Aurora 2013: The World

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Aurora

The World

2013


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Aurora 2013


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Aurora 2013Aurora is the literary orum o Davis and

Elkins College. Its main goals are to showcasetalent among aculty, sta, and students,

and to stimulate the intellectual nerve o the

college as a whole. The journal is an annual

publication produced by student

editors and unded by the colleges student

assembly.

Editors:

Andrew Carroll

Barbara Fellenstein

Zachary J. Schmucker

Katie Wilson

Interim Advisor:

Dr. Katherine Osborne

Dedicated to:

All who contribute to the Aurora; this

magazine belongs to you

with special thanks to Dr. Bill King or his continuous support o

Aurora.

Cover Picture:

Color Wheel by Conner Berkey

Ralston Press, Buckhannon, West Virginia


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Table of ContentsBuddha Conner Berkey 1

To Be A Poet Richard Marzol 2

The Descent Alyse Prince 2

Stripes Jessica Williams 3

Invisible Wings Nicholas Carr 4

Damaged Suits Megan Samples 5-6

IL Est Fool Alyse Prince 6

What Im From... Andrew Carroll 7

To A Departed Spirit Helen Benigni 8

Carolina Jessica Williams 8

Enlightened Boy Leigh Ann Pearsall 9

Darkness Leigh Ann Pearsall 9

Sel-Indulgence Zachary J. Schmucker 10-12

What I See Feel and Hear Daniel Thomas 12

A Reapers Tale Alexander McCumbers 13-24

Remnant Conner Berkey 24

Walk on Water Nicole Wyatt 25

There Stands A Bridge Daniel Thomas 26

English Dept Social 2012 Group Poem 27-28Untitled Andrew Carroll 28

Observations

on Laundering Jessica Williams 29

Somewhere, Nowhere

Kind o Day Round Robin 30

Fossil Richard Marzol 31Untitled Adam Posey 31

The Highpoints Alexander McCumbers 32-33

Dining Hall Revolutions Jessica Williams 34

Dark Alyse Prince 35


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Ginsang Daniel Thomas 35

Brians Tale Alexander McCumbers 36

A Loggers Lament Daniel Thomas 37

Growth Andrew Carroll 37

How Great Thy War Tyler Pratt 38-46

Untitled Leigh Ann Pearsall 46

Chaos Alyse Prince 47

Untitled Haley Russell 47

Joyul Girls Leigh Ann Peasall 48

On Finishing Homework

beore Biking Bill King 49-51

The Adventure Nicole Wyatt 51

You Are the Devil Katie Wilson 52

Gone Like You Kendra Collett 52

Nicole WyattSeor Davis


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GCF Barbara Fellenstein 53

Truth Andrew Carroll 53

Untitled Round Robin 54

Biosphere J.A.S 55-61

Untitled Leigh Ann Pearsall 61

A Response to Jonathan Swits

The Ladys Dressing-Room

Anonymous 62-63

Lake Road West Susan Krako 63-64

Shaken Not Stirred Barbara Fellenstein 65-67


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The World Within Us

Ceramic Sculpture by Conner Berkey, Photo by Brett Kern

To conquer oneself is a greater taskthan conquering others. -Siddhartha Gautama Buddha

Buddha


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To Be A Poet

Is to stand naked

beore the worldwithout shame

nor apology...

to reveal all

scars and wrinkles

wrought by living;

all blemishes oear and ailure...

and to leave wide open

the bedroom door

o your soul

Richard Marzol

The Descent

Remove my disguise, this mask rom my ace,

Can anyone stay intact ater a all rom grace.

Can you still love me when Ive done what I must,

Or like our armor o old will your aith in me rust.

This blood on my hands, a price you couldnt pay,

Is the shield behind which we hid rom the mess o the bed we

lay. Now a ool in a room o Gods Ive become,

Still as tempered, sharp witted, silver tongued.Reusing to bow in this court o rauds,

Im back at the bottom rom whence Id once clawed.

Alyse Prince


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Stripes

Stripes deep and red

Blistered cutting cornersRaw and redened

Bearing my name

Thousands o names

Scarlet tears crashing

Shattering the starsPerorating sable seams

Our threads are but a dream

Unurled.

Wander in the eve tonight

Fresh dew settles by thmornColoured by yon drops o Son

Rivers ail to contain the

Zealous turbulence o lie

Caught between my ngers

Marbled and rozen in time

Precious time that astens me

With ribbons o grace

Jessica Williams


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Invisible Wings

I am rom a tightly gripped pencil, dancing around a resh piece

o paperSurrounded by revised visions and a dull eraser

From white and worn earbuds that hang, twisted and ree

Pumping a rapid stream o beats through me

From my turquoise covered iPod, tucked deep in my jeans

I am never one to make a scene

I am rom last seasons Aropostale sale

Cheaper than the new stu they put on the shel

From my glasses reective gleam

And my computers illuminated screen

I am rom a digital age

Demanding a aster pace

However, I am rom a set o wrinkled sheets

A lazy bed rom which I dangle my eet

From a cold operating table

My heart reworked and able

I am rom a surgical battleeld

Where not every scar is permanently healed

I am rom tired eyes and late nights

A home o love, pure and bright

From mountainous scenery and a limitless sky

I am rom invisible wings, ready to y

Nicholas Carr


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Damaged Suits

I was once beautiul.

Skin o porcelain and perhaps ivory;

Never-mind the light hue vapor upon air surace,

That now salutes the grey ash-like haze that kisses

The air maiden.

Eyes that once held such joy and blue,Now stand empty and venomous.

My wings no longer keep me aoat.

Withered and tattered; held down by the clods o

Unortunate human naivety.

They lack the white ruing

O a gentle breeze,

Merely crinkling and curling against a once strong heart.

A heart that barely even beats anymore.

The shadows let it beat - or Death is not to be tolerable.

Their words cloud my mind.

Or so are the athomless words spoken by dire riends.

The shadows are persistent - No one cares!

Are reliable - Calm yoursel!

Tell me things that perceive truth - Theyve hurt you beore,

whats to say they wont do it again?


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I ear or my soul - Theres no such thing as a soul. Let alone a

place or you!

Heaven can only shed tears or so long,

and Hell trembles at my monstrous orm.

I will nd no peace with either world.

My set course is upon this Earth;

So long as I accept my damaged suit,And the eatherless black wings

Adjourned rom my back.

Megan Samples

IL Est Fool

Stone aces betray eager hearts, like a cruel mocking aade,

Veils made o steel, cold, unmoving, odd.

Permanent masks hide the longing eye, cruel reminders o our

mistakes,

Moving lips cant say a word, causing hearts to break.

Like some sick jest were cursed with pasts we cant recall,

Like the Angel with broken wings, doomed to all.

And our only solace comes in the act that no one can see us cry,

So onward to Deaths cold arms a breath o relie well sigh.

Was is so long ago that we were godsback beore they took

our Voicenow were just Fools.

Alyse Prince


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What Im From...

Im rom Jurassic Park Jeeps

and tiny dinosaurs.

Im rom the Land Beore Time

and old VHS tapes.

Im rom green couches

and warm aghans.

Im rom the dirt

and the sand.

Im rom the mud between my toes

and the craysh in my hand.

Im rom the shadow o the sycamore.

and the creek underneath.

Im rom the spoons on the wall

and the places I never went.

Im rom the trains.

and the pus o smoke

they blow on tiny people.

In their tiny world in my tiny lie.

Im rom the sharp pine needles

that lled the plastic tub o

my diorama o the Powhatan Indians.

Andrew Carroll


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To A Departed Spirit

Somewhere, in the sap-stained branches o a tall sequoia

A red-tailed hawk crouches low, ready or take-oIts brown-red wings directed sunwise to aspiring height

Crystals o dew hanging rom each delicate eather

Like beads o a necklace pressed gently between a womans

breasts

Signaling the hawks intent.

Somewhere, in the dark pine orests above Poe Run Road

A doe startled by the sound o gunshot gazes west

Its chestnut chest pounding in a sot unbearable rhythm

Like the Cherokee widows eet o a ceremonial death-dance

A brown leather pouch dangling rom her neck

Dancing with her pain.

Somewhere, a spirit has departed.

Helen Benigni

Carolina

Jessica Williams


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Enlightened Boy

Leigh Ann Pearsall

Darkness

I dont hide rom the dark. I hide the people when it overcomes

me. I let it take over so I can think about why this happened,

what I have to do, what to do next. Lives dont change i no one

is willing. Sometimes you have to work through what is going on

and then ace the world around you. Nothing will ever end. You

will have to ace it your whole lie no matter what. Let the dark

come and overcome, think about it then let it go away.

Leigh Ann Pearsall


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Self Indulgence

In my ancestral home, the straight road leading out o the ham-

let,I was raised at the oot o the hill.

My ather was raised at the top.

My grandather was raised in the middle.

My great grandather died at the top.

My great uncle died three quarters o the way to the top.My grandather died at the top.

My ather lives at the top.

I live elsewhere, having spent the past ew years in the home or

wayward boys

Spending my mornings in Our Lady o the Perpetual HangoverBlanket Fort and Inrmary,

My weekends in dim lights outside and in, standing on porches

like a visiting spector staggering into the arms o alcoholism,

My weeknights in a actory, laboring on my own in ront o roar-

ing kilns.

My mother said best, I cant sit there all day looking at pictures

o paisley abric.

Am I the only one wondering aloud what book Dorian Grey had

published so many times and in so many colors?

Am I alone smoking cigarettes in empty parking lots and remem-

bering Italian waitresses?

But then again, Ive always allen or girls with smiles,

With hair,

With generally symmetrical eatures.

And my nervous tick o remembering the slurred mistakes Ive


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made,

Flinching when I think o phone calls I orced and stories I told

too many times, and people I disgusted.

I remember watching aces change when all my polished charm

had used itsel up and the grit beneath it shown through.

But praying to lost loves is like worshiping oreign gods:

Theyd be here i they wanted to be here.

Instead I trust in dreams and smile at back-lit smoke.

Its a stress ree lie when mother nature cuts your hair.

I wonder i my athers still alive at the top o the hill.Should I start building yet?

I am the German version o the Trojan Horse

And therein lies the story.

And these trendies, the ones who own it now, ancy themselves

so original.I was there when we all started wearing scarves again.

I was dreaming up excuses to wear plaid and riding boots,

Counting my paisley neckties and ordering them by color.

And I had no expectations o what was coming.

A ew saturated color pictures o me in ront o the planning

table seven years ago

And people assume I helped with the house o cards.

But I didnt.

I hoped this would all blow over quickly and I could go back to

what I cared or.

And who knows? It still might.

In 30 years time the at billed caps and the wallet chains might

end up on the right side o history while the human-amalgams

o 100 years o culture are as unrepentant as the Loyal Order o

the Sons o Disco. Both would be as welcome as the other.


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And perhaps Im wrong like the teenager who alls in love and

thinks that hes the only one.

I may be a ounding ather but that doesnt mean I love my sons.

All the best,

Local Postal Customer

Or Current Resident

Zachary J. Schmucker

What I see feel and hear

I have seen the sunset and the colors it creates not through my

glasses, but through the elds.... Through the dusty roads....

through the hollers.....and the mountain tops.... Through the

deep blue veins that hold dark secrets...... To places domesti-cated by man. And in a lovers eyes. Through clear whiskey, and

watermelon wine. I hear many things also.... I hear a long lost

whippoorwill.... Streams so warm everything dies through the

summer. And the lost art o y shing and y tying... I hear the

wonder o children among these things. But these things are not

lost on dea ears. There are many who listen. I eel things also. I

eel the concrete creeping. Pushing men like me urther back. I

eel experience overtaking youth. I eel a warmth rom within lit

by a re let smoldering now stoked on a lonely stretch o clear

mountain mornings. Though I know what I eel hear, and see. I

sometimes. Cannot control what I do. I have to use all that I am in

order to keep it tucked away. In its rusty cage. I see many things

dierent than other people do. I am not domesticated.

Daniel Thomas


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A Reapers Tale

An Everblade Story

The eld between the inner city and the armlands was literallycovered in bodies. Not a single inch o ground was let untainted

by the dead. They were piled rom each end o the peninsula,

stretching or miles. The Grand City o Tornal had been attacked

by an army o goblins and their kin. A brutal goblin chie had dis-

covered an ancient secret buried beneath the Devil Teeth moun-

tains. Ever since, the chie has made it his destiny to destroy Tor-nal and everyone in it. Unortunately, King Zarimus had become

ill and could not deend his air city with his mighty blade. This

brie moment o weakness has let Tornal open to attack. It was

only a matter o time beore the city was overrun.

General Havoc, an old riend o Zarimus, leads the army

into battle with his massive alchion. Havocs sheer erocity gives

the soldiers the morale boost they need to ght the equally

brutal goblins. A tide o goblins had washed into the armlands

that morning, burning everything they came across. Several

women were let to stare wide-eyed in a pool o blood, clutching

their lower abdomens and dreading what was now inside them.

Children were split down the middle. Fathers were castrated and

hung in the ruit trees. Blood-stained apples littered the ground.

Tornals deenders had ought valiantly and managed

to keep the goblins rom reaching the city. Using clever tactics

and the last reserves o their strength, the goblins had no choice

but to retreat. Presumably, they were now regrouping in the

many holes o the mountains to the south. All o Tornal rejoiced

at the victory, singing songs o praise to the gods. However, no

battle is ought without casualties. Havoc hung his head in sor-

row as he looked around what was once beautiul armland. His

shoulder-length hair was matted with blood and brain matter.


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It was once as brown as tree bark; now it has become an awul

crimson. Tiny droplets o pain streaked down his cheeks. Not

knowing anything else to do, submitting to the tide o emotions

swelling within him, he yelled at the sky. His cries reverberated

o the Devil Teeth Mountains, where the goblin chie scoed at

the sound. Ater his voice broke, he ell to his knees and sobbed

into his hands. Havocs voice was barely a whisper as he cursed,

Ill kill them all. No goblin will ever cross these elds again. All o

them will die. By my blade i I must.

Beyond the veil o mortal sight, the reapers ate their ll.They were strange creatures (by the denizens o the material

plane at least) o white. Their eyes were black pits, deeper than

any ocean. No legs were visible. They were like oating cloaks o

the purest white. When they came across one o the many souls

hovering above the dead, their mouth opened wide and swal-

lowed. Hundreds o reapers were easting at that moment. A seao the things covered the battleeld, a east in honor o death.

One o the reapers was eating a soul, satisying its primal

hunger. The oating orbs barely held a physical shape, clinging

on to any semblance o lie. The reaper moved on to another soul

as soon as the rst was eaten. Very ew people o the material

realm had any real knowledge about the reapers. However, brave

mages and scientists have perormed experiments in an attempt

to understand the phenomenon. Ater a lietime o research, a

scholar compiled his theories and ndings.

When one dies, the soul becomes exposed. It is tethered

to the body, clinging on as it is expected to do. Then, a reaper

happens by the soul. They seem to have an extra sense that nds

the dead. Once a soul is ound, the reaper tears into it like an

animal would. Ater a reaper eats a soul, the soul is transported

to Judgment, where its ate is decided. This process is similar to

the way we digest ood. Furthermore, one could disclaim those


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ndings or they hold no concrete evidence in avor or against.

The reapers had no concrete knowledge about the Judgment

process. All they knew was that ater a day their hunger would

return, no matter how many souls they collected. This one partic-

ular reaper suddenly elt very strange. It looked down to exam-

ine itsel and ound that beneath its cloak stood a pair o legs.

Fire burst in the reapers mind. Being an immortal being,

it had never experienced pain beore. This pain wouldve have

probably killed the average human or el, but the reaper could

not die. Thereore, the pain was all the more unbearable. Its at-tempt at a scream was like the sound o air escaping a punctured

lung, barely audible. The other reapers didnt even notice. Their

hunger was never-ending, all-encompassing. The reaper contin-

ued to eel pain, its vision blurring into single colors.

The reaper elt like an immense energy was gathering in

it. It couldnt escape, could be released to relieve the creatureo its anguish. In an instant, there was a terrible explosion that

rocked the very oundation o reality. The reaper elt like it had

been blown apart, existing as pieces. Suddenly, a voice spoke

to the reaper, You are my sword. You will do my bidding to my

exact details. Maintain balance at all costs. No lie is worth risking

it. The reaper was then thrown back together, a vacuum o wind

pulling all the pieces into one orm.

The reaper woke up, a lock o black hair obscuring its

vision. It had been given the orm o a young woman, slender,

gorgeous. Short black hair hung in an uneven pattern. Emeralds

shined brightly, ramed in white. Those eyes then blinked, blind-

ed by the material plane. Her body was small in proportion, but

strong. The girl could barely pull hersel up, shaking on her new

legs. Walking was a whole new experience. She looked around

with curious eyes and ound hersel in a small house. The house

was simply urnished with only a ew rooms. A mutilated body


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o a young man was pinned against the let wall. The reaper

ollowed the smeared blood on the wall with her eyes, all the

way up to a stained spear head. Its rst instinct was to search or

souls, but, to its disappointment, it ound none. A cold eeling

tingled her skin. The conused girl then realized that she was na-

ked and proceeded to search the house or clothes. It didnt take

long beore she was in a simple brown tunic and tan breeches.

There was a strange sound echoing rom just outside the

wooden walls. The girl walked out to nd a short, ugly creature

pulling an arrow out o its knee. Cartilage was smeared on thegoblins boots. It howled in pain as it nally pulled the arrow out.

As it lay on the ground bleeding, it caught sight o the girl. Hello,

my lady it said with a snarl. Would you like to bear my child?

At those words, rom the immense amount o adrenaline in its

system, it leapt at the girl with a dagger in hand.

Instinct took over.

The goblin missed his catch and ran headrst into the

wall o the house. It turned just in time to see a sword o blue re

in the middle o its ribs. No blood escaped its wound. It was as

i the blade was made o nothing and passed through the gob-

lin like a lea cutting through the air. The girl nished the slash,

the blade vanishing rom her hand. Unable to stop the bleeding

rom its insides, the goblin ell to the ground and witnessed the

harbinger o its death. The girl stooped down to the goblin and

examined the creature with a strange gaze. I you would have

killed me, I could not have walked down my destined path. You

compromise the balance. Your lie is not worth that risk.

The reaper turned, not caring enough to see the gob-

lin die, and started walking north. So many strange things had

become her. Just moments ago, her gender was neither male


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nor emale. Now, she had a emale body with extraordinary

power. The memory o that voice echoed in her mind. What kind

o being had such power to do what had been done to her? A

god perhaps? No, whatever had brought a reaper to the physical

plane was above the gods. The reaper decided to wait or orders

rom that being. Until then, she had to make sure she was hid-

den. However, how could one hide without a name? I shall be

known as Rosalyn Eversoul. A tting name, more tting than the

lost reaper, or any being, could ever realize.

Rosalyn continued north, avoiding large groups opeople. The sun dipped low. The moon, seeing this lapse, slowly

rose to take the suns place. Eventually, Rosalyn came upon a

large oak tree outside the wall o a great city. She then heard

the apping o wings and looked up to see a crow sitting on a

branch. Listen well, little reaper. I have a task or you, it told her

in a raspy voice. Rosalyn blinked a ew times, trying to see whatthis crow was beneath its physical orm. What sort o creature

are you and what gives you the authority to order me around like

a servant? she asked it. The crow laughed, sounding more like

a cough, and spoke with authority. You see me as inerior, but

youll be glad to know that I am just a messenger. You see, I can

hear all the voices o this world. Im giving you a task that was

passed to me by the being that created you.

Rosalyns breath stopped or a moment. Do you know

who it is? Or what it is? The crow shook its head and replied, I

do not. The voice echoed in the reapers mind yet again, a weird

memory on the verge o ading. She considered this ugly bird

and come to the conclusion that it spoken the truth; or she was

unable to nd a reason not to believe it. She dropped to one

knee and bowed her head. What is my task, Black Wing? Danc-

ing on the branch, the crow seemed to smile at this girls obedi-

ence. You are the keeper o balance. You will kill the holders o


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power in this world. Their lives mean nothing to your master. Kill

them, starting with a high-class mage named Victor Silverblood.

He keeps a special ring on his right hand that amplies spells.

The pompous bastard is considering opening a new guild and

creating an army o super mages. Youll nd him on an island to

the east named Coario. It sits in the path o two crossing rivers.

Ive heard that the city oats on the water.

How do you propose I get there? spat the reaper sarcastically.

The crow smirked at her. You stupid thing; use your wings.

The statement hadnt really made sense, until two large

wings o the purest white unurled rom her back. They stretched

at least a oot past her arms and were ull enough to catch the

slightest breeze. Rosalyn stretched her new appendages totheir limit, testing them or weakness. Finding none, she pushed

hersel o the ground and soared high into the sky. Her task

had been given, now she had to ulll it. Catching the closest

updrat, she headed west across the ocean. Her ight was impos-

sibly quick, taking mere minutes to reach her destination. She

hovered above the island or a while, examining the city. Under

the blanket o night, everything seemed so peaceul. However,

she knew instinctively that during the day the city would erupt

like a mound o angry ants with the promise o making coin. This

world seems to run on money, she thought, money and power.

She glided low to perch on a church steeple. The church was em-

blazoned with the symbol o Hildis, the goddess o healing and

light.

The agent o death scanned the houses. Each o them

was built entirely o wood. In act, the streets were also made o

wood. The whole town was built on a huge platorm constructed


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o the lightest wood in all o Hath. Unbeknownst to Rosalyn, the

town was tethered to the bottom o the ocean with magically

enhanced steel chains. I one stood on the edge o town, the drit

o the ocean could be elt. When a storm threatened Coario, the

high mages o the city would create a great barrier to keep the

oating city rom harm. Rosalyn didnt really need this insight

she had one task and it deserved her complete attention.

She continued to glide rom rootop to rootop, searching

or any sign o Victor Silverblood. It was then that she happened

upon a man and a young girl. They were walking side-by-side,the man holding the girl by the shoulder blade, guiding her

along and talking gallantly. The reaper elt a strange aura rom

the man, an aura o wrongness. Rosalyn strained to hear their

conversation while trying to stay out o sight. She willed her

wings away and hopped down to the street level. Her ootsteps

were silent as she stalked the couple, less than ten eet romthem. Please, Mr. Silverblood, this is hardly appropriate. You

have a wie.

I realize this, my ower, but you did want to see the ring

didnt you? I can give you one just as powerul. Ive learned how

to copy enchantments, you know. Please, let me show you. They

turned towards a lightless two-story home. The man climbed

the elegant steps, waved his hand in ront o the door, a slight

click ollowing, and guided the young girl in. Rosalyn kneeled

low and stepped up to the door. She wasnt quite sure how to

enter the house, but somehow she could see the mana swirling

in the door. Her emerald eyes narrowed, examining the intricate

spell. The magic was green, a mass o strands o power. However,

she ound that right in the middle was a central point to all the

strands. The reaper reached out her hand and placed it rmly

against that spot. The lock clicked and the door swung open.


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Luckily, Victor had led his victim upstairs and couldnt

have heard the door opening or seen the woman walk in. Rosa-

lyn listened closely and could hear the sound o the girls pro-

tests. In seconds, Rosalyn appeared at the cracked doorway o

the master bedroom. It was extravagantly decorated; the nest

tapestries and urniture were displayed in the large room. In the

center o the room was a huge bed, dressed in bright red. Rosa-

lyn watched her target push the girl rmly onto the blanket. He

began undoing his breeches. Ill give you power, he whispered,

but I must know i youre a worthy enough mage. Show me yourmagic. He added that last bit with a crazed laugh.

The reaper didnt need another reason to kill this man.

She willed her unique power to her hands, bringing orth a bow

o blue ame. Taking the proper stance, she raised her right hand

to the air. An arrow ormed in that hand. She knocked it, pulled

back, and aimed through the open crack. The girl in the bed-room began to scream, I this is what you want, Ill have no part

o your guild! The reaper let the arrow loose. It jumped like a

hungry animal and ound its meal in Victors heart.

His movement ceased entirely. Unable to speak, he

simply stared at the shat o re in his chest. His body collapsed,

landing on the right hal o the bed. The girl, eyes ull o tears,

tried to nd the origin o the murder. When the reaper walked

in, the girl could barely breathe rom right. Youre sae now,

little ower, Rosalyn told her. He was a terrible man and didnt

deserve lie. Dont be araid, my task is almost done. The reaper

walked over to the body and plucked a ring rom the mans hand.

She crushed the thing in her palm, a wisp o magic escaping it.

Out o her peripherals, Rosalyn caught a bright red light. Sud-

denly, a bolt o re hit her in the shoulder.

The reaper reeled, but caught her ooting quickly, using

the orce o the blast to put some distance between the two


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women. Conused at the attack, she looked up at the girl she

had just saved. The young girls arm was stretched out, smoke

pouring rom her palm. Monster! she screamed over and over.

Another reball came, then another. The reaper quickly willed

two swords to her hands and sliced the re. The ames licked all

around her, but she elt no pain. Her physical body was apparent-

ly numb to the pain. More reballs came roaring at her at once,

creating a star pattern in the air. Rosalyn olded her arms inward

and spun outward with her blades. A blast o wind deected the

attack, a testimony to the reapers inhuman reexes and power.Enough, exclaimed Rosalyn angrily.

With incredible speed, Rosalyn darted around the room.

She danced as she ran, dodging more blasts o the magical

inerno. Most o the room was covered in ames, the wood be-

ing devoured quickly. A black haze clung to the ceiling, slipping

through the cracks o the house. Rosalyn nally reached the girl,dispersed her weapons in a wisp o blue, and grabbed the mage

by the neck. She held that grip in a way that weakened the girls

thought and blocked her ability to speak. I saved you! Why do

you do this? the reaper asked angrily. She relaxed her grip, giv-

ing the girl time to answer the question.

I can see through your disguise demon! Youre a monster

and I must stop you rom hurting anyone else!

No! Im keeping balance in this world. It is my destiny.

The reaper icked her wrist. A loud snap echoed over the roar o

the ames around her. The girl hung limp in her hand. The reaper

let her all and escaped the house by crashing through the ceil-

ing. For a moment, those wings were bathed in re. However,

the ames quickly died rom the speed o her ight. A cloud o

embers gave an orange hue to the night sky.


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22

Later that night, Rosalyn again perched on the temple

to Hildis. The house was still burning. The mages had yet to

extinguish the mess. Panic seemed to slow their reaction to this

strange occurrence. An image o the girls words disturbed the

reaper. Monster, she had said. Am I truly a monster? Rosalyn

thought. She let her wings wrap around her slender orm. Her

hair ell in ront o her eyes like a mask. A amiliar utter came

rom her right. The crow cackled at her, Was your rst kill satisy-

ing, little reaper?

Rosalyn considered the question careully, but couldntcome up with an adequate answer. She had elt happy when the

arrow killed Victor Silverblood. However, the memory o that girl

still haunted her. Ater several silent minutes, she asked, Am I a

monster?

No, not at all, assured the crow. You are a weapon, aweapon o perect balance capable o xing this world.

By whose doctrine am I xing this world? Hildis? Glarix?

Malexin? What god created me?

That I dont know. All that I know is that I can hear its

voice and it tells me who you are supposed to kill. Now, be a

good little reaper and go kill Amy Whiteox.

No, Rosalyn replied rmly. That girl was right. What Ive

done tonight was wrong. What good has come rom killing those

mages? Another will surely take their place. I cannot continue to

accept your instructions. You or nothing else will tell me what to

do rom this moment on.

The crow became angry, apping and yelling. Some o


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it was hardly understandable and its words blended into a long

line o babble. Finally, the crow settled down a bit and very slow-

ly said, You cannot deny your creator. You would be a mindless

doll o death i it wasnt or him. Do you want to go back to that

lie, always hungry, never satised no matter how many souls

you consume? Youll kill your next target or the wrath o your cre-

ator will crush you. The bird then began to morph into a decrepit

man with black eathers poking out in random spots o his body.

Two dark wings hung rom his orearms. Talons like daggers

clacked across the stonework o the church. It apped violently,trying to knock the reaper o the building. Youre nothing but a

weapon! A common sword! it yelled as it attacked.

Rosalyn ew away rom the creature. Deantly, she

turned in midight and summoned a weapon to her grip. A large

shat o re stretched rom her hands, a large blade orming on

the top end. A wicked scythe blazed at her side. I, she said asshe swooped the scythe behind her shoulder, am no weapon.

The crow was ying towards her, talons outstretched. Rosalyn let

her wings old inwards. The all was angled towards her hated

opponent. With the speed o her all, she slashed out with her

weapon. The crow stopped in mid-ight, suspended by the pow-

er o the reapers scythe. Rosalyn landed elegantly on the church

o Hildis. Looking back, Rosalyn watched as the crow convulsed

in mid-air. Then it stopped. Several lines o re traced along its

orm, crossing its body in hundreds o diamonds. With a sudden

explosion, the demon burst into a red mist. Black eathers were

caught and scattered by the wind.

The sun began to rise behind the reaper. Ill carve my

own destiny, she said to hersel, Even i I have to ght my cre-

ator. In her chest, she could eel the tides o war rising again.

A new destiny was quickly approaching. At Tornal, the goblins

were marching again and they wanted nothing more than geno-


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24

cide. Knowing this to be wrong, Rosalyns wings spread wide,

dew glistening on her eathers. It is my choice to save those

people rom destruction, she said to any god or demon or angel

that happened to be listening, Try to stop me.

Alexander McCumbers

Remnant

Ceramic Sculpture by Conner Berkey, Photo by Brett Kern


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25

The World Around Us

Build therefore your own world. -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Walk on Water

Nicole Wyatt


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26

There Stands A Bridge

Up a road long orgotten/ there stands a bridge.

A small erocious stream/and a deep cut ravineIt guards a passage back in time.

Where Indians once roamed/and ur trappers seeked ortunes.

A gateway to the wilderness/ a place time stopped.

Now the boards lay slick with mold/ the piling rottingI brave this impediment cautiously inching along

The boards groan with my weight/ a slick sweat gathers on me

But I continue on/ driven by the need to escape

A need to shed my complicated adaptions to a modern world

I dream o a day I never have to cross the bridge twiceTo disappear into the wild/ like an Indian captive returning home

Home to his tribe/ to places without marks o man

Without tin cans, discarded coee cups, or candy wrappers

stued under mossy logs to places where the waters run pure,

pure as a young childs heart/ or eternity and orever/ never

crossing the bridge again

Daniel Thomas


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27

English Department Social Function 2012

Someone said, I play guitar,

But in a way that suggestedHe is beginning again,

Ater a pause, as i a

Les Paul might be too much.

He pulled the shabby thing up against his belly

Beore letting it rest gently upon his upper thigh.And he strummed and strummed.

A tune rom his heart

Mississippian, Hurting.

He took his guitar and let his shoes

Behind to eel the earth againAnd its rhythms move in his body.

Ater which the tides rose in him again

Liting boats he never knew he had.

And looking down at the hull

(which by the way was ull)

He cast wildly about or a pail

And (lost soul that he was)

Began uriously to bail.

Never clever, he set his sail

Where is he going? There is no knowing?

Location unknown, the water owing

Progress sinking sputtering slowing

And the water drained rom his ears, his chest, his sweaty eet.


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He announced Im on dry land.

Slow as molasses, but deliberate, like syrup.

What was I scared o, he thought?

I gotta meet somebody in about 5 minutes.

Im thinking Beanders.

Thats where I saw

Catman Seymour drinking

his whiskey and eating those ries.Those are some damn good ries.

A voice in the back o his head said it,

He listened, it cried, Youre outta credit!

He realized with a sigh,

Theres too much to buy.

I dont care, I just have to get it!

A Les Paul would never be too much.

Group Poem

Andrew Carrroll


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Observations on Laundering:

Theres an uneaten banana lying on the table beore me. Spotted

with bits o brown and black. I wonder how long its been sit-ting there. It could have been sitting there or an hour, or maybe

even days. This laundry room is kind o a lonely place; a place o

solitude and reection. It isnt all quiet and serene, though. The

constant humming o the dryers and the thundering cycles o

the washers break through the still atmosphere.

Ater some time, you realize that theres no reedom in this room.

It seems the machines dictate the duration o your visit, and

theres nothing glamorous about captivity. I one remains in the

laundry room or too long during the evening, they can sense

the hostility that emanates rom the machines. The boxed torsos

o the dryers resemble the snouts o beasts, and their blazingorange lights warn against taking your clothes out too early. The

washers watch endlessly, their Cyclops eyes burning into your

memory. Their constant gaze reminds you o the weekly collat-

eral: clean clothes or hours o your precious time.

It seems to me that time is whisked away over rapid waters when

you dont have enough o it, and when you have much time it

settles in the middle o a stream o honey. Sitting in the laundry

room is when those two streams come together; your time there

moves slowly, yet you still dont have enough time (or anything

else!). Immediate relie comes as the washers cycles end, and

an uncertain peace washes over me. Lugging my belongings to

a dryer, I console mysel with a little phrase: Only ty minutes

more.

Jessica Williams


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30

Nowhere, Somewhere, Kind of Day

It was the road to nowhere the road on a somewhere kind

o day. Jasper had no idea what he was talking about, but he

had been given leave rom the psychiatric ward and so it didntmatter. He thought it was nice and sunny, but really wasnt sure.

So Jasper then decided to take a long walk down by the lake. He

observed the ducks bobbing to and ro as the cool breeze lightly

danced on the surace o the placid lake. Jasper was certain that

the ducks were mocking him, so he began quacking back at

them in the breeze. When they paid him no attention he began

apping his arms wildly. People were startled by Jasper. They

were quick concerned by his condition but when they inquired

o his mental state he responded in a british accent stating Its a

ne morning governor. Unbeknownst to Jasper, the acade o his

British accent was seen through by a man standing close by who

was actually rom England. The man sarcastically asked how long

he had been in the country. Jasper replied, I was released rom

customs a ew days ago.

Jasper then, being quick o wit, asked the man i he would

like to smoke a aggot; hoping the colloquial term would make

the man certain o his British origins. The man, seeing through

this rouge, called the police and demanded that someone keep

this man rom disturbing the peace. When Jasper heard this call,

he jumped in a boat and rowed away. Jasper then ound himsel

saely back at the institution. Where saely chained to his bed he

dream o the day that he, Jasper, would go to Jakarta to jump to

the juniper tree on the jetty with Joseph, Jenny, Josephine, andPope John Paul. He could count all o them on his hand; in act,

thats all they were, gments o his imagination, and all he need-

ed to do was draw another riend on his thumb.

Jessica Williams, Andrew Carroll, Kara Parrack,and Hillary Paugh


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31

Fossil

Opening this book

o time;turning its shattered

pages

with chisel point

and hammer blow;

seeing the world

at its conceptionpictured in stone.

Richard Marzol

Adam Posey


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32

The Highpoints(Te 60 Line Challenge)

Mr. Frog lives in a pond,

Pondering,Ribbiting,

Snifng,

Tasting the air,

Eating unlucky ies,

Choking on wasps,

Growing,Breathing,

Sneezing,

Surviving the elements,

Dancing in the rain,

Conversing with the sh,

Playing chess with the crawdads,

Losing to the crawdads sharp wit,

Leaving his parents behind,

Finding his own home,

Making additions to his home in the mud,

Eyeing his pretty neighbor,

Laughing at her jokes,

Eating more ies,

Sleeping in the sun,

Writing songs or tonights perormance,

Warming up his vocal chords,

Inviting his neighbor to the show,

Drinking the cool water o the pond,

Hopping onto the stage,

Admiring the crowd,

Wishing he didnt have stage right,

Seeing his beautiul guest,


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33

Breathing deeply,

Singing the highs and lows,

Capturing his tenor voice,

Throwing it beore the crowd,

Ending the song,

Hating the silence that ollowed,

Seeing his guest stand and clap,

Swelling with pride,

Bowing,

Taking his girl home,Releasing his yearn or her,

Eating ies,

Learning o the git he gave her,

Digging a tunnel between their homes,

Making it bigger by wiggling,

Seeing the birth,Watching over the mass o eggs,

Already naming them,

Watching them hatch,

Seeing them o,

Hearing o their experiences,

Going to their shows,

Clapping wildly at their songs,

Going home,

Eating ies with his wie,

Feeling pain in his chest,

Falling to the ground,

Seeing the panic in her ace,

Reassuring her that itll be ok,

And saying goodbye.

Alexander McCumbers


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34

Dining Hall Revolutions

It is always possible to recognize novelty in the mundane. And

the places where one can nd reedom are oten times bizarre.

I was swept into one o these epiphanic episodes when I sud-

denly decided one morning that I have the power to choose my

own path. With a handul o swit movements, I broke away rom

the societal norms that chained me, that restrained me. I was

enlightened with the truth that i I so pleased, I could only toast

one hal o a bagel. No more scarng down one more hal thanI could manage at seven-thirty. No longer was I restricted to the

accepted custom o toasting a whole bagel.

And in that moment I reed my mind, orgetting about all o the

little people who could possibly nd my action oensive and

demeaning; that one action, which, however irritating yet insig-nicant to everyone else, was momentous to me. It was imme-

diate and it was empowering, and I elt that this one moment

would revolutionize the way morning olks could make choices.

The momentum o a revolutionarys will carries clear into the

entire week, as did mine. The next day, I was bold enough to

add granola rom the supposed cereal station to my rather

bland blueberry yogurt. Had I just created a masterpiece? Was

my innovation the saving grace that would solidiy change in

the caeteria? Would healthy, organic eating be restored to the

brainwashed people?

Although I knew that my vision was ar-etched, one-sided, and

eeting, I also knew that I had a dream. I had a dream, but I had

no answers.

Jessica Williams


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35

Dark

Should the night choose to orget the dawn, would the dark

cease to end?Living in a word where all is black and the old wounds never

mend.

The only source o light comes rom the glimmer o dying stars,

And all our secrets, cruel and vile, are illuminated by the moon-

light, like scratched and bleeding scars.

Alyse Prince

Ginsang

In early summer, or late spring

We take to the woods,

Searching or a git rom the hill

Through the coves, hollers, and ridges we search.

Raking aside the nettles that grow head high.

Along long orgotten places, we search.

Through the bush, and pine thickets.

Up rough stoned streams, where men avoid

Searching, guessing,and guessing again.Staring until all things blend together.

And as i lightning striking to close, you inch.

A icker o red,o in the distance, like a torch burning quick.

All your travels orgotten as you get closer to it.

The nettles no longer sting, the sprain doesnt hurt, and the

shovel is as a eather.Digging like a miner, with a ever driven by wealth untold.

At last the earth yields its bounty, another cigar root or my

satchel. I walk with a spring to my step, searching on.

Daniel Thomas


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36

Brians Tale over a Pint of MeadInspired by Stanley Kunitz

My name is Brian the StrongI arm the lands o England,

a keeper o horses,

a tiller o the land.

While relieving mysel,

behind my thatch house,I saw beore me a great light,

whiteness veiling my eyes

The light beckoned me,

Sucking me in.

I then awoke on a cold metal table,grey men peering over my skin.

Their hands tickled as they

Searched my naked body.

Then, holding strange swords,

they stabbed and stabbed and stabbed.

Blackness overtook me.

Ater landing hard in my eld,

I watched it disappear, amazed,

happy to be alive,

never again wanting to see

That castle in the sky.

Alexander McCumbers


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37

A Loggers Lament

As the morning breaks/ we all nish our coee and our lies

We put on our masks and heavy clothes to help protect againstthe death and the ear/we start our machines, slowly rumbling

and rattling and bursting to lie with a cloud o black smoke./

gradually, a ew drit o towards the rising sun. Some on oot

others riding grinding, rumbling machines, bucking the morning

chill. I light my rst cigarette, and draw on it like my last, know-

ing ull well I have another pack, but not i I will smoke it. As wearrive at our destination we unload. Our quarry is here. Open-

ing the sky broader everyday. As I size up my rst, knowing this

could be it. I sink deeper waiting or the sweet release. At last

with a crack and a groan it pulls loose. I run like I am on re, and

dive or cover. I have survived another ten minutes. I light my

next, dragging deeply. I hope to enjoy the next.

Daniel Thomas

Andrew CarrollGrowth


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38

How Great, Thy War

The bodies o the dead and the dying were all around

me. They were riends. They were enemies. They were strangers. Icould, in truth, barely see them through the lm o red covering

my eyes. It obscured the green and white tunics o the Unions

soldiers and the black armor o the Duchy o Tallah. I could barely

make out who was who in the chaos enveloping me. Whose side

was I on? The Unions or Tallahs? I couldnt remember.

I heard a cry o anger coming rom my let. I wheeledaround and made out a vague shape lumbering toward me,

sword in hand. My own sword was! Where was it? My heart

leapt in my chest as I scrambled to nd it. My scabbard hung

empty at my side, near the great gash rom which I ancied I

could see my own liver. It was only when the gure ell to the

ground in a cloud o blood that I realized it was gripped hard inmy right hand, and only when he cried garbled words or help

that I realized that it was I who elled him. My sword planted

itsel in his chest, stiing his pleas. I think he was my enemy. I

couldnt be sure.

He was my third. The rst that I killed, when I thought

I knew the meanings o good and evil, when I thought I knew

justice, went down in the rst charge. He was a young man, o

Goreyan descenthardly older than sixteen, I judged. When

I reached him, his sword was already held high above his head.

He swung, once. It dropped just two inches shy o my let oot.

He looked up at me in terrorhis rst battle, and he had already

made a grievous mistake. I had decided, then, to make sure he

made no more. I plunged my sword into his heart and drug it

upwards. He crumpled to the ground with one choked gasp, my

sword lodged in his lung.

That was the rst time I questioned my belies. I was


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39

always taught to keep my aith in the Union, that to aid in the

destruction o the Duchy was to ensure the survival o my coun-

try, and the survival o everyone I held dear. But that boys death

made me wonder. Was he taught much the same thing as I? Was

he told that to ght or the Duchy was a noble and just endeav-

or? I couldnt say, but I elt that the answer was yes.

Then weaponless, I reached or the rst blade I could

that belonging to my young oes corpse. The sword was shorter

than my ownabout six inches, to make it ideal or the ast

technique avored by the Duchys knightsand o a ar dierentmake. The hilt was slightly bulbous in the middle, and covered

not with the narrow strips o the gshrak leather that covered the

Unions swords, but with the rubber-covered eagle down o the

indigenous craw-caw birds o the east. The blade was broader

than my own, and tapered at the end. The het was dierent. It

was lighter and balanced more toward the center. But these di-erences were less jarring than the inscription on the side o the

blade: To our beloved son, Kalazaarmay the Maker watch over

you and return you saely. I dropped the sword, turned, and ran

toward the back lines.

I heard shouting aimed at me as I ed to the center o my

allies. They called me a coward, a babe, a deserter. They called

me these thingsmy own allies, men who had yet to spill blood!

My commanding ofcer approached me even as the hail o

enemy arrows approached and struck down knights all around

me. I mumbled something to him about losing my sword, and he

thrust another in my hands, turned me around, and shoved me

orward, back toward the ghting, back toward Hell.

My next opponent, it seemed, was a middle-aged Sashan.

I saw the blood on his sword and knew he had killed. I thought,

in my rantic struggle to regain my sense o right and wrong, that

it would be good and just to kill such a man. I dashed toward


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40

him with renewed vigor and swung my sword. It rebounded o

o his breastplate with a clang. He swung his own sword at me,

as quick as a whip. I ducked, hoping I might still have my head.

I didnt realize until later that his attack had sliced o my ear. I

rolled to the right, dodging another quick sweep o his sword,

stood, and lashed out at the gap between his helmet and his ar-

mor. The geyser that ollowed it painted my ace with his blood.

He went down clutching at the sizeable wound in his neck.

I turned my head, trying to nd another who had killed,

trying desperately to right the wrong o my rst. I locked eyeswith a seedy Duchy Knight who advanced slowly toward me

when I elt my oot pulled down. The son o a bull was still alive! I

whipped back towards him and lited my sword to bring it again

crashing down upon him. But his eyes stopped me. Even as

blood gushed rom his wound, tears ran rom his eyes. I was lost,

conused. I heard the other knight stepping toward me, but thewounded soldier held me there with his pitiul gaze.

And then he spoke. Please, he said to me, his voice wa-

vering like trees in a gentle breeze, dont let me die. I w-want to

see my d-da-daughter again . . .

At that moment, I knew, my eyes mirrored his. He wanted

to see his daughter, his only amily or all I knew and I had . . . O

Creator! I had made sure he never would again. Visions o my

own son and daughter ashed through my headthey were

only children. They couldnt even speak yet. Was I to ollow the

same ate as he?

The pain o my new adversary striking my side brought

me back to the moment. I wheeled around and struck the side o

his head with the hilt o my sword. He staggered backward and

a Union soldier, a Croon, I think, lobbed his head o o his shoul-

ders. I looked back at the man who gripped my heel, but his eyes

had darkened and his hand had loosened. His head was turned


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41

upwards. He was dead. The last thing he probably saw was some-

thing o violence, but I prayed to the creator that it was the sky

he saw when the lights in his eyes dimmed, and his daughters

ace in his mind when he aded towards nothingnessnot the

pain o his wound or the blood or the battle. But most o all, I

hoped that it was not my ace that was his last thought.

The battle raged onward. I had grown unable to tell riend

rom oe and so ell back, hoping that whoever was behind me

did not wish to see me dead. There were only the sounds o

battle around me: the clangs o steel on steel, the sot wap oarrows released, the screams o the dying conicting with the

joyous cries o their murderers, the crunching sound o bone

as bodies were trodden upon underoot, the sick squelches as

blade and arrow alike ound their mark. But beore all, I heard my

rapidly beating heart.

Is this what you wanted, my king? Is this what you want-ed, my glorious leader? That I, an unnamed soldier in the throes

o war should kill your enemies while you sit upon your golden

throne and laugh with painted ladies adorning your halls, their

lords in turn bowing to you and dancing with the daughters o

nobility while you atten yoursel with meat and brandy, leaving

precious esh clinging to the bones o your meal that will soon

lie with your trash in lieu o the bellies o the starving people

that still call you their king? Do you, who lies in a bed o silk with

women and men, slaves to your pleasure and your whim, you

who wears the nest o clothing while your people go naked,

you who declared war on our neighbors, thereby condemning

thousands o mennot just our enemies but your own people,

people who served you, who hailed you, who looked to you or

guidance, do you call this war just? Is this noble, to kill those

who oppose your laws and your values? Is it just to kill sons

and daughters and athers and mothers to satiate your sense o


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pride? Truly you must think so, or else I would be at home, taking

care o my children, making love to my wie, clinging on to what

happiness I could nd in such a grey world as this. You must be-

lieve that all should die or you, that all are or your glory. How

great, thy war! you must think to yoursel as you stroke the ur o

your lions and hunting beasts and stare out o the great stained-

glass windows o your halls. How great, thy war! you must think

to yoursel as you jest with your advisors and rest your arm on

the throne that could buy ood or the entire kingdom or a day.

How great, thy war! you must think to yoursel as you sit saebehind your palace guard, your advisors, your palace walls, your

city, your kingdom, the army that now crushes the knights o the

Duchy o Tallah that so opposed you. How great, thy war! you

must think to yoursel as you hide behind me.

The shouting and screaming had grown to phenomenal

levels. To my let, a Union soldier was pierced through the neckby the curved spear o a Duchy knight. To my right, another

Duchy soldier was eigning death to avoid the ghting. He was

trampled. I noticed the brutality with which my own allies treat-

ed the orces o Tallah. There were very ew one-hit kills. Most, it

seemed, sought to inict as much pain as was possible beore

dealing a atal blow. I saw swords striking stomachs, hammers

crushing knee-caps, axes embedding themselves in shoulders

pain, not quick death. Meanwhile, The Duchys soldiers hit two

targetsthe brain or the heart. Their blades struck true time

ater time, and even their arrows, unpredictable by their very

nature, sought and ound their targets.

As I dodged and weaved, ending o the attacks o my

enemies (i indeed I should still call them that), but not killing

not anymore, I turned what thoughts I could spare to the machi-

nations o the Duchy o Tallah. They were a nation o comparable

size to the Union, and boasted just as impressive a military orce.


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43

Theyve been a peaceul enough people; they never intentionally

harmed the Union and had, even beore other countries o the

Aklanan continent, abolished slavery and instated an economical

system that other kingdoms took decades to emulate.

Why were we in a war with such a paradise then? The

Union was comprised o ve smaller kingdoms: Alstead, La

Rama, Quarro, Luchese, and Morinateu. They were united seven

hundred years ago by the hero-king Sharrah, who promised a

kingdom o justice and opportunity, where even the poor might

play their part. He created schools o knowledge, a socialisticgovernment with his chancellors and his captains, and taught

the people how to read, write, and how to grow more ood with

less eort, that none might starve.

Seven hundred years later, his twelve-time great-grand-

son inherited the throne. There was nothing let o the utopia

that once was. King Kush let his people suer, that he might livein comort until he died. Many o his subjects died in the topaz

and emerald mines that made up much o the Unions riches.

But the products o their labor did nothing more than adorn the

crowns and orbs and swords that served as King Kushs symbols

o ofce.

That he might restore the Union to the way it once was,

the king sent request to the Duke o Tallah, Lothus II, that the

Duchy might join us in a mutually benecial relationship. But

Duke Lothus was wary o the Union, and eared that his people

might become poisoned by the ways o his neighbors. Lothus

reused, and Kush declared war on them, that he might conquer

Tallah and make his kingdom grow strong again.

We ought or the pride o the king, not or the good o

the people. The scabbard by my side I wore not to protect the

people o my country rom the wicked, but to raise the ego o

Kush. For my part, I had done him a service. Three men had died


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44

by my hands; nothing less could be asked o a soldier o the

Union.

I had begun to reach the back line o the Duchys

knightsvery ew Union soldiers had passed through here;

the stinking bodies o those that did lay strewn about the eld,

crushed and cast aside like rotten ruit. Beore me were the two

hundred or so knights that survived the Unions onslaught. They

glared at me with the murderous intent o a newly-widowed

woman acing her husbands killer. Behind them all was the

commanding ofcer, dierentiated rom the oot-soldiers by theheavy iron shoulder-pads and the violet plume o thunderbird

eathers billowing rom the top o the helmet. She held up two

standard-issue short swords, directing the ow o battle.

Onward! Onward! she called to them. We cant let these

Union mongrels through! Even those soldiers in the backthe

Goreyans, the Molleyans, the KShalls, timid by natureeventhey harkened to her call and pushed through. None o them

were rightened like some o the soldiers o the Union. None o

them quivered and shook. They were as solid as the steel in their

blades. That was when I realized that they did not ght or glory,

but or good. Was I a nightmare in their eyes? I wondered. Did

they see me as some kind o monster?

I pushed through their ranks, still deecting incoming

blows. I took a nick now and then, to my shoulder, to my good

ear, and to my right ank, but I pressed on. I heard the twang

o another arrow and saw it hurling headlong towards my eye. I

turned my head in time to avoid an eye-gouging, but the arrow

still ound a mark in my cheek, barreling through one side and

out the other. The pain was immenselike I had just tried to eat

a bulb o reshly-blown glass. Blood and saliva mixed together

and dropped onto my breastplate.

I was a wreck, but I continued to press mysel into them,


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taking blows on my helmet that knocked me senseless, parries

that stunned my arms, and more than a ew savage kicks (to the

chest and otherwise). The men and women that struck at me

kept coming, and or a moment, I eared their numbers innite.

The roaring in my one good ear threw me o-balance. I had

begun to grow weak rom blood loss. When I looked down at my

let hand, I was missing two o my digits, and had a deep gash in

the center o the palm. I was dying, and I knew it.

I ell at last to my stomach when I could stand no longer.

The rays o the setting sun washed over me, blanketing me inwarmth, but I elt cold, oh so cold. I lited my head, my battered,

slobbering jaw wide open as I took deep, laborious breaths, and

beheld the general o the Duchys deense. She was a Frost-Eld,

rare in that day and age. Auburn hair ell rom her helmet like re

rom a burning hut. She looked at me with a blank ace, her clear

green eyes passing over me as though I were nothing more thana part o the grounddirt and dust and dead leaves. And per-

haps I was, or would be soon. I reached out with my weakened

hand and grazed the embroidered steel greave on her shinone

moment, two, and then no more. She walked on just as briskly as

she had come.

I rolled mysel over to my back and watcher her leave,

hips swinging gently. She called out more orders to her troops

as they battled, and I saw that they had turned the tide o the

battle. There were perhaps ty Union soldiers letthree times

less than what I saw o the Duchy knights. They would win the

battle, I was sure, and perhaps even the war. They were the he-

roes in this play o plays, and I suppose that made us the villains.

But that was okay, I thought, as I heard a Duchy knight approach

me rom the side. I could live with that. Because good will al-

ways triumph over evil, even when the sides are masked behind

riends and kings. Evil isnt always a general shouting orders or


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46

death and torture. Sometimes, it is the sot voice o a riend or

a lover. And good isnt benevolence. Sometimes, it is the cruel

steel blade o a alchion. I could die, content in this knowledge.

I looked up at the sky, at the thin rays o light that even

then seemed to slip away behind the mountains. The purples

and pinks and oranges o the sky descended on me, comorting

me as my hearing went and my breathing grew erratic. The sky

was beautiul in my eyesthe descending blade o the Duchy

knights sword even more so.

Tyler Pratt

Leigh Ann Pearsell


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47

Chaos

What was the bitter volition that orced its iron grip on our

hearts?

What was the nature o the beast that took control, with an ago-

nizing grip?

How could we come so ar and yet be so unmoved rom the

places where we start?

Was this all some descent, some all, only instigated by an acci-

dental trip?

Chaos

What was the bitter volition that orced its iron grip on our

hearts?

What was the nature o the beast that took control, with an ago-

nizing grip?

How could we come so ar and yet be so unmoved rom the

places where we start?

Was this all some descent, some all, only instigated by an acci-

dental trip?

Alyse Prince

Haley Russell


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48

The World BetweenUsJoyful Girls

Leigh Ann Peasall

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... Ithas no survival value; rather it is one of those things which

give value to survival.-C.S Lewis


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49

On Finishing Homework before Biking--or Walter

There is a pointwhen too much instruction

produces a diminishing return

and the chin drops, and hard shoulders rise,

and hands made or ddle strings

and handlebars

become great bouldersrolled into the mouths o tiny caves

the ace shimmers

in the tables chestnut grain,

then, like a lea above water

beore letting go.

He could be bending spoons with his mind

willing bowls and butter

to tack across the bay,

white napkins to utter up like wounded birds

that all and rise and all again,

my lips still apping

his eyes drop like anchors into the deep

then, and or all I know,

he is slipping headlong

into ghost nets

I cast long ago.

So I say, OK.

Get your helmet,

knowing that he knows

I will still make him wait,


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50

checking chinstrap or tire pressure,

beore we bump o the stoop

shove o shoulder to shoulder

and begin to breathe new blacktop

like we always do,

under our ragged blue river

rippled with crows

cracking a thousand little doors

I can not possibly look behind,

or through,as he pumps harder now

or the cut-through at the end o the block,

past stop signs

and houses howling

dogs on chains

and children chalking sidewalkswith numbers and rainbows and landing strips

until, lagging behind,

I see the place he is headed or

a copse o great grey trees

that blazes beyond the pasture

streaking pink and yellow,

one thin green snake o grass

growing between us now

he leaning into his

groove o gravel

and I into mine

both o us making

or the leaves and mud

we can smell on a wind

growing stronger now


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51

blowing re and beating blood

so loud you cant help but stop,

try to make him out

through the merciul blur

yes, pausing now, as he rises up on pedals,

as he crests the rise,

as he swivels about or a sign

rom you,

sitting there in a thin rut o roadbeneath a blank ocean o sky

already waving him on

into the beautiul dark

o the burning wood.

Bill KingThe Adventure

Nicole Wyatt


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52

You Are the Devil

You lie, you cheat, and you steal.

You beat and you starve.I loved and trusted you at one time.

Now, I dont.

I nally see,

You Are the Devil.

Katie Wilson

Gone Like You

The big twenty-one

Lots o drinking and un

But that un is not or us.

For us the big twenty-one is empty

The birthday boy, gone.

Never orgotten, always loved

But I cant send your git to heaven;

I cant even send my love to you.

The big twenty-one

Not drinking and un

Just even more tears,

Fresh as i it were yesterday.

Why cant the pain be gone like you.

Kendra Collett


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53

GCF

A person is a person is a person,Not a beast, not an angel, not perect, not humble, not proud, notthe measure o all things,And not equal.For i we were all equal: person, person, person,What should ollow is: loved, loved, loved; success, success, success-equal to each.But instead we fnd that:

Te skinny person is not equal to the at personTe black person is not equal to the white personA person o the 99% is not equal to a person o the 1%Nor is a man equal to a woman,A gay person equal to a straight person;A genius is not equal to a retard is not equal to average IQ;A Muslim is not equal to a Christian is not equal to an atheist,

A democrat to a republican to an independent,Te list goes on and on: inequality, inequality, inequality. Labeled,labeled, labeled.But just as 2x does not equal 3x, there is a common denominator.Each o us is a person is a person is a person. Factor out the crap.

Barbara Fellenstein

Truth

Tere was a boy who told the truth.Tere was a girl who told the truth.Te boy met the girl and they told the truth.

Te girl told the boy all her secrets.Te boy told the truth even when it hurt.

Tey called it love.

Andrew Carroll


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54

I thought it was just a glitch in my computer. But that was

yesterday, beore I discovered that my cat had been on Face-

book with his other eline riends. He was playing Farmville and

downloaded a virus onto my computer. Now, it wont work right

because o the virus that was installed when he chatted up his

riends while playing the game. Im very disappointed in him,

and I hope he learns his lesson the next time he decides to use

my computer and play Farmville while chatting with his riends

at the same time.

Ater I tried to get the virus erased o my computer,things just got worse. Every time I tried to get on Facebook,

my computer meowed. When I tried to turn o my computer, it

started coughing as i it had a hairball. I have no idea what to do

to make my computer realize its not a cat. I my computer starts

growing ur I do not know what I will do; throwing it out the win-

dow sounds good to me.I will throw it and I think because cats are a humans

riend that it will come back, and my computer will ask me to be

my new pet. I will never keep it because it will be creepy to keep

it and pet it all day.

Thank gosh, I ound the le that my cat had downloaded.

It was called the eline le. Apparently, this le causes your

computer to become a cat when you do certain commands. My

cat thought this was unny and would drive me crazy. He was

right about it driving me crazy, but I nally got it deleted. Now,

my cat is never allowed to use my computer again or I might get

rid o him. Now with the entire eline le gone my lie is back to

normal.

Katie Wilson, Olivia Grimes, Mashail Alkhayal, and Kelcie Mullins


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55

BiosphereChapter 2: Locked In

The service tunnel took our small party ve ights ostairs down. With each ight the gloom increased and the

electric lights buzzed harshly and cast dim yellow light that did

little to cast back the shadow. The Vault seemed to swallow us

eagerly.

Incandescent lightbulbs, said Joshua, I thought the eds had

grabbed all those a long time ago.Theyve been building this sphere since 2012, said Murry, be-

ore the regs got so restrictive.

The stairway ended with a door that led out into a dim

corridor o metal, lit sparingly by ickering incandescent light-

bulbs. The yellow light rom the stairway spilled into the cor-

ridor, bright when compared to the shadow lled corridor. Istepped out behind Joshua, Ralin trailing behind and Murry

leading. The corridor was about six oot wide with a low ceiling

just above six oot. Light xtures every 30 or so eet leaving bars

o shadow between. A collection o pipes ran along the let side

o the Corridor but the right hand side was solid metal. Every

ew yards the word Hallis was written at a slant in blocky red let-

tering on the right hand side.

Whos Hallis? I asked.

Didnt you read the contract? asked Joshua, Hallis is the com-

pany that owns you or a year.

Lets get moving, said Murry, kid, keep an eye on Ralin.

I stepped to the side o the corridor and gestured Ralin

to get in ront o me. Murry didnt wait, he started o at a trot,

combat boots creating metallic echoes down the passage. I had

to give Ralin a little...encouragement, beore he would match

Murrys steady pace.


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56

The passage owed past, straight and boring, one section

exactly like the next. Joshua had to duck under the light xtures

or risk smashing a bulb across the his shaved head. Murrys pace

soon had Ralin panting to keep up. I had just decided wed trav-

eled a little over a mile when Murry stopped. I had been ocused

on my rhythm and only noticed the reason when I slipped past

Ralin and stood beside Joshua. Murry was trying the handle

on metal door ,similar to the entry door, the handle jiggled but

didnt turn.

Locked... muttered Murry to himsel.He knelt beside the latch and peered through the crack, Easy

enough. He said.

He pulled a knie rom his pocket and icked out the

blade, inserting it into the crack. In a moment he tried the

handle and the door slid open with a sot click.

Apparently they gure getting into the vault itsel is the hardestpart. Said Joshua ollowing Murry into the room.

What is this place? I asked, stepping in ater Joshua.

Dull; gleaming grey metal walls reected the inside o the room

in a blur, like a bad impressionist painting. Murry was nothing

but a blackish elongated splotch in a eld o grey. It was a airly

large room, with rows o beds twelve by three in the middle o

the room. Each bed had its own IV unit but no patient. Another

gray door was on the ar side o the room.

Looks like an inrmary. Said Joshua.

Murry just grunted.

Must have been or emergencies during the construction, or i

something were to go wrong with the Project. Said Joshua.

Murry shook his head, 36 beds, he said, a hundred men and

women, they arent planning on all o us living.

I they were planning on getting us killed why would they have

a hospital to take care o us? asked Joshua.


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57

On site testing, said Murry, Media would give Hallis more than

a bloody nose i it ound out what was going on. They want to

do their experiment, do their tests on the survivors, then mop up

the evidence without it ever getting outside the sphere.

There was silence or a moment, then Murry abruptly spun and

rowned at me, Wheres Ralin?

Hes right he... I said turning around, he wasnt there, Ill get

him. I promised starting to go ater him.

Murry grabbed my arm and yanked me back into the room, Stay

here, Ill get him.The echo o Murrys boots slowly aded as he moved down the

corridor ater Ralin.

I should never have brought Ralin, said Joshua looking across

the room, Itll be the death o him.

Joshuas usually squared shoulders were slumped, and his

eyes spoke o regret, What do you mean? I asked.Joshua turned to me as i noticing me again, Murry is right. The

outside has been planning this since we all signed our contracts.

We all thought that the waver was just a ormality, in case o

some reak accident, but weve just given someone permission to

do whatever they want with us or absolutely zero consequence.

Joshua turned back and gave one o the IV stands he was next

too a little nudge, sending it rolling silently across the oor,

Brace yoursel kid, he said, things are going to get really hairy

in the next ew days.

Just as Joshuas words were starting to sink in there was

a commotion at the door. The door banged up and Ralin stum-

bled in, Murry on his heels.

Ill give you some advice Ralin, said Murry, Never run rom me

again.

Ralin attempted to climb to his eet. Murry came up

behind him and grabbed a stul o hair, yanking Ralins head


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58

backwards until he was looking inverted into Murrys eyes. Ralin

cried out and struggled, Murrys grip was unbreakable though,

and he held him like a squirming sh on a hook. Ralin eventually

ound that struggling only made it hurt worse.

What are you doing Murry? asked Joshua, Where is this getting

us?

Murry turned his gaze to Joshua, I dont know Joshua,

where is this getting us. He gave Ralins head an indicative yank,

Im trying to decide what I want to do with him.

Ive got an idea. I said.I didnt wait or an answer, I turned and went through the

door at the end o the room, that led deeper into the medical

area. It opened into an operating room, and I quickly located

what I expected Id nd.

This looks like its do the job. I said, rolling the operating table

out o the room. Sti leather straps or head, hands and eet, layopen.

Murry almost smiled, Almost perect, you two strap him in.

He disappeared through the door Id just come rom.

Joshua and I orced Ralin onto the table and limb by limb got

the restraints strapped in, I cinched the torso strap down and

the ght went out o Ralin with each notch in the hardened

leather. Murry came back just as Joshua and I were backing o.

He silently rolled one o the IV stands over to Ralin and got him

hooked up to it.

Joshua and I noticed the syringe in Murrys let hand

about the same time, Whats that? asked Joshua a hint o worry

creeping into his voice.

An old riend, said Murry.

Joshua and I watched in silence as the syringes plunger

orced the drug into Ralins IV. Ralins eyes closed and his previ-

ously panicked and desperate breaths slowly evened out, alling


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59

into a steady rhythm.

What was that or? asked Joshua, He wasnt going anywhere.

Just cleaning up ater mysel, said Murry, he tossed the empty

syringe into a toxic waste bin and gave Joshua a pointed look, I

always clean up ater mysel.

Joshua cursed under his breath, and turned towards the door,

Lets get going, weve wasted enough time as it is.

Murry strode by me, the air o his passing pulling me into

the real world. Murry had just shot someone ull o anesthetic.

I didnt like Ralin, but Murry was taking it to a whole new level,and he wasnt even inching. I started to have doubts about my

involvement, maybe it was a good time to run back to the vault.

I didnt want to end up like Ralin though, strapped to an operat-

ing table. Ralins breathing lled the room, the pause between

each breath replaced time.

You thinking about something stupid?Murrys voice behind me jerked me rom my thoughts, No, noth-

ing stupid.

I pushed past him, not wanting him to get a look at my

ace, araid that he would read my thoughts through my eyes.

Murrys hand shot out, lightning quick and iron hard.

Are you araid o me kid? he asked, spinning me to look at his

eyes.

I was angry and scared, I didnt like to be bullied, but I

couldnt deny the eral terror that this man sparked within me, an

irrational urge to ee rom those searching steel eyes.

Yeah, I am. I said.

But youre not going to run away are you. He said.

I glanced over at Ralin, comatose on the table, No, Im not.

Murry bared his teeth, you couldnt call it a smile, I knew I liked

you kid.

Murry dropped my arm and moved past me. Sudden are o


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60

anger rose in me. I reached out and grabbed Murry as he passed

me.

I have a name. I said.

Murrys body went rigid, he slowly turned, his gaze went

rom my hand, then to my ace, Alright Colson. He reached over

with his other hand and pried my hand away rom his arm, Dont

ever touch me again.

I realized my breath was coming in short gasps, I realized

just how stupid that had been. Worst case scenario I could have

ended up like Ralin. It took me a ew seconds to shake the senseo shock o. Murry had disappeared into the corridor. I took one

last look at Ralin, just to remind mysel, then ollowed him out.

The tunnel stretched on or another mile and a hal. Cold steel

walls passing by in a monotonous stream, nothing but the eel-

ing o impending doom and the ear o the unknown to keep us

company. Joshua led now, anger in every step, in the angle ohis body, the way he seemed to be striking the oor, rather than

simply walking. Murry stayed distant and observant, as i he

knew everything Joshua was eeling but was completely indier-

ent to it. No ear. I trailed behind, aware o the vulnerable posi-

tion I inhabited around the two dangerous men. When the end

o the service tunnel was in sight, I could only breathe a sigh o

relie that the journey was hal-way over. The end was nothing

but a yellow; steel ladder extending upwards into the ceiling o

the tunnel.

Light shown down on the ladder rom a xture at the top

o the ladder, illuminating the ladder in bright white light; A stark

contrast to the gloom o the corridor.

What now? asked Joshua, standing at the edge o the pool.

We go knock. Said Murry, stepping into the pool and making to

climb the ladder.

This isnt a good idea. Said Joshua, you could be risking all o


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our paydays.

I youre not curious, said Murry, then leave, your paycheck will

be saer, Im going to nd out i were getting screwed though.

Joshua growled, but said nothing.

Murry climbed the ladder, the rungs pinging dully every

time his boots struck. It seemed an age beore he reached the

manhole above. He gripped the wheel that sealed the door and

strained. The wheel creaked and spun. I breathed a sigh o relie,

we hadnt been abandoned. A metallic chunk echoed down

rom above. I choked on both my sigh and my relie. The wheelhad hit a dead bolt. Murry spun it back, then tried again, and

again. Each time the chunk brought another load o impending

doom and set it on my shoulders. Murry eventually gave up, and

came down, hands and eet clamped on either side o the ladder

so he could slide down.

Well boys, he said, looks like weve just become inmates.

J.A.S

Leigh Ann Pearsall


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A Response to Jonathan Swifts The Ladys

Dressing-Room

To Strephon,

rom an ardent admirer o tongue and cheek

What orced you, Sir, my sex, to pai

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Aurora 2013: The World

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