This 2011 Oriel Literary Magazine is dedicated toMs. Lessard

For her endless enthusiasmHer unwavering devotion to her students

Her obvious love of the written wordHer tendency to never rule out the seemingly impossible or absurd

And her knowledge of herbal oils and spa techniques.

Thank you for sharing your wonderful and generous spirit with us!

Oriel Staff!Faculty Editor-in-Chief:

Ms. CullensSenior Editors:Clare Anderson

Mae KriegNoelle Reilly

Annika SampsonJunior Editor:

Amberosity Trinity Davis

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Table of Contents:

Untitled by Amberosity Davis..............................................Page 3

Clowns on the Edge by Christian Caverly..........................Page 4

The Ginger Cat by Emily Butler..........................................Page 6

Natural Beauty by Izzy Fickett...........................................Page 14

Lifeless by Anonymous......................................................Page 16

Love by Izzy Fickett...........................................................Page 18

Mardʼarth by Anne Marie Stanley.......................................Page 19

OP by Mae Krieg................................................................Page 20

Prayer to a Teacher by Jane Pappas.................................Page 23

The Sights and Sounds by Erik Wanner............................Page 24

Two Women by Mae Krieg.................................................Page 29

Kiss by Anne Marie Stanley................................................Page 30

Vampire Rant by Aidan Pasha............................................Page 31

What is Art? by Izzy Fickett................................................Page 35

Photo by Wildes Ho............................................................Page 37

Woods by Anonymous........................................................Page 38

WORMS by Anonymous.....................................................Page 48

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UntitledAmberosity Trinity Davis

In the darkness of the nightTwo souls walked aloneBy fate separate paths unite Two wild hearts thrown

Two rebels running freeLove courses through their bloodInnocent or purely guilty?Caught in an emotional flood

Stronger then cold deathDriving away fear or dreadWilling to give their last breathLittle thought of tears shed

The fire inside burns brightHope lights their wayTwo hearts ready for the fightCounting the blessings each day

A leap of faith was takenA bonding trust freely givenTwo spirits couldn't be brokenThe mistakes coninually forgiven

These fires now stirred upThese bonds never brokenA lone Wolf and a lost PupTheir fates interwoven

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Clowns on the Edge~Christian Caverly

We sat on the edge of the world and looked down,I and my friend, the depressed clown.Though all around us were grimWe smiled thinking the chances of ill fate here was slim.

We had done dangerous things beforeLike being cut in half, becoming common lore.My legs had been put back the wrong way.Our magician friend had died that day.

We dangled our legs over the edge.No longer caring about our pledge.We had promised to live as long as we could,But we had began to question if we should.

We had our days in the sun,They left us looking well done.The desert had been a long trekReducing the remainders of my soul to a speck.

We had traveled from town to town,Looking for someone to fix me and my clown.We wanted something more than a simple daub of glue,Which would come off with the morning dew.

We got wind of a man in a town called Fallow,But we missed him for he was sent to the gallow.We visited with his family and cried at his grave.Last hope buried, we became Agonyʼs slave.

We paint our tears on our facesFor we canʼt return to our original places.If only we hadnʼt given the circus a whirl. I'd once been a prince, and my clown a beautiful girl.

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We had ran away due to warning from a jester named Mure.He had noticed our love, and his motives were impure.He wanted to take over our country for himself,And he nows sits stuffed upon a shelf.

The palace guard had heard him giving me advice,When they caught him they had his innards chewed out by mice.They turned him into a puppet and he dances when they wish,If only poor Mure had realized he was still a mere fish.

At the circus we found quick joy,dancing about as if we where a child's toy.The happiness did not last long,for the ringmaster died as did our song.

The bearded lady, his secret affair,saw him kissing woman with less hair.Her blood boiled to see such affection,which brought about his termination.

She strangled him with her beard.Better than the death he had often feared,being thrown into the lions cage,as the trainer was prone to fits of rage.

there is no happily ever after,the man that writes them is a evil crafter.upon escape we were supposed to be happy.Instead, everything is utterly crappy.

So maybe now you know a little segment of our woe.we started out so high, ending up so low.I'm not saying not to try, for we stayed together.happiness is short and nothing is forever.

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Emily Butler! It had been a hard day, so Fred needed to take some time to relax. Instead of going to a local bar like most men his age would, he went to his favorite diner, The Ginger Cat. But he didnʼt order a coffee, because the last thing he needed was to stay up late and have to mull over the horrible thing he had done just five hours earlier. Instead he ordered a plain vanilla milkshake, and sat curled over the glass, leaning against the wall.! The shop owner, Harold, walked up to him, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, “Whatʼs the matter, Fred?” He adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses so that he was looking the younger man in the face.! Fred sighed, “Nothing.”! “Donʼt give me that, policemen donʼt just get sad because their shoes came untied!”! Fred looked over his shoulders to make sure no one else was in earshot, “I killed a man in the line of duty today.”! Haroldʼs eyes widened in a strange mixture of worry and sympathy.! “Yeah,” Fred snorted. He was in no way pleased with what had happened himself, but something like this was inevitable if you were a policeman. He remembered playing cops and robbers with his older brother when they were kids; Fred was almost always the cop, and every time he “killed” his brother, his smiling face would still be there, and it lessened the effect of the word “death” on his young mind. Then there had been being a teenager during the war, hearing about killings from every facet of the media, but never really being able to grasp a true understanding of what it meant. Add to that the fact that he had grown up with an almost confused personality; on the outside he could be very sarcastic and coldly hurtful, as he never quite got along with the other kids to a level where they really accepted him into their group activities, but on the inside he had been almost painfully emotional, he never quite got over the fact that he had been left out often, but still would not dream of hurting anyone. Because of that he was never quite sure why he had joined the police force, he had always told himself that it was because he wanted to protect all of the innocent people, but he couldnʼt show his emotion, for fear that the “bad guys” would take advantage of that. But now, now he had actually killed someone, and both of the sides of his personality were in turmoil. He broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about the what couldʼve been going through the manʼs head when the bullet was racing towards him, and the fact that all his thoughts had now stopped. So Fred had reverted to his harsh exterior, to keep his emotions from oozing all over the people around him.! Harold averted his eyes from Fred. He grabbed an empty glass from the counter and started wiping it furiously.! “Thatʼs alright,” Fred straightened up, sarcasm starting to bite into his voice, “I always knew I could count on you, Harold.”! “Hey now,” Harold retorted, “You canʼt expect me to start laughing and congratulating you when you say a thing like that!”! Fred sighed again, “I guess youʼre right.”! “I should say so!”

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! Fred wanted to tell him that the man that heʼd shot had already killed at least three other people, and that Fred hadnʼt even meant to kill him in the first place, but he decided to drop the subject.! The shrill ring of the telephone came from in the kitchen. “Excuse me,” Harold held up a finger to Fred before he disappeared to answer the phone. Fred leaned down to take a sip of his milkshake. It was as sweet as they always are, so he slurped it as fast as he could and rewarded himself with a stinging brain freeze in return for his stupidity.! Behind him the door swung open; all in earshot had been alerted to this fact by the friendly ringing of the two small bells that were hanging over the doorway. Fred looked over his shoulder to see two older teenagers enter, holding hands and smiling cheerfully. They sat down in a booth and started conversing quietly.! Harold returned from the kitchen and walked up to Fred with a worried expression on his face.! “Whatʼs the matter now?” Fred asked.! “That was my evening waitress on the phone, she says sheʼs home with the mumps. She was supposed to go on shift in ten minutes! I canʼt get a replacement that quickly! Oh, what am I going to do?” Harold started wringing his hands.! Fred wasnʼt quite sure what to make of this situation. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he offered gingerly. He didnʼt really want to help, but he wanted to keep any friendship he could in light of what had happened earlier that day. He was pretty sure that some of his more peaceful friends, who always protested against unnecessary violence, would not be friends anymore.! “Oh, thank you!” Harold smiled, “Come on and Iʼll get you an order pad.”! “Wait, what?” Fred didnʼt like where this was headed.! “Oh, itʼs not hard, you just ask people what they want, write that down and give it to the cook!”! Fred shuddered and a whining noise escaped his mouth before he could stop it.! “Look, you can keep all of the tips that you make, you know this place as well as me, how hard can it be?” Harold looked pleadingly at him and then lowered his voice, “And besides, itʼll get your mind off of what happened earlier today.”! “Canʼt you fill in for your waitress?” Fred still had a very hesitant look on his face as he offered the bait to get Harold to stop bugging him, “I mean, you canʼt be that busy, can you?”! “I canʼt, I have to take care of a burst pipe.”! Fred curled into as close of a fetal position as he could while sitting down and chewed on the straw of his milkshake. He knew he wasnʼt cut out for waiting tables, as his boss of some ten years earlier could attest to, but Harold was a good friend, and he didnʼt want to upset him. Knowing Harold, Fred knew that he would never live it down if he refused to help.! “Fine,” Fred spat.! Harold smiled, and handed him a pad of paper and a pen, “You can start by taking the orders of that young couple over there.” He pointed at the two teenagers who had entered while Harold was on the phone.! Fred sighed, slid off of the stool and slapped some money to pay for his milkshake on the counter. “You owe me.”

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! Harold nodded, “I know.”! Fred opened his pad of paper to a clean sheet as he walked up to the occupied booth. “Hello there,” he forced himself to get cheerful, “Can I take your order?”! They looked up at him as he spoke, a young woman with slightly curly dark brown hair that fell to her shoulders, and a young man with fair hair cut close to his head.! “Uh, yes, Iʼll have a salad and a lemonade please,” the girl said. Fred scribbled that down, nodded at her, and then looked expectantly at the boy.! The boy was silent, and as Fred looked, he noticed something in the boyʼs eyes as he stared, a kind of blatant shock. There was something that seemed familiar about this kid, not just like he had been one of the many young men who wandered around the town, but this one seemed like he recognized Fred, and was almost scared by the fact that Fred was here.! The girl reached over and tapped the boyʼs hand, “Order something Frank!” His trance was broken. “Iʼll have a hamburger with french fried potatoes. And a Coca-Cola.”! “Alright. Weʼll get those right out to you,” Fred turned and hurried back to behind the counter, and passed the order sheet to the cook who had poked his head through the door to the kitchen.! “Mister!” someone wheezed. Fred turned around to see an older gentleman sitting at the counter with a coffee cup.! “Yes, sir?” Fred walked towards him.! “Can I get a refill?” He held up his cup with shaky hands.! Fred grabbed the cup before the man dropped it. “Sure,” He smiled. He walked behind the counter and filled the cup with black coffee. “Any cream or sugar?”! “No thank you,” the old man said.! “Okay then, here you go,” Fred smiled at him as he placed the cup down.! The bells above the door rang as a middle aged couple entered the coffee shop.! “Iʼll be right with you folks!” Fred said and walked around the counter to step in front of the couple, who were looking very confused.! “Good evening,” he said in his most hospitable voice, “Can I help you?”! “Um, yes,” the man said, taking off his hat, “The wife and I were passing through town on our way to Los Angeles, and Iʼm afraid weʼve lost our way.”! “Ah, I see. Do you have a map?” Fred asked.! “Yes,” the woman said, taking a map out of her coat pocket and unfolding it with her gloved hands. Fred moved over towards her so she wouldnʼt have to turn the map to an awkward angle, and put his finger on it.! “See, weʼre here,” Fred said as the husband moved to see where Fred was pointing, “And you want to head out on route 53 here; if you take the first left out of the parking lot, you should see signs for it.”! “Thank you,” the man said, nodding briskly. Fred could tell that he wasnʼt entirely pleased with the fact that he had had to stop and ask for directions.! “Thatʼs quite alright.”! “Say,” the woman exclaimed quietly, looking up at the menu suspended from the ceiling, “Do you really serve ice cream sandwiches here?”! “Yes maʼam.” Fred rolled on the balls of his feet.

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! “Mabel...!” The man whined, not quite looking her in the eyes, “We need to get farther along if weʼre going to reach your motherʼs place by tomorrow!”! “Oh Harry!” she scrunched up her small face at him, “You said yourself that we would stop for dinner sometime soon! Why not now?”! Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, “Women,” he said to Fred as if Mabel wasnʼt there. “Fine Mabel, weʼll eat here. Are you happy?”! “Yes,” she looked quite pleased with herself.! “Alright then. If you want to take a seat in one of the boothʼs here, I will take your order,” Fred found their bickering to be very amusing, and it was hard to hold in a laugh. He followed them as they made their way to an empty booth.! “There are some menus at the end of the table if you want to take a few minutes and decide what you want,” Fred pointed the menus out as the couple sat down.! “Oh, yes, could we have a bit to look over the menus first?” Mabel asked.! “Of course maʼam. Iʼll be back in a few minutes.”! “Thank you!” Harry called out belatedly as Fred walked back to the counter.! “Sure thing,” Fred called back once he had reached the counter.! The old man was still drinking from his cup, and, not wanting to disrupt him, Fred went into the kitchen to see how the food was coming.! Earl looked up as he entered. He didnʼt say anything, or even smile, but that was Earlʼs way. It wasnʼt that he thought he was ʻbetterʼ than Fred, as Earl had gone to great lengths to make sure that no one took his actions that way, it was just what had happened to him as a result of being a black man in a white America. Add to that the fact that Fred was a white policeman, their relationship was a lot less hostile than it could have been, for which Fred was grateful.! “The hamburger is cooking,” Earl said plainly.! “Good,” Fred nodded, feeling uncomfortable as he always did when he was around Earl, because you never quite knew what he was going to say next.! Silence, then:! “I heard you talking to Harold earlier.”! “Hm?” Fred wasnʼt sure where he was going with this.! “About the killing,” Earlʼs dark eyes bore into Fredʼs murky green ones.! “Oh.... You heard that then,” Fred felt something inside him scream. He had just gotten that out of his mind for some much needed laughter. The last thing he needed was to have an awkward, drawn out conversation about it.! “Did you mean to kill him?” Earl asked, eyebrows raised slightly.! “No! Heavens no!” Fred made sure to look Earl in the eyes when he said that. This was not something to joke about, and Fred knew that if his relationship with Earl was going to get any less problematic, he would have to make sure that Earl knew that he was someone to be trusted.! “I believe you,” Earl gave the faintest of smiles. Fred smiled back.! “Fred!” Haroldʼs voice came from the other side of the door. Earl quickly went back to the oven, and Fredʼs smile faded slowly. He opened the door to see Haroldʼs face.! “I thought you said you had to fix some pipe,” Fred was confused by Haroldʼs sudden reappearance.

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! “I just had to find a pencil to fill out some paperwork the mechanic is making me sign. But anyways, the couple you were just talking to say theyʼre ready to order.”! “Okay then,” Fred made his way around Harold and the counter and pulled out his order pad. “What can I get for you folks?”! “Well, I think Iʼll have a BLT, with a glass of water.” Mabel said, smiling up at Fred politely.! “Alright. And you sir?”! Harry looked over his menu for a few seconds more, “...Iʼll have the steak, medium well,” he pointed to the place where it listed ʻSteakʼ on the menu. “And a grape soda.”! “Okay,” Fred finished writing the orders down, “Weʼll get those out to you as soon as we can.” He walked back to the counter and gave the new order sheet to Harold, who was holding a sharpened pencil.! “Thank you,” Harold said, and he turned to bring the orders to Earl, but Earl came out of the kitchen on his own, carrying a tray of food.! “Oh!” Harold backed up so as not to run into anything, “You want to take that Fred?”! “Sure,” Fred put his order pad down on the counter so that he could hold the tray with both hands.! “Itʼs the hamburger and the salad,” Earl told Fred as he carefully transferred the tray to the other man.! “Okay,” Fred said, that would be the teenage couple. He walked over to their booth and handed the salad to the girl and the hamburger to the boy.! “Thank you,” the girl said. The boy avoided looking at him.! “Sure,” Fred nodded at her and risked a glance at the boy while he turned around. There wasnʼt so much shock in the boyʼs face anymore as there was anger. This disturbed Fred.! The bells above the door rang again, and a tall woman wrapped in a thick fur coat stalked into the building, her nose upturned.! “Can I help you, maʼam?” Fred asked.! She turned to look at him, a slight sneer on her face, “Can you?” she drawled, “What kind of waiter are you?”! “Well, actually, maʼam, Iʼm just a temporary waiter. Iʼm just here for tonight,” Fred could tell that she was going to pain to serve.! “Hmp! Well you could start by showing me to my table!” she huffed.! “Maʼam, this is a diner, you can take any booth youʼd like as long as itʼs empty,” Fred gave her a smile, hoping she wouldnʼt yelling at him for ʻlack of mannersʼ or some other posh triviality. She made a disgruntled face at him, but she made her way to an unoccupied booth and took her time sitting down.! “I was referred here, by one of my acting comrades, who said you have an excellent clam chowder. I would like to order that,” the woman said stuffily.! “Yes maʼam. Would you like anything to drink with that?” Fred asked. The bells rang, and a tall, gangly man wearing a leather jacket entered. Out of the corner of his eye Fred saw that the man was clutching at something that was immersed in his jacket pocket. What was in that pocket could have been anything, but if thereʼs one thing being in the police force makes you, itʼs suspicious.

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! “Excuse me,” Fred cut off the womanʼs order for a green tea, and hurried over to the man. “Is there anything I can help you with sir?”! The man made a startled noise and turned around to face Fred, his eyes wide with confusion. Fred could see that the manʼs eyes were very bloodshot, and when he opened his mouth, a harshly unpleasant stench wafted out, “No, Iʼm alright, thank you.”! Fred nodded giving the appearance of politeness, but Fred wasnʼt fooled, he knew that man was high on marijuana, and started to turn away. The man quickly pulled out a gun and shot at Fred, but Fred had been expecting that, and had already ducked and was now pulling out his own gun.! “Donʼt move Mister, and no one needs to get hurt,” Fred slowly stood up, his gun aimed at the intruder. The man was still.! From the other side of the room there was a sound of footsteps. “No one needs to get hurt?!” a male voice cried in disbelief. Fred could see well enough out of the corner of his eye to tell that it was the fair haired boy who had yelled.! “Go back to your booth and sit down, Son,” Fred said, not taking his eyes or his gun off of the shooter. Teenagers always seemed to pick the most inopportune moments to discuss their feelings.! “No!” the boyʼs voice broke as if he were crying, “You killed my Uncle!”! Something clicked inside Fredʼs brain. The familiarity of the boy, and the shocked and angry faces, it all made sense to him now. He turned to give the boy a sorrowful look, just for a second, but a second was enough. The man, taking notice of Fredʼs moment of realization, ran from the aim of his gun to the bar.! “Nobody move or Grandpa here gets it!” he yelled gruffly. Fred could turn his head enough to see that the man was holding his gun to the older gentleman who had had the coffee.! “Now look here Mister,” Fred said in as calm a tone as he could muster, “I am a police officer, and if you do not put that gun down now, you will have to go to jail.”! “So what?” the man snorted, “Iʼll just kill you all.”! Someone in one of the booths whimpered.! “Donʼt listen to him!” the boy shouted to the man, “Heʼs lying. He wonʼt send you to jail! Heʼll just kill you!”! “Hey, Son!” Fred whispered to the boy, wishing he could remember what his girlfriend had called him, “Donʼt!” But it was too late; the boy stepped forward, and, in his panic, the man with the gun shot at the boy instead of the old man like he said he would. Fred lunged at the boy, knocking him to the ground. He felt a searing pain in his lower calf and gritted his teeth as he too fell to the floor.! The pain was overbearing, and it seemed like the only thing in the world besides the pain was his throbbing heartbeat. I must protect the citizens, Fred forced the thought into his head as he tried to gain control over the pain, that is my main duty, to protect the citizens. The sound of sirens seemed to be coming from some place off in the distance, but it all faded to black.

***! “I know I owe you double, so just donʼt start arguing with me. I promised the doctor that I wouldnʼt get you excited.”

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! Fred opened his eyes lazily. He was in a cream colored room, laying on a very comfy bed. There was some sort of wrapping on his leg and, standing next to the bed were Harold and Earl.! “What happened?” Fred asked.! “That man with the gun shot you in the leg,” Harold said with a straight face.! Fred rolled his eyes, “Really? And I thought that the pain in my leg had come from when I stepped in the mouse droppings.”! “Hey now!” Harold put his hands on his hips, “Are you accusing me of having mice in my fine establishment?”! They both laughed at their stupid banter.! “But seriously,” Fred said, his face still in a smile from the laughter, “What happened?”! “Well, Earl here called police headquarters once he heard the first shot.” Harold said.! “I told you that some good would come out of having the kitchen separate from the dining area,” Earl flashed one of his rare smiles at his boss; the laughter seemed to have rubbed off on him.! “That you did, that you did,” Harold nodded.! “Oh,” Earl said, as if just remembering something, “That older couple, who asked you for directions...”! “Harry and Mabel?” Fred asked.! “Yeah, they said that they had to get to Los Angeles, but they wanted me to thank you for them.”! “That was nice of them,” Fred said, and hoped that the traveling couple hadnʼt been traumatized by the strange experience that had happened while they were at The Ginger Cat.! “Oh, and speaking of thank youʼs, youʼve got some more visitors,” Harold said.! “Really?” Fred was puzzled as to who would come to visit him; his parents and brother lived out of town, and he didnʼt think there had been enough time for his other friends to have been informed that he was in the hospital.! Harold opened the door, and two teenagers stepped in. Harold and Earl left the room and closed the door behind them.! It was the boy with the fair hair and the girl with the dark brown hair. They were holding hands, and both had somber expressions on their faces as they walked up to Fred.! The boy was the first to speak, “Look, Iʼm sorry I made you get shot––”! “No, you look,” Fred interrupted him, “Iʼm sorry I killed your uncle. Itʼs my job to protect you as innocent citizens, no matter what the cost to me, but it was certainly not your uncleʼs job to get killed. I mean, sure, he had already killed three people, but there are better ways to solve our problems as humans than to kill each other. I swear to God I didnʼt mean to kill your uncle, and I want you to know that itʼs hurting me as much as itʼs hurting you.”! The boy looked a bit taken aback by the unexpected monologue, but his eyes still held the ghost of tears as he finally looked Fred in the eyes.

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! “I hope you can forgive me,” Fred said, not only out of politeness, but also out of a desperate desire to have some verification from a source outside of himself that the killing had not been Fredʼs fault.! The boy blinked and then looked up at the ceiling, as if to hold back tears, “Itʼs just, Uncle Robertʼs death is the first death Iʼve been in direct contact with. My Great-Grandmother died when I was three, but Iʼve known Uncle Robert for all of my life,” his voice started to waver, and the girl squeezed his hand, “And, and I know that he wasnʼt the greatest guy ever. My parents always talked about him in hushed voices, and whenever he was gone for a long time they said he was taking a vacation in Florida, but I eventually found out that he was in jail. But whenever he could make it he was there at family gatherings and holidays, and he always took me fishing whenever he visited. Uncle Robert loved his family, even if he was a criminal, but it took his death for his family to love him. Weʼll never be able to make our amends,” He scrunched up his face, but despite his efforts, Fred saw a tear make itʼs way down his cheek.! “But no,” the boy inhaled deeply in an effort to compose himself, “After what you did in that diner, I donʼt blame you for my uncleʼs death. Iʼm sorry I got you shot.”! Fred smiled at the kid and held out his hand, “No problem kid.”! The boy grabbed his hand and shook it, “By the way, my nameʼs Frank. And this is Ann.”! “Fred. Nice to meet you Frank, Ann.”! Ann took his hand as well, “Thank you for what you did in the diner,” she said solemnly, “If it werenʼt for you we would probably all be dead.”! Fred smiled reassuringly at her.! As Frank and Ann both left the room, Fred was glad to finally have a sense of closure to his runabout with murder this morning, as well as his short-lived stint as a waiter.! But this incident had let some strange and twisted thoughts into his head, and as he watched the door close behind them, he hoped that he would never end up killing the two, very nice teenagers who had just moments ago shook his hand in friendship.

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Natural Beauty~Izzy Fickett

As the ancient sky, robs and deceives,Creates a baby-blue for our eye's to perceive.

As the chipmunks swirl across oceans of leaves, And squirrels accompany their flight.

As yellow pours down in a graceful might, And heeds a dawn before a night.

As playful flies coo and call, And rodents buzz before they fall,

And only stop, once no longer small. Dazing mazes of purple timbers, Beyond the sounds, liquid; limber.Sunlight flashes: Glorious glimmer.

The peaceful abode, landlocked within, Surrounded by bees, without a sin.

Virgin mosquitos, lick upon my skin, And then they try, over and over again.

A valiant nest, and beaver's den, A stone's throw away, by the average men.

Clad in windswept, battle-torn gear, Entombed by frightful fox and deer,

Any sort of sorrow, and, or fear, Glide beyond, the veil of wonder,

Transfixed by the beauty, below and under, I bathe in warmth without the hunger: The need for anything larger or smaller, No need for money; No want to be taller.I hate, and despise the american dollar.

I have different morales, virtues and ethics, I prescribe to no god, no religion, no aesthetic.

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Iíd rather not be a color, race, or ethnic. I believe in me, my life and this tree

Nature's reality is closer to me, Closer to you, your brother; Without envy.It's magnificence darkens the luscious light, But molds it into visuals, strong and bright.It carries the weight of the human plight,

And shields us from our own demise, I ask the woods, with devout surmise,

Give us a chance, and we'll see the lies, One more day, I beg, I plead,

Upon my hands, with gruesome greed,See the grandeur of the deeds,

The endless blue, ocean-filled skies, The sun-laced, star-speckled trees of wise,

The oldest crushing seas of epic size.These are the truths, of our realm, Don't dwell, and let it overwhelm,

But please, some one, take the helm.

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Lifeless

Stop!It’s too bright!

It hurts my eyes! Why?!

Why am I here?What happened?

GO AWAYLeave me alone!

Am I dead?What’s going on?

What do you want?Ugh!

Now it’s darkI can’t see................................

I wish I was home Wait... what home?

Where was my home?I can’t remember

I only know It’s where I need to be

Take me there!You can’t?

Why not?No!

LIAR!!!I’m not...

Dead?Can’t be!

I was... I was just...I guess...

I am dead?When?

When did it happen?No, I want to know!

You can’t keep it from me!Not my death!

If it’s trueThen tell me.

Please.I’ll understand.

...Oh...That’s... bad.

Car crash?Wow...

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I guess...I guess Mom was a little drunk...

She’s okay, right?Good.

What’s that? That light?

For me?Okay...

I’m ready.Let’s go.

I’m onlyJust getting used

To being Lifeless.

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Love:I’ve found love now, It’s only a stone-throw away, Trees of leaves, blind my eyes, From the mellow of the sun.But this blind is far stronger, A gentler, but thicker kind.It locks me in it’s embrace, She, like that of touch, Her hands send shivers down my spine, Her eyes gleam and shimmer, Her hair smooth and dark.I can’t explain love now, Nor ever expect to.I find it one of life’s true questions;A mystery everyday.I hope to extend and keep this love, For as long as I can, To lose her now would be a travesty, A complete and total defeat.I love the idea of love, Warm, ancient, and strong.But it’s become more than that, For me and my love.It’s stronger than warm;It’s burning.It’s eon’s newer than ancient; It’s spring.It’s stronger than steel, It’s perfect.A constant aura of peace, Surrounds me and her, Day to Day,Hour to Hour,Moment to Moment, She loves me, And I love her.

~Izzy Fickett

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19

! Walking outside on that perfectly bright, sunny day in August (it must have been August,

for that was when everything seemed to be perfect) there was absolutely nothing on our minds.

There was nothing to expect, because we knew all expectations, if any, would be met squarely

and directly. A blanket was carried, along with some lemonade and a peach. There was only one

peach, it was ripe and perfect and the skin was so delicate and soft. It was an absolutely gorgeous

peach, and my eyes could not help but marvel at it. It was decided it would be shared, though in

my head, to keep the day so perfectly wonderful, we wouldn’t eat it at all. I would place it in my

palm and keep it there, until it grew wrinkles and shriveled; a piece of dying beauty in my small,

youthful hand.

""! " As we neared the field, every poet in the world was settling into their chairs, pens and

pencils raised in eager expectation. One poured himself some wine. Beauty was occurring, they

could feel it. Our footsteps lingered on the crunchy grass, we lost our shoes somewhere, but it

didn’t matter where, and we let ourselves glide. As we ran past the tall grass, a poet somewhere,

in France perhaps, sitting in his wooden chair, was describing how they licked our ankles as we

passed, trying to latch themselves onto us and never let go. We reached the top the hill, and we

felt alive. As we spread the blanket, weren’t we really giving ourselves up to this wonderful

earth? This field that we were about to lay on? Laying down, we were described as small ants,

for the world felt so large right then. It was all so expansive and breathtaking. As we stared at the

sky, a thoughtful poet was jotting, “delicate powder” coloring. Few clouds speckled the sky, they

seemed separated from another. As we laid on the earth, the clouds were having a gathering, they

were running wildly, perhaps looking at us below! This brought a smile from all. The lemonade

was opened, the sweet taste of summer filled my mouth through the tiny straw and I grinned

happily. I was young and alive, a sweet girl who seemed to smile at everything.

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""" There was a barn below us, old and stone, with a rusted red roof that seemed to glitter in the

sunlight. While we stared at the mountains and trees the poet described their vastness, drawing

forth their beauty in all the words he could muster. He shouldn’t have bothered, they were too

breathtaking to put on paper. We spread our hands, we were eagles! We were flying, there we

were in the sky! We were described as looking down at ourselves, smiling at our silly beauty. We

flapped around and laughed, our childish yelps lost in the rolling hills and tree-line. When we let

our heads lay on the grass, it tickled our noses and faces and hair. We were immersed in this

field, a poet said; swimming in a sea of green. We closed our eyes and dreamed of what we saw

when they were opened again. It was all so lovely, what else could our content minds produce?

We were so perfect; that peach sitting next to me, its orange and pink skin glowing in the sun,

was so perfect. Our soft skin was gleaming, the flush in my cheeks were to be described as rose

petals. My skin was covered in a joyful, excited stain, and I had to smile at myself and my

companion for my thoughts were soaring. We smiled together and let our minds wander in that

place, running in circles around its beauty, not wanting or able to leave. The peach was delicately

placed in my hand, and while we glanced over, we put our lips to it and felt its sweet goodness

melting in our mouths. Our perfect afternoon seemed to be trailing off into the past, we realized,

as we watched the remnants of our wonderful peach being covered by ants. Soon its pretty

orange skin was no longer seen, and the poets chair creaked as he contemplated death.

""" As we picked up our belongings and sipped the last sips of the juice, our feet felt the crunchy

green grass, only this time cooler in the early evening. The sun wasn’t as high, the clouds had all

dispersed, their own party concluded. The poets put down their pencils, satisfied. They rubbed

their bellies in sweet satisfaction for having written such a glorious day. But that beautiful,

magical, sublime afternoon was not just words on paper. We felt it, we felt the grass snatch at our

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ankles and saw the clouds travel across the sky. We had taken our arms and had spread them to

the land beyond us. That was our poem, the one we wrote together on that August day when we

decided to walk and waste away a hot afternoon. There were no words written, and yet, it seems

it was as light as a haiku, as gentle and sweet as a sonnet. Our day had given us feeling, and

feeling was the only thing necessary in our lives. “Everything can be a poem” was whispered as

we ran off into the dusk, leaving behind the most beautiful feeling of love.

-- Mae Krieg

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Prayer to a TeacherJane Pappas

I don’t want to speculate,I want answers.I don’t want censorship,I want to learn.I don’t want sugarcoating,I want the truth.Teach me.Teach me controversy.Make me think,help me argue,change my mind.Help me write a poemthat will change the world.Show me the door to the roomthat holds banned books andreligious arguments over lukewarm cups of coffeeandcensorship lawsuits.Help me fight what is wrongand form opinions about what is right,and teach me ways to know the difference.Give me homework,deliver speeches to enthrall,teach with flair.Don’t just hold the match.Light it and throw itinto our gasoline-soaked midst.

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The Sights and SoundsErik Wanner

" At the age of 17, Alexʼs life hadnʼt been significant. He hadnʼt had any girlfriends, nor did he desire one, and he wasnʼt very popular at school. He spent his time writing and playing songs on his violin. His deep love of music and rich, deep voice showed an inner self that no one ever saw. He was very secluded and never showed anyone his love for music or his talent. His parents knew he could play the violin, but never how well, or how well he could sing. He played quietly in his room and sang softly to himself. He was an average student, often passing classes with Bʼs and Cʼs. In a way, he was uniquely average. Nothing about him stood out. He blended in with the crowd and thatʼs the way he liked it. His days started the same, and ended the same. Except for today. He woke at 6:15 am precisely. He took a shower and ate breakfast. On the bus on the way to school, everyone was whispering excitedly. He removed his headphones and listened carefully. Apparently there was a new girl at school. “Nothing interesting” he thought, and continued listening to his music. Living in New York, there were new people all the time. Upon arriving to school, he went to the band room, where no one spent their time, to play his violin. He opened the door quietly and noticed that, for once, there was someone else in the band room. It was a girl playing a saxophone quietly. “That must be the new girl” Alex thought to himself, he quietly backed out and closed the door, she didnʼt notice the noise and continued playing. As it turned out, the girl was in three of his four classes. She was quiet and preferred to read over anything else, he observed. She didnʼt like the attention she was getting from being a new student, and she was uncomfortable with all the people watching her. She was a math whiz and finished a worksheet before anyone else did. Sitting with some of his friends at lunch, he watched her turn away people who offered to sit with her. “Sheʼs very solitary” Alex thought “I wonder why that is.” Turning off his light that night, he found his mind wandering back to her, “I wonder what her name is.” he thought as he drifted off to sleep.! ! He bolted upright in bed, covered in a cold sweat. A nightmare, “A long black staircase and a ghost?” He shook the nightmare off and looked at his clock, 5:45 am. “Late enough to start my day” he thought and got out of bed. Arriving at school, he went straight to the band room out of habit. He peered through the window and saw her sitting in the same seat, playing a saxophone. “Might as well introduce myself” Alex thought. He opened the door and walked in with his violin case. She looked up briefly and looked surprised. “Oh, youʼre the boy from my math class arenʼt you?” she asked in a light, beautiful voice. Alex was dumbstruck by the voice, what a marvelous sound! “Well donʼt stand there like an idiot and stare” she said, standing and brushing her pants off. She walked over to where Alex was frozen and stuck out her hand and said “Hi, Iʼm

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Melissa.” Alex raised a numb arm and shook her hand and replied “Alex.” He stood there awkwardly for a moment before she spoke. “Do you play?” she said, eyeing his violin case. “A bit, not very much” he replied. “You were the one who came in here yesterday werenʼt you?” she asked. Slowly he nodded and she smiled at him. “Well did you enjoy what I was playing?” she asked. Alex nodded and said “I didnʼt hear much, but what I did, I enjoyed.” She sighed and walked over to her saxophone. “What did I do?” Alex wondered. Melissa turned to face Alex and said “Well at least someone appreciates music around here, the most I can get out of people around here is that they listen to awful rap music.” The bell for class went off, startling them both. “Well I gotta go.” said Alex. “See you later.” She nodded, busy packing her saxophone into the case. In his math class, she sat next to him, seemingly comfortable around him more than other people. This continued for the next few weeks. They got to know each other quite well. Her name was Melissa Chase, she was 17, and she had 3 siblings. Alex was constantly pestering her with questions about having siblings because he was an only child. Likewise, she was asking him questions about his family, what did his parents do? They became very close, not quite dating, but they became very used to each other. This was the first time Alex had been truly happy. They completed each other in a way that not most people could say that they had experienced. They had taken to wandering the streets of New York City after school, just talking. Melissa was the only one who had heard Alex play his violin and sing, she was entranced, she had asked him to record his singing but he refused, he didnʼt like attention. This continued for a long time, but barely a blink of an eye for them. People stopped questioning, people stopped staring, it was old news. After high school, they went to college together. But they decided to keep the music to themselves. It was a private joy. Alex went to school for anthropology, and Melissa for mathematics. ! !! ! At the age of 23, they were living together, after college life, it was like they knew they were going to spend the rest of their lives together. Alex was planning on proposing on a warm May day. He cooked an elegant meal, prepared a meal fit for a king. He baked the ring into a small, very pretty, chocolate cake. He had taken the day off, faking an illness to make the small apartment they shared into a romantic evening. With his girlfriend due home at 6:30, he was prepared. 6:30 came and went. He called her cell, it went straight to voicemail. 7:30 came and went, Alex was in a frantic state. At 8:00, a knock came at his door, a stranger, Melissa wouldʼve just come right in. He ran to the door and flung it open, hoping for a friend of Melissaʼs. A man in his late 30ʼs was standing in the small foyer that they shared with the apartment next to them. He was wearing a long overcoat and had a scar on his right cheek. His voice was gravelly as he spoke “Alex Fisher?” Alex nodded, and said “Come in Mr....?” “Underhill, Detective David Underhill, NYPD.” Alex opened the door, and the detective strode in, and turned

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to face Alex. “I have bad news, Mr. Fisher, very bad news.” said the detective, not meeting Alexʼs eyes. Suddenly Alex was weak, he swayed and collapsed onto the sofa that was behind him. The detective sat down next to him and leaned forward. “Mr. Fisher, Iʼm afraid your girlfriend was killed in a mugging gone bad, she was found in an alley behind her dumpster with her phone, wallet, and keys missing. She was stabbed multiple times, Iʼm sorry for your loss.” Alex wasnʼt even close to comprehending this statement. He was still stuck on the word killed. Killed. “What does killed mean?” he wondered in his floating state. He was aware of someone shaking his shoulders, asking questions. He heard someone talking on a phone, asking for an ambulance. He tried to remember who he was, what was his purpose? He couldnʼt think, and he slipped into a embracing blackness.

.............................

! Alex was standing alone in a room. He was disorientated and confused, he couldnʼt see anything, everything was white. Suddenly he saw Melissa, dressed in a white dress, barefoot, walking down a long black staircase, illuminated by a green torch floating above Melissaʼs head. Alex shouted, and screamed, but she couldnʼt hear him. As he circled around her, he saw her stomach was stained with red, gashes and stab wounds still fresh as she descended into hell.

...............................

! Alex awoke in a hospital room, sitting on a bed. The detective was sitting next to him, asleep. As soon as Alex sat up, the detective snapped awake, aware, and alert. “Mr. Fisher, are you alright?” he asked. “No, I donʼt think so.” replied Alex, already standing. “Where are you going?” asked the wary detective, tensing to restrain Alex if needed. “Home, alone.” replied Alex. Walking home was like running a marathon, everything was numb, he was cold. His mind spun and cartwheeled. He started singing, a sad song, mournful and sweet. As he walked, time seemed to turn. People hearing him sing began to cry. They began to follow him, unknowingly. He soon had a crowd of people listening to his sad song. As he walked, the ground beneath him began to shift, and churn. A staircase began forming, and he started walking down it, singing all the while. People gathered, as if there were an invisible barrier around the staircase. Alex began descending the staircase. It was winding and dark, but he knew he would reach the end. The stairs dropped him into the Plains of Eternal Damnation. Yet he still sang as he passed the millions of years worth of criminals and such. He reached a gate as tall as the Empire State Building and made of gold and onyx, and he began to sing a tale of such woeful sadness that they began to melt, forming a small archway for him to

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pass. He walked through the gate, still singing. He walked forward until his way was blocked by a jailor. The jailor stood firm, refusing to move. Alex began to sing a tale of adventure and sadness. The jailor began to fade, unable to repel the quality of the music. The bars melted and out stepped Melissa. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground next to Alexʼs feet. It read “Melissa will walk out with you, side by side. You must exit the same way you entered, but you must not stop singing.” Alex was overjoyed. He immediately burst into a song of adventure and fun and began to walk. Melissa was right beside him, the linked hands and began to march to their deserved life. Alex sang of glory and adventure. They crossed the Plains quickly and began ascending the staircase. He sang sea shanties and obscure music, and his own music, and quickly they were lifted through the earth, back towards their life. With every note and step, Alex was happier and happier. He saw the streetlights and the moon that would embrace their new life. He burst into a new song, one that Melissa knew and she began to sing along. Alex stopped singing and froze, listening to her beautiful voice. Immediately, she was yanked out of his grip. He spun around and saw her being carried back down by shadowy hands. “Iʼm sorry.” she whispered, and disappeared. Alex suddenly was standing on asphalt, staring down the staircase, an eternal blackness was staring back, he began to step forward, but the staircase covered itself again, eternally buried. Alex fell to his knees, weeping and singing. Detective Underhill stepped out of the crowd and glanced at the ground Alex had fallen on. There was a dove, imprinted in asphalt. The symbol of love. He looked back up and Alex was gone. A manhunt began, searching for Alex, fearing he might be suicidal.

................................

! ! Alex was wandering through the woods, along the shore of Lake Champlain. He had walked over a hundred miles in what seemed like no time at all. He stood on an abandoned dock that was dipping into the water, the lake slowly lapping at the wood. Alex sang, and sang. With no reaction on his part, he began to walk forward. The water parted at first, he stood in the sand, near the middle of the lake, just singing. Water began to trickle to the center of where he stood. His song slowly winded down and when he stopped, the water swallowed him, sending him to the underworld. And they say to this day, that if you listen carefully on a rainy day, you can hear his sad song, and the gray, weeping lake.

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Excerpt from " Short and Fat in LA"

! "They both came up for air, both feeling a little shell shocked. "Whoa" Lexi said, breathing rapidly, " I don't care if you can't make a perfect angel food cake, with those lips you won't ever have too. " Luka laughed. "Want to spend the night ", he asked her realizing that she would probably say no but he figured what did he have to lose. "Absolutely," she said to him, as long as you promise not to think I am a slut... and only if you have condoms because I am a safe sex kinda girl. Luka had a moment of panic. It had been a while but he hoped he could A) find a condom and B) that they were still good. Lexi stopped joking for a moment. "You do have a condom, don't you" " Just one" he asked smiling, " oh ye of little faith., he said as he grabbed her hand.

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Aidan J. Pasha!

! I donʼt get it! I just donʼt get it! While thousands of others may flock to the fad! I

donʼt get it! What in the name of good God are people thinking when they turned

vampires sexy? Maybe I am just pointing out the tiger on the couch, or the turd in the

punch bowl. But they are vampires, they will eat you! Is every one insane?

! I shouldnʼt get so worked up about this because Twilight is not the first nor last

movie to take this classical demon and change it into a sex symbol. Ever since Lord

Ruthven in 1816 and Béla Lugosi as Bram Stokerʼs Dracula in 1931, vampires have

gained a name for being sexy. It seems like ever since the vampire changed from just

German folklore to a mass art form, they have been turned into a sex symbol. In fact

“The prevailing belief in European countries was that vampires were the ghosts of

suicides or others who had died violent deaths. And were forced by the devil to leave

their graves at night and feed on the blood of men and women.” Take a look at Count

Orlok in the 1922 German Expressionist film Nosferatu, he was as ugly as they get! But

ever since vampires entered the mainstream, they have been turned sexy. What has

happened to our German expressionist friends who founded Universal and created the

entire monster genera? Where are they when new age directors are turning their classic

symbol of horror into stuffed teddy bears.

! Yeah, I already know the fangs, the biting of the young girl, its all a image for sex.

But what is this stuff about them being sexy? Whatʼs with all the Edward Cullen and

Lestat look a likes? Well historically reading something along the lines of XXX content

wasnʼt excepted by society. Especially around the Victorian age, the time when most

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horror monsters were written down into novels. Even nowadays if you mention any thing

like that youʼre yelled at for being a pervert. Vampires and other assorted monsters

were never subjugated to this scrutiny, because people assumed that a person under

their right mind wouldnʼt knowingly follow a vampire or demon. So they get around the

barrier because the vampire isnʼt making love to her. Heʼs just luring her in to devour

her. Thus the sexy vampire was born. Along with any other creature of the night turned

sexy.

! Vampires have been feared through out the ages for being demons of the night

and generally enjoying they whole “I am going to eat you” thing. Now we have things

like Twilight, Vampire Knight, and the live-action role-play Vampire Masquerade. That

not only embraces the thought of sexy demons but idolizes them. Thats the problem!

People have lost site of the monster behind the mask. That behind all the glitz and

glamor are German monsters, who enjoy long walks in the moon light and drinking your

blood. !

! What are people thinking? Theyʼre prepping young girls of the world to become

“spouts” That is the name given to the insane people who let people drink their blood. It

a name given to a person by the vampire community at large. Yes there are ʻrealʼ

vampires out there. But theyʼre not the friendly kind that are 3000 year old virgins who

only drink deer blood. These people that claim they are vampires are shady characters

that hang out in goth night clubs and drink blood. They arenʼt ʻsexy.ʼ They arenʼt ʻcool.ʼ

They are mess up, and possibly deranged.

! Maybe the image of the sexy vampire is a parallel to how messed up our society

really is. Whether your atheist or not, the whole selling your soul for beauty thing is just

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plain wrong. I mean yeah youʼre going to be beautiful, and probably looting the corpses

of the people you eat will make you wealthy. But still your giving your life away so you

can be beautiful and eat people. Thats a pretty raw deal if I ever heard one!

! A lot of people may be asking why I despise this type of genre the way I do. Why

I think accepting vampires as a normal thing in our lives is a bad idea? Crazy people

thinking they are vampires aside, the truth behind my hate is that itʼs vampires. The

most boring monster in all horror films. Vampires look like normal people except for

expensive tastes and gelled hair. Maybe you add a cloak for the deep brooding factor

but over all they are normal. Making them turn into giant bat things like in Van Helsing or

giving them demonic qualities like in 30 Days of Night really drives home the monster

aspect that the modern film makers are forgetting. If they donʼt appear as monsters then

you could easily rename the movie to ʻHow Hard it is to be a Vampireʼ and sell it as a

documentary. While making the vampires the ultimate sex icon shows the demonic lust

side of human nature, it also gives them the easy life of some one who is naturally

beautiful. This makes the viewer unsympathetic to his plight as a loving monster. In

short order it means the vampire has to be either a true beauty and the beast for the

viewer to see him overcoming diversity or made into just a snarling beast that drinks

peoples blood.

! Finally and fatally its time to bring down the murderous axe that Twilight fans

have had looming over their heads since I picked this topic. Why does he sparkle?

Original vampire myths have the undead burst into flames with sunlight. This is not true

for the candle white Edward Cullen instead he sparkles. I am missing something here, is

their a reason why an ageless demon from beyond the grave sparkles? I mean yes, he

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is suppose to sparkle so that girls will find him more attractive, but come on! Who would

enjoy having a six foot tall diamond standing next to them. Yet he still remains out of the

sun so people donʼt see him sparkling. Why? If its suppose to make girls like him then it

failed for simply being too “flashy”. If the whole sparkling thing is causing him pain then

why doesnʼt the author just have him burst into flames or start smoking like a

malfunctioning toaster. It just doesnʼt make sense! But then again when it comes to

making monsters sexy, nothing makes sense!

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Israel Fickett

Response to, “What is Art?”

Proposition of Individualism

! I want to answer the fundamental question of beauty, ‘What is art?”....The

central question of modern art, to excel and move art into a new direction. I want

to firmly ask, and then answer any claim of what art can be, or is, or has been. To

move forward in the progression of art, we must answer this modern art question;

To extend it into a 21st century art: Individualism.

! Every human has their own unique, personal expressions of themselves

(wether they tap into that or not is something different), each person has a way of

representing themselves, wether with symbols, sounds, letters, colors, or by

making actual ‘fine art’; People more in-tuned with their spoken linguistics and

language, possibly relate to letters and words, simpler people might relate to just

symbols or colors (babies for instinct), musicians relate to sound, and artist’s relate

to their paintings or others. Every way is different though.....so the problem arises

how do you answer the question of what is art, if everyone’s perception of “good”

or “bad” art is different?Yes, although there is a social-conscious that artists who

can read that conscious better often can relate THEIR expression to more people,

but this social conscious is broad, and not the thoughts of EVERYONE, just maybe

a majority (think mainstream-music on the radio, or the Mona Lisa).

! To move forward we must no longer ask, ‘what is art’, ‘who is the best’, etc,

but rather we must ask.... “What is your perception and perspective on this topic?”

The artist can then firmly display how he feels in the medium he chooses to display

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it. This creates perfect individuality, and the ability for the artist to develop

THEMSELVES rather than to please anyone else, or to be included in a certain

movement or not (albeit the general ideology of Individualism is technically a

“movement,” it’s more of an umbrella-movement, than a more meticulous

movement such as surrealism, or expressionism).

! The question then becomes answered...

! ! “What is art?”

! Art is our mind’s thoughts reflected upon our canvases, our guitars, and our

books. It is our material body putting its immaterial thoughts into our materialistic

world with it’s chosen material. Non-real, turned into real. Imagination becomes

Reality. Everyone can be, or has the ability to be, their inner-artist. Only from this

ideal, can we move on from the scrambled mess that is Modern Art. Individualism

is art of the people; Of us, able to be reflected upon the rest of the world to show

we too relate with them. We are them. We are the artists; All of us.

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37

Woods - Anonymous

It was the perfect ending to a perfect day. Forgetting her lunch, failing a test, and ruining her favorite shirt with a carton of chocolate milk might have been enough for one person. As Blaire watched an empty six pack, three ratty binders filled with stained paper, and a grease riddled McDonalds bag back fly out the window of the truck ahead of her, she knew it was going to be a doozie of a day. Now, Blaire wasnʼt exactly a member of Greenpeace, but it always made her depressed to see garbage on the side of the road, the sagging rusted cans and old tire skins ruining the otherwise pristine moss of the forest road. To be fair, teenaged morons, guzzling energy drinks and howling like monkeys, hurling objects out of their car would have made her upset any day of the week. Today, it pushed her clean over the edge. All of the pent up frustration from the day bubbled over, pushing her hands to white hot knuckles on the steering wheel. Clearly, this day had not finished screwing with her. ! Grinding her teeth, she angrily ripped a strand of hair out of her field of vision and pulled to the side of the road, tires squealing. She couldnʼt do anything about the bad luck that had been chasing her in circles all day, but damn it, this was something she could fix, something she could stand and face and beat into submission. Switching her car into park, she shrugged on her brown jacket and jumped out of her Prius, slamming the door with unnecessary force. She stomped to the back of the car, popped the trunk, and snatched a plastic bag from the interior before slamming it shut again. Scuffing her boots on the gravel at the side of the road, she squinted to the left and the right to scout for incoming cars, and saw nothing but the long, green tunnel of the forest road. Old trees arched over the pavement, their lichen encrusted trunks creaking gently in the soft wind. Their leaves, spread in a thick canopy, added a dappled green patina of light to the asphalt and the undergrowth. ! She had been headed into town to pick up some groceries after school, in order to get supplies for her dinner with friends later in the day. Clearly, it was not to be, and she thought about her ruined day with increased venom as she turned the plastic bag inside out, and began to gingerly pick up the discarded refuse on the wayside. The store would be closed by the time she got there. That meant no groceries... unless of course, she could take home the half eaten french fries in the grease speckled paper bag. Choking back a gag, Blaire began to pick up the trash with increased fury. She wasnʼt angry to be picking up garbage, it was the hooting nonchalance with which the boys had chucked it out of the window that infuriated her. A glint in the bushes beyond the ditch caught her eye, a gleaming scrap of metal just a little farther into the woods. So, not even the woods themselves were safe from the casual dumpings of the day. Well, if she couldnʼt remove what the day had dumped on her, at least she could remove what people had dumped here. Adjusting the zip on her coat, and taking care to tie back her mahogany hair with a plastic band from her wrist, she hopped the shallow ditch to land on the other side near the can. No sooner had she picked up the can then a plastic bottle pushed its impudent nose out of the leaf litter. For every tin can and plastic bag she picked up, another one would flaunt itself a few steps father away. She was so intent on her goal that she failed to notice as the road grew farther and farther away. Peering intently down at the loam, she was so intent on her goal that she failed to notice the time passing. And as the light dimmed in the sky, and the enormous trees began to

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grow black, she could no longer hear the sounds of the road. When the stars came out to peer at her like the eyes of bats from the sky, she could no longer see the ground to search, and suddenly realized that she was hopelessly lost. ! ! ! ~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ! By the evening of the next day, she was faint with exhaustion. She was scratched from briars, and the dirt had caked itself to the sweat on her brow. A few hours earlier, she had wrenched her ankle on a root, and lain gasping in the loam until she forced herself to move on. But now, her ankle was swollen black and blue, and she was too exhausted to go any farther. She had run out of curses and prayers hours ago, but had somehow retained her hold on the bag of trash. Now, she leaned against a tree trunk, wheezing and drained, and allowed herself to slide to the ground. Falls in the dark and running through the woods had drained her physically, and panic had taken what physical harm and sleep deprivation had left. It was about 5:30 now, and though the summer sun was still bright, the density of the leaf cover made the light dim and soporific. As her eyelids began to droop, she had time to whisper a halfhearted “Please...” to the trees before loosing her hold on consciousness. ! It seemed she had closed her eyes only for a moment, when a smooth grip on her arm woke her. She opened her eyes blearily to see a boy kneeling next to her about her own age, nineteen at the oldest. He was dressed shabbily in a discolored Grateful Dead tee shirt, and a pair of extremely baggy cargo pants. His curly brown hair was crammed under a evergreen colored knit hat, which coordinated strikingly with his piercing brown eyes. ! “Are you alright? Can you hear me?” ! He shook her arm again before noticing her eyes had slid open. He sighed with evident relief, and began to take in the entire scene: the scratches to her clothing, the dirt smeared on her face and hands, and the livid purple swelling of her ankle. He moaned sympathetically. ! “How long have you been out here?” He asked quietly, ! “About... a day.” She lifted her head from the trunk and gazed at him placidly, too drained to do much else. ! “A day? From the look of you, itʼs more like two or three. You have a badly sprained ankle, youʼre in mild shock, and youʼre covered in cuts and bruises. I wouldnʼt be surprised if you were dehydrated to boot” He sighed, and removed his leather backpack to pass her a canteen of water. Blaire gulped it down thirstily, as the boy rocked backwards to sit on his haunches. ! “How did you even get out here?” He mused “Weʼre miles away from anywhere, and unless you were running the entire time youʼve been lost...”! She nodded, and he whistled softly. The combination of a rescue and a drink of water had improved her spirits immeasurably, and the despair that had been fogging her mind lifted. Instead, it was sharply replaced by pain. She winced, tears brimming under her lids. He eyed her still swelling ankle with worry, and turned to look at her.! “Look” he stated apologetically, “this is probably the last thing you want to hear, but neither of us is getting out tonight. The sunʼs already setting, and all we canʼt get anywhere near the road if we canʼt use it as a marker. Iʼm dirt poor, so I donʼt have a cell, or GPS, or any way to call for help.”

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! He saw her face sag, and he quickly added, “But I do have a place to stay not far from here. You can rest there for the night, and Iʼll get you to the road as soon as youʼre ready to move tomorrow. We can head there right now. Can you walk?” He offered her a hand, at which she looked askance. What polite way was there to tell him that she had all the body strength of an anemic goldfish? He saw the wry look on her face, and went to help her to her feet. ! “Here, lean on me.” He slung her arm over his shoulder to assist her in walking, but her numb feet refused to cooperate. She mumbled apologies as they shuffled awkwardly through the leaves, the boy supporting most of her weight without complaint. “By the way... this may be a shabby way to meet a person, but that shouldnʼt keep me from being civil. My nameʼs Sylvester... donʼt know what my parents were thinking...” he chuckled.! “Blaire” she mumbled, with a lopsided smile.! “Blaire?” he joked, trying to make her laugh, “A girl named Blaire gets lost in the woods at night? Looking for a witch, were you? No video camera in that bag of yours?” She smiled tiredly, relieved to be safe at last. “No. But I wouldnʼt expect a putty tat to be so quick on jumping the gun at names”. ! “Touché.” He chuckled, and continued to walk forward with her.! A small amount of time passed as Blaire trudged mindlessly onward, while Sylvester kept up a conversation to sustain them both. As clever and quick witted as his remarks were, Blaire began to respond less and less, as the pounding ache of exhaustion pushed its way back into her thoughts. She felt his walking speed increase, until finally, they arrived. She couldnʼt get much of a sense of the place, other than that it was in a grassy clearing, and that they were headed towards a vaguely teepee like structure. But Blaire was beyond caring, as the next minute, she was laid gently down onto a sleeping bag, and the drone of the crickets and the wind melted blissfully away. ! ! ,ʼ~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ,! The yeasty smell of warming bread woke Blaire, her nostrils twitching and stomach growling. She felt immensely better after her nap, and stretched her arms gingerly to ease her sore muscles. Sylvester was crouched by a small fire stirring something in a dented metal pot, while a small loaf of crusty bread lay heating on a stone next to him. Before he became aware of her consciousness, she took a quick chance to look around the premises. She had been so exhausted earlier that she had had no idea of her surroundings, but now, she was surprised to see thin logs dappled with moss arching above her head. They were bound together with strong knots made of roots, making the entire structure nearly seamless. What she had previously mistaken for a tee-pee was more of a rounded wigwam, smoothly made of natural materials. The floor was tightly packed dirt, strewn with various mats and sleeping bags. Thin branches stripped of their leaves held bundles of herbs from the ceiling. She counted mint, chives, wintergreen, and sage before her limited knowledge of the herbs was depleted. She was also surprised to see several mushrooms dangling alongside the herbs, some of which looked like morels. Her knowledge of fungi was limited at best, so she assumed they were authentic morels, not the false ones these woods were notorious for. She looked back at Sylvester to notice he had shifted his gaze to her, and had been watching for most of her inspection of the cabin.

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! “Itʼs not much” He demurred. “I donʼt really have the funds to buy a tent, and most of the stuff here is salvaged. Itʼs incredible what people forget in the woods.” He gestured to a small pile of secondhand-looking pots, pans, and canteens, neatly stacked in a corner. Then he glanced upward. “The herbs and stuff I sell at a local farmerʼs market to make cash. You wouldnʼt believe what people pay for foraged goods nowadays. Especially the morels... those sell for a pretty penny” He shifted the embers of the fire so that the smoke flowed neatly out of a hole in the ceiling. ! She shook her head quietly. “You donʼt have to explain yourself to me. This is the coolest building Iʼve even seen. I used to do shelter building at camp, but this is just fantastic. Did you put moss or leaves on the outside to keep the rain out?”He looked at her for a moment, before smiling and stating “Moss. If you use the live stuff, it grows into the thatching and helps keep it together. You spend enough time out here, you learn plenty of tricks for making a nice shelter.” ! Blaire slithered out of the sleeping bag as he spoke, tugging at knots in her hair with sleepy fingers. ! “Cool. How do you...” She paused for a moment, looking blearily at the sliver of sky visible through the smokehole. “ Hey... how long was I asleep, anyways?” ! “Well,” he shrugged “We got here a couple of hours before nightfall yesterday, and itʼs dark now....”! “I slept for an entire day?” She injected incredulously.! “What do you expect?” He retorted. “You were injured, scared half to death, and exhausted. Iʼm surprised you didnʼt sleep longer than you did. But then again, I bet I can guess why you got up...”! He gave another stir to the pot over the fire, and the enticing smell of soup began to waft throughout the air. Blaireʼs stomach gurgled ominously, and he laughed. ! “Donʼt worry, I already ate. This is all for you” He poured out some soup into a Tupperware container and passed her a thick slice of the tempting bread. Normally, Blaire would have eaten politely in front of a stranger, but her best intentions fell away when she ladled the first bite of soup into her mouth. It was creamy and thick, a mushroom soup with spices floating dreamily on the top. Several bowls of soup and slices of bread later, she was laying on the sleeping bag with a lazy smile on her face.! “That was delicious” she sighed happily. She then looked over at him worriedly. “You know, I never really wolf down my food like that. Iʼm not really that much of a pig, but youʼre a really good cook and....”! He looked at her askance. ! “Wait a sec. Iʼm a little confused here. Youʼre apologizing for starving after being lost in the woods and having nothing to eat for two days? Is that what youʼre doing? I hope not, because that would be silly” ! He stared at her pointedly with raised eyebrows. She grimaced, and threw a balled sock at him halfheartedly. He snorted, and added,! “As to the food being good, all I did was throw a bunch of stuff in a pot with some milk. Itʼs kind of hard to ruin soup...or salad. But as to the bread, I will take your compliment wholeheartedly, because bread, bread is tricky.”! He gave a little half bow while sitting, after adjusting his hat so it would not pitch into the flames. She smiled at him, and rolled onto her side to better see him in the firelight. This action jarred her ankle, and she sat up sharply, drawing a hissing breath

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between her teeth. Throwing back the covers on the sleeping bag, she found to her disgust that her ankle had swollen still further, and taken on the angry purples and reds of an overripe plum. ! “That looks nasty.” He stood, and trotted over to the pile of supplies in the corner, pulling out a roll of bandages from deep in the stack. “I donʼt know much about first aid, but Iʼm pretty sure you have to bind these kinds of injuries. Immobilize them, so they canʼt get any worse. ” He motioned for her to stick out her foot. She did so gingerly, and after a couple of minutes they managed to craft an ugly, but utilitarian wrap. ! Sylvester had placed more water on the fire as they worked, and steam began to whistle out of the banged up kettle. He poured a cup into a chipped mug to steep, and after a minute or two, passed it to her. ! “Here, drink it up. Itʼs willow bark, should bring down some of the pain and the swelling”! Blaire looked at it askance “Willow bark? Seriously?” ! He rolled his eyes, and said “Yeah. I drink it whenever Iget all banged up, works wonders. Plus, where do you think asprin comes from? Willow bark. Everybody knows that.”! Now that he mentioned it, she did fuzzily remember a biology lesson that said something of hte sort. Grimaging at the bitterness of hte drink, she gulped it down quickly. The warmth of the tea was soothing, and even though the taste wasnʼt, she was feeling pleasantly pain free and sleepy in the next few minutes.! Blaire tiredly fiddled with the edge of one of the bindings, twirling a strand of fiber around her fingers. “I never really thanked you properly, you know. You saved my life.” She noticed a wry look on his face, and continued quickly before he could interject. “You can say it was just an act of a good samaritan, but that doesnʼt mean you donʼt deserve a giant thank you. So thank you.” ! He nodded in acceptance. “Fine. I accept your thanks wholeheartedly as a good samaritan. I still think itʼs dumb that you feel like you have to thank me.” ! “I donʼt feel like I have to, I want to.” She stretched her arms lazily, then slowly wormed her way back into the sleeping bag. The fire had begun to die down, and was now a glowing nest of embers, sending out a comfortable aura of heat into the room. Blaireʼs vision started to blur, as waves of sleepiness and hot tea combined with the pleasure of a full stomach. ! “I could probably come up with a more expressive way of thanking you, but honestly, Iʼm exhausted. Iʼd just wind up babbling...! He had shifted himself slightly to shuffle the embers, a long stick held loosely in his slender fingers. After throwing a few more twigs on the coals, Sylvester sighed jokingly “Well, praise is praise, no matter how itʼs delivered. But Iʼm willing to take a rain check on the gratitude until tomorrow morning. Go back to sleep” He turned to look at her, but her head had already flopped to the camping pillow. He smiled, and stood, brushing some of the extra dirt off his floppy trousers, and sauntered over to the opposite side of the fire. Lying back unhurriedly on an overstuffed sleeping bag, he stared out of the smoke hole at the stars until sleep eventually overtook him. ! ! ! ,ʼ~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ,

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A beam of sunlight slowly woke Blaire the next morning. Crinkling her brow, she blinked rapidly, and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Peering around, she saw that Sylvester was nowhere to be seen. Rolling out of the sleeping bag, she pushed herself to her feet, tottering unsteadily on her bum leg. Limping awkwardly, she shuffled to the door, shielding her eyes against the light. Once out of the doorway, she was treated to the sight of a small, but lush, meadow sheltered on all sides by dense leaves and the thick trunks of trees. The trees that had loomed menacingly in the night now leaned casually in the morning sun, luxuriously stretching their branches to embrace the sunlight with glossy leaves. The grass swayed softly in a light breeze, and the sun beamed out of an azure sky. The forestʼs transformation in the daylight so stunned Blaire that she was momentarily rendered speechless. She stood there for a minute, watching birds flit from branch to branch, and squirrels run twirling races around trunks. After a while, the spell was broken when Sylvester made his way to the clearing, his arms bristling with firewood. He deposited his load by the door, and brushed the dirt and leaves off his hands before turning towards her. ! “Look whoʼs up early. I was expecting you to be out for at least another hour, otherwise I wouldnʼt have left to grab some more wood. We used up most of it last night.” He noticed the dazzled look on her face, and gestured to the clearing. ! “One of the perks of spending so much time out here is that you know the sweetest spots. There may be more shelter in building a lean-to in the woods, but when I saw this place, I knew it was worth it.” ! She was about to answer when he suddenly grabbed her arm, and put a finger to his lips. Blaire looked around for the source of his alarm, and noticed a looming figure at the edge of the clearing. The gargantuan shape trotted out into the light, revealing itself as a moose of impressive size and girth. At its heels trotted a smaller, gangly form, a young moose with enormous knees and splayed legs, bouncing giddily behinds its parent. The duo trotted on, eventually passing so close to the pair that they could make out the individual hairs in their coats. The two stood still as statues until both moose had left the clearing, and then relaxed slowly. ! “Wow...” Blaire exhaled softly. ! “Yeah.” Sylvester stated. “They come through here every now and then, so theyʼre used to me. Iʼm surprised that they didnʼt run off when they smelled you... maybe itʼs because youʼve been rolling around in the woods for the past day or so.” He chortled. ! “Speaking of which,” he added suddenly, “you never told me how you got lost out here. What were you up to, anyway?” Blaire looked down, embarrassed.! “Youʼll laugh”! “No, I wonʼt”! “Iʼm pretty sure you will” she replied, nudging a stick with her foot. ! “Iʼm a smelly hippie who camps out in the woods in a freaking yurt, scavenging plants to sell at a farmers market, and you didnʼt laugh. I think I can keep from laughing at whatever brought you out here.” He stated, chagrined, before stopping suddenly, and snapping his fingers. “Cʼmere. Iʼll trade you. You tell me why you were out here, and Iʼll show you something worthwhile”

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! He helped her to the opposite side of the meadow, supporting her through the grass until they arrived at a low stand of short, broadleaved plants. He folded his arms obstinately, and made a show of glowering at her. ! “Ok, ok,” she blurted “ I was having a bad day, and some jerks threw a bunch of crap out of their windows into the woods. I was really ticked off, and it was just the final straw. So I grabbed a bag, and started picking up trash off the side of the side of the road. Then, I saw a piece farther in, and a piece farther than that... I was just so steamed that I lost track of where I was going...and then I wound up lost” She crinkled her eyes, and sighed. “Stupid, right?”! He looked at her for a moment, and for a second, she thought that he would break his promise and laugh. After he managed to contain himself, he composed his face into mock gravity, and stated in a serious voice. ! “As a member of the smelly hippie community, I rule that as a perfectly good reason to be lost out in the woods. For your service to tree-huggers everywhere, I present you with a token of our gratitude.”! He bowed dramatically, and gestured with a flourish at the plants. Blaire looked at him amusedly, then back to the plants. At first glance, they had seemed no more than a mass of green, but at a second look, she saw that they were glistening with a bounty of ripe red wild strawberries. She gave a gasp of pleasure, and kneeled down to get closer to the horde. ! “Holy cow, Sylvester! This is the best patch Iʼve ever seen in my life!” ! He handed her a handkerchief in which to store her crop, and kneeled down a short ways from her to begin picking some loot of his own.“And how many wild strawberry patches have you seen in your life, exactly?” ! He plucked a berry from the ground, and popped it into his mouth with a grin. She winced “Three? Blueberries are more my thing, really. Theyʼre easier to find, but I love when I stumble across strawberries “ She began to plop berry after berry into the kerchief, until she had accumulated a modest pile of fruit. Blaire paused after a moment. She could pick forever, but it seemed wrong to pick such a wonderful spot bare. She turned to look at Sylvester. He looked innocently back at her, his mouth red with berry juice and pips. His kerchief laid sad and empty, as each berry that hit the fabric had inevitably found its way into his mouth seconds later. ! “You missed a few there” he gestured at the remaining strawberries casually. ! “Well, Iʼm not going to pick such a nice patch dry, ” She retorted “theyʼre not really mine to take anyway. Plus, it would be a jerk move to run off with all of them” She folded her napkin carefully, and joked “Have to leave some for the moose, right? Iʼm sure they like strawberries just as much as I do.” ! He smiled at her, and after a beat, he eased his way upright. “We should probably get going, now that the sun is high enough for us to navigate by. You can bring the strawberries in case you get hungry, but itʼs only about an hour or two to the road from here.”! Blaire shook her head suddenly, snapping to attention. Somehow, in the events of the past half day or so, she had forgotten the necessity of escape. The panic associated with being lost had fled her mind long ago, and she not only felt safe, but generally at ease in the meadow. The tension and stress of the past few days had melted away, and short of her throbbing ankle, she felt better than she could ever

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remember. Tucking the bundle of berries into her cavernous sweatshirt pocket, she allowed Sylvester to help her to her feet. ! “So... letʼs go!” Blaire began to walk forward, only to suddenly recall the limitations of her crippled state. She was forced to quickly transition to hopping awkwardly on her good leg, across the meadow, much to Sylvesterʼs chagrin.! “Thereʼs no way you can walk like that without hurting yourself, and if we hobble along like we did last night, thereʼs no way weʼll make it to the road. Plus, the ground is rocky at best on the way there. Wait ʻtill I cut you a crutch”! Blaire waited for a moment while he rustled around in a large woodpile, until he pulled out a long, sturdy looking forked stick. After giving it a few trims with his knife, he passed it to her. She sighed “Well, I guess Iʼm cripple now, huh? Promise not to laugh?” She took a couple of wobbling steps, and followed as he led the way into the forest. ! “Hey, at least itʼs more dignified than a firemanʼs carry.” He joked, “We could have gone with that, you know.” ! “Iʼm not unconscious, I just have a sprained ankle. Sheer stupidity and a sprained ankle. I mean, who tromps off in the woods like that?” She demurred, still embarrassed over revealing the cause of her distress. ! He was quiet for a minute, and though she could not see his face as he tromped through the woods, she glimpsed the muscles in his back shift as his expression changed. ! In a strange tone, he stated: “A bit of advice, Blaire. I think itʼs sweet that you are willing to expend so much trouble trying to clean up other peopleʼs messes, but there are two problems with what you are doing. Firstly, it wonʼt fix whatever else is going on in your life. You have to fix that yourself. Secondly, you canʼt spend your life cleaning up after other peopleʼs messes. There will always be problems, and if you spend your time trying to solve the worldʼs woes, it will suck you dry. Just wait for Karma, theyʼll get theirs.”! There was suddenly bitterness in his voice, and though Blaire could not see his face, she could hear the anger in his words. Confused by his sudden change in tone, she nonetheless immediately retorted to his statement, turning her face to stare at the back of his hat.! “You know thatʼs not true. Only an idiot would believe that, and youʼre no idiot. I handle the other things in my life separately, but that no reason for me to abandon doing things that no one else will. Yeah, I was frustrated, but just sitting back and waiting for karma to solve your problems does nothing. Yes, I could have left that crap on the side of the road, but what would that have accomplished? Zilch. I channeled my anger into doing something meaningful, and thatʼs loads better than just being neutral and apathetic. Why should I be rewarded by karma for doing nothing but sitting back and watching people destroy things? Instead, I do what I can, it makes me feel better, and it helps overall. Thereʼs no way of knowing if karma will come through, so all I can fix is what I can control, and thatʼs better than waiting around for karma to settle the score. What would be accomplished if I just left everything be? Absolutely squat.” ! Once she had finished, she saw the muscles in his back relax. Before she could say anything more, he grabbed her hand, and they they plunged into a thick clump of bushes, where the leaves tickled their faces, and branches plucked at their skin. Sylvester glanced over his shoulder at her, and she was startled to notice how jovial he

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looked. In stark contrast to his early tone of contempt, his face was split with a radiant grin, and his eyes sparkled mischievously out of his face. ! “I challenge your motivation for altruism, and you give me a satisfactory answer. I would take my hat off to you if I wasnʼt busy carrying you. Well done, indeed.” As he burst out of the bushes, Blaire was stunned to see the road only a little ways in the distance, barely a thousand feet from where they stood.! “I thought you said it would take an hour to get here?” She asked, glancing around confusedly.! “Well, I was either mistaken, or a took a shortcut I suddenly remembered. Regardless, weʼre here, youʼre safe, thereʼs your car, see you around”! “Wait, thatʼs it! Youʼre just going to leave? “ she sputtered ! “Arenʼt you going to come with me to the road? I know my family will want to meet you and thank you properly... On top of all that, I donʼt even know your last name, let alone a phone number or an address .”! He had begun to saunter back into the bushes, and stopped to turn on his heel. ! “What makes you think you need contact information to continue the pleasure of my acquaintance? Just take a stroll in this neck of the woods again, and Iʼll find you.” He paused, noticing the bemused expression on her face. ! “Itʼs the rare person who gives without expecting a reward, Blaire, and I think youʼll find that itʼs not without its perks. Just keep doing what youʼre doing, and things will turn out fine.” ! Sylvester sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. After a beat, he pulled a battered wooden whistle out of one of his many pockets, and twirled it skillfully between the fingers of his right hand. Adjusting his flopping cargo pants carelessly with his left, he stated “All Iʼm saying is, keep doing what youʼre doing, but donʼt give up on karma, OK? Iʼll see you around.” ! With that, he popped the flute in his mouth, gave a brief whistling trill of farewell, and trotted briskly back into the bushes. ! “Wait!” Blaire shouted, stumbling after him; “ You canʼt just...” ! But by the time she had hopped to the bushes, he was gone. As she stood there, bemused, she was suddenly struck by three pieces of information. The first: her ankle no longer hurt. In fact, on further inspection, she had been hopping for the past few minutes for no reason, as her ankle was perfectly healed. An impossibility. The second: her suddenly bulging front pocket revealed a prodigious bounty of strawberries, some of them in bloom. They had at least tripled in mass, another absurd circumstance for which she had no explanation. The third: when Sylvester had left her, they had been standing in a soft carpet of moss. As he turned to depart, he had not bruised the moss with the heavy tread of camping shoes or hiking boots. Instead, a trail of cloven footprints extended faintly from where she stood, before disappearing into the bush. The moss grew brighter where they had passed, and the bush he had passed through shone with good health and vitality. Three things for which she had no explanation, short of fairy-tales and myths. With a smile she turned, and popped a berry between her lips. Savoring the bright taste, she began to amble towards the road, letting the warmth of the strawberry-gold sunlight guide her to the road. ! ! ! ,ʼ~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ~,~ʼ,

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! The ride home felt like a blur, and her house seemed to pop up far sooner than it should have. Blaire hastily parked her car in the garage, eager to reassure her family that she was alright. Knowing them, they probably had called in the National Guard by now. Whipping through the front door, she was stunned to find her parents sitting calmly at the kitchen table with her sister. They were working on a homework assignment together, and glanced up when she entered. Her mother looked up, smiling.! “Oh, Blaire. Did you find everything you needed at the grocery store?”Bemused, Blaire stared at her mother for a full minute. Grocery store? Two days out in the woods, and all they could ask about were the groceries? A minute of awkward silence passed, broken only by the sudden shrill ring of the telephone. Her father looked from Blaire to her mother perplexedly, then picked up the phone. ! “Hello?.... Yes. What happened?...What?....Well, Ok. Iʼll be right there.” He hung up the phone with a clank. The noise broke Blaire out of her trance, and she spun to look at the clock by the calendar. It was about 6:30... the same day she had gone to get groceries. She hadnʼt been gone for more than forty five minutes, if the clock and the calendar were to be believed.! “What...” Blaire mumbled, staring at the clock. She had always loved reading about Greek mythology, but time travel was never something she had stumbled across. Clearly, there was more to those myths than had been put down on paper. ! Her father, mistaking her earlier interjection as a question, responded “I have to leave on a tow job. Seems some boys from in town had a little bit of car trouble: their engineʼs shot, and when they popped the hood, the interior was covered in some kind of fungus. I have to give them a lift back to the shop for a look-see, but the cop who found them says heʼs never seen anything like it. Looks like the carʼs a lost cause, stuffʼs as hard as concrete. This ought to be good ” He clomped over to the doorway in his heavy boots, and shrugged on his coat. ! “Iʼll be back in a bit.” ! Blaire watched him leave, and then walked slowly up to her room. Closing the door with a click, she pulled out a book from one of her shelves. Flipping through pictures and diagrams, she paused on one page. It showed a shaggy form frolicking in the woods, a man from the waist up, but with a goatʼs legs and hooves. Horns peeked from the top of his curly hair, and his lips were pursed on a pan flute. He seemed to stare at her puckishly out of the paper, his eyes meeting hers for a second or two, until it was suddenly nothing more than ink on the page again. Blaire sat for a moment, thinking. After a second or two, she smiled, carefully dog-eared the page, and began to read.

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