Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 52, December 2021

Revista Literária Adelaide

Sergio: I don’t know. I just need to walk but had a big heart, and sung opera badly
a bit and think about things. but with great feeling. Jack loved him, and
he would tell him so before telling him he
Jack: What things, Sergio? was leaving. He thought tonight would be
his last night but now he wasn’t sure. He
Sergio: I don’t know yet. would have to see how he felt. Mike prob-
ably knew Jack would quit at some point
Jack: Well at least think about coming to and for all he knew, Judy probably told Mike
the reading tomorrow. It’s at seven. Coffee the same thing. He also knew Sergio was
Gallery. At the very end, I want you to read right; God was talking to him.
your story—what you’ve got so far. Do you
have the story with you? He went outside. He thought of the
things he and Sergio had talked about. The
Sergio: Yes, but I don’t know. conversation had filled him with light. He
knew himself well enough to know that to-
Jack: Only if you want to. I usually allow day’s light could be tomorrow’s darkness
time at the end for a young poet whose and decided to focus on the light.
work I like. But this time it’s for you. Think
about it. You’ll see a lot of familiar faces. He walked up Grant Street, past an
Italian bakery where a woman behind the
Sergio: Will Ruth Weiss be there? counter was arguing with a customer. It was
obvious the two knew each other and in
Jack: Of course Ruthie will be there. So Jack’s eyes their argument was full of love.
will Corso. And Kaufman. Judy will be there It started to rain, and a fire engine went by
too. I’ll introduce you. and seemed to perfectly belong in the set-
ting of rain-soaked streets that were now
Sergio: Do you think Corso will like it? speaking a history that Jack felt a part of. He
saw a young man who he had seen in var-
Jack: Of course he’ll like it. ious cafes and at one of his poetry readings.
He waved to him and the young man waved
Sergio: I’ll try to make it. back. He felt a warmth inside him when he
waved, so much so that it felt like the sun
Jack: Good. had come out.

Sergio: I’ll make it. He passed a barbershop that was empty
except for the owner who was playing an
Jack: I’ll see you tomorrow. Italian tarantella on the clarinet. Jack stopped
under the awning of the barber shop, lit a
(They hug each other) cigarette, and listened to the music knowing
that the barber was unaware he was part of
Jack: I love you. a sound track to the world outside. We’re all
part of somebody’s experience in this crazy
Sergio left, and Jack read some more world, he thought; this crazy changing world.
about the hostages in the paper someone Jack started walking again and began to sing,
left behind. He thought of his conversation loud, out of tune and in that moment totally
with Sergio about the change they were in love with the world.
seeing in the wake of the hostage crisis.
He was wary and optimistic about it at the
same time. Seeing and feeling the change
excited him.

In a few hours it would be time for his
shift at the pizzeria. He got along well with
everyone there. The owner Mike was gruff

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

About the Author

Barry Garelick has written non-fiction pieces that have been published in Atlantic, Education
Next, and American Mathematical Society Notices. His fiction has appeared in Paragraph
Magazine. He won a Hopwood award at University of Michigan in 1971 in the short story
category. He lives in California and lived in San Francisco during the 70’s where he witnessed
the change of a small town into a thriving metropolis, and the death of the beat literary
community, which he writes about here.

50

THE SPIRIT IN THE
WINDMILL

by Vanessa Haley

June 8th, 2006, in the early morning hours, I it that day. The old man, on mind. There’s
found out my dad is divorcing his wife after a picture of me and him. At just 6 months
16 years. Sweat dripped down my face in old he held me in a church, with a cross in
a dingy, dusty, old warehouse you can put a background. It was my baptism day, and I
5 football fields in. On the production line, was wearing a little white dress.
I packed Jack Daniels in fancy boxes. It’s a
nonprofit production company, small with I paced the floor in circles in my tiny
only 50 employees who had barriers to em- one-bedroom apartment in fear of eviction,
ployment. I denied I was one of them. The after an urge to talk to him. Out of the blue,
boss, pulls up in a cranked up dirty golf cart, and unexpected the phone rings. Could this
walked up to me. She said, “Haley, work is be him? With high hopes, I darted to an-
slow, we will call you in a month.” swer the phone. Instead, I hear her voice
on the other end, upset, lost, and confused.
“What?” I replied, like someone slapped “I need you to come here now, something
me in the face. This can’t be true, glanced happened,” she said.
down at the papers they gave me. I clocked
out at 5 pm, and the bell rings like its high “Is everything okay?” I asked.
school. Thinking, I can depend on the old man.
“I just can’t tell you over the phone,” she
Outside my back door the faded wind- said. She sounded very distraught, and in
mills spun in the hot sun. The windmills were shock. Was the divorce that bad, maybe a
stuck in the pot plants in a bed of flowers fight? I thought.
that barely grows. In the fridge consisted
of a half open can of milk, that I mixed with “I don’t know if I can make it,” I said. “I
cheap instant coffee. The food pantry con- am really just…”
tained one box of noodles, and sugar packs. I
lite up the last cigarette that I find in a couch. “It’s an emergency, just get here anyway
you can,” she said. Hangs up the phone.
“This can’t be good,” I said, talking to my
cat. Her name is Lucky, but I wasn’t feeling I grabbed a windmill for good luck but re-
alized, there’s not enough gas to get there.
Without no choice, I find eighty-five cents

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

to drive twenty miles north. Very precarious, he always put them; he did not go any-
with extreme adventure runs through my where. He did not leave here, it is his house,
veins and it’s just like him. his life. He fought for our country. He was
a retired iron worker, and no way this acci-
The long freeway was backed up for miles, dent happened. I cannot mourn now, not in
and my gas tank sits at a quarter. I crossed the this hour of my life, I am not ready for this.
bridge and viewed the waters deep. Forced
to stop at dozens of red lights, my car almost Memories of me and him run deep, how
sputtered out. I managed to make it to my he made me laugh all the time. I still re-
destination in the longest hour of my life. member when he gave me my first windmill.
The one I stuck out the window of his van to
A corners van in the middle of the front make it spin and spin, but it blew out of my
lawn just pulled off, the street blocked off hand on a busy street. It took him an hour
by the fire department. I did not want to to retrieve it back. “Only for me,” he said.
get out of the car, but my sister runs up to
me in tears, she tells me he is dead. The He has been with me all my life, and I
windmill remained still in the back seat. My believe in sprits. His presence truly bought
head spun around like the windmill, and me here. His time stopped at 6:08, on June
nearly fainted from the news. My entire 6th, the year was 2006, is it a sign? I do not
world shattered and lost without him. At know.
the same time, I worked up the courage to
bum a cigarette and spare change from my He was a man of many skills, wisdom,
sister, she hesitated. and courage. Someone who I counted on
to get me through a rough patch in my life.
The scene took place in the back yard on “Learn to get your head out of your ass life
top of the roof under a stripped powerline. stinks don’t it,” he said. As I smile to that fa-
He died in seconds. His body dangled on the vorite lecture of his. It hit me and I realized
roof for 30 minutes, and I did not see him take how needy and stubborn I been.
his last breath. There lay the water jug on top
of the roof, the job almost done. His dog still The windmill now sits at his gravesite, it is
barked, and his bike parked. While numb to him telling me he is not going anywhere.
the fact that he is dead. I called his cell phone, Never be in fear and hold down my own here.
but no answer. Nothing I could do but wake Today, I survive with my head held high, with
up from a nightmare, could this be real? him in my heart. I continue through, and he
taught me well, inspired my life. Now I see
His plate of food was still there, un- life like the windmill when it blows, then
touched. His keys still laid in the same spot around it goes.

About the Author

Vanessa Haley, is 44, and a creative writing student at Full Sail
University working on a bachelor’s degree in fine arts and a well-
crafted writer.

52

LOST IN THOUGHT

by Hart Christopher Vetter

My culprit of choice is multitasking. thought of a dare comes, I’m already on
the Parkway, heading for a week’s trip to
My lack of recall could be called discon- the shore.
certing.
Rational me won’t take the bait, arguing
Did I turn off the gas, close the garage it’s an excessive price to pay — your life,
door? think about that — for fifty bucks at most at
stake, to the friendly power company. And
Frequent reasons for a U-turn two blocks yes, I had turned it off.
from home.
Alas, it would have been 50-50 odds at
The garage I found closed every time, best. It was just a hypothetical gamble in my
the gas quietly burning only once. head anyway intended to dramatically force
my recall to the surface.
Did I take my blood thinner? Probably
not a good thing to double up on, poten- My mind gets transported somewhere
tially worse, though, to forget taking it else while immersed in listening to New
once. It oddly makes sense now how older Yorker Fiction as I vacuum the apartment
folks get their pills in a convenient portable which might result in a sock getting sucked
plastic organizer, compartmentalized by up, with me faintly noticing, which could
day of the week, conveniently divided into help explain to curious scientists the miss-
AM and PM. I wonder if I’d manage to mess ing-sock syndrome.
those up, too. Toss the morning pill absent-
mindedly in the salad, and then spit it out, Quite often I wander into a room, pod-
like a bug, as an undesired foreign object? cast in ears, befuddled, without any idea
what I’m looking for. “Okay, okay,” I some-
When I’m engulfed in a podcast over my times stall, “Pretty sure… there was some-
headphones I do chores on automatic, like thing…” And I know I’ll have to walk out and
preparing a meal, chopping an onion. And it may, or may not, hit me an instant later.
sometimes I have no clue if I added salt al-
ready and don’t want to have to give the A friend laughs it off. Big deal, those are
perfectly-shaped, raw hamburger patty a just senior moments.
taste test. And why the hell am I crying?
Like opening the fridge door and just
There’s a mind game I’ve begun playing. staring in, at a loss.
Would you bet your life, I ask myself, that
you turned the home AC off? When that And no, I was not searching for my keys.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

But the sinister cynic in me, the one over and it seemed safe. But interpretation
without a doctor’s license, concludes: Alz- always leaves an air of vagueness. Or can’t
heimers! I follow anymore Manhattan parking rules
expressed in red on white on a sign spelling
The consequential hypochondriac won- out too many hours and exceptions? My luck,
ders will I sometime forget it’s mealtime? the midtown pound is closed; they hauled
Now that’s a hell of a prompt for someone the car, because of its location, to the one in
to chop the onions for me for a good cry. Brooklyn which is open all night. The Bronx is
Or will I wet my pants someday because it closed after-hours, I learn, so I got the better
slipped my mind that I was en route to des- deal. Appreciating the bright side still works.
tination powder room? Too far to hoof it to Brooklyn, no matter
how romantic across their Bridge. I never
Sounds like high time to wager your life, bothered signing up for Uber so I spy for a
and hope you lose — for real and not just as cab to flag down. Pissed at my bad fortune,
a silly little focusing exercise. my thinking stays crisp, and unimpaired by
audio drama. Then I feel the barrel of a gun
I tell myself, the transition will be gradual. wedged between my shoulder blades. I’ve
Forgetting little things, like what was for had no reference point what this should feel
breakfast, then moving to bigger lapses like like, but it meets anticipation. “Your wallet,”
the names of loved ones that went inexpli- a determined, gravelly voice orders.
cably delete-delete. Easily recalling heydays
of twenty years ago, but left without the “No,” I reply politely not sure if I should
foggiest how I drove, or that I drove, in the dare turn toward my mugger, “I got screwed,
morning from point A to point B. And soon my fuckin’ car got towed. I need my license,
I’d be negotiating traffic three states over credit card, if you want my cash, that sucks!”
because of a few unfortunate turns, with
Silver Alert my only hope. “How much?”

It’s a good sign that I can envision high- “I don’t know.”
drama scenarios, I convince myself, although
maybe that’s just a step away from restless “Fork it over.”
fears every waking moment. An uncle suf-
fering from dementia became so frightened I pick the leather wallet from my front
by any minor change in his surroundings pocket, pull a wad of bills, holding nothing
that — when he was eventually moved to back, surprised at the stack, three hundred
a nursing home — he felt like being trapped is my guess. Not a bad haul. This is dead-se-
in a haunted house. Also, he’d keep telling rious, I decide. I won’t play games, I vow.
you the same old crap stories, minutes apart. “Here, all yours.”

I have no cofactor link to afflicted par- He grabs the wad. The barrel outline
ents or siblings. vanishes. I hear footwork scurrying off.
“Sorry you got fucked tonight,” he gravels
I’d be the family trailblazer — my rapidly from a distance.
worsening sense of direction or awareness
be damned. “Have a good night,” I say, trembling, ex-
hilarated, waving at a cab turning into Spring
Twenty minutes from midnight, Soho. My Street. I’ve been sharp, I’ve been with it.
car: Gone. Towed. I’d read the sign over and One-track focus, graceful under pressure.
Great to be alive.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

About the Author

Hart Christopher Vetter is a writer and photographer in Nyack, NY, who loves digging for
motifs and exploring adventures. He just finished his second novel and a screenplay based
on a recent short story. His work has appeared in or is slated for New English Review, Flash
Fiction Magazine, and elsewhere.

55

FRIENDS IN
REAL LIFE

by Ben Shahon

I still remember that Monday I stole Janelles them on my toes pressed up against the
new running shoes. mesh too tightly. But none of the other
girls seemed to notice I was struggling.
Back in high school I’d seen her go into They were all too concerned with wearing
her gym locker more times than I could count the proper layers of deodorant and getting
I knew her combination better than my own. all of their equipment in place for practices.
What I didn’t know was exactly what it was
about those sneakers. Was it the electric Stepping onto the track in Janelle’s Nikes
blue of their laces? Or was it the smell of was a dream. As soon as I began toward
sweat from dozens of practices breathing the tunnel I could feel why these were the
through the fabric exterior? She and I had shoes she wore. It was as though there was
been friends. She had trusted me not to nothing there. Like she was walking around
touch her equipment. But I knew that to be barefooted. Every once in a while, I even
as fast as Janelle I would need her shoes. looked down to my feet just to make sure
they hadn’t fallen off.
It all started after she splinted her shins
one practice. She was going to be out for a I lined up on the track for sprints same
couple of weeks resting. So when the late pe- as all the other girls. But when I crouched
riod bell rang and we were free to disperse down low, I felt ready to fly.
to final classes extracurricular practices or
our routes home, I went to the locker room *
same as always. There were probably about
a hundred girls in there on any one day so Later that night I got a call from Janelle. She
opening any one locker wasn’t a big deal. never used to call me, only text. Back when
And everyone knew Janelle and I would we were little we would talk for hours until
share things. It seemed perfectly normal our parents had to drag us away from one
when I pulled out the sneakers. another. Most days now we would just look
at the few wordlets or emoticons left for
They were a slightly glistening blue and one another on our phones. So when my
a size too small. From the moment I slipped

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Revista Literária Adelaide

ringer went off for the first time in a year, I a night of reprieve to sleep and relax. Not
shuddered a little. that either of us was a particularly grueling
child to care for. We mostly just stayed up
“Hey. How was practice?” late watching old Disney movies or playing
Mario Kart hardly encountering an adult
“Oh, you know..” outside of breakfast and pick up the next
morning.
“Do I?”
Since we had gotten to high school
“Yeah. Coach had us run some drills I Janelle and I had stopped staying over at
think it was six sets of eight hundred and a each other’s house quite so often. We
distance run. Something about keeping our began to have commitments outside of
legs limber and free of lactic acid or what- sports like Church and school and boys.
ever.” Janelle got good grades so her parents let
her go out whenever she pleased so long
“I wasn’t asking about what drills we did as she was home by a reasonable hour and
Ari.” kept her grades up. Meanwhile mine held
me back at home until it was time for Mass,
“Oh. What did you mean then? only letting me out for the three hours it
took to go to services and come back home
But I knew exactly what Janelle was to work on homework for the week. Track
asking. She wanted to know about the was my only outlet from their control, but
shoes. One of the other girls on the team having nothing else didn’t matter. I liked
must have told her I hadn’t exactly made track enough.
it a secret that I was wearing them. Every
runner looks at each other’s feet to try and Janelle was always faster runner than me
get an advantage. One of them must have but by high school it was different. She had
remembered these were the same shoes as been on the varsity team since freshman
Janelle except these ones didn’t fit. year and for good reason. The way she ex-
tended one leg in front of the other pushing
“Nothing Ari. Never mind. Can I get the the ground down each time with a force
math homework? that could topple cows from the local dairy
farm got to me. My spindly legs lacked the
“Sure.” definition and drive hers had. They felt like
they could crumple underneath me at the
* end of any run. The fear never quite left.

Janelle and I had been running togeth- That first day on the track with Janelle’s
er since we were little girls. The two of us shoes was different. I felt taller and stronger
had played on the same soccer softball and than I usually did. The other girls looked to
basketball teams. The coaches always told me in order to get started for some reason.
every kid they were good, but Janelle and I It wasn’t like I was ever the obvious choice
were different. We knew we were the best as a team leader. Our JV captain was Tristan
and we were joined at the hip. Our parents after all. But something about the Nikes
would coordinate with each other making meant I was the top runner to beat. I usu-
sure each of us was signed up not days af- ally finished in the middle of the pack on
ter the other had for whatever sport was
in season. After games we would sleep
over at each other’s houses giving which-
ever parents not tasked with watching us

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

any particular run but that day I pushed far *
beyond what any of the rest of them could.
At the end of the week Coach called me
* into her office to talk. She noted how the
other girls had started to gather around me
I got home from school that night wanting and look to me to lead drills and stretch-
nothing more than to collapse into bed. I es in practices. She even insinuated a few
had stayed out late working on assignments were slowing down, so I would come out
at the library not realizing the sun had gone ahead of them in practice. I told her I had
down by the time. I left I ran home hoping nothing to do with that, and I was only
my mom would be in another part of the trying my best to push myself to the lim-
house leaving me to play it like I had been its of my own abilities. She acknowledged
there all along. But she was waiting for me in my considerable drop in time, and how
the doorway ready to ask me about my day. I was now in the range where I would be
competitive in a varsity level race. Having
“Good.” been on JV for over a year at this point, I
knew I was a good runner even if not the
“Good? That’s it. One-word answers. I best on the team. I’d wanted to be up on
want more Ari. What’s going on with you? that level ever since finding old pictures of
Where did you get those shoes? Why are my mom finishing first in her league finals
you home so late tonight? I was talking with decades ago. But I hadn’t thought I would
Janelle’s mom Ari. She said the two of you be up to the task. And now was my chance
aren’t speaking. What’s going on between to earn my letter. Coach asked me if I was
you two girls honey bun? I wouldn’t want up to the challenge, and I nearly jumped
you to lose your oldest friend Ari.” out of my seat with excitement telling her
yes, yes, yes! She told me to show up to the
“Mom its fine.” school tomorrow morning at five AM to
begin training. I told her I wouldn’t let her
“It is clearly not fine.” down before running the whole way home.
I pushed so hard into the heels that when I
I was mortified she knew about the took Janelle’s shoes off. the logo was gone
shoes. But how she danced around the sub- from the sole.
ject made me think. Janelle’s mom hadn’t
actually told her, which probably meant When I got there, I saw another missed
Janelle hadn’t said anything. I would have call from Janelle. I swiped it away without
been dead if my mom had found out I had looking.
taken the shoes, so I decided if she didn’t
know there was no reason to tell her. *

“Mom I’m not a kid anymore. I can take The next days practice was intense. Coach
care of myself, you don’t have to worry had me come out early to the AM workouts
about me. I’m fine. But I have some home- to train with the varsity girls. I wasn’t ready
work to do. Can you leave my dinner out- and I knew I wasn’t as soon as we started.
side my door? I’ll eat it when I get a minute.” They pushed themselves to such speeds
that they reached the lack of time to rest or
My mom sighed. “Sure, Ari Sure.” drink water or breathe. It was all too much.

I slammed the door on my way into the
bedroom.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

I tripped over Janelle’s laces and landed flat really been the type to use it, so I took it as
on my face. The rubberized dirt scraped my a sign she was ready to talk again.
cheek and I started to bleed. Coach told
me to go see the trainer who wasn’t at the *
campus yet this early. I told her I was fine, I
could keep going. She told me that was a no Janelle and I met up at a pizza shop not
go. I was too much of a liability for further far from the school the next day. Since it
injury if I kept running. So I hit the showers. was the weekend neither of us had much
to do besides the paltry bit of homework
I went back to the locker room and our teachers had assigned. Janelle said her
washed the blood off my face. The scrape mom would drive, but she wanted to meet
was pretty bad. It looked like someone had me there separately. So, I walked to the piz-
taken my face and sprinkled little red tat- za parlor grabbing the first pair of shoes I
toos all over it. But the bleeding stopped could find.
fairly quickly. I went back out to the track
only to find they weren’t out there anymore. When I got there, Janelle was sitting at
My mom was sitting in the stands watching. a table out front her lower legs wrapped in
She told me the girls had gone to the weight athletic gauze. She was wearing a simple
room for that portion of the workout. Why pair of flats and was drinking a soda.
they would go there was beyond me, but I
trusted my mom. She had no reason to lie “Oh you have got to be kidding me Ari.”
to me.
“What? What’s up?”
When I got to the weight room, I was
blinded by the fluorescent lights. It was still “Ari, You cannot be serious right now.”
early enough that the sun had yet to start
rising and the walk from the track to the “I seriously don’t know what you’re talking
weight room had been dark. But when my about?”
vision was flooded with the sight of real ath-
letes pushing themselves to perform better “ARI. Are you really wearing my shoes right
than they were capable of it, shocked me. now?
I wouldn’t be able to perform squats with
that kind of weight. I could scarcely lift the I looked down to see the first pair of
bar. The main reason I had chosen track as shoes in my vision had been the Nikes. I
my sport was to avoid that kind of upper supposed I had been wearing them so often,
body workout in the first place. But at that the act of putting them on had become a
moment I realized to be an athlete you had thoughtless one. Something automatic.
to devote everything to it. You had to make
it everything you are. “Look Ari, I came here to have a nice
normal conversation about this. But I’ll
After practice I tried calling Janelle back. admit I wasn’t ready to see you actually
It was early but close enough to when wearing my shoes.”
school started for Janelle to still be on her
way. She didn’t pick up this time but when “I’m sorry Janelle. But how do you know
I checked Facebook after school, I saw she these are your shoes? Other people can buy
had sent me a message. She had never the same kind of shoes as you Janelle. It’s
not like you own the concept of shoes as a
whole.”

“No Ari. But I do know that’s my pair.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

I didn’t care if they were technically But she didn’t listen to me. I watched as
Janelle’s shoes. It wasn’t like she needed she got up from the table and hobbled to
them with shin splints or whatever. If I her mom’s car on the other side of the lot.
admitted they were hers it wouldn’t have
done much good either. We were growing *
up becoming different people and it had
been happening for a while now. I wasn’t A few weeks later Janelle’s injury had healed.
as smart as her or as cool or as free or as But she still wouldn’t talk to me. It didn’t
good at running. But what I did have was matter that the two of us had adjacent lock-
the shoes I needed to get a little closer to ers and the same academic schedule. Some-
getting there. thing about her had changed and she was
no longer interested in talking to me in per-
“Yeah. Why do you think they’re yours?” son. I thought about unfriending her on so-
cial media, but I knew how that would look.
“They don’t fit Ari. I can see the fabric It wasn’t like I was the one who was mad.
stretching. And look at how the threads are No reason to give anyone the thought some-
coming out from where the wall meets the thing may be wrong.
sole. And how worn down the heels are.
This isn’t some new pair of shoes you picked I only lasted a few weeks at the varsity
up last weekend after I went down. Those practices. There was a big race coming up the
are my shoes.” qualifiers for the League Finals. I knew I would
have to push myself hard to beat the girls
“Well,” I said, “If I’m the one who’s from the other schools. Our league wasn’t
wearing them wouldn’t that make them my particularly competitive in track but some of
shoes?” these other girls had been devoted to it for
a lot longer than me. It would take consider-
“I cannot believe you!” able effort to push myself to that speed.

“Believe it. These are my shoes. I’m wearing The morning of the meet, all I could
them.” stomach was a glass of water and a single
egg. I left the shell on the kitchen counter
Janelle looked ready to cry. But I knew and when I got back that night, I knew my
her well enough to know she didn’t believe mom would scold me.
in crying in front of people who hurt her.
When we were young, and her older sib- The bus ride to the host school for the
lings would pick on us she would wait until race was not pleasant. The driver seemed
they left the room to bawl into my arms. But to try to hit every bump at maximum speed
I had never cried in front of her as often as as though by not slowing down he could
she insisted I could. And now I could tell she skip the turbulence of the road. But I felt
was holding back in the same way. every bump. By the looks on my teammates
faces they could too.
“You know what Ari. It’s fine. Keep the
shoes. I thought we could try to figure this The varsity four hundred meter was up
out and maybe I could let it slide. But you first. Janelle was in the first heat and I was in
keep the shoes. They’re clearly more im- the second. As she crouched down ready to
portant to you than I am.” launch, I saw her back foot slip on the rear
block. She just managed to catch it again as
“Wait Janelle.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

the judge fired the imitation gun in the air looked merely disappointed with herself for
to signal the start of the race. Janelle pulled believing I could push myself beyond where
ahead of her competitors quickly and grace- she expected me to be.
fully. As she rounded the first bend, she had
an impressive lead. But as she and the other *
racers grew closer to the finish line Janelle
began to tire. She managed to finish the Janelle and I stopped talking completely
race at little more than a jog having been not long after that race. We finished out
passed by two other girls in that time. our junior years, went to the prom, took
the SATs and ACTs, did all of the things you
I watched from the sidelines waiting for expect teenagers to do. Janelle continued
my race to begin as well. As soon as the on the team through our senior year. But I
tracks were cleared and I was on the clay, I quit running in favor of trying to study hard
began to sweat. It was an early morning in enough to get into a college. I didn’t end
April but something about our environment up having the grades or test scores to make
had changed. The noise of where we were fi- it into I needed to get anywhere out of my
nally hit me. I could hear the parents yelling hometown I wanted to go, but my priest
and cheering for their children the star stu- wrote me a letter of recommendation good
dent athletes. My mom was ashamed and enough to convince a private school to take
had elected to stay home. I had no one me on virtue of being a good Catholic. In
there to cheer for me even as Coach tried the interview they asked if I had ever truly
to yell some last minute bit of instruction wronged someone and I neglected to men-
at me. It was no use. I was going to run as tion Janelle in favor of a time I said some-
fast as I was going to run at that point. No thing rude to my younger brother. It was
bit of technique was going to change that. the kind of story that made me seem like
So I leaned forward and pulled the laces just a kid who had learned her lesson not
of Janelle’s Nikes tighter one last time. My some monster undeserving of membership
heart beat in my eardrums. It didn’t matter. at a prestigious university. None of them
It was time to win this race to notch a faster knew the difference so there was no good
time than Janelle to prove I was the runner reason to dredge up Janelle’s shoes.
I knew I was.
On the other hand, Janelle was still on
I had been so ready to run. I don’t re- the team. I know she got a big fancy schol-
member hearing the start signal. All I can arship to one of those Division I schools
remember now is the way my thighs con- the kind where they pay your whole ride if
tracted as I exploded off of the blocks, the you’re a good enough athlete. But I don’t
way the wind puffed my eyelids shut, and really know for sure. She and I didn’t keep
the way my lungs felt ready to pop like bal- in touch and my mom only occasionally told
loons. There was nothing left in me as I ran me she had heard from Janelle’s folks.
that race. But none of it mattered. I was
far behind the other girls with little to no *
hope of catching up to them. After the first
lap I slowed to a jog and finished the race “Wow. So do you ever talk to Janelle anymore?”
perfunctorily. Coach didn’t look as angry
on the sidelines as I expected. Rather she “No. Not really. We’re still friends online,
but I think she goes by Jane now.”

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“Huh. Weird.” next song going out to everyone on a date.
Which, I suppose, is what’s happening here,
“What?” even if we’ve gotten to the point where we
stopped counting. They start to play sweet
“I don’t know. She just seems really im- and slow, and a few couples get up to start
portant to you.” slow dancing between the tables. Bryce’s
face looks a tad contorted, like he’s trying to
“She was, at one time.” hide how the music makes him feel. But the
light reflects off his face in a very pretty way,
“Did you ever apologize?” like something out of a painting. I stand up
and reach out my hand to ask him to dance.
“No, I never got to. She stopped talking to He smiles in a way I can tell means he for-
me after that race.” gives me, and I smile back to thank him.

“Well. That’s really too bad.” *

“Yeah.” The next morning I look up Janelle on Face-
book; I was right that she goes by Jane now.
“I’m sorry, Ari. I don’t know what to say I scroll through her page, seeing lots of well
from here.” wishes from various people I’ve never met,
people who she must have known in the
“Well, what about you?” years since we graduated. But eventually I
find what I’m looking for. She lives now on
“What do you mean?” the other side of the country from where
we grew up. It seems she never came home
“Have you ever been in a situation like like I did. On a slip of paper, I scrawl down
that?” her new address.

Bryce shuffles uncomfortably on the bar- For several hours that night, I scour the
stool. He has a look on his face like he has Nike Factory website. The exact make and
something he doesn’t want to talk about. model has been out of production for years,
We were both supposed to tell each other but I manage to find a variant close enough
about a friendship we ruined, that was the to the original. I input her address for the
deal. I thought opening up, flaws and all, delivery and mine for the billing. It’ll be a
was something couples are supposed to do, few weeks before the delivery ships, and
something he wanted to do, but he doesn’t a few more before it reaches her. I con-
seem ready for it right now. I decide not to sider writing a note to let her know they’re
push it. coming, but instead I just close my phone
and go to bed..
I close my eyes and take a deep breath,
in and out. The bar band has been playing
pretty loud, but they just stop for some
reason. When I open my eyes, Bryce is taking
a bite from the deviled egg appetizer we or-
dered. The guy at the microphone is starting
to talk. He’s saying something about the

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About the Author

Ben Shahon is a writer whose work has appeared in Adelaide Literary Magazine, Taco Bell
Quarterly, SIAMB!, and others. He is a candidate in Emerson College’s MFA Program in Fiction,
and holds BA’s in Philosophy and Creative Writing from ASU. Ben currently lives in Boston.

63

A NEW NEIGHBOR

by Malik White

Me and my wife live in a nice cabin in the the bugger followed me until I was cornered
wild. Not quite in the middle of nowhere, in the kitchen.
but our nearest neighbors are in a town a
couple of miles away. The wife commutes I read somewhere that making yourself
there for work during the week, while I seem bigger can scare bears away. So, I
work at home. stared into the bear’s cold dark eyes, threw
my arms in the air, and screamed like a mad
“Don’t forget to lock the damn door!” my man. Taking it as a challenge, the bear got
wife always said before leaving. on its hind legs and now, twice my size, let
out a bellowing roar that shook the walls.
She thinks some serial killer will break I couldn’t help it, I squealed like a baby.
into our house one day and she’ll come Worst of all my vain attempt at intimidation
home to a murder scene. Out here? Unlikely. only seemed to piss the bear off more.
No one comes out here, which is good. I like
the quiet. So there I was, cowering in my kitchen
about to be this bear’s afternoon lunch. But
One day I was reading a book in the then I remembered something; me and the
living room when I saw the doorknob for the wife splurged on a tomahawk steak, and
front door start to move. I dreaded the on- were going to have it for dinner tonight. I
coming lecture I was about to get when my know, it’s a terrible thought and a waste of
wife came in, but it wasn’t her. It took me a good meat, but it beats getting mauled by a
second to realize what this hairy black mon- three hundred pound wild animal. I opened
ster was that invited itself into my house, the fridge and dangled the beautifully mar-
but I figured it out quickly. It was a bear. bled steak in front of me like it was a dog’s
toy. The bear’s eyes tracked the hefty piece
We’ve lived here for five years, and I’ve of meat, and I spotted a line of drool drip
never once seen a bear in this damn forest. from the corner of its mouth that splattered
Now one is wiping its clawed feet on my into a puddle on the floor. I carefully guided
welcome mat. I won’t lie, I was scared for the bear back to the living room, then out-
my life. But I kept my nerves. I set the book side the house, and hurled the steak as far
down, slowly stood up, and walked back- as I could. The bear took the bait and gave
ward toward the rear exit. My creaky floors chase, and I ran inside and locked the damn
had other plans for me though, and drew door. Arms shaking, I grabbed the phone
the bear’s attention to me. As I backed up, and dialed 911.

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“911, what’s your emergency?” asked She slapped my arm again, much harder
the dispatcher. this time.

“Hello, there is a bear outside my house “It could have killed you. Can’t you see
and it’s eating my steak,” I said. that?”

It took about 40 minutes for animal I hate it when she gets mad, mostly be-
control to get here, and of course my new cause of what comes after. She’s not one to
friend left by the time they arrived. Another hold a grudge for very long, but after her
hour later, they found the beast and told me anger subsides, her expression often shifts
they were going to relocate him to another to... disappointment. Like the “I taught you
place. Just when I thought the danger was better” look your parents would give you
over, my wife burst through the door, her when you did something wrong. I don’t
long dark hair frazzled and her eyes filled know if she does it on purpose or not, but
with worry. it’s certainly effective. I mean, think about
it. All of this because... what? I couldn’t be
“I saw cop cars leaving our house, what bothered to lock a damn door? I can do
happened? Are you okay?” she asked. better. I have to. If not for my own sake,
then at least for hers.
She gripped my arms tightly, and in-
spected me for any grievous wounds. “You’re right, it could’ve killed me,” I said.
“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“I’m fine dear. Just a little incident with a
bear. It got in the house.” We stood there for a few moments holding
each other’s gaze.
“A bear? How did—” In an instant, her
face shifted from genuine concern to blind “Good.” She finally said. “Now, I haven’t
fury. “You forgot to lock the door again, eaten in hours, want to help me with dinner?”
didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I’m starving!”
“It may have slipped my mind—”
As she opened the fridge, a look of con-
She slapped my arm before I could finish. fusion grew on her face.

“I told you something bad would happen “Honey? Where’s the steak?”
you idiot!”
Shit. This is going to be one long night.
I shrugged. “It was just a bear. And be-
sides, nothing happened.” I spun around to
prove my point. “See? I’m fine!”

About the Author

Malik White lives in Long Island, New York, and is currently
an online student at Full Sail University. Enrolled in its
Creative Writing program, Malik hopes to hone his craft
and create interesting and memorable stories.

65

SPEARMINT SON

by Tyrenisha James

Chewed out the more it stretched out. The bird gave up
the fight after a person slammed their door
I’ve spent months trying every flavor of shut.
gum, in hopes of getting rid of your love
that remains in my mouth. I am finally down “Can I get 20 dollars on pump nine?”
to my last flavor, and I hope the freshness of
the spearmint gum wipes the stench clean The twenty curled around his crooked
from my cavity. I carefully unwrapped the fingers; his palm suffocating Andrew Jack-
silver foil and placed the green thin strip on son’s face as he pointed the money at me.
my mouth. For a minute, the cool sensation I wipe the dust from the back of my khakis
wrapped around my tongue, and it felt like and released oxygen back to the seventh
a child sticking out its tongue in the snow. president.
In an instant, the flavor was gone, and the
horrid tastebuds plagued my tongue. It had been months since a man held the
door open for me. I should have known it
It used to be our favorite flavor. was over between us when you suddenly
stopped opening them for me. I thought you
The one you kept in the back seat of your were finally giving me the independence I
car; we’d slip it on our tongues after sharing always yelled about, but you were just prac-
a blunt. I remember how hard you laughed ticing learning how to live without me.
that one time I inhaled way too much smoke.
You told me I look like a fish out of the water, The man wandered towards the back
and my lungs burned from the smoke and of the store, as I placed the crinkled twen-
you. You always knew how to make a girl’s in- ty-dollar bill into the register. He placed a
sides burn, and you finally lit the final match. bottle of Budweiser, and the pack of gum
you were obsessed with it. I rang up the
So, I spat it out. bottle of beer first. You never drunk beer;
you swore you never would after your
Left on the pavement to ruin someone brother’s death. That gum, you chewed it
else’s day. The blackbird that roamed every day. At nights when we laid in bed to-
around the gas pumps for trash, landed next gether, pieces of it would still be stuck on
to me on the sidewalk. It walked in circles the back of your ear. You’d pop it back into
around the gum, before sticking its beak in. your mouth as if it still held the same taste;
The gum stretched from the concrete and knowing you were chewing on something
connected to the top of the bird’s beak. flavorless.
The more the little bird pulled on the gum,

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I ran the pack of gum over the scanner somewhere else too. The night after the
quickly and placed it in the bag with the funeral you were so close to packing your
beer. “That’ll be 4.45.” bags and hitting the road. As much as you
wanted to leave, you knew you couldn’t do
He opened the can of beer as he walked it. Not because your mother would die from
towards the door. The vibrant green pack heartbreak or that your father’s addiction
of gum stuck out from the back of the would flare up again; it was because you
man’s pants. When he left, I hoped his boot wanted to live.
stepped in what was leftof the gum on
thesidewalk. You wanted to live in a twisted world
where young men got injected from their
Chew, Don’t Swallow front seats and splatted like bird shit on a
car windshield.
The gas station fired me. Weeks before
my manager gave me the news, I overheard I hadn’t touched a blunt since the last
him talking to my coworker about my ‘bad’ time we met. The sun hid behind the clouds
attitude. Gasoline wasn’t the only thing that that morning, and it felt it would never
stunk at that gas station. come out.

My roommate kept telling me about You told me you enlisted in the army.
an open position at his job. I didn’t know
too much about his career, but since I’ve You curly-haired boy I never picture you
stopped working, he never left his room. to be the bald fade type.

I rarely left my room after you broke up If I would have known that your leaving
with me, and after my manager sent the text would ruin me, I never would’ve told you to
to not return. I wanted to text you. You’d go for it. But you were always so supportive
come and pick me up, and we’d smoke a of my dreams, so I let you go.
blunt, and I’d cry into your arms.
My roommate slapped my back as I
The room smelt exactly like it would after choked on my phlegm. It’d been months
one of our hotboxing sessions. You always since I smoke my last blunt, and it had been
smelt like smoke and spearmint. The scent months since I last had a man’s touch.
clung to your body as I did.
I wished it was you whose throat I was
In the living room, my roommate was sticking my entire tongue down. You who
sitting on the couch, blowing smoke out of caressed my legs and rubbed circles on my
the window. “Oh, shit.” thighs. You that laid on top of my body on
the sofa and burrow your head in the crook
He dapped the blunt down onto the of my neck.
astray and place it behind his ear. I took the
lighter from his lap and relit the blunt. For a moment it was you. His brown eyes
were suddenly blue, and my body warmed
“I didn’t know you smoke.” he said taking up tothose gas flames glares. My hand
the blunt from my hands. worked its way up to your ear. When I didn’t
feel the sticky gum on the backside of your
I hadn’t until I met you. It was the way ear, and in my insides instead; I knew you
you calmed yourself down after you re- weregone.
alized your brother was never waking up.
His not being here made you want to be

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

* return to their normal habits. You retired
going to those art classes, but your parents
I’ve been sleeping with my roommate and always believed you were there. You had
working alongside him for the past four the buds in your lap, placing them one by
weeks. He has me packaging tiny pills that one on the rolling paper. With some trial
remind me of the ones your doctor pre- and error, you mastered rolling a blunt. Your
scribed to you after you stayed in bed for hands perfected everything they touched.
weeks. Your mother used to place the pill
on your tongue and stand in the corner of You always let me light the blunt. Each
the room until you swallowed it. The doc- time the flame would burn the skin on my
tor said it was supposed to make you happy, thumb. My hands weren’t as crafty as yours,
but it only made you forget. but you liked seeing me try. We’d recline
the seats back, you’d crank up the radio,
Popping Bubbles and pass the blunt back and forth.

Four pills in my hand, three in the bag, I don’t remember the conversation we
and one in the mouth. had from the night. I only remember seeing
the sadness drain from your eyes and light
In the beginning, I told my roommate I’ll up like a Christmas tree. The first time I saw
never do it. He only smirked; like he knew your eyes recharge I was so high, I confused
that I’d slip up. you for a demon.

I remember when your parents caught That night the evil spirit ran through your
us smoking weed in your car. You heard veins.
that it was a good way to relieve stress, and
you would do anything to stop taking those During the chorus of a Frank Ocean song
pills. We would wait until your father drunk your dad banged on the driver’s window so
himself to sleep, and your mother crawled hard, I thought it would crack.
herself to the bedroom alone for the tenth
time that month. Your parents didn’t know You jumped out of the car like superman.
that you stop taking your pills and were self- Your mother tried to hold you back, but
medicating yourself. They were only happy there was no use. You flung your hands
to see the whites of your teeth again. into the air and landed a punch onto your
dad’s face after he called you an addict. He
That night you picked me up from my pinned you down on the front lawn, and
shift at the gas station. You stopped at Taco your mom screamed for him to get off of
Bell before picking me up, lips blue from sip- you. You screamed, and I heard all of the
ping on a Baja blast on the way here. You pain you tried to cover up with pills and
didn’t touch any of your tacos; you always weed.
waited until after you smoked to eat. You
swore the first bite tasted heavenly, and it By the time I came down from my high
made you feel closer to your brother. your mother had me strapped in the front
seat of her SUV. Your mother and I both
You put the car into park once we were cried. I cried because I couldn’t tell if I was
in the driveway. Your parent’s car was gone. having a bad trip, or if you really did punch a
They started going out again. Your family dent into your father’s head. I can’t tell you
therapist recommended that everyone why she cried, she had many reasons.

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The next time I saw you, you were back and random paint-stained clothes in the
on your medicine and your room didn’t backseat. One piece of gum remains in the
have a door. We would lay in the bed to- pack. I made sure to keep it in the glove de-
gether, and your mother would peep her partment in case you decided to come back.
head in occasionally. Some days we’d watch
movies on your laptop; things that didn’t re- After you left, I would join your parents
quire you to lift your head from your pillow. for dinner every Sunday. We’d talk about
I remember the day I stood in the kitchen you over meatloaf and mashed potatoes,
waiting for the popcorn to be done. Your and your mother would read the letters you
father came in to fix a glass of orange juice. sent. Your mother would always stop and
When he gulped down the juice, I saw it. rip the section where you’d talk to me. I’d
The refrigerator door covered his body, but hang the strips of paper on the mirror.
his head was tilted enough for me to see
the dent on his head. When I got back in The last Sunday I ate dinner with your
bed, your dad passed down the hall. For a parents, they told me you had written me a
few seconds, he stared into the room but letter. She handed me the letter and served
continued down the hall. the dessert. Your mother wanted me to
open it up right there and read it at the
During those days I never thought you table, but I placed it in my pocket for later.
would leave that bed. Is it selfish to say, I When I got in the car, I ripped the envelope
rather you in that damn room than wher- open. The paper took forever to unfold
ever the hell you are now? from the tiny square. Each line on the page
was filled with your loopy handwriting.

Savoring the Flavor Dear Ravan,

My roommate has been sleeping with My parents tell me you’ve started having
another girl. I hear their moans through family dinners with them on Sundays. Did
the thin walls. He stopped knocking on my Mom’s cooking get any better or are you
door for sex, and only when he needed me stomaching it like you used to? Remember
to make a quick run. I hear him curse when that one time my mom baked that apple pie
his phone rings. He mumbles something to for Thanksgiving, and you were so afraid
the girl and comes knocking on my door. He to throw it away you ate the entire slice. I
tells me that a client never received an order don’t know how you managed to keep that
from me. I know that he is lying. He was down- my brother was impressed that you
always running behind on dropping of his didn’t throw up after the first bite.
half. It didn’t matter, I’ll do anything to stop
hearing the girl in his bedroom fake moans. Enough about my mother, I heard a little
something about you. Be honest did you
Your parents gave me your car when you rob a bank, or did you actually save enough
left. They wanted me to wait and pick it up money for college? Kidding, hey I am proud
after they had it clean, but I protested against of you kid. Look at us making our dreams
it. I told them I’d get it done myself, but it’s a reality.
been almost two years and it remains the
same. A picture of us still on the dashboard, You know after my brother’s death I
packets of taco bell sauce in the cup holder, couldn’t imagine my future. It was like

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

everything I knew or thought I knew was the top portion of her chest. She counted
taken away from me. Everything felt so her pills, as I counted over the wrinkled bills,
temporary then, but you. You were always she gave me. She poured the pills back in,
so permanent in my life, even when I didn’t one by one, leaving one to pop in her mouth.
want you to. I know our relationship hasn’t
been the best, but Ravan Millard you’re the At the red light, my phone vibrated in
best woman a man could have. the cupholder. The words Unknown Caller
flashed across the screen. I hit the decline
Tomorrow I am being deployed to another button, before pulling off underneath the
country. All I can think about is you. Baby, I green light. The phone vibrated again. This
love you so much, but it is time for you to time I answered.
chase after your dreams. You’ve taken care of
me for so long, it is time for you to do what “Hello?” I said the audio was muffled,
you want. Whether that it includes being and I could hear my voice echo through the
with my parents every Sunday or going off to other line. My finger was about to hit the
that college you always wanted to go to. button until I heard your mother’s voice.

Don’t let me be the reason you stay be- “He’s gone, Ravan, He’s gone. My baby!”
hind.
Your mother screamed those words over
I haven’t seen your parents since that and over on the phone for two minutes, until
night. Your mother called so much, I had to your father came in to apologize and hang
block her number. I know it killed them that up the phone.
they were losing another person in their life,
but I was processing my pain. I straighten the picture of us on the
dashboard and reached into the glove de-
Living in this world without you. partment. The pack of gum rested on top of
pages of your old sketches. The single gum
A cat jumped off the porch as my head- rested in the middle of the pack. I care-
lights lit up the entire front side of the fully unwrapped the gum from the white
house. I turned the brightness of my lights wrapper and placed it on my tongue.
down, as the woman made her way down
the steps. Her gown was so sheer it exposed It didn’t taste like you or spearmint.
Stale. Flavorless. Nothing.

About the Author

Tyrenisha James is approaching her final year as an
undergraduate at the Northwestern State University,
where she has taken several semesters of creative writing.
She is an active writer on campus, serving as a Reporter
at her university’s newspaper, The Current Sauce. In her
spare time, she loves to binge-watch old teen dramas, her
favorite being Degrassi: The Next Generation.

70

BLINK AND YOU
MAY FORGET IT

by Roy Humlicek-Spindler

For the eighth time in the last hour, Clar- each one of these people. Her mind, how-
isse checked her wrist device to see if she ever, had been turned to figurative oatmeal
was headed to the right place. At this point, by too many hours in the Booth. Her brain
there were any number of things that could mistook times she saw these people in the
go wrong, and she was on edge. She was Booth for when she saw them in real life.
slumped down in her seat so far that an More tears.
onlooker might mistake the coach she was
riding in for an empty one, if, of course, the The stagecoach shot across the road.
coach was going slow enough to see into. The horse’s feet crashed against the cob-
Her government official’s robe still adorned bles, and the beast whirred with exertion.
her, and any attention she caught would Clarisse picked at the folds of her robe after
put her plan in jeopardy. Two thoughts grudgingly turning off her wrist device.
then crossed her mind. One was an almost
idle wish that she had changed into some- “Are you sure?” asked the text on the
thing low-profile, and the other was the in- screen in response to her command to power
tense and rapid realization that she did not down. No. No she wasn’t. The two men she
have any kind of plan. She’d instead put her was meeting would ask why she was doing
faith in two men she had discovered one what she was doing, and she wouldn’t have
rainy day. Today would be the second time an answer.
she had seen them. A favor would then be
exchanged for a favor already done. She’d The driver cleared his digital throat.
have to open her mind or she’d never be
able to work with Morphers. Clarisse was “You have arrived,” he told her.
now extending a pleading arm to the type
of Things she’d always been told to fear and She got out and thanked him. She was
despise. Tears rolled down her cheek as she the only person she knew who thanked the
deleted all of her contacts off of the wrist virtual drivers. He waved back from his tiny
device. She recounted the last time she saw screen, and for a second, she thought she
saw gratitude in his pixelated eyes, but that
was ridiculous as he was a computer pro-
gram.

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“Have a nice day!” said he. The horse he “Called it, but it’s no less surprising. Jonas
was set into snorted and pawed the ground. isn’t going to be the only one with a willing
On the top of this beast’s back, its minigun conscript.”
poked its head out tentatively, as if the horse
was reminding all those around what it was His companion, who hadn’t talked at all
capable of. It was almost comical, the image during the exchange, nodded smugly.
of the shy death cannon perched atop the
imposing mechanical terror’s dorsum. The “But I have to ask…” Clarisse’s brain filled
cherry on top was the kindly looking man in “why?” as the rest of his question, and
in a conductor’s uniform waving merrily out she was not prepared to answer him.
of the side of the machine. Bloodred lights
beamed onto the ground, marking where not “…What makes you think we live outside
to stand, and by the count of ten the man, of the City?”
the horse, and the stagecoach had shot down
the road at a blisteringly fast speed and were “Well… don’t you?”
gone. Clarisse was alone on the street.
“Sure do. Alright, we’re burning daylight
Behind her was her destination: Sweet here, let’s move.” His abruptness took her
Ann’s café. She entered. The barista looked by surprise.
at her in awe. She would make his third
customer that day, quite the turnout. She “Wh- aren’t you going to ask why I want
ordered a coffee and sat down next to the to leave everything behind?”
only people in the place. These were her
contacts. “Yes, actually. What is it about this place
that you don’t like? Is it the oppressive
“Knew you’d come cash in. Having us owe government? The fact that you are still in
you is too valuable,” one said. school despite being a grown woman with a
government job? Or is it the horses topped
“I never said I wouldn’t.” with guns? You don’t need to tell us now
why you chose to leave. I know you don’t
“Yeah, that’s one of the ways I knew you have a reason. But you’re not typical, I can
would. I like that you didn’t want to do a tell. You’re serious about this.”
Booth meeting. Classy.”
Her breath quickened as the man’s
“I didn’t think that would be incognito word set in and she realized once again the
enough.” Clarisse sipped her coffee. magnitude of what she was doing. It was a
crime to leave the City, a felony to be in ca-
“Yep. And we simply don’t have a Booth to hoots with Morphers. She would be a felon,
use. Can I try that?” He took the coffee out already was. No one she cared about will
of her hand. have gotten a goodbye. Come to think of it,
would anyone she knew miss her, or care
“Revolting,” he said, and took another about getting a goodbye? Plenty of people
swig. His companion shook his head. Clar- would miss her body, but none of those,
isse took the drink back, flummoxed. she realized, she felt connected to in any
way. Would any of her coworkers or friends
“Alright, business. You didn’t turn us in. wonder where she had gone? Would they
What do you want in exchange for that favor?” eventually be told that the person they
thought they knew was a criminal, perhaps
She leaned in. “I want out. Out of the City. even a terrorist if she was found to be in the
Take me with you, wherever it is that you live.”

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presence of Morphers? But Clarisse didn’t it a reality. She never asked people’s names,
even know if her friends even thought they never bothered to get to know anyone out-
knew her. For all the people she knew, she side a bed or a bottle. Of the friends she had,
was truly alone. she couldn’t come up with a story they’d
told her, or a genuine laugh they’d shared.
“Better hurry up now, the sewers don’t Never again. Today, she made her choice to
get less nasty as the day goes on.” change to a different lifestyle, and she could
follow it up with a change in personality.
“Sewers?”
“What are you guys’ names? I never asked.”
“I didn’t say salvation would be easy. It’s
abandoned anyway; not in use. By the way, “I’m Haz. Hank. This is Reggal, Richard.”
you can’t have this.”
“Um, what? The two of you have four
He took her wrist device and smashed it names?”
to pieces in one hand, then poured the bits
into one of his pockets. “That’s my bad. We have human names,
and Morpher names. We try to get in the
“Wha- you have one!” habit of using the human ones, in case we
need to deceive you people.” He winked.
He tapped his device. “Precautions. They
can’t track this one.” If these things’ society was anything like
the government, which Clarisse didn’t know
The sewer was not so bad. Clarisse why she assumed it would be, you had to
guessed it hadn’t been used in fifteen years, build a relationship with the people that got
not that she was an expert by any means. you in, because the rest of the people were
An expert on sewers wore a Hood, and she going to be cold, at least at first. Clarisse
had never worn one in her life. She thought made small talk with them for a while with
of all the Hoods she had met. Never knew this purpose in mind, but eventually and
any of their names. So many faceless people without warning she found herself actually
that could have been her friends. She was interested in talking to them. It wasn’t every
never awful to any of them, but never day you meet shape-shifting creatures that
talked to them more than she had to. There were going to help you commit a crime by
was a general feeling that Hoods stuck with escaping the City.
other Hoods, and didn’t interact much with
people who, for their career, didn’t have to At one-point Reggal, or Richard, Clarisse
wear Hoods. People on the top rungs of so- couldn’t decide what to call him, shifted
ciety. People like Clarisse Copperfield. There into a police officer, Hood and all, when
was a romance novel Clarisse read years she was looking away from him. Her heart
prior. In it an elite woman met a Hooded just about stopped but they had a laugh
man and falls in love with him, even though after she recovered. That, she thought, was
she only saw him at work, with the Hood on. something her human friends couldn’t do.
The big reveal at the end was when the Hood
was removed, and of course he was super “Here we are,” said Haz (Hank). “Past this
handsome and they lived happily ever after. hatch and you get your first taste of freedom.”
Clarisse kind of had this as a passive fan- Clarisse didn’t know there was another kind.
tasy that something similar would happen She didn’t know what freedom would taste
to her, but never made any effort to make like. Why was he having her taste something

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now? Were they going to come out in some a few of them spruced up the odd street
kind of Morpher dining area? corner, but there were never enough close
by to be called a forest.
The hatch creaked open and Haz climbed
out, then Reggal. Clarisse took a deep “You’re free now; you can go where you
breath. Her mother used to have a saying; want. We could go into a forest right now if
“nothing ventured, nothing lost,” but she you wanted to.”
was beginning to think that her mother was
lying to her. “Sure. Let’s go in a forest. Right now.”

“Coming?” asked Hank, and he reached They made their way down the hill, and
down towards her. Clarisse started to feel strange. It was al-
most like a dizziness, but not like she’d felt
“I think so.” She reached up and took his before, and not exactly uncomfortable. She
hand, and he pulled her out of the sewer. had thought she’d felt every type of physical
sensation possible, but here was a new one.
The sight. Clarisse leaned on Hank for She must have been too hot, that was prob-
support; she thought her legs might give. ably it. The delegate robe was not designed
What could be more beautiful than what for weather, it was designed for air-condi-
she saw now? Nothing she’d ever seen be- tioned indoor meeting halls.
fore, that’s for sure.
“I wish I had a change of clothes. I wish
“How does liberty taste, then?” I’d thought of that.”

Clarisse could only nod her head in an Reggal cleared his throat, and the other
incomplete response. She had tasted many two looked at him. “I’m gonna go up ahead.
decadent foods, many great wines, but now See you guys at camp.” They watched him
that she was tasting nothing at all, the best fade away through the trees that were now
sensation was on her tongue. looming right in front of them.

“Why doesn’t it all look like this? Why is “Actually,” said Hank, “Morphers can kind
there so much of that?” she pointed to the of… grow… clothes. Like you grow hair, we
City which was now some distance away. can grow most kinds of textiles. And hair.”

“Believe it or not, humans chose that. “That. Is weird.”
They had a choice, and they picked City.”
“Ha, well, you guys have to make your
She inhaled. “They’re building Z district.” own clothes, so that makes us kind of better
than you. It’s weird that you can’t grow your
“Sorry?” own clothes, in my opinion.”

“They’re adding a district on to the City. “Okay, I was just saying. Can you get me a
They said they’d take up some of the ‘outside,’ pair of jeans and a white T-shirt?”
but I didn’t think this is what they meant.”
“That’s it? You find someone that can
“Jeez, Copperfield, we’ve got bigger fish grow pretty much any type of clothes and
to fry than deforestation.” you say ‘jeans and a T-shirt, please’?”

“Fo-re-st,” she clucked. It wasn’t a word “Oh, well… I just thought it would be
she’d used many times, but she remem- easier.”
bered learning it in Stage 1 schooling. It
wasn’t like there were no trees in the City, He looked at her. “Thanks.”

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She looked back. “Perfect. Now let’s see what there is to
see.” They entered the forest.
Hank asked, “So, is that still what you
want?” It was not a special forest, just a small
grouping of trees close outside the City.
“Yeah.” For someone who had only ever heard of a
forest, it was incredible. The leaves painted
“Okay.” over what apprehensive feeling Clarisse
had, and a small stream they came across
He turned away and held his hands to his and sat alongside washed away her fear
torso as if to remove a cat that was clinging of unknown, or at least the fear of leaving
to his clothes. He pulled his hands away the City. After a while Clarisse stopped re-
and turned back to Clarisse. Sure enough, membering the blank-slate people she had
he had in his hands a pair of blue jeans and known in what she was starting to regard as
a white tee-shirt, both neatly folded on top her old life. Hank was a breath of fresh air
of one another. compared to everyone she had previously
known. Ironically, it was difficult to see the
“So… weird.” She took the clothes. “Does man before her as something that wasn’t
this mean I’ll be wearing your hair?” human, and the best word to describe him
was human. It was not so long now after
“Nope. It’s not hair.” he had snapped at her aggressively, and
that was hard to file alongside the way he’d
She smirked, then set the clothes down acted the rest of the time she had known
and started to undo the buttons on her him. But none of the people, friends, men-
robe. Hank turned away. Clarisse stopped. tors, a few enemies, had strong enough
feelings to lose their temper over anything.
“What?” she said. Even the ‘enemies’ she’d known didn’t hate
anything enough to criticize, not even her.
“What do you mean, ‘what’?” he still The people in her life at this point seemed
didn’t turn back. a homogenous puddle of mud, emotions
dulled.
“Why did you face that way? With your
back to me?” “So how do you live out here? Where do
you live?” she was interested in knowing
“To give you privacy, of course.” this, in part because she would have to
live as they live, probably with none of the
“Huh. No one has ever said that before.” creature comforts she’d enjoyed in the City.
Before asking this, Clarisse raked her brain
“How many people have you undressed to remember if any Morpher Extermination
in front of?” he shook his head “don’t an- Presentations had gone over how they lived,
swer that. And none of them gave you or what kind of society they lived in.
space?”
“Well, when your people left the land
“I guess… I guess I didn’t know any people they had lived on for millennia, you left
that would avoid watching someone while behind plenty of places to live suitable for
they were changing. Why- is it rude? To anyone. Not that we needed those places,
watch?”

“Back in the day, it was normal avert your
eyes when someone took their clothes off. I
remember people made little folding walls
to undress behind.”

“Um… okay,” she resumed changing into
the new clothes. “Okay, I’m done.”

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but if you’re not using them, then, we will. more, but at that moment, numerous
Jonas’s Boy has an entire house to himself, noises of heavy footfalls came from some-
he’s a human, you know. We weren’t going where behind them. The stream, which was
to deny him that dignity. As for us, though, almost still, started to shudder.
most of us live in holes in the ground.”
“Is that Richard?” asked Clarisse.
He paused, and stared directly in her eyes.
“Call me old fashioned, but for a long time I Hank shook his head. He now looked very
didn’t really think of humans as ‘people.’ Now concerned. “He went up ahead. I thought he
I know you, and I see I’m probably wrong. To was going to meet us back at camp.”
be honest, at first I just thought of you as
a kind of status gain; it’s very rare to get a A shrill whirring filled the choppy day-
human to join us of their own free will. They light, and some shouting was heard some
always say the world doesn’t change in a day, distance back. Whatever was making the
but how much time did you need to make sound had been stealthy; the sound was
your decision? To leave the City, I mean?” already extremely close.

There were a number of ways to respond “Go. Get going.” Hank said quietly. She
to that. Clarisse chose: stood up and started moving, Hank was
close behind her. Within a few seconds
“Was that exactly what you were thinking? and with no warning, he pushed her down
And you just said it?” into the brush. Something shot past them
and had come and gone in less than a blink.
“Yes.” Clarisse did not know of many things that
moved that fast. There was now something
“Wow… I- I’ve never known someone could in front of them, and something behind,
do that. Most people I talk to don’t really say and it was only too obvious neither thing
anything at all, or anything that means any- meant well. Their destination was forward,
thing at least. They probably wouldn’t tell me and Hank decided for better or worse that
they thought of me as a ‘status gain.’ They they needed to go that way. The noise from
wouldn’t want to offend me.” behind was nearly on top of them, and so
they started running. Shots rang out as their
Hank spread his arms. “Welcome home, pursuers heard their footsteps.
I guess. That’s how most of us operate.”
“Hold fire!” was heard from behind them.
“Was it really you? Was it your people
they always talk about, or did I hear about Who did they think they were? It hit
something else called Morphers? Are you her- she was still a government official.
hiding something?” it of course was a pos- They must have realized she was not in her
sibility, Morphers were known for their de- house and was not still at work and not with
ception, but Clarisse was realizing she didn’t the friends she was usually with. The ‘hold
really know what a Morpher was, and as fire’ was for her; they must have assumed
she asked these questions she was smiling. this was a kidnapping situation. This came
with the realization that was more terrifying
“Do I look like I’m hiding something?” than the fact that they were being chased
Hank was also smiling. by a police squad and at least one horse:
She had an out. There was an option now
Clarisse was about to answer in the af- to take it all back, pretend like this day
firmative, if only to talk about something

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had never happened. If they were caught beast had smashed into the machine’s
alive, what was to stop her from lying and side with the force of a freight train. The
saying she had been kidnapped? It would horse moved to almost face the newcomer,
be a choice between the Morphers’ lives leaving space for its minigun to fire past its
and her and the Morphers’ lives. The only head. The weapon began to spin again, but
thing that made her decision easy was the this time it was stopped by the mitts of the
fact that once it was made there would be other. Clarisse pushed herself to her knees
no turning back. If she was going to change and got a better look at the situation un-
into the kind of person that Hank was, ad- folding. The newcomer was massive, prob-
amant in his beliefs, it would not be soon. ably eight feet tall. Horses were large, but
She had hoped this kind of option was never never taller than a tall person. Fur covered
presented to her, and certainly not so soon. the other beast, dark fur with a purple
tint. The hands stopping the minigun were
Everyone was running through the forest. clawed.
Clarisse was panicking, but not only be-
cause she had never seen a horse not kill With hardly any hesitation, the horse
its target. If a “terrorist” was hiding out in buckled its front legs and slammed the an-
a building, the horse would be in and out imal into the ground. It lost its grip on the
of that building and the terrorist would be horse’s gun and began to be pummeled
dead before the door, torn off its hinges, had by the horse’s hooves. It could not use its
hit the floor. weapon on its opponent, but the horse
could concentrate on multiple things at a
Hank and Clarisse’s bodies crashed into time. It swiveled the gun back towards Hank,
the ground. They wheezed as they tried to but he was not there. Taking his place was
regain the air that had been roughly ripped a second purple-tinted creature, thinner
out of them. It now stood in front of them; yet taller than the first. The animal’s dog-
the hulking mechanical terror snorted and like face was contorted in a snarl. It was too
pawed the dirt. It hissed and gave off steam. quick; the minigun did not have time to get
The window in its side contained no coach a shot off. The animal leapt onto the back
driver, it simply displayed a red icon of an of the machine and tried to dig in with the
‘X.’ One could guess what that meant. The claws on its feet, but the horse’s armor pre-
horses were terrifying already, but to have vented any damage done that way. The dog-
one knock you down and point its minigun like beast held to the minigun and seemed
at you could not be described. Terrifying to be trying to pull it off. It strained but the
things were supposed to happen at night. cannon would not budge. The horse got
At least at night you couldn’t make out the one more hoof in the mouth of the creature
monster. below it, one that caused a sickening crunch
and blood to flow freely from the animal’s
The minigun pointed itself at Clarisse, mouth. Clarisse expected the blood to gush
spun up, then stopped. It had clearly been a purple color to match the thing’s fur, but it
given specific instructions. The minigun was a dark crimson, same as her own.
then pointed at Hank, and spun faster. Then
a blow to its side severely damaged the The horse bucked a few times and suc-
beast’s chassis. The way it staggered made ceeded in throwing the second assailant off.
it look afraid, if it had been a real animal. A This was enough to cause the minigun to
second, taller, and definitely more organic

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snap off its hinges and hang limply to the herself. Through all the violence and panic,
side of the horse’s torso. The two non-ma- she had for some reason felt the need to
chines lay on the ground next to each other, keep something that could serve as a ticket
and the horse pawed the ground once and back into her old life. How could she still
charged. The duo leapt up to stop it. It think that a possibility, throwing Hank under
pushed them back and their feet dug into the stagecoach? Did Richard not just die to
the dirt. With their combined strength, keep the two of them safe? Why couldn’t
they managed to lift a chuck of the horse’s she throw the uniform into the forest and go
armor plating on its neck and pull out as down with the ship? Of course, the reason
many wires as they could. The police were was fear. She simply had to ask herself now
now within sight, and their voices were loud if she feared death or her own disapproval
and clear. The horse’s head hung and eyes more. Earlier that day she’d asked herself if
dimmed. The screen showed an explosion what she feared more was throwing away
animation and the shoulders smoked: The her life, or the possibility that her life was
motherboard had been fried; a precaution worth nothing, though she didn’t hear her-
taken for the off chance that a horse was self ask this. She had made a decision then,
defeated. Clarisse guessed that meant the and so she decided to make the parallel de-
chip had important information on it. cision now. If her old life had to be gone, so
be it. If her life had to be physically taken,
“Go,” said the first Morpher thickly. “Get so be it.
her to safety, don’t argue.” Then he turned
away to face the closing police squad. She was about to toss the robe away
into the trees when Haz tumbled to the
The other didn’t argue. He got on all fours ground and she was sent sprawling sev-
and loped over to Clarisse. eral feet ahead of him. He had not tripped,
that would have been too easy. Before Cla-
“Get on,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. risse could process what was happening,
a second horse was rearing up over her.
Her hands held back. “Is that you?” she Its hooves were about to come down
asked. and, without meaning to, flatten her. Haz
launched himself onto his feet and charged.
“Get on!” With a guttural yell and a rush of adrenaline,
Haz tore the head of the horse clean off and
She did as she was told. Haz dashed off kicked the body backwards away from Cla-
into the forest. Clarisse tried to look back risse. The neck sputtered and sparked. He
but it was hard to make out anything hap- finished in mere seconds the type of beast
pening. There was a bloodcurdling scream that gave him and Reggal so much trouble
and a horrible snapping sound, and then a before. Haz gazed in awe at the full metal
long volley of gunfire and then nothing. horse head in his clawed hands.

“Is Richard… dead?” asked Clarisse with Then the horse’s still-active weapon shot
fear. Haz said nothing. He kept running, not him several dozen times.
nearly as fast as a horse, but faster than any
man could run. The head Haz was holding in his arms
dropped to the ground with a slow, heavy
Clarisse pressed her uniform against thud. He and it were now full of bullet
Haz’s back; both of her hands were full of
fur to prevent her from falling off. The fact
she still had it made her feel disgusted with

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holes. Clarisse watched in horror as Hank attached to what looked like an addition
slowly fell backwards. For some reason, sign, but one line was longer than the other.
before he hit the ground he changed back
into his human form. Clarisse said nothing, “There’s something up there.” He stared
but watched in horror. What was left of right at the sky, through a small gap in the
the horse now stood idle; Clarisse knew it forest’s canopy.
wouldn’t shoot her as she walked over to
Hank’s body. Clarisse shook her head and a tear formed
in her eye. “I’m sorry, I don’t…”
“Hank…” she said weakly. That was the
first time she’d used his name. Somehow, “…Clarisse?” his eyes were losing focus
she assumed she would have used it more now.
than that.
“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking
“Hank, Hank.” She said it more times, about.”
but those didn’t seem to count towards the
grand total. The blood was flowing more “I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you
freely now, and some of it was getting on home. Follow-” he coughed, and a little
her as she held him by the shoulders. He more blood came out of his mouth. “Follow
began muttering something. the path we’ve been going on; you’ll find a
road. Follow it. As long as you are moving
“W-what?” said Clarisse. away from the City you’ll be going toward
home…” He became more hoarse as he con-
It got more clear and louder. “There’s tinued to speak.
something up there. I know there’s some-
thing up there. I know that there’s some- He made direct eye contact with her for
thing up there.” His right hand was clasped a full second.
against his stomach. Clarisse opened the
hand. Inside was a long golden chain “I know there’s something up there.”

And with that, he disintegrated.

About the Author

Roy Humlicek-Spindler is a seventeen-year-old college
student attending his final full year at North Hennepin
Community College. He is working toward an AFA in
Creative Writing and would like to publish a novel someday.

79

THE CONFINEMENT
OF CHOICE

by Aisha O’Neil

“Authorized personnel!” Our Afghan guide “Baby!”
pushed through the crowds. “Make way!
Authorized personnel!” “Miss Ricard!”

“Vvvv-vvv…” The plane was hardly audible, The crowd pushed me forward. The
and so, so far away… plane was louder now then, the people
louder too.
“Authorized persons! Please make way!”
The crowd grew thicker, and our guide shoved “Help us!” A woman far away screamed.
people aside to move forward.
“Miss Ricard!” The guide’s voice was far-
“We’re authorized!” A man next to me ther now.
yelled in passable English. “We’re autho-
rized to freedom!” A helicopter roared overhead, as if at-
tempting to scare the crowd away from the
“Make way! Please make way!” There planes, in my direction.
were three of us, huddled around the guide,
forced to listen to an assault of Dari and A man screamed.
poor English.
The crowd rushed towards me.
“Momni!”
Someone fell onto me, pushing me to
“Don’t leave!” the ground. The cold asphalt ground met
my palms, pebbles embedding themselves
“Stop!” into the crevasses of my hands. My eyes
flew open.
I closed my eyes. “I can’t do this.” Someone
bumped into me. All I could see were legs–hundreds
and hundreds of them–spread across the
“What?” It was the reporter from the BBC. gravel. My cheek was pressed against the
hot, rough gravel, the smell of melting tar
I kept my eyes shut and shook my head. mixed with plane fuel infiltrating my nos-
trils. I tried to lift my face off the ground,
“Save us!” but someone stepped on my back.

“Where-”

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“Please help!” I tried to use my reporter to tame her long black hair, which jumps away
voice, the one that was supposed to make from her face as if by electrocution. “What
the world listen, but all I could muster was are you doing in here?” My eyes open a bit
a whimper. “Please help!” Louder now. wider. I know that voice. But from where?
Someone stepped on my leg. Someone on
my arm. My back. My hair. “Help?” Parisa shrugs. “I wanted to check some-
thing.”
“Hey! Are you okay?” All I could see were
her black shoes, covered by a flowing red “I’m sorry,” I sit up, pushing away the
skirt. pillow. “What the heck is going on?”

I didn’t know how to answer. “Oh, hi.” The girl turns to me and grins.
Her English is as flawless as Parisa’s. “Yeah,
“Alright. Let’s get you up.” one sec. Risa, adult conversation, okay? I’ll
see you at breakfast.” Parisa sighs, pushes
The mattress is too soft, the smell a mix- herself off the cushions, and walks out of
ture of fresh pita and rice. I’m not home. the room. “’Kay, then.” The girl sits on the
bed. “So, you’re Adira Ricard, right? A New
I open my eyes slowly. The bed, topped York Times reporter? That’s super cool. You
with a patterned red sheet, is in the center just don’t look that old.”
of a room, elaborately designed purple-red
curtains on all the walls. An Afghan de- I laugh and move to sit next to her. “I’m
sign. Meaning: last night was not a dream. here on a fellowship, actually. I just gradu-
Meaning: My boss is going to kill me. And ated last year. Where is here?”
I’m stuck here. In a Taliban-infested war zone.
The girl leans back on the bed. “Kabul,
I roll over and place a purple, Afgan-de- Afghanistan, obviously. This is my house,
signed pillow over my eyes. and I’m the one who brought you here from
the airport. I’m Taara, and you just met my
“Miss Ricard?” The voice is high and child- sister, Risa.” It comes back to me then. I
like. heard Taara’s voice last night. Are you okay?
“You were trying to escape.”
I roll over again. Red pillows frame three
sides of the room, lower than I had looked She nods, quieting. “It’s not a loss,
before. On one, there lies a little girl, her though. I couldn’t live without my family.”
head on her hands, wearing pajamas.
“But you gave up the potential of getting
I sit up slowly, blinking. “Just call me Adi. out to save me, didn’t you? You’re really brave,
Where the heck am I?” you know. I don’t- I know I couldn’t do that.”

She nods, then shrugs. She must only be Taara shakes away her frown. “Guess I’m
six years old. just that good, then.”

“What’s your name?” “No.” My fingers move to a small jagged
scar on the tip of my finger. “No one’s better
“Parisa.” Her light brown eyes bore into me. than human nature. That’s why it’s called
‘human nature’. We’re all human.” I rub the
“That’s a very pretty name.” scar. “There are so many psychological con-
cepts that explain that, I mean look-”
“Risa!” A girl about my age, maybe a bit
younger, enters the room. She wears short,
western-style pajamas, and makes no attempt

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Taara starts laughing. “How do you know “I know that, Adi.” It’s my boss. She obvi-
that?” ously didn’t get a good night’s sleep. “Some
bad news. One sec.” I hear her put the
“I was a psych major…until something phone to her chest. “John! You’re late again!”
happened. This isn’t funny!”
I stifle a laugh. Obviously, things haven’t
She falls onto a pillow, laughter racking changed much.
her body. “I-” She lifts her head off the
pillow, and then falls back. “Okay, Adi, the bad news.”

I giggle. “What?” “Yeah?”

Taara sits up, stifling a laugh. “I was kid- “That plane you missed? That was the
ding, Miss Ricard.” last one for the New York Times.”

After Taara leaves, I dress, draft an ar- “Oh my God.”
ticle, and emerge from my room an hour
later to find a similarly decorated, slightly “Yep. It’s not the last one leaving the
larger Afghan-style room outside. A man country, obviously, just the last one leaving
with a turban, short beard, and traditional with us.”
clothing sits in the center.
“When do I get out of here?” I rub my
“Um, hi.” I pause in the doorway. forehead.

“Come on in, Adi.” He has a slight accent “Mmm…” I hear typing on a computer.
and a deep, commanding voice. “As soon as we can figure that out.”

I walk forward and sit on the pillow “Phoebe…”
across from him. “Thank you so much for
letting me stay here, until things get sorted “Yes?”
out. I’m sure it’s a little…weird.”
I bury my head in my hands. “I can’t do
“Not at all.” He reaches towards the plate this.” The panic I had kept down all morning
at the center of the room and grabs some rises like bile in my throat. “I can’t stay here,
nuts. “Would you like some?” watching the Taliban creep towards us. I-” I
try to sound coherent, but nothing seems
“Sure.” I talk a handful. “So…I’m sorry, logical right now. “I-I-I-” I feel the wet on my
I’m staying in your house, and I don’t even hands before I realize I am sobbing.
know your name.” I laugh, feeling like a
middle schooler. I can interview people. I “Shhh, Adi. It’s okay. It’s okay.” I have never
can’t converse with them. heard her so reassuring. She’s a mother, I
remember. She’s probably thinking of her
“Rayi Ali,” he says. “Taara and Parisa’s fa- kids now.
ther. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“I’m so sorry.” I take in a deep breath.
Bring! “Yours too.” Bring! I reach into my
pocket for my phone. “One second, I have “No problem. Just hold it together out
to get this. Sorry.” He nods and I walk out there, okay? We’re trusting you.” I nod and
of the room. hang up.

“Hello? This is Adira Ricard with the New “I’m back.” Taraa sticks her head in my
York Times.” doorway, unwinding a headscarf as she talks.

“Where’d you go?”

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“School.” She walks into my room and sits She doesn’t look at me but nods.
on the bed with a sigh.
I cross the room and sit beside her, trying
“High school?” to see under all that cloth. “You sure?”

She nods. “I’m a senior this year.” She quickly shakes her head.

I glance at my watch. It’s only ten. “What’s wrong? Did your school shut
“Shouldn’t you still be at school?” down?”

She looks to the ground. “They shut it She shakes her head again.
down.”
“Then what?” I fold the headscarf away
“They what?” I sit down with her. from her face.

“They shut down school until it ‘settles “A boy said I was dumb today ’cause I’m
out’.” She puts her face in her hands and I can a girl.” She cries a silent tear. “And I asked
hear her sobs. “I want to be a teacher, Adi, the teacher-” She gulps and wipes away the
and I can’t even graduate secondary school.” tears. “And he said I wasn’t as smart as the
boys.”
I put both arms around her. “I’m so sorry.”
“They are so wrong.” I pull her into a hug.
“No,” she shakes her head and wipes her “You aren’t any different because you’re a
eyes. “It’s more than just school. I’m afraid. girl.”
It’s like-” She pulls away from my arms
and gestures with her hands. “Like, all of a She twists to look up at me and sticks a
sudden, all my future’s gone. Poof. And now thumb in her mouth. “Then why don’t they
I don’t know what will happen. That’s the like us, Adi?”
scariest thing. I might have to hide forever.
I have control over my life, anymore.” “I-” I wish I could make the world seem
right for her. But it isn’t. What kind of child
I put my arms back around her. “I’m grows up in this life? I wonder if she is a
scared, too.” child at all. “I don’t really know. I don’t re-
ally think there is a reason.”
Later, on the way to dinner, I pass Pari-
sa’s door to find her crying. I stop out of her “Well then why doesn’t someone tell
view. She’s probably just crying over some- them they’re not being nice?”
thing most kids cry over–a lost teddy bear, a
hard school assignment–but in psychology, Bystander bias. Just world phenomenon.
that is called the ‘Defensive Attribution’. Or The psychological terms I learned long ago
blaming the victim. flash in my mind. But why, really? “I don’t
know, Risa. I’m sorry.”
I take a deep breath and walk in.
“That’s okay.” She puts her arms around
Parisa doesn’t look up. She sits sur- me. “I guess no one knows. Maybe that’s
rounded by pillows in the corner of her why no one helps.”
room, a toy dog hugged tight against her
chest. She is still wearing the red headscarf I pat her back slowly. “You’re very smart,
she took to school, and I can only see her sweetheart.” I try to blink away the tears in
clothes, and hear only her sobs. my eyes. “Very, very smart.”

“Parisa?” I walk further into the room. “Okay. Can we go to dinner now?”
“Are you okay?”

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“Course.” I take her hand and she leads Parisa shoves a thumb in her mouth.
me to the room where I had found Mr. Ali. Taara stares down at her food.

“Adi! There you are!” If I hadn’t been “I’m sorry,” I say, putting down my fork.
with her, I would never guess that Taara had “But why is that important to you?”
been crying that morning.
Rayi clears his throat. I notice, for the
“Hey, Taara. Mr. Ali.” first time, the dark bags under his eyes. “I re-
cently resigned from the Afghan parliament.”
“Just Rayi.” Rayi does not glance up from
his food. Parisa scampers to join Taara and I place a hand over my mouth. “No.”
eat, but I linger in the doorway.
He nods. “I was, as others, vocal in my
“What’s wrong?” Taara sets down her fork. disapproval of the Taliban.”

“Um…” I look at the ceiling, deeply in- “So they don’t like you, daddy?” Parisa
haling the steam of rice and lamb filtering reaches across the table to pat her father’s
from the kitchen. “I’m really sorry, and I can arm.
leave if you want, but I can’t get a flight and
I have to stay here a little longer.” “No, azizam. They don’t like me at all.”

Rayi chuckles. “Why are you sorry, Adi? 2 Days Later - August 10
You are always welcomed here.” I smile, un-
sure how to word my thanks, and join them When Parisa comes home from school
at the table. “Girls, there is a serious discus- the next day, I follow her to her room.
sion we need to have.” “How’d it go?”

I start to stand. “Okay.” She unwinds her headscarf slowly.
“When I grow up, I want to be a writer now.
“No, Adi. This concerns you as well.” Like you.”

I turn again and sit on a cushion across “Oh? Why’s that?”
from Rayi, next to Parisa. She shifts towards
me. “’Cause then I can make sure the world
listens to us next time.”
“Three cities fell today.”
I ruffle her hair. “It’s not over yet, silly.”
Taara’s fingers freeze, her fork clattering
to the table. “It’s almost over.”

“They fell down?” Parisa asks. I find Taara in the hallway, her head on
the door. “She won’t be able to do that.” It is
“No, azizam.” I make a mental note to dusk, and tears glisten like stars in her eyes.
look up the meaning of azizam. Rayi takes “She can’t have a future like you, can she?”
a forkful of rice. “They were taken by the
Taliban.” My eyes water. I wrap my arms around
her. “I hope so. I really hope so.”
“Sar-E-Pul, Kunduz, and Taloqan.” I list
them off on my fingers. “And this is only two 2 Days Later - August 12
days since the first city was captured.”
Two more cities were overtaken today.
Rayi nods. “In Taloqan, they forced all Ghazni is so close to Kabul, they are less
government officials to flee.”

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than a finger’s distance apart on my map. “Were you listening?”
Firus Koh surrendered without a fight. The
Taliban will win. There is no question. She nods.

I close my computer and shut the cur- “Come sit.” I pat my bed. She walks slowly,
tained windows to welcome the night. her nightdress trailing behind her, and sits
on the bed. “I have to go home.” I put an
Bring! Bring! I glance at the phone arm around her shoulder. “You know I can’t
screen: ‘Phoebe Adams.’ “Hello?” stay here forever.” I think I’m right. Or is
this just cognitive dissonance, the act of
“Hey, Adi. Good news.” changing an opinion after acting against it?

“Good?” Risa sucks in a breath. “Yeah. Is everyone
leaving?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” I hear ruf-
fling papers in the background. The sounds “All the foreigners.”
of the editing office in New York make me
long for home. “Oh.” She puts a thumb into her mouth.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“It’s getting worse here…” I trail off.
“I know, but-” She puts both hands over
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. We’ll give her ears. I pull them away. “It’s going to be
you a nice, easy assignment when you’re okay, azizam.” I looked that word up yes-
home.” terday. It means ‘my dear’. “I can call you all
you want, and they’ll let you stay in school,
“Gosh.” I wait for the catch. We never get I think, and-”
easy assignments. “When I’m home?”
“You don’t know if it’ll be okay!”
“In two days. Actually, probably three,
since you’ll be exhausted when you fly in.” I squeeze her shoulder. “It will. It will.”
But in psychology, that’s called the just
“Oh my God.” I lean back against the wall world phenomenon. And the world isn’t al-
behind my bed. “I’m coming home.” ways just.

“Yep. Took a little maneuvering, but we She wipes a hand across her face, pushes
got you a flight for Sunday.” my arm away, and runs from the room.

“Oh. My. God.” Am I abandoning her? Am I just exhib-
iting all the human nature I’ve spent years
“Mm-hmm. One sec.” She puts a hand fighting? I rub my scar. And then I have
over the phone. “Shut up Mary! Can’t you to think about it. I look out my window,
see I’m busy?” watching all the men passing by, and lie my
head in my hands. It comes in a rush.
I laugh.
“Alright, kids. Class dismissed. Semester
“Sorry about that. I’ll forward the plane exams in two weeks! Almost halfway through
tickets to you. Glad you’re coming home.” college! Don’t flunk it.” We laugh. “And re-
member: don’t exhibit those concepts we
She hangs up before I can thank her. talked about today! Just because you learned
them doesn’t mean you’re above them.”
I close my eyes and rest my head in my
hands. I’m almost home.

“Adi? Are you leaving?” Parisa stands in
the doorway.

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The sound of shuffling papers and gig- A car rushes towards us, perhaps in a
gles fills the classroom. hurry to make it to class. Visibility is bad, the
snow falling harder.
“Not funny! Philp Zimbardo, the famous
psychologist, exhibited half of our lesson in I jump backward, towards the curb.
one experiment.”
The crowd runs.
The entire class bursts into laughter. We
make our way outside into the early-winter The boy lies. On the road. Alone.
air. My nose and ears alight with cold once
we step through the doorway, and our class “Please help!” He tries to push himself
sticks to cement pathways to avoid the off the ground, only to fall, grasping at his
dusting of snow on the ground. stomach.

There is a crowd of students ahead. I The car rushes forwards.
stand on my tip-toes to glimpse what
they’re watching. Two teens, in identical “Help!”
black hoods, are fighting. I watch as one
kicks the other in the stomach, the other re- Woosh! I reach out, almost frozen, as the
taliating with his fists. car passes, my thumb catching in the car’s
rear view mirror.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” The crowd chants. I
try to move around them, towards the road, “Help!”
to avoid the snow.
I jerk my hand away.
“Get ’im!” Someone calls. Over hooded
heads, I watch as one boy is pushed to the Silence.
ground, and rolls onto the road. The crowd
moves with him, towards me. I heard he lived.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” Snow starts to fall. I heard he never fully recovered.
I’m going to be late. I walk quicker, skirting
the edge of the group, tuning out the sounds I heard he kept his major. He was a se-
of fighting. nior, one week from graduating, the first in
his family. They rested their hopes on him.
“Ow!” I glance back at the students. One But he can’t provide for them now. Now,
boy fell, and now he lies in the road, snow he goes to the hospital weekly. The med-
falling around him. “Someone help! Please!” ical bills have gotten more expensive than
The boy he was fighting backs away, pushes college. He can’t get a job. He sees a psy-
through the circle and starts to run. chiatrist weekly, too. But he won’t recover,
mentally, either. His broken life rests in the
“Help!” The boy on the ground rolls from hands of us all.
side to side, clutching his stomach. “Oof,
that hurts!” I watch a drop of blood drip All that I learned in the school news-
down his waist, onto the snow-dusted paper. I never saw him again.
gravel, spreading like wine across a carpet.
I switched my major at the end of the se-
The crowd looks at each other. mester, a week later. If a psychology major
can’t overcome basic human psychology,
And then it happens. So, so quickly. why be one? I’d rather try to make the world
listen. In journalism, it isn’t about you. It’s
about the people you report on, the world’s
reaction to your story.

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So I tell myself. less than anybody; they are not less than
me. Now, though, they come to me crying
One Day Later - August 13 about the boy at school who told them he
is better because he is a boy, and I cannot
Four more cities were overtaken by the tell them that the world knows he is wrong.
Taliban today. They included Kandahar and This country believes he is right. So I worry
Herat, the two biggest cities after Kabul. daily; for every woman here.”
There is only one day until my departure;
only one more interview. “What should we have done differently?”
I glance at my notes. “Could the world have
“Alright.” Rick, our photographer based saved your daughters’ futures?”
in Afghanistan (with a flight out this after-
noon), adjusts the camera. “On air, live, in “Can. The world can save my daughters’
three…” I take a deep breath in and smile at futures still. They can save the future of
the camera. “Two…” He winks at me. “One… every girl here. They must only listen and
we’re live.” answer our plea.”

“This is Adira Ricard, reporting for the “But is that really an option, still? I mean,
New York Times from Kabul, Afghanistan. look at how-”
Joining us today is a very special guest, a
member of the former Afghan parliament, “It is always a choice.” He looks directly
who will remain anonymous for safety pre- at me, and I have to look away. “There is
cautions. Thank you for speaking with us in nothing that isn’t a choice. If we turn the
such troubling times.” other way, that is a choice. But mainly, in
this world, we have two choices: we must
“Always a pleasure.” Rayi crosses his legs choose what is easy, in our best interest, or
and looks into the camera. Our viewers will we must choose human lives and futures;
only see a shadow of his profile, for his an- what is the best interest of the people.”
onymity.
One Day Later - August 14: The Day of De-
“You have two daughters, who have parture
watched the Taliban take over this country
by your side. Do you worry for them?” Three more cities fell today, the closest,
Pul-E-Alam, just over forty miles away.
He looks down. “I worry for my daugh- Some say Kabul could fall tomorrow.
ters every time I hear those words: ‘the Tal-
iban’. I would give anything for them. If this Parisa climbs onto my bed. “You’re
were just a governmental transition, where leaving today, aren’t you?”
only former government officials’ lives were
in jeopardy, I would not have these bags I pull her into a hug. “I am.”
under my eyes. I might be shot, but my
daughters would still have a future.” Taara walks through the doorway. “What
time?” She sits heavily next to us.
“How will the Taliban put your daughters’
futures in jeopardy?” I put an arm around her. “I have to leave
soon.” Parisa hugs a toy dog to her chest.
“They are not people now. They are
just women. My daughters, they are not Rayi walks past the doorway. “Is this a
party?”

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“A going away party.” Taara leans heavily I have met. But I shouldn’t have expected
against me. even them to overcome basic human na-
ture.
“I’m glad you can get out.” Rayi walks in
and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Really.” “It’s Risa’s,” Taara says. I look up slowly.
He turns to leave. “I want her to have what I had. And I can’t
abandon this place.”
“Actually,” I take a deep breath and stand.
“I have an announcement. Don’t leave.” Rayi nods. “I will never abandon this
country. My wife is in America, completing
He raises his eyebrows, turns, and sits her college education. She can take care
slowly on my bed. of Risa. I could never choose one daughter
over the other, but yes, Parisa needs it.”
My heart pounds in my chest. Why am
I so nervous? I face the three of them, and “But why doesn’t Taara need it?” Parisa
take something out of my jacket pocket, looks at her father.
handing it to Rayi.
“Because I want you,” Taara reaches behind
“What is this?” Rayi to tickle her sister. “To become a famous
author! You can only do that in America!
Taara looks over his shoulder. “An Amer- Maybe I can come for college one day!”
ican VISA! Oh my gosh, Adi, that’s amazing!”
Parisa giggles and I sit back on the bed.
“Thanks.” I twist my hands behind my “Do you wanna come home with me, azizam?”
back, staring at the floor, waiting.
“Sure!” She’s still laughing, and I realize
“One American VISA,” Rayi says after a it is the first time I have seen her laugh
minute. “The name is blank.” without restraint. I laugh with her.

I nod, still staring at the floor. “I’m sorry, “You were right, you know.” I reach over
it took a lot, and I could only get one. It’s for Parisa to squeeze Rayi’s shoulder. “Every-
one of you. I couldn’t choose who.” thing is a choice.”

There is a deafening silence. I let out a He nods, a smile alighting in his eyes.
deep breath I hadn’t known I was holding.
In psychology, there is something called the Everything is a choice, I decide as I laugh
‘prisoner’s dilemma’; basically meaning that with Parisa. Human nature is a choice. If we
people will do what is most beneficial to listen to a plea for help, that is a choice. And
themselves, even when it hurts the group, everyone, no matter their profession, what
even when it hurts them in the long run. they look like, or who they are, makes that
These are three of the most inspiring people choice daily.

About the Author

Aisha O’Neil is a young adult and a previously unpublished writer
in Durango, Colorado. She was inspired to write The Confinement
of Choice while studying psychology and watching the current
situation in Afghanistan in horror.

88

DAVE, THE
COMPLIMENT

MACHINE

by Eleni Stephanides

Tucked into the corner of the break room Everyone called the machine Dave, rem-
at Shuman Bask Office, the compliment iniscent as it was of a little red man with a
machine doled out shiny pieces of paper glass head.
containing individualized affirmations on a
continuous basis. Businessmen, secretaries, One day employee Mark, who was
the newly single, people dissatisfied with feeling particularly low, approached Dave in
their relationships, jaded workers just try- pursuit of a boost. He was in extreme need
ing to make it through their day– all could of one, in fact.
rely on it for steady allotments of validation.
Reading the paper caused their dopamine After pressing the usual buttons, Mark
levels to surge, providing them that extra waited. That the machine did not stir came
boost they needed to make it through the as an unpleasant and unwelcome surprise
remaining hours of their shift. to him.

Now they could finish their perfunctory You’ve got to be kidding me, he thought.
paper filing. Now they could make that call
to that exhausting customer they’d been He pressed the button again, and waited
putting off all afternoon. Now they could sit some more.
through the empty dinner hour at the end
of the day, with their shell of a shut-down Still nothing.
partner who had at some point stopped
breathing love into the connection that had This can’t be happening. Not now of all
once burned so bright between them. moments.

Mark hit the button more frantically,
even giving the machine a little shake. Still
no response.

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He kicked it. Nothing. Kicked it some “Dave is one of the first robots to have
more. Nothing again. what—well—what we might think of as being
similar to human feelings. Your behavior was
“You fucking stupid machine!” Mark fi- hurtful. It made him afraid. The trust is gone.”
nally yelled.
The same panic that had tornadoed
Sweat was pooling down his face by the through Mark the previous again ripped
time he returned to his desk. Feeling unset- through him now.
tled, he went outside to smoke a cigarette,
even though he’d been trying to quit. “There must be some way to…can’t you
just tell him that it was a mistake? I wasn’t
Once back in the office, Mark botched aware of any of this. I didn’t know he
the files. He fumbled a phone call. He was had feelings. This was all just a misunder-
short with a coworker. Before he left work standing. Please say that to him.”
for the day, his boss requested that he “step
up his game” the following morning. “It just…doesn’t work like that, Mark,”
Earnest responded. “The damage is done.
Morning came, and Mark’s co-worker I’m sorry.”
Earnest entered Mark’s office to announce
that the machine was working again. Mark was about to concede, when sud-
denly a possibility occurred to him.
Relief rushed through him.
“Wait,” he said. “Maybe I could…talk to
“GOOD,” Mark replied. “It’s about time.” him.” Empathy for the machine rushed in,
He got up to leave, but Earnest remained in tempering his initial panic. “To tell him I’m
the doorway. sorry.”

“There was one thing though…” Earnest hesitated. Then, seeing the gen-
uineness in Mark’s face, he told him okay.
“Yeah? What’s that?” He allowed Mark to pass through.

“He’s asked that you…don’t go near him *
anymore.”
Over the following weeks, Dave and Mark
Mark didn’t reply for about five seconds slowly rebuilt their trust. When Mark felt
as he processed this. Then a gigantic, be- stressed or lonely, he went outside to talk
mused smile overtook his face. to Dave. The machine didn’t feed him any
overt compliments like it had at one point,
“Don’t go near him anymore?” Mark but after their interactions, Mark felt re-
laughed. “Because machines have feelings stored—and in a healthier way than before.
and agency now?” It was as if these talks joined together to
create something that gave Mark a more
“Yes, well you see…even though he sustained form of the boost he’d once been
wasn’t functional at the time, Dave was still accustomed to.
conscious during your…episode. He heard
everything. Took it all in.” The previous compliments had been
like shots of caffeine—effective for a brief
Mark paused, trying to make sure he had period of time, but always followed by the
heard correctly. He opened his mouth, then need for more once the effect wore off.
closed it again before finally saying:

“That’s ridiculous. It’s a machine!!”

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Mark was also finding that in general really took her in. Sitting down beside her,
now, he didn’t feel the need to make quite so he asked her questions about her day. And
many trips. He didn’t go back to the machine when she began chattering on about her
nearly as often as he did before. Some days passion for rhododendrons, he didn’t filter
he didn’t go at all, and this was perfectly okay. her out. He didn’t treat it like background
noise or the ever present hum of the fridge,
Could it be that he was developing a… nor did he put forth a not altogether unkind
what would be the word for it? Friendship but still monosyllabic reply to indicate a de-
with the machine? One wherein he re- sire for the talking to stop.
spected Dave and cared for his well-being?
Mark’s initial reaction to that thought was Instead he looked into her face and in-
to call it ridiculous–yet, how else to explain vited her to tell him more.
the noticeable reduction in his stress levels
as compared with before? Twenty miles away in the corner of the
break room at Shuman Bask Office, Dave
When Mark went home to his shut-down beamed with pride.
wife later that day, he looked at her and

About the Author

A queer bilingual writer, Eleni was born and raised in the
Bay Area. Her work has been published in Tiny Buddha,
The Mighty, Curve Magazine, Thought Catalogue, Elephant
Journal, United by Pop, The Mindful Word, and Uncomfortable
Revolution. You can follow her on IG eleni_steph421 and read
stories from her time as a rideshare driver at lyfttales.com

91

SAKURA

by Anthony Musca

Visiting Tokyo has always been a dream of reminded me of how refreshing spontaneity
mine. I’m a foreigner, but this place doesn’t can be. “Did you know that cherry blossoms
feel foreign at all. Even though I’m jet-lagged are Japan’s national flower? The Japanese
with baggy eyes and two hours of sleep, see- call them ‘Sakura’,” I said with a smile.
ing Tokyo for the first time gave me the en-
ergy I didn’t have on the way here. As some- “You learn something new everyday,”
one who lived in NYC, I’m used to seeing Laurie said while preparing a taxi ride from
large suffocating streets filled with endless our hotel room to the amusement park we
traffic, but here I wasn’t suffocated. The flu- were going to.
orescent neon signs gave Tokyo more of a
gentle feeling compared to the bothersome I looked over at her phone to see the taxi
signs I was used to. Tokyo made me tranquil, ride price and let out a deep sigh. It’s the
and the last remaining funds of my therapy kind of breath that creates a burning feeling
money were spent on taking me and my in your chest at the peak of every breath.
girlfriend Laurie on a vacation here. This trip It‘s like I was was expelling the stress in be-
was exactly what I needed as a 24-year-old tween every single oxygen intake.
who recently completed law school. As par-
adisiacal as this place is, it still reminded me “Look, you don’t have to worry about it
of a constant weight over my shoulders. because it’s taken care of,” said Laurie.

“Hey, Tobias, check out the cherry blos- I put my stress aside and thought about
soms through the window,” said my girl- my nervous excitement for the Japanese
friend, Laurie. amusement park, SoarHigh, we were
headed to.
She knew they were something I ad-
mired and found alluring. To me, New York On the way over to SoarHigh Laurie got
only has boring-ass London planetrees that a phone call and my mind began to drift off
seemed to be overwhelmingly green with for what seemed like only a moment. Some-
no distinction from any other tree. Cherry times, my mind would do this thing where I
blossoms were something most men found only think of negative past life experiences.
feminine, but deep down I knew having a My dad was an emotionally abusive alco-
sensitive side and enjoying them wasn’t bad holic that scolded me for my schooling my
at all. Seeing the blush, relaxed, and boun- entire life, and he wanted me to live a life he
tiful individual pink petals on every tree never had, outside of poverty. I also thought
about Laurie’s loss last year and how diffi-
cult it was for us to get over it. People often

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Revista Literária Adelaide

asked us if we were still expecting after neon signs of every roller coaster reflected
the first few months and it broke my heart so beautifully on her. I tried my hardest to
when I responded. Hearing the word mis- enjoy the moment I was in, and I didn’t want
carriage still haunts me to this day. Therapy to think about the past anymore.
helped for a few months, but after a while, I
couldn’t afford to go. In a city like New York “Hey, T, after the roller coaster can we
and as a law student, $500 a month added talk about something?” said Laurie, as we
more weight over my shoulders that I didn’t arrived at the final roller coaster of the night.
need every time I visited. I decided to save
what little money I had, and despite this Laurie flipped her brunette hair over her
trip costing a fortune, I knew it was the one shoulder so I could see her even clearer.
thing I needed to overcome my loss. I didn’t
want to think negative thoughts anymore, She looked at me with a serious expres-
so I just thought of the cherry blossoms. sion on her face that looked as though she
was prepared to break up with me. I always
Laurie’s phone call ended and we were hated being asked something like this. Like,
arriving at SoarHigh. I didn’t ask who called what the fuck am I supposed to expect when
because I was still distracted by Sakuras. someone wants to talk about something
We walked out of the Taxi driver’s yellow important. Her breaking up with me made
car, thanked him, and headed into the park. sense because what happened last year
caused me to be a shell of my former self.
Before trying any rides, Laurie ordered Questions like these make my nerves tense
me a lemonade from a nearby stand be- up. If I’m being broken up with I just want her
cause she noticed the frown on my face and to get on with it. The thought of losing Laurie
hoped to cheer me up. I took one sip of my made me lose sight of everything around me
pink lemonade and noticed an obnoxious and my entire body from my hands to my
amount of pulp. feet felt numb. The lights of the roller coaster
and signs were blurred and my head spun
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Laurie said as she even though I wasn’t on any rollercoaster.
looked at me and noticed my discomfort.
“Tobias! Tobias are you ok?!” Laurie said.
“Nothing, there’s just stupid fucking pulp
in my lemonade.” “Wh-what happened to me?” I said as I
woke up in the back of an ambulance.
She took the lemonade out of my hands
before I could say anything else and asked “You had a really bad panic attack and
for a new one because she knew I simply bumped your head on a metal railing. Listen,
couldn’t bother with small stressors like you’re going to be alright, and I wanted to
this. This was the type of badass my girl- tell you something. My dad called me ear-
friend was. She was assertive, extroverted, lier and told me that he wants you to come
and I was her opposite. work for his law firm after our trip. He said
he’s going to train you under him and that
My girlfriend and I continued in the park he will help you financially as best as he can.”
and began trying different rides. Each ride
had a distinct neon sign and lighting similar “I don’t know what to say. Uhh I’m kind
to what I saw in the city before we arrived. of at a loss for words honestly” says Tobias,
Laurie’s tan olive skin had a way of glowing in as tears stream down his eyes.
any light, and I admired how the fluorescent
“Tobias, there’s one more thing I need to
tell you... we’re pregnant.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

About the Author

Anthony Musca is a writer and pop-culture enthusiast from Buffalo, NY, that currently
resides in Orlando, FL.

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THE HOLE

by George D. Lopdrup

A screech sliced the sultry night silence. In the dimness, we wrestled, twisted,
and worked to disengage our limbs from
Human, monkey, or bird? each other. It’s often hard to tell your parts
apart when you’re identical twins, like Steve
“Get off me!” Steve cried as he strained and me. Now we were jammed in a space
to clench his ankle. Yup, definitely human. no bigger than the refrigerator box we
played in as kids. Even as kids, Steve was al-
“If only you had landed on your big butt, ways “King-of-the-Hill,” and I was his vassal.
your stupid ankle would be fine,” I retorted. Now we’re both at the bottom of the hill,
I trembled, filled with fury, aches and pains and he is the damaged one.
of my own. I spit black filth. Blood? No, just
your basic average jungle muck–not exactly Muck and crunch. Bone or stick? Hard
my idea of treasure. but smooth. But jagged and pokey, too. Yup,
bones. Bones but no treasure.
There we were, just minding our own
treasure-hunting business in the Amazon, “Great. Just great,” Steve mumbled. In
and boom, down we went. It felt like we the darkness, I could feel him staring at me,
fell for twenty hours, bumping dirt walls expecting me to act. I clawed at the walls
and each other, our equipment smashing. of our prison once more but was rewarded
We landed in a spaghetti mess with arms with more muck and no progress.
and legs all jangled together. It was not at
all a pleasant landing. “Not my fault. I wanted to turn right,
but no, you had to go left,” I said through
Was that minutes ago? Hours? A day or clenched teeth. It’s always my fault, just like
more? Who knows? Night blended into day it’s my fault that I’m younger by eight min-
and day bounced back into night, split only utes, making Steve the important, perfect
by rain, heat, and the constant cacophony of Big Brother.
the jungle. We had dirt in places we didn’t
know we had. Our last PowerBar couldn’t I channeled my inner Spiderman and
power us at all in these circumstances. stretched my legs across the width of the
pit. I couldn’t budge upwards. My Spid-
“Ow…get your fingers out of my face,” ey-sense did not kick in. I must have lost it
Steve complained with growing exasperation. on my way down. I fell once again, landing
on Steve. Crunch. Scream.
“I’m trying! I just can’t budge much ei-
ther. Hold still,” I said and attempted to re-
arrange my whole body.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Steve’s body slumped into a motionless, Time for cartwheels, Ferris wheels, mer-
unconscious pile. I was the most alone I had ry-go-rounds, roller coasters, 360s, jumping
ever been. I roared my frustration into the jacks, push-ups, and dreams of ice cream!
universe, frightening birds and myself. The entire experience drained away, and the
PowerBar kicked in. I fumbled and found
Another screech echoed back to me. Steve’s outstretched hand. He gave me a
A frantic flap of wings followed. A golden thumbs-up, my first ever.
glow filtered through the darkness. A single
saving strand floated down, alighted, and Aw, shucks. Who’s the Big Brother now?
mingled with the filth awaiting our grasp.

About the Author

George Lopdrup: I love Star Wars. And my dog. And video
games. Also, I can’t forget spaghetti and meatballs. Aside
from writing, that’s my world.

96

FLASH FICTION
TWO

by Alex Brabston

Flash Fiction 2 “Your food, Mr. Sigurd,” she said as she
stepped forward, dauntless in her approach.
The smell of a strong cup of jo lingers in She exudes a bizarre, earthy stench, seem-
the air, permeating my nostrils and filling ingly a mix of pomegranate and durian.
the room like a noxious gas; a reminder of
the mornings I’d wake up to breakfast in bed “Thank you, how did you know I liked
thanks to my boys Sparrow and Henry. I’m soup?” I asked.
bound to cold steel, after hours of being in
this damn chair, I haven’t gotten it to budge. “Just a guess,” she said.
A shimmer of light emerges from the right
side of the room, narrowly seeping under “Ah, good soup!” I said as a wry smile
the doorway. In one large, sweeping motion, slithered into formation on my face. There’s
the door bursts open to show two brilliant nothing like an old meme from the past to
bright lights pointed directly at me. break the ice in an interrogation room.

Wow I can’t believe they fit a Honda Od- Brabston, 2
yssey in the Hoover Building.
The woman turned on the lights and
In my blind haze I can make out the sil- sat down, emptying the file in her hands.
houette of a woman. Tall, toned, and short A strong grip clenches onto my shoulders,
haired. After adjusting to the blinding lights weighing down on me like I’m their horse
I can see her features; a jet black pixie cut, and he’s my jockey.
a sleeve of Samoan tribal tattoos down her
left arm, a piercing and disapproving gaze “Putin, Trump, Stalin, Mussolini, Hitler.
that reminds me of my mothers. In her Each one of these photos are pictures of
hands is a bowl of thick, viscous, soup that you with these men. There are paintings of
seems to have been made over the course Mao Zedong, Ghengis Khan, Vlad the Im-
of the day; a sight that reminds me of a paler, hell even Hammurabi with a man who
home cooked meal from my mother back looks identical to you. How can you explain
when I was a child. that?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“All white men look the same,” I said. to subdue me. The woman returns with a
There’s no response, but soon enough a fist case of water and proceeds to lift it above
strikes my cheek. my head. “Ready to talk now?”

“Let me rephrase this Mr. Sigurd, do you Brabston, 3
know who these men are?” she asked
Furious, shaking, I can’t control myself. I
“Yes” I said began to vibrate with rage; I grew and
stretched until my restraints popped, only
“Good, how do you know them?” to continue to morph into a monster. The
fear on the faces of the agents around me
“History class,” I said, another blow lands. brings me immense joy, this is my favorite
part. As my black nails grew into massive
“Very funny,” she said, seemingly growing claws, my tongue forked sharply in the
more frustrated by the look of insatiable middle and brown scales replaced my skin.
fury in her eyes. “How have you met all of Towering over the entire room, with biceps
these men? You would have to have been as big as the next biggest man in here. I
alive for thousands of years.” knew I needed to escape. I lunged forward
and, with full force, broke through the wall
“I’m sorry lady I can’t help you, I’ve only and began to descend. Being held on the
ever met Trump and that was because he third floor has its perks, one of them being
caught me taking a dump in one of the there’s a cushy car pillow to land on under-
holes on his golf course in Scotland.” neath. On all floors, I bound across the city,
sprinting through the streets and pouncing
“I’m sorry too,” she said, as one cohort over obstacles. I return to my home only to
stabbed me through the hand and the find it ablaze, burned beyond recognition.
other grabbed me by my hair and held a
cloth over my mouth. The woman stood up
only to disappear from my view as I vehe-
mently struggled against those attempting

About the Author
Alex Brabston is an aspiring creative writing major looking
to break into the realms of sci-fi and comedy.

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