You Are Here - Fabius · Dear Reader, Eleven years ago we named the Fabius-Pompey literary magazine You Are Here because, like a point on a map, we wanted a title that affirmed your

You Are HereThe Fabius-Pompey High School

Literature & Art Magazine 2017-2018

Dear Reader,

Eleven years ago we named the Fabius-Pompey literary magazine You Are Here because, likea point on a map, we wanted a title that affirmed your mark, your special, momentary place here inFabius at a time, realize it or not, when you are young and teeming with potential, a time that flitsaway before you know it. This, though, your writing and art, your fingerprint of creativity, willalways be here as a memento, as a reminder that you were here. This year’s issue was the result ofmany hours of work and dedication. We would like to thank the staff—Aiden McCarthy and GregHall—and our advisor, Mr. Neumire. We would also like to thank Mr. Hyatt and Ms. Ashman, whocollected terrific art submissions for us. Thanks are also due to Principal Linck, SuperintendentRyan, and the Board of Education for their support in the publishing of our eleventh issue.

SUBMISSIONS FOR NEXT YEAR

We are accepting submissions for next year as of right now! If you are submitting text(poetry, fiction, non-fiction), please make sure you have it saved on a Microsoft Word or GoogleDocs file somewhere and email/share it to Mr. Neumire at [email protected] or dropoff a hard copy in room 139, Mr. Neumire’s room. You may also give work to literary magazine staffmembers or your English teacher. If you are submitting art work, please give it to Mr. Hyatt or Ms.Ashman (photography). They will give you more instructions if they are needed.

We publish one online issue per year in the spring on the school website. Please make sureyour work is school appropriate, proofread, and creative! Each year we will award three prizes forthe best submissions.

If you would like to join the literary magazine staff, we highly encourage it! You willneed to have Mondays after school available. You should also be ready to edit, type, and reviewsubmissions for publication.

You Are Here 2018 Staff Members

Aidan McCarthyGreg Hall

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Cover: Maddy Donaghy-Robinson…art design

Page 1…Stephen Trail: untitled poem2…Bridie Larkin: “Roots” painting3…Tyler Gorman: “The Absence of Life” short story6…Charle Morrow: “Skull and Flower” painting7…Maddy Robinson: “Birds and Books” painting8…Emily Schramm: “Inferno” poem9…Bridie Larkin: “Rose” painting10…Cassandra Wilbur: “A Promise” poem11…Tim Carroll: “Bird” painting12…Anonymous: “Distance” poem13…Colin Kovalewski: “Boots” photograph14…Danielle McAndrew: “Map” photograph15…Kennedy Enderle: untitled poem16…Rachel McAndrew: “House Porch” painting17…Rachel McAndrew: “Girls Smelling Flowers” painting18…Danielle McAndrew: “Girl with Camera”19…Parker Jackson: “Smokescreen” short story23…Amelia Gleason: “Kids’ Bike” photography24…Mackenzie Dooley: “I Really Wish I Hadn’t” short story: First Prize Fiction Contest32…Madi Reidl: “Cat” painting33…Gregory Harder: “Cat” painting34…Kennedy Enderle: “His Name Was Christmas” poem35…Amelia Gleason: “The Woods Are Lovely” Photography36…Kennedy Enderle: “A Bruise Love Makes” poem37…Tyler Gorman: “Landscape” painting38…Megan Purcell: “Shapes” painting39…Aidan McCarthy: “Spicy Justice” short story43…Sophie Kirkeby: “Fearless” painting44…Julia Peterson: “Dog at Rest” painting45…Sara Britschge: “Dog” painting46…Bridie Larkin: “Fearless” painting47…Ana Montes Corona: “Shopping” painting48…Evan McCarthy: Untitled short story55…Colin Kovalewski: “Wheel” photography56…Tom Murfitt: “House” model57…Sophie Kirkeby: “Laugh” painting58…Colin Kovalewski: “American Teen” photography

UntitledBy Stephen Trail

Do not go into that hushed placeFor there are ghosts in there

Far gone folk who lost their wayDied long ago in there

Do not go into that hushed peaceDeath is foremost in there

Come now, we must awayMore than bare bones dwell there

1.

The Absence of Life

By Tyler Gorman

In a bedroom on the second floor of a quiet house on a densely packed street of an unfortunately

placed neighborhood, there stood a cage in the corner. The room was really too small to fit such a

cage, as it was also filled with an array of clothing and food that had been scattered about. There was

a bed covered in the belongings of a child that only furthered to explicate the messiness of the room.

The cage itself was rather unextraordinary aside from the poorly constructed cardboard structure that

surrounded it. It appeared to be a child’s attempt at replicating a castle as decoration for the cage.

The paint that had been splattered on it was now beginning to peel, and the cage appeared to have

been poorly maintained with obvious signs of decay.

Outside the house rain was relentlessly beating the side of the house as thunder cracked its whip

in the distance. The cage however, remained dry within the confines of the house. Occasionally,

noises could be heard from within the cage, and if one were to peer in you would have a view of

what was once a more whimsical domicile of a pair of hamsters. Near the back of the cage stood a

wire frame of a wheel that seemed to be one of the only things that still received any attention. The

was a pair of bowls which had once been used for food. They were labeled “Madame Gertrude” and

“Sir Muffins” respectively. Decorating the back wall opposite the wheel hung a nearly empty water

bottle for the pair to drink from. The floor of the cage was equal parts feces and wood clippings that

likely hadn’t been changed since the construction of the cage itself. The only other discernible

features of the cage were the remains of a feminine rodent dawning a miniature crown and cape, and

her mate who lay sleeping near the back wearing similar attire. Even without having been fed in

quite some time, the male hamster remained rather large as he had been able to find a source of food.

It had only taken a week after the death of Madame Gertrude for parts of her body to start

3.

disappearing. Her remains consisted of mostly bones with some of the more unfavorable entrails. It

remained unclear whether she had died due to an unfortunate accident or some malicious form of

Uxoricide, but regardless of the cause, her death remained the driving factor in the current survival

of her spouse.

He had quickly grown fond of the acquired taste and no longer hungered for anything else.

However, as time went on he began to experience strange afflictions. Perhaps this was the result of

living in isolation for so long or his rather peculiar diet, but whatever the reason it soon became

apparent that what he was experiencing was most certainly unnatural. It began with unceremoniously

being woken up in the night, only to find himself lying next to the decayed remains of his partner. He

at first remained unbothered by these occurrences, and yet they continued to increase in both

frequency and intensity. Strange dreams soon turned to hallucinations in his waking hours. He began

hearing the longing voices beckoning him to his mate’s resting place. He questioned if she was

actually there sometimes, and felt as though he was being watched. Slowly he began losing his grip

on reality altogether. Around this time, the small amount of water left in the cage ran out which only

served to escalate problems. It was at this point that he would face his greatest torment.

The night was dark and the house creaked loudly keeping him awake. He lay deep in thought

recalling his life before his abandonment. It was at this point he heard a what seemed to be the voice

of his deceased mate originating from the now mass of bones with just the head remaining. As he

turned to ponder what could be the source of this unnatural voice, the bones seemed to move

themselves. Before his eyes her full form appeared in all her previous allure. What happened next

can be summarized to actions of a creature acting purely on instinct after having been so long left

alone with all the needs of caring on lineage of his species, and the lack of inhibitions that came with

insanity.

4.

Upon his awakening the next morning he was startled to discover himself aloft a pile of bones

gnawing on the final remains of a skull. Unsure of how to proceed he removed himself from his

current state and proceeded to exercise for the very real need of washing away the actions of the

previous night. As he began to move he unknowingly started to increase his speed until he was fully

accelerated. It was at this point the machines age got the better of it. An unluckily placed leg

managed to break though the wiring catching him in its rotation, and pulling him at full speed around

the wheel until at last the force of such action led to the tearing of bone limb, and sinew. As he flew

through the air, his final thoughts were of himself and what he had become. He landed just close

enough to his mate so that his final view was that of her cold dark eye sockets which once held the

window to her entire being. As he bled out, there was no one there to witness it, no one there to

mourn, and no one there to care. He died alone realizing he had been his own torture, and now he

was finally free.

Whether this event was caused by a serious misfortune and the supernatural, or the deranged

actions of an individual broken by isolation, it is inconsequential because the result is the same. But

what can we really expect from such savage creatures as these.

5.

by Charle Morrow

6.

by Maddy Robinson

7.

InfernoBy Emily Schramm

These tears that now flow,Cascading down the curves of my faceLike a breathtaking waterfall,Have begun to extinguish a fire deep within me,A fire I had not cared to notice until now.

The flames of passion and excitementThat at one time kissed my skin so delicately,Now wound and disfigure me,Desperate to hold on,Not worried of the pain they now bring.

The roars of this once powerful blazeContaining every hope,Every dream,That long ago would have filled this overwhelming silence,Now struggle to become anything more than a whisper.

They haunt me,With every scar and every murmur,Reminding me of how much I failed her,That small little girl with gigantic dreamsOf becoming something bigger.

So now with each new blemish,Or every echo of the past,That magnificent waterfall continues to grow,Raining down on this once beautiful fireUntil all that is left is dust and ash.

Remnants of a better,Much safer time,They leave me choking,Suffocating on this horrid smoke calledRegret.

8.

by Bridie Larkin

9.

A PromiseBy Cassandra Wilbur

On Tuesday September 11, 2001The day started off sunnyAnd beautiful with a robin-egg blue skyThat contained a couple fluffy white cotton-ball clouds

Although it was before our time,Teachers, relatives, and family tell usOf the heroes, taunting terrorists,And loads of lost loved ones.

Over 3000 souls perishedIn the flames that lickedThe towers that stoodLike two, towering, twin pillars standing strong against the sky.

In a matter of minutesA quiet, serene, and beautiful morningContained the broken cityThat had been consumed by disaster.

The vibrant red, orange, yellowFlames that the planes initially ignitedConsumed the buildingsFirefighters looked like bumblebees in their yellow and black striped turnout gear ran in

They ran up the stairwaysThat were filled with black smoke from the superheated flamesThat was thick and dark as the matsThey’d used in training.

Now, sixteen short years afterThe nation remembers the painAnd another thing that remainsAre the holes left by lost loved ones.

After the pain, people prayedAnd vowed that this wouldn’t happen again.Security measures were raisedAll the while the intensity of explosion lingers

I’m choosing to acknowledge the promise,I’m choosing to help prevent more loss,I’m choosing to join this fight. Will you?

10.

by Tim Carroll

11.

DistanceBy Anonymous

Waiting in line with a suitcase and a backpack. Alone with strangers. Different types of people,rich,poor, homeless, drug addicts, and dreamers.

Day dreaming of being in his arms. Being patient to see his smile again. Which makes my mind startto wonder; I think of my own smile when distance will no longer be a existence.

Many people exist, like this old man sitting next to me when I board the bus. He looks like a NewYork City man with with the big hat on. He has a huge laptop with with cords all over. He took up

most of our room, but I didn’t mind. He wasn’t a burden. We all just sit their.

I got off the bus at the first layover. I was just sitting there. So many different people in one place. Anobnoxious man named Guy was our entertainment while he was talking on the phone with some

women. We all waited two hours for the next bus to Baltimore. We all sat and waited.

I waited fourteen hours to see you again. Just like dreaming about your smile, it’s here now. I’vebeen waiting on those daydreams to become a reality. Distance is gone for a moment. I ran away

from distance for you. But distance will never be gone completely gone.

12.

By Danielle McAndrew

14.

UntitledBy Kennedy Enderle

Her braids soft like a ballerina dancing in a song.His thumbnail is slightly shorter than the other nails.Together, they are a lonely beaten

Miracle. Their color paints their skin,They glow like a wild rainbowShe tastes sweet

Hot chocolate on his lips, he puts purple wildflowers in her hairFrom the rundown house with red shutters and the red roof.

The house a dusty yellow like the old book bookFull of scary stories her mother gave to her.They lay together, like others when they sleep.

At night so they do not drift away.

15.

by Rachel McAndrew

16.

by Rachel McAndrew

17.

By Danielle McAndrew

18.

Smoke ScreenBy Parker Jackson

Chapter 1

My head, it feels like I was hit by a truck. Where am I? How did I end up in this alleyway, the

one next to my apartment? How long was I out? How come I am only wearing a hospital gown?

Please tell me that I have underwear on. Oh thank god! I get up and start walking; I stumble a little

bit and have to use the wall to stabilize myself. I am really stressing out. I hear a click behind me,

and feel cold metal against the back of my head. A man says to me, “Give me all your cash, or I will

shoot you!” He backs the gun away and I slowly turn around and I am looking right down the barrel

of a glock. Just then a flood of images enters my brain and I remember how to disarm an assailant,

first, quickly grab the barrel of the gun with one hand, then, pull the opponent towards you while

spinning them around so their back faces you, next, twist the gun out of their hand, finally, move

their arm over your knee and snap it like a twig. This all happens while I am remembering this

training; I had no idea that I was even doing it. My attacker runs off down the way he had come. I

pick up the gun, remove the magazine, and throw the pieces into two separate dumpsters so as to

keep it from being used again anytime soon. I leave the alley and enter the street; I go over to my

building the one on the right at the corner. I walk up the three flights of stairs and find my apartment,

number 914. The key my parents keep under the mat. I look and find it there where it always is and

enter. I am greeted with stunned looks, and blank expressions. Mom, with tears in her eyes, runs over

to me as does the rest of the family. I had no idea mom was so short; they are all saying how they

missed me and how they never thought I would come back. “What do you mean? I was just outside.”

I ask. They all flash me a concerned look, and they back away. Dad puts his hand on my shoulder,

“Parker.” he says, “You have been missing for the past five years.” So many feelings rush through

me, so many thoughts race through my mind, so many tears welling in my eyes, so many questions19.

that I almost immediately understand no one can answer (anaphora), not even me. I run over to the

bathroom and look in the mirror, and I don’t recognize myself. I look like me, but also not like me. I

go back to the living room and sit down on the couch, “Five years,” I say, “I’ve really been gone five

years.” I look up at Mom and Dad they nod at me grimly. I am in shock, I can’t even shed a tear

either that or can’t feel that I am. My parents sit on both sides of me each of them with their hand on

my shoulder, “Don’t you remember?” Mom says, “You won the science fair, and a free tour of Arrow

Tech.”

“You left to go on the trip and never came back,” Dad continues, “The police went to

investigate and they said that they offered you a ride and that you refused and decided to walk.” They

say more but I’m not listening, something about searching for me for months, apparently I was

declared dead. I get up and go stare out the window at the big building with the big arrow logo on it.

It looks like a two headed arrow that has been shoved into the middle of a diamond. I turn and

continue to catch up with my family; we sit and we talk and hug; I have a new little brother born

about two months ago, his name is Banner. I finally am able to go see my room. It looks exactly the

same; I’m older now so I may have to change that (Spiderman bed sheets ain’t gonna fly with a 17 -

year old). I sit on my bed and start throwing a ball to see how close to the ceiling I can get it, I hit the

ceiling and ball goes crazy and bounces right under my bed. I lay down to get under the bed to

retrieve it, but I don’t fit anymore. I go to move my bed so I push and it slides, almost as if it were

made of paper. I grab the ball and pull the bed back into place; again it moves with ease. I decide to

try to lift it, with both hands it’s like a pebble, then with one hand same thing. How about I try to lift

something heavier. I turn to my dresser, bend over and lift; it comes up of the ground, all four legs,

like it’s nothing. I go downstairs to go outside to find something heavier, Mom stops me at the door;

she looks absolutely mortified that I want to go back out so soon. I tell her I’m going to David’s; I

20.

have to let him know I’m alive. I give her a good long hug, and a kiss on the cheek and leave. I turn

the corner to go to David’s and find that not much has changed, the hat store is still open, people still

walking, running, jogging down the sidewalk, sirens in the distance. Same old Syracuse. I make a

quick turn into an alley where I’m sure no one will see me. I see a dumpster; it smells; it really reeks,

but it’s full, so it’s heavy. I bend at the knees and put both hands under it and lift, it is much harder

I’m really struggling. I can’t lift it, so weird, I refuse to believe that what happened in my room was a

fluke. Frustrated and determined, I spin towards the giant trash receptacle. I slowly go to grab it,

bending first at the waist I place my hands under the bottom edge; I bend at the knees and I take a

deep breath and really focus, and with all my strength I straighten all the bent parts of my body. I am

still struggling but, little by little I feel the dumpster rise off the ground. I get it about a foot in the air

and I notice that I smell smoke, I look around, and Oh my god I’m smoking! With a weird little yell

kinda like “nyaaaa!”, I drop the dumpster and jump back I quickly inspect myself for any flames or

burns, and I’m fine. I say to myself, “I’ll experiment more tomorrow.” and I head off down the street

to go to David’s. I get to his building and buzz “Who is it?” asks a voice I say, “Delivery for David

Drummond.” There is a pause, then, Bzzzzz! Click! I go through the door, and walk up the stairs. I

knock on the door and it opens, a 6 foot 4 teenager that I assume to be my best friend is standing in

the doorway. He asks, “Where’s the package?” I look at him and say, “Wow, you go missing for five

years and nobody seems to miss you.”

“Wait.” he says as squints at me and examines my face, “Parker?”

“What do you think? Is there any other curly haired blonde kid that would show up at your

door?” I say. He wraps me in a big bear hug and nearly squeezes the life out of me. He releases me

and we go inside, he is near vibrating with excitement he walks in and says, “Dad, Donnivan, Josh,

you’ll never guess who’s here!” They all enter the living room and have confused looks on their

21.

face;, they don’t seem to recognize me, how could they, I still have my curly hair but now, I have

pimples, I’m about two feet taller, and my face is different ish; it hasn’t changed much but enough to

look significantly different. David tells them and at first they can’t believe it, they eventually do and I

am greeted with three more simultaneous bear hugs. We sit down on the couch, and they tell me all

that has happened since I went missing, David has a girlfriend now, We are both supposed to be in

our senior year of high school, actually only I’m suppose to be David really is in his senior year, then

came the bad news. David’s mom died about four years ago, after her fight with breast cancer. I don’t

know what to say, what can I say? It’s been four years since it happened, this is a new situation that, I

have never been in before. I am confused, perplexed, addled, surprised. I don’t know how to respond.

Luckily David changes the subject. Unfortunately, the new subject is worse, “What happened dude?

Where were you for the past five years?” says David. How do I even respond to that? Can I just tell

him the truth, that I don’t remember? How would I even put it? “I don’t know.” I say

“What?” he replies

“I have no memory of the past five years. The last thing that I remember is going to the

science fair and then I woke up in the alley next to my building.” I explain.

They are all speechless. It is very, very awkward, the only way to describe it is if there was a

word for extremely awkward. That is something to google. Thankfully the phone rings, it’s my mom

she says that I have to go home. I hug each Drummond, say my goodbyes and walk home. As I’m

walking home I hear something, a shriek would have to be the word. I walk over to the location of

the shout, and I see two muggers, and a girl. I don’t know what to do, I can’t call the police; I don’t

have a phone, no one else is around, so I can’t borrow one. Then I remember, I have super strength, I

decide to step in.

To Be Continued

22.

By Amelia Gleason

23.

I Really Wish I Hadn’tBy Mackenzie Dooley

I really wish I hadn’t lost my left shoe.

Let me preface this by saying that in all accordance’s of life I have been a decent person. I

would never cheat, never lie, never scam. But oh you know, sometimes one thing goes wrong and

then all of a sudden everything is wrong and there’s this whole huge snowball just barreling down

the hill towards you and you have to make a move. So that’s what I did.

To my friends,

I want Apple to know, I never meant for anything to happen to you OR YOUR DOG! I am so sorry! I

want Birdie to know, your truck will be fixed next week and I’ll pay for the whole thing.

Now shall we?

It all happened last Tuesday. I was on my way to chess club when I got a phone call from my mother.

“CRICKET! WHERE ARE YOU?”

“Mom, I have chess today, it is very important to me,”

“Crockpot I do not care. You have your things well CAN’T I EVER HAVE ANY FUN

AROUND HERE?”

Mother shouts a lot on the phone. I know she’s hoping that I’m going to call a babysitter, she

has her Salsa Lessons tonight, but it’s just a cat. I have all of the phone numbers, mother uses a

landline.

“Just give the cat some ice cream and I’ll let her outside when I get home,” I say. With that

she hangs up.

24.

I look up at the sky and take in the strange ways that orange and blue blend. That’s how the

sky always looks here. Never pink, never purple, no red, no yellow, sometimes green. But mostly

orange or blue. My phone rings again, it’s my mother again. Instead of appeasing her I close the call

and dial the sitter, since mother probably forgot that she called me. After a few minutes mother texts

thanking me. I close my phone and step into the road before me. My chess studio is just across the

street. But something doesn’t feel right about this puddle. I’ve never minded puddles much, typically

been the brave type, never had very fancy shoes, so I tend to just step in them. But this one doesn’t

feel like the rest. It’s goopy. It is very goopy! I yank at my foot but it seems to be stuck. I tug and tug

and there is a car coming at me!

In a flashing moment I spin around and am across the street. I look down at my feet and my

left shoe is missing. There is someone running toward me. People swarm and ask if I am okay. The

car didn’t hit me I tell them I just had to twirl to unscrew my foot from this rut. I keep pointing at the

rut in the road trying to warn them but they keep thinking I’m pointing at this truck.

They can’t hear what I’m saying and now everybody is making assumptions. I watch as all of

these folks crowd this truck and start yelling at the person driving it. I think it’s Birdie! I am so happy

to see Birdie squared in that driving seat that I completely miss the man approaching her windshield

with a bat. It’s old man Java. SMASH! Goes her windshield. He’s not even angry that she hit me, or

didn’t, or did I’m still not sure. He’s just upset about the commotion interrupting his business at the

corner store.

I decide to get up now that everyone is attacking Birdie’s truck and not me. I look down at my

soggy sock and frown. I throw Birdie a wave, she seems distraught, and walk down the street.

25.

I have to buy new shoes obviously. I can NOT go to chess club like this, they will eat me

alive. There’s this weird little boutique a couple stores down from where the incident occured. I walk

towards it. As I walk I think of how sorry I feel for Birdie. Poor thing, just got her new truck and now

all of this. Old man Java is one crazy dude. My father and him used to be friends but one night Java

had too much sugar and got into his muninty stories of his days pirating. Pa never really favored

those stories much but I guess on this particular occasion he just couldn’t take it anymore.

I get to the ‘tique and there’s a bell that chimes as I open the door. I spot a pair of pink

corduroy boots. They HAVE to be mine. Just as I reach for them a sales associate darts out in front of

me. Her eyes are full of fire and her smile is plastic.

“Hi! How may I help you?”

“Well ma’am, I actually just might have gotten hit by a car out there and well, there was a

goop situation, I just really need those boots,”

Her lip quakes for a moment, “Those… boots… ?”

“Yes,” I exhale.

I don’t wait for her response. I push past but when I get there the boots are being clasped by

the grubby hands of an overly tanned woman in an outright black dress and a very large hat.

“Excuse me ma’am? I was about to buy those boots…” I say. The woman hardly lifts an

eyebrow and I can’t tell if its her disgust at my presence or her sheer inability to lift such a heavy

article on her face.

“You mean these ones dear? No, no, these are mine, have a nice day.”

26.

“No maim, they are not anybody’s at this current moment, but if you get any more of the

grease from under your fingernails on them then they will rightfully be yours,” I spit. She doesn’t

like that. She looks me up and down and sets down the boots.

“Have them,” she hardly voices, she looks at my face and proceeds to exit.

I release a sigh of relief and head to the counter to pay. The boots fit like a glove and with

that I am once again ready for chess club.

The sun seems to slip behind the clouds just as I step outside. I hear thunder rumble and glace

back at the ‘tique. The plastic shop lady is at the window flipping the sign to closed. She looks me in

the eyes and for a moment her painted on face cracks. I sweep the area around me and it appears now

as though there isn’t one single person outside. Birdie’s truck is in pieces scattered across the

courtyard but she and the angry mob are nowhere in sight. I feel a drop of rain. More thunder. More

rain. Lighting. More thunder. I spin around and all of the stores in the whole area are closed or

closing. I am astonished, it’s only 4:30 in the afternoon. Was there a storm warning that I missed? I

plop down on the curb and open my arms to the sky. Might as well take it all in.

I wake up to a hard thump on my forehead. I open my eyes. Lady Minerva is standing above

me and whacking me with her cane.

“You best be gettin’ on up now dear, there’s a curse after you.”

Most of this town ignores Minerva but I often indulge her, she has fantastic stories. So when

she says this I am immediately concerned.

“What do you mean, Minerva?”

She tosses her hair back, “That, child, ain’t none of my business, I can’t help you.”

27.

“When did it stop raining? Was I asleep?”

“Yes child, you were sittin’ here when I came out for my gander. First off I wasn’t wantin’ to

wake you but then you just seemed so departed I had to intervene,”

“Really?” I scratch my head.

“Yeas’m, but I don’t be recalling no rain darlin’, now I gots to get on out of these cursed

airs.”

I sit up. My thoughts are stifled. I guess I’ve missed chess club. I wonder what a curse could

be. It is just so strange that Minerva doesn’t remember any rain. Usually she tells me she can feel it

in her ‘cacklin’ bones’. Where should I go from here? I suppose I could just head home. I feel the

soppiness of my boots as I stand. It HAS TO have rained. I’m leaving gloppy footprints in my trail.

I’ve walked about ten feet when something else strange happens. A dog. A little white cotton

ball of a dog is sitting right in my path. I bend down to pet him and he barks. I pull my hand away

and he frowns. Where did this guy come from? What is he doing here? I bend down once more to

check his collar and he dashes away, across the street and toward an old building. My eyes have

hardly caught up to him when the wind picks up and protrudes my ears. I hear a shout from beyond

the way and there’s Apple, making a beeline across the road and directly under the wobbling roof

tiles. That building was condemned months ago! The fluffer runs right through the door and inside,

Apple follows. I stand in my place dripping imaginary rain water and watch as part of the tiling

collapses inward. A puff of dust climbs outward and Apple is shrieking. I dial 911 on my phone and

drop it on the sidewalk.

It wasn’t my fault fluffer ran into the condemned building. He could’ve run anywhere else!

The sun is setting now. The sky is more orange than it is blue. Still ugly. I make it to the courtyard.

28.

My house is down at the end of the street turning off of the courtyard to the left. I’m not that far

away. What else could happen in that time. I walk across the yard and down the little hill of grass

that separates it from street. My boots are still soapy though and my footing is poor. I slip and tumble

down the grass into the ditch. More imaginary rain making it slippery? Why has no one else slipped?

Why did that building fall? Why was that shop assistant so acrylic? I ascend out of the ditch covered

in mud and continue on.

I dart across the street and make it to my turn down Pharaoh Street. I feel a buzzing in my

pocket. Phone? I left it on the sidewalk! But sure enough what I retrieve from my pocket very closely

resembles a cell phone. I answer it.

“You see,” a creaky voice introduces, “You see what happens when you take what is mine?”

“Who is this? What are you talking about?”

“Oh dear, you don’t even know, don’t worry, soon you will.”

I hang up the phone and throw it. It smashes my neighbor’s window, of course. Don’t throw

things when you’re cursed! I keep walking down the road.

The sky seems to get darker and darker as I get closer to my house. When I arrive all of the

lights are off. That’s funny, there was supposed to be a sitter for Kit, our cat. I push open the squeaky

door and feel a chill as I enter. I tiptoe about the kitchen and into the couch room, past the couch and

to the dining room where there is one sole light lit. Sitting on the table is a pair of boots. They are

fuzzy, spotted, orange. It is this moment when I realise that I can’t find Kit.

29.

I hear a creak of the floorboards behind me. I whip around and there is that same giant hat.

The wrinkled peanut-butter arms wrap around the boots on the table and chapped, red lips part, “I

suppose I can settle for these ones…”

“Who are you? What, you want the pink boots? Fine take them!” I shout, attempting to pull

off the soppy boots on my feet.

“Good luck with that,” a snicker.

“What are you talking about? Where is my cat?” I yell.

“Kit? Oh, didn’t you call a sitter?” she smiles, tightening her grip on the fuzzy boots.

My heart stomps in my chest. I feel anger flood over me. That’s why! That’s why the rain!

That’s why the fluffer! Oh, why did I have to want these boots? I bolt into the kitchen and grab my

broom. I take to swinging at the woman’s hat, knock it off, and keep swinging. She tries to bat it

away with her scaly hands but she’s unsuccessful.

“You’re ungrateful! I was going to teach you a lesson about respect!” she shouts through the

swatting.

“I don’t care! Give me my cat!” I shout back.

“Give me my boots!” she cries.

“I thought you didn’t want them!”

“Well, I changed my mind!”

I stop swatting.

“Lift the spell,” I demand.

“Fine,” and she does.

30.

Once I am able to take off the boots, I do. I give them to her. She snaps her finger over the

furry boots on the table and with a shimmer of light Kit is in their place curled up in a ball. She takes

the pink boots and walks away. I take it that she is gone. I fall to the floor. Kit hops down and nudges

my knee with his chin. I scratch his ears. Everything is over. That horrible crayola-crocodile woman

cursed me. She put a spell on the whole town. It must’ve started in that store. But what I can’t wrap

my head around is why she wanted them so badly. Was she just bored? Looking for something to do?

Someone to mess with? Why did it have to be me? I have to think, if I hadn’t answered the phone I

wouldn’t have stepped in the puddle, if I hadn’t stepped in that goop I wouldn’t have needed a new

shoe, if I hadn’t been in that ‘tique that horrid lady wouldn’t have put a curse on me and this whole

huge mess wouldn’t have happened.

Man, I really wish I hadn’t lost my left shoe.

31.

by Madi Reidl

32.

by Gregory Harder

33.

His name was ChristmasBy Kennedy Enderle

The smell of evergreen on his dark green New York Jets sweatshirtThe scent of cinnamon in his hair.The flavor of peppermint on his neckThe taste of hot chocolate on his lipsThe vision of a green, and silver decorative wreath in his eyesThe sight of joy like grandpa seeing the roasted ham on the center of the table in his smileThe melody of carols in his laughThe sound of bells in his wordsHis embrace is pure fire like the brown burning logs in the grey stone fireplaceHis touch is a gift like a blue toy train wrapped in snowflake paper thatA little boy opens on Christmas

34.

By Amelia Gleason

35.

A Bruise Love MakesBy Kennedy Enderle

He leaves with haunted respect.She is a candle that has not been litin a room full of fire.The clouds are black like the dress of a praying woman.She is silent like the babies filled with opiumto stop the crying.

A lonely beaten miracle,she walks now, a sweet predator.Her heart is large but shielded.There she sees him,a positive evil.Her mind now crying loudlike the shaking of the bees.

36.

by Tyler Gorman

37.

by Megan Purcell

38.

Spicy JusticeBy Aidan McCarthy

It was a cloudy day in the city of Bikini Bottom, and the ever-vigilant duo named, Mermaid

Man and Barnacle Boy remained at their self-ordered posts.

“It’s too cold out! I think we should leave; the weather is horrible!” Complained Barnacle

Boy, Mermaid Man continued to scan down the empty streets, as a torrential downpour began to

worsen the conditions.

“Bad for Leisure, but perfect for Crime-fighting.” He replied through a grimace. His young

ward sighed and rested one hand on his pruny face. As if on cue, a scream rang out from a nearby

alley; with the reflexes of a feral tiger, Mermaid Man leaped to his feet, followed closely by Barnacle

Boy. Utilizing their legs, the two spry elders dashed through the rain and around the corner, what

they saw almost put Mermaid Man into Cardiac arrest, The Dirty Bubble! Barnacle Boy grew

Panicked while Mermaid Man formulated a plan. The narrowness of the alley didn’t allow for much

side-to-side movement, but the walls were steep, and Mermaid Man could rely on his young ward

Barnacle Boy to propel himself upwards and gain the advantage on the fiendish bubble.

“Young Lad!” projected Mermaid Man, “when I move up the center of the Alley, grapple

thyself up the wall! And come on him from Behind.”

Barnacle Boy struggled to get himself under control, but a few deep breaths solved all of his

anxiety. The Dirty Bubble turned around from his victim, a young man of around 20 years of age.

The man screamed again and firmly grasped his floral handbag, the cause of this dilemma, and the

Dirty Bubble’s target. The villain laughed menacingly.

“If it isn’t Macrobian-Man and Bingo-Boy, here to foil my plot to steal this child’s handbag.”

The man screamed again and began to writhe around on the filthy asphalt path.

39.

“Remain calm citizen, we are here to rescue you.” The Bubble laughed again, “You fools

believe you can actually save this pathetic being, he is lost, and you will be too if you don’t leave.”

“Never! The day crime walks unopposed is the day the world ends.” Barnacle Boy was in game-

mode, nothing could prevent him from completing his task. While Mermaid Man occupied the fiend,

he felt around his fanny pack for the device of destruction, an extra-large stainless steel sewing

needle. Barnacle felt the smooth steel rest on his palm and he slowly brought the weapon out of his

sack, holding it in a concealed, but ready position.

“Peaceful negotiations have failed, Monster, you will never receive compensation for your

collection of glass garden gnomes! You leave us with no choice, we must destroy you.”

The Bubble faked a solemn look, “You may try, but it will be your downfall.” with that he

approached, his lumbering figure shrouded the alley way in darkness. Seeing an opportunity, the

victim fled, turning sharply around the corner and down the street. Mermaid Man turned and nodded

to Barnacle Boy, who upon making eye contact, nodded back. After parting their gaze, Mermaid Man

let out a ferocious battle-cry, rivaling the roar of a lion and the scream of an infant. With lighting

speed, the elder shot down the alleyway and towards the opponent

Barnacle Boy, with perfect synchronization, launched himself upwards with extreme thigh

and calf strength onto the rusty iron fencing above them. The speed and swiftness in which he moved

proved he did indeed have feline blood in him. After succeeding in surrounding the bubble, he

jumped back down and landed silently. The villain was still oblivious to the impending threat and

was steadily moving towards the hero Mermaid Man.

Barnacle Boy moved closer, he could see the thin bead of sweat forming on his upper lip, the

droplets were sticking to the thin, spear-like hairs of his mustache. The bubble lurched, and prepared

to engulf the senior citizen, Barnacle Boy knew it was now or never. He tightly gripped the needle

40.

and, using large deer-like strides, closed the distance between him and the vile creature. He was

within the kill zone when he pointed the needle in combat position, his elderly arms rippled with

unused muscle.

The needle was brought down with such swiftness that not even a mouse would have been

capable of evading the blow. The pop was tremendous, the ground shook and a viscous fluid sprayed

on the walls and the ground. A small puddle formed at his feet, while a thin strand of the juice

dripped from the needle. Mermaid Man collapsed from exhaustion, the excitement of the conflict

proved to be too much, and he needed to lie down.

Barnacle Boy handled the needle and, after wiping off, he returned it to the fanny pack that it

came from. All was done, or so they thought, as Mermaid Man regained some strength, he laid out in

an eagle position and breathed normally. The Bubble’s fluids formed into a shape somewhat

resembling a circle.

A sound emerged from the liquid, it was the same nasal voice of the vanquished bubble, “You

think you are capable of halting the endless advance of the Dirty Bubble, but you are horrendously

mistaken…” a breeze suddenly began to push the puddle to a nearby storm drain, the timing of the

wind was so precise, one could believe that it was conjured by Neptune himself. “...I am

unstoppable, one day the shroud of the bubbelians shall consume the entirety of Bikini Bottom. You

in your old age shall only be able to watch from you graves.”

“Our bodies may expire, but the spirit of justice shall never die. Even if the curtains fall on

Bikini Bottom, the show will soon return from it’s intermission and you shall be overthrown. The

world shall be thrusted into an age as golden as the skin of a beach goer. One day you shall

understand that good always prevails and evil is to be pushed aside.”

41.

By the time the speech was over, the Dirty Bubbles puddle had already vanished down the

storm drain. Mermaid Man sighed, “It’s too bad that he couldn’t hear it, perhaps he could have

gained a change of heart, and turned towards the side of good.

“Let’s go my young Ward, we shall return to our posts and seek evil as though we are

missiles closing in on a target.” with that, the two heroes returned to their patrol. The malefactors of

society were vanquished and once again the senior citizens proved to be elders by day, and elder

heroes by night.

The fire was fading, but the darkness wasn’t. The man was starving. He had been for a while.

He tried to remember the way he had lived before the crash, before the taste of bark and

insects had made their home on his taste buds, before he could count all his ribs and feel his

heartbeat so strongly as it weakened. He let out a tired sigh as he realized he could no longer picture

the way his hair had looked before it had metamorphosed into a monstrous mass of twigs, dirt, and

knots. The man was tired. He had been for a while.

He released an almost silent chuckle as the thought rattled across his empty mind that his

body must be performing photosynthesis, it had been so long since his last meal. He had long ago

lost his ambition for finding food, and he rarely ate. The few times he took in “food” were when the

needs of his body took over the desires of his mind, and even then his body usually rejected the

worms or leaves. He was sick. He had been for a while.

Now, the man’s mind wandered much farther than his feet. He had already walked out of his

shoes and stumbled through his pants, unraveled his shirt and pulverized his watch. The only thing

left to go was his body. The man was dying, and he had known it for a while.

The darkness was amplifying, but the man was unaware. He could finally remember his life,and his mind had traveled far from his body. He took one last breath, and the fire went out.

42.

by Sophie Kirkeby

43.

by Bridie Larkin

46.

UntitledBy Evan McCarthy

I woke up to the damn alarm clock beeping again. If I had known getting a job at a ranch

would have made me have to wake up at 4 in the morning, I would have gone back to school. But it

isn’t all that bad out here. I get three meals a day, a warm bed and decent money. It’s the middle of

winter right now and it’s freezing inside my apartment. All that damn snow blew up and around my

windows blocking off the light, making pneumonia a daily occurrence. I put on my overcoat and

went to make myself some brunch. I put some bread in the toaster but the thing wouldn’t go down. I

was so frustrated with the thing that I pushed down with all of my might. It went down, followed by

a loud snap. Well, the damn toaster broke again. Looking around for something to make my toast

with, I noticed my cigarette lighter. I lit it and immediately regretted that stupid choice. The bread

ignited and damn near burnt my hand off. I opened the window and threw snow all over the bread.

My bread was toast, a charred pile of crap. Boy, it was really cold now. I felt even dumber when I

realized that I had never closed the damn window. Snow that was in front of the window slumped

over and fell into my room, covering the floor in about four inches of snow. More snow was

blowing in by the bucket, must be a damn blizzard inside and outside. I slammed the thing shut

which in turn, sent a large crack up the side of the frame. I started to push the snow towards the door

to get rid of it, but when I opened the door another swirling torrent of snow flooded the building. I

glanced at the clock and it read 4:26. My damn boss told me that if I am late again, I would be out. I

grabbed my damn glove off of the counter and slid my hand into it. The damn thing was filled with

snow, and made me feel like Jack Frost had cursed me. My other glove had been stolen when I set it

down to go take a leak. What type of asshole would only take one glove? Besides, the things are

filled with so many holes it is hard to distinguish it from a piece of Swiss cheese. They are even the

same color and smell like cheese. I know who stole the glove too, Mikey Feldstan, the fat lard

48.

always had to take something that wasn’t his. I know it was him because I swear I saw the bastard

wearing it while he shoveled the other day. I don’t have the nerve to confront him; the man was a

mountain. I once saw him tackle a bull that was going wild. He just jumped the damn cow and took

it to the ground. I swear one day that man will get killed on the job and I will have to clean up the

mess.

I left the mess in my room and walked through the cold to get to the ranch. My job was

simple: just do whatever I am told. On my first day Mikey told me that I had to scrub the underside

of a bull to get rid of the ticks. I ended up with a hoof in the gut and Mikey laughing his ass off. But

since Mikey is my “superior”, I have to do whatever he says. Then there’s old Donny Rutcher, he’s

the guy that always has a cup of coffee for you and a phony smile of missing teeth. Donny loves this

job way too much and I almost can’t stand him. He claims that he has been working here since 1925.

I believe him because that man looks more like a prune than a man. He’s got this limp from

shrapnel he took in the leg during World War 1. I prefer to work with Mikey more than Donny

because you don’t get one damn moment of silence; he’s always telling these phony stories of

adventure and friendship that kill me. He said he would die for any of his trench mates but I knew

better; any of them would gladly sacrifice each other for a chicken sandwich. When I arrived at the

big barn, or HQ as Donny calls it, Mikey was there with his arm elbow deep in a bucket of cow shit.

“About damn time, sleeping beauty,” he greeted me. ”Boss says we have to git this shit

spread throughout his damn garden.”

My fat ass boss cares more about his damn vegetable garden than his wife. We have to trim

every dead leaf and change the soil every day. There are enough vegetables there to feed a nation

and when we harvest them we can’t take so much as a dead leaf with us or we won’t be paid for a

49.

month. Mikey tossed me a bucket which immediately spilled down my shirt and got shit all over my

chest.

“What the Hell Mikey! As if I wasn’t cold enough already.”

Mikey gave himself a chuckle and completely ignored me. I reached my gloved hand into the

stinking bucket and pulled out a chunk. I thought about chucking it at Mikey but decided that I want

to sleep in my own bed tonight, not in a hospital. We covered the garden in about six inches of poop,

which is no easy feat with a garden the size of a house. Donny was off in the pastures hunting

coyotes so I was working with Mikey today. There are more workers here, just not ones I like at all

or ones who are gone before I can even get here. Mikey shook his poopy hands all over the damn

place, spraying crap all over me.

“Hey you cretins!” A phlegmy gross voice echoed through the barn.

“Oh shit, what does he want now?”

Mr. Golgad, my boss, was waddling over like a three-footed elephant. ”Y’all covered my

garden?” His eyes shifted down to the garden and instantly widened. ”What the Hell you tryin to do,

drown the damn plants?”

Boy he was sore; he was red like the tomatoes we pick.

He grabbed Mikey’s arm and pulled him close. “You fix that damn garden now or I’ll smack

you sky high” he screamed. I couldn’t help it, that killed me and I started laughing.

He looked at me with eyes as wide as the full moon and I laughed even harder. “Stop

laughing now, or you’re gonna be bleedin a river.”

I couldn’t stop, I was gasping for breath and crying. The more I laughed the redder he got.

Then, with a beastly roar he grabbed my head and threw me face first into the stinking pile of

manure over the garden. My mouth was open and poop was in my eyes so I couldn’t see. Mr.Golgad

50.

heaved a hearty laugh and looked at Mikey who immediately began shoveling the crap from the

garden into a bucket. I was used to the smell after four years of working here but the taste was a

whole new sensation. I gagged and threw up into the bucket while Golgad watched with a smug grin.

He dropped a shovel on me and walked back to his disgusting trailer that he called a house.

“Holden, what Hell is wrong with ya, do ya want to die?” I didn’t answer because I was still

spitting shit out of my mouth. Mikey just chuckled to himself and kept shoveling.

“You’ve got balls, kid.”

I turned around to see the wrinkled face of Donny with a shotgun in one hand and a sled with

two coyotes in the other. I could hardly tell that there was a person in there because he was covered

with a puffy parka, so only his freckled, old face showed. ”Last feller who did that, I had to haul out

in a body bag.”

The horrible thing is that I believed him. Golgad has a temper of a mother bear.

“I’ll give ya credit fer one thang, I’ve never seen old Golgad laugh before.”

Donny is that one guy who has been here longer than anyone, even the boss. That man could

say whatever he wanted to anyone and get away with it. ”Back in the war, if I did that, I would be

tied to a tree and shot!” Donny shared.

There he goes again telling his phony ass war stories when there is absolutely no reason to.

“Have you come to chat or are you gonna help?” Mikey said with irritation.

“Naw I figured, I’ll go down to the crick and gut these coyotes, they make a mean soup”

Donny spat a nasty wad of tobacco and with that he limped away.

“Asshole” Mikey whispered.

“Screw this,” I said, “that fatass Golgad can fertilize his own damn garden.”

I started to smash every single plant in the stupid garden.

51.

“Holden, no!” Mikey was begging me to stop but didn’t; I was done with this cruddy ranch

and that stupid Golgad. Looking up, I noticed the heating lights that keep the plants from freezing.

“Oh no, don’t you go doin that!” Mikey was practically on his knees. Holding shovel high

over my head, I busted the lights up sending glass and debris everywhere. I kept pummeling the

lights until a piece of glass fell into my eye. “Shit!, What have I done!?” I came back to my senses

and stared in awe at the mangled garden at my feet.

“This on you!” Mikey said, “This on you!”

He took off like a bat out of Hell dropping his shovel and tripping over buckets of crap and

seed. I started shivering again. Icicles had fallen into the snow around the barn and scraps of metal

and glass littered the place. I pushed what I could into a pile and hid it in a bucket, then I replaced

some of the fertilizer on the garden. I felt horrible; those plants did nothing to me, it was Golgad. I

punished the wrong thing.

Donny came by again, ”Well, I’ll be damned, Golly” he chuckled. ”Y’all really lost it here

didn’t ya?”

I did something that was so stupid; I told Donny that I was gonna leave or Golgad would kill

me. He nodded in agreement.

“Follow me” he motioned for me to help him carry a bag of meat. Donny grabbed the bucket

of debris and slung his rifle over his shoulder. I followed him down to the stream in silence; I wasn’t

cold anymore. I was sweating so much it looked like I had just come out of the shower. He waded

out into the ice water and dumped the debris into the deepest and fastest part of the stream. Another

thing that amazed me about Donny was that he could handle cold like a Yeti. The old man had

abandoned his winter layers and was sporting a black t-shirt and pair of ripped jeans. Not even

gloves or a hat were on him.

52.

“Don’t ya know how to control yerself?”

Here we go, I wasn’t in the mood to be questioned like I was a mental patient.

“Speak up, kid!” He was staring at me just like Golgad did, eyes wide and an open mouth.

I started laughing again, I tried to apologize but whenever I opened my mouth a laugh came

out.

“Kids these days,” he sighed. I followed him through the knee-deep snow, back to his house.

When he opened the door my nose was assaulted with a strong smell of liquor and cinnamon rolls.

He pointed at the rolls on the counter and said to help myself. I picked the sticky bread up and bit

down; it was the best damn thing I have ever tasted. There was a knock on the door and suddenly

Donny was pushing me into a trapdoor under the carpet. He put his fingers to his lips and shushed

me then he gently closed the trapdoor and left me in the dark. It smelled like ass down here and

something wet and slimy kept brushing against my elbow. The knocks grew more urgent.

“The Hell you knockin so loud fer; I was usin’ the can!” Mikey was at the door with Golgad

at his side.

“You seen the shrimp, Holden around?” Golgad inquired.

Donny looked at Mikey. “Thought he was with you at the barn, is there a problem?”

“YEA! There’s a damn problem, the weasel destroyed my garden!”

I was ready to puke my guts out from the smell. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I could

vaguely make out a silhouette of some misfigured blobs hanging from the ceiling. I shifted closer to

one and realized that it was only the carcass of a coyote. Boy, he must’ve had at least a dozen down

here. The door upstairs slammed shut and I looked through the cracks just in time to see Donny

sliding a bookshelf over the trapdoor.

53.

“No one leaves the ranch!” he cheered. I could hear him jumping around and laughing. ”NO

ONE!”

54.

by Tom Murfitt

56.

by Colin Kovalewski

58.

Thank you for reading!