as he smashed onto the grating. He lost his grip on the
Thermor, though it did not slide away due to the undampening pinning it in place. Before he
could recover and exert enough force to get hold of it again, I struggled back up the wall and slid
the control up as far as it would go.
Now we were all weightless. Knowing that before the others, I set my whips against the wall
and kicked out. As Evren and the pistol floated up like Gaian dandelion tufts I shot toward them.
One of my stretched whips beat him to the handgrip. Two others grappled him and yanked him
to me. He had no time to make a sound as the muzzle pried open his mouth. The heat ray boiled
him from the inside out, filling the cabin with the sickly-sweet stench and much yellow-green
smoke. His cooked corpse hung in the air like a foul storm cloud.
Krecla squealed and used every flange and bolt to pull himself toward the open hatch. Just as
he hovered over it I aimed and triggered another burst. But the weapon hadn’t had enough time
to recharge. The Divine turned himself back toward me to gloat, eyes full of scorn.
Then he vanished down the hatch with a wail, to burst upon the ground like a bag of stale
ration-blood.
The deck punched me in the face, splitting my lip. An instant later the Wayfarer’s gravity
returned to its normal Nergali intensity. A glance at the control revealed that Sghllwe had
recovered his wits and sent Krecla to his much-deserved doom.
“Is it wrong of me to consider that a proper Purity Sacrament?” he asked with a wink.
I embraced him until I feared his lungs might collapse. “No, ardore. But now we have to do
the same for the Gaians.”
He nodded. “That was why you gave yourself to me? So that I wouldn’t back out? I mean,
we’re dead either way now, yes?”
My whips stroked his adorable wedge of a lip. “No, love…so that I wouldn’t back out.”
It was a gentle enough lie to tell. Our females have always been the stronger.
62
We rolled Evren’s remains to the hatch and let the body fall onto Krecla’s. Then Sghllwe
turned them both to white ash with the Wayfarer’s heavy Thermor. While he did that I added my
bio mixture to the Vaporine’s tank. By the time we got ourselves onto the ground Liehnnei had
run out of the cylinder, utter shock in his eyes.
“What have you done?” he croaked, looking at the pile of ash, already scattering in the breeze.
“Saved our honor,” I told him. “If there are any real Old Ones in the afterlife, we shan’t have
to look away when they ask us how we died.”
I explained what was about to happen. Naturally he was horrified. He had always been a
timid one, more at home with preserved specimens than the real world. Then he surprised me.
The Inquirer put on a bold face. “I had better get back to my work then. Not much time left to
write my last report.” After turning toward the cylinder, he stopped and came back. “What about
those to come? The next wave? Won’t they just pick up where we left off?”
“Not for long. I made it a persistent agent, based on Gaian anthrax. It will be lethal for
centuries.”
He seemed impressed. “You must have had high marks at your academy.” And with that he
shuffled off into the cylinder, never to leave it again.
Eighteenth Sun
Here we lie, Sghllwe and me, on a grassy knoll near the great river, watching the magnificent
Gaian sunset. All around us Wayfarers stand immobile, as if a great dampener had made them
too heavy to move. Most have dead Nergali inside, their bodies ravaged by the microbes I had
concocted. It had been simple enough to empty the contaminated Vaporine into our own kind
during a sweep for armed resistance. They had never noticed with all of the boiling black smoke
from the other tripods. The disease had taken hold so quickly that none of the Inquirers had
lived long enough to design an inoculation against it. Weakness, fever, pulmonary distress,
dehydration, organ failure. Most Nergali died in a single day.
The Gaians are jubilant, discharging colored explosives and singing anthems. They praise
their god, believing that he has saved them from the monsters. Let them think so. Who knows?
It may even be true. That would certainly be preferable to believing that the Great Old Ones had
anything to do with it.
Sghllwe lies beside me, utterly at peace. He passed two days ago. My toxin did not claim him.
His poor body failed naturally, from our love-joining. I will soon follow, as I can feel the same
decay beginning inside me. Our eggs rest in a cave, never to hatch, never to grow into…us.
Whatever we are. Fiends from Mars, the Gaians call us. Apparently that is their word for Nergal.
Some sort of ancient war god. This planet has a great many of them. It is a just term.
I am the last of our race on this world. Possibly the last anywhere. Those left behind on our
wretched red home may already be dead. But I still breathe, amidst this lush green. A Nergali
orphan, stranded in this Nergali heaven.
For our females have always been the stronger.
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