MIRABILE SCRIPTU 2018

For You

By Clara Webster


You put your voice on the line
You do things so that someone will see

You feel things that make you mad
You don't wanna say anything. People might stare
Finally you open up. You're vulnerable. Yet nobody answers

Nobody answers your screams
The things you've built up for so long float away

You're left empty
If nobody cared why didn't you say anything earlier

But your life has changed now
You want people to care. To notice

Why is everything so silent
Listen

Listen to your breath
If nobody cares than who are you

You care
You feel
You need
So breathe
In and out
And care
For yourself until someone else will too
Because you need you
You aren't nobody
And your breathing matters
In and out
Back and forth
Like a dance
A mental dance
A game
A wonderful game
For you

51

Nightmares

By Sophie Leigh
You go to bed

You close your eyes
But sometimes you end up

In a world of lies
Shadows lurk

Monsters scream
A place like this
Is worse than it seems
Crack! Who’s there?
Hiss! What’s that?
You walk around where
Creatures sat
Your imagination roams
And pulls you deeper
To a place that’s dark
And a mountain that’s steeper
It’s like being locked
Where there’s no escape
It’s as if your mind is
Trying to shape…
A world that’s dark as night
And full of gloom
It’s dark and dirty
And the air of uncertainty begins to loom
A nightmare’s a scene
That happens at night
Then all of a sudden
You jump and scream with fright
But as soon as you’re there
You’re back in bed
Just as you were
You’re not even dead
The world around you
Different than before
It seems much darker
But you’re not quite sure
These dreams can scare you
For ever and ever
You wish that you could

Just never…
Have a dream like that
Because it’s just not fair

Sadly, that is...
That is a…

NIGHTMARE!

52

Night Weaver

By Anna Peters
Nightmares. Such lovely things. They expose even the strongest and tear them open,
hitting them hard at their most vulnerable point. Whether it be falling into a pit, down into dark-
ness until you awake drenched in cold sweat, breathing in heaving gasps, or whether it be
having all of your teeth fall out and then your eyes snap open and your hands fly to your open
mouth, it is quite a terrifying experience. You enter into a world where no one can save you.
You are stranded in shadows and the warm blankets enveloping you are no longer comfort-
ing. Trapped. Helpless. Humans. I’m lucky I’m not one of you.
I create those bad dreams. Those gorgeous nightmares. Some believe that they are
just dreams gone rotten, which is entirely false. Dreams take ages to create and they are of-
ten strange and don’t make any sense. Nightmares are straightforward and get their point
across. They take a much shorter time to compose as well. I easily string together the strands
of fear and terror. They come in many shades, but mostly pitch-black, onyx, obsidian, or if
none of these are available, deep purple.
I enjoy toying with you. But you deserve it, don’t you? No human being is perfect. Your
mistakes are a perfect excuse for me to punish you. Unfortunately, I can’t do it by day. I’m a
night worker. But often, the night is enough. As said by some, people fear what they do not
know. Rarely do humans know the night. Night is dark, therefore no light is shed. There is no
illumination of what lies behind those closet doors, ajar and secret, and very few children dare
to close them. Those who do, rush to their beds afterwards and sigh in relief. But you should
be afraid. Adults may tell their children that there is no monster under their bed and will even
check. No bogeyman? No. He’s not there. Oh, parents. Just because something is not there
when you look, does not mean it never will be.
Shadows creep through the night, the stairs creek, drafts of chilling air float in through
windows cracked open. The little boy worries about a zombie apocalypse, a teen dreams of
porcelain dolls moving around, groping with close fingers that remain fixed, for something to
hit the young adult over the head with. It is not always what is there. What’s in the closet?
Nothing but clothes. The darkness and uncertainty poisons your mind. Most nights the de-
mons stay away, leaving you to stew in your own fears. One little noise in your hallway and
you quiver and shake, and the stage is set for the whole night to play out. And I don’t even
have to lift a finger.
But sometimes the monsters really come. Those are the nights when you, grown-up or
child, press your face into your pillow and cry. The toddler wails and their parents rush into
their room, but nothing appears to be wrong. But that’s precisely the problem. The dark
dreams of the small child are hidden inside their mind. They can’t tell you what plagues them.
They don’t know quite how to speak yet. And the parents hug them and leave them back with
the terror and darkness that disturbed them in the first place. The creatures vanish once those
adults walk in, but return when they leave. Sometimes, although this is extremely rare and will
maybe happen only once in your lifetime, the creatures actually enter. They will physically, not
just in spirit, come in and lie so silently under your bed. These times, you hope you won’t step
out of bed.
The trouble for you is, you can’t decipher what kind of night it will be every time you
turn off the light. You can only hope, when you wake up later that night after an awful dream,
that when you go to turn the light back on again, a cold hand isn’t already there, waiting.

53

The Roller Coaster

By Brendan Rubel
The hot, summer sun beat down on my skin, the sunscreen applied minutes before,
prickling as it repelled the constant onslaught of heat. The scent of newly-buttered popcorn
wafted out of a nearby stand and floated into my nose, the smell reminding me of the movies.
My dad and two brothers stood beside me, their faces mimicking my exact feelings. We all felt
worry and apprehension, definitely, but also a hint of something else: excitement.
We trudged up the stairs, our shoes getting heavier with every step. After what seemed
like an eternity of waiting, we were there. The knot of dread that had been ever-growing since I
got in line reached its climax as we were strapped in. “No going back now!” my dad said in a
cheerful tone, but I could tell he was scared as well. The worker came by, yanking at every-
one’s “restraining straps.” They were made of a tough material, but it was a little squishy as
well.
Then it started, at first shooting us forward at a tremendous speed, but then slowing
down until only the ominous “clack, clack, clack” was all that we heard as the roller coaster was
ratcheted up the slope. I stared straight ahead, trying not to look down as we got higher, and
higher, and higher. When I did, I saw the entire amusement park spread out before me. To the
left, a giant Ferris wheel dominated a corner, with food stands littered around its base like for-
gotten Legos on a gray sidewalk.
Then, suddenly, it all went quiet as the “clack, clack, clack” stopped. We teetered on the
edge of an artificial cliff, and for a moment everything was calm and quiet. Then, we lurched
over the cliff, and the peace was shattered by the screams of the passengers. Wind whipped
my hair, and I remembered how I luckily had had the foresight to take off my baseball hat be-
fore we boarded.
Other than that brief memory, the rest of the ride didn’t leave time for thought. We twist-
ed and turned, and before I knew it, we were going upside down. The world flipped, causing my
stomach to turn somersaults in my chest. Worry formed like a rope around me, and everything
seemed to slow as my head was forced down, obscuring my vision. I closed my eyes.
Even without my vision, the ride was full of sounds, including fellow passengers’
screams cutting through the air like daggers. The rope of fear constricted once again as I was
thrown from side to side, my seatbelt the only thing keeping me from being pitched from the
perilous ride into the park and splattering against the unforgiving pavement.
Before long the ride came to an end, the roller coaster coming to a slow stop right
where we had started. Our seatbelts sprang up, freeing us form the confines of the seats where
we had spent possibly the most exhilarating minutes of our lives. I stumbled over to a bench,
feeling sick, but only for a few minutes. Before long we were off to another ride and I felt great,
my fear gone.

54

SEEKING JUSTICE

In The Dark

By Mayra Chacon

55

Found Poem

By Alice Morgenstern
Our interdependence is often forgotten and ignored
We must learn to respect and honor our differences
Regardless of race, creed, color, religion, or status

To reflect the positive forces in us
Separation results in pain, riots, invisibility

Forgetting our interdependence is
Costly to the separator

The heroes are hidden in unexposed corners
The allies and the friends are heroic
Helping to fix the ravages
Left by the separator
They are special gifts
Invisible to society which is
Tainted by separation and hate
The truth is
We are not separate

Regardless of race, creed, color, religion, or status.

Dragon # 2

By Elsie T. Coleman

56

I Am Bulletproof No Matter

By Ruthie Hyry-Weintraub By Gavin O’Brien
I’m going to go right ahead and say it.
I’m gay.
Gay. No matter your race
Lesbian. You can do what is right
Homosexual. No matter your religion
Queer as a 3 dollar bill. You are shining in God’s light
However you want to say it, I’m it. No matter your achievements
And I know my startling revelation You will have challenges
Will cause some revulsion No matter your weaknesses
But I don’t care.
Call me gay like it’s an insult You are talented
I’ve got friends. No matter your status
I’ve got family You deserve an education
Who believe in me, support me. No matter your wealth
I am bulletproof. You are your own inspiration
So if you ever think of calling me homo No matter rough spots in life’s path
as if it’s shameful
Fag You can overcome
You’ve got a whole team of people Show honor and respect to everyone
Who will not let this stand.
The best playwright of our time said this:
“...And love is love is love is love is love is
love is love is love, cannot be killed or
swept aside…”
And that is the truth.
No matter if you view me,
View us,
With revulsion
There is a whole community
that thinks differently.
Remember this:
If you think we are monstrous,
You are the monster.

57

Fight Like A Girl Reaching

By Maeve Padien By Toni Mueller
I met a hero

who has seen it all
Held us up again and again
as we were shunned by men
Been with us since before A.D.

when women’s rights
weren’t anything.

When the only language we knew
was silence

We rose again and again
We went from taking notes

to fighting for our votes
We now fill once silent rooms

with echoing screams
We scream like women,

we scream to be free
Without us, where would you be?

We now see a proud woman
pushed away again
Like ones before,

she fights with all her might
We continue to prove
that we are free
We reach heights

that weren’t always seen
We can now see the sun,

a new day has come.

58

I Am A They

By Anonymous


I am a they.
Little do you know about the price I pay. Teachers and family not knowing how to
ask or what to say, silencing my words, but I tell you for a reason! This is who I am!
Do you think I’m here by choice? I don't want to be here. I want to be somewhere
else where I can be accepted and not threatened by the ones who call me a sinner for not
following god.
I am a they who is pan and doesn't give a damn about what you do, I deserve re-
spect. Respect for my choice of speaking my voice to rise above the hate that is fueled in
this land.
The respect that is earned and lost by prejudiced actions of fear. The fear of
changing from a black and white; girl and boy; right and wrong; yes and no. We need to
break free because life is forever.
The light from a candle that with a light breeze vanishes. And you could freeze and
relight it, or keep moving forward. The motion that turns the wheels of time.
I am who I am and you can try to take away my right to fight for what is me. Don't
you see? I am fueled by that energy; it’s sending me a wave of strength to say “I am a
they!”

Namaste

By Logan Hahn
Race, creed, color, religion, or status

You are who you are,
You are you.

We’re all created equal.
The effort to separate ourselves,

Is as costly to the separators
As to the separated.
We are not separate.
For we are all,
Interdependent.
We are not:
Forces to be hidden,
Invisible,
Useless,
Worthless.
For we see ourselves
In everyone.

For we are all born equal.
A human is a human, we are all equal.

59

Anti-Hate

By Audrey Sarah Kelly



Sometimes I look at the world and frown because I hear about horrible things in it. I wish that
people could just have love in the world. People don’t deserve to die or get hurt.
Why is there hate in people? Please can someone explain this to me? We should all get along
or just try to get along; instead of causing people pain, love them and try to understand where
they’re coming from.
At my school there were some ugly words found. To the person or people who did this, my
question to you is “Why” ? Do you have such hate in yourself that you needed to do that and
spread hate in the school?
Our schools are supposed to be safe and loving and yet I hear things about school shootings
like in Florida. These don’t happen a lot but it still scares me. When I hear things like this it
makes me feel unsafe in my own school, and I should feel safe in my school.
I still feel sorry for the people who do these horrible things. What is going on in their brains and
hearts to make them do these things? I hope they just get the help and love they need.
I have anger towards the haters .
But I do not wish them pain.
I wish for them to get better.
I hope for the world to get better, but sadly it won’t. That's why we need people in it to make it
get better one step at a time.
Bullies are haters that need to be heard. Victims of bullies are in pain and bullies are in pain. If
you are too cowardly to stand up to them, then do me a favor and tell an adult. They’ll handle it.
I don’t just walk away. I’ll stand up.
I am 13 years old. I really should not have to be afraid at my school or feel unsafe but yet some-
times I do and sadly this stuff happens at schools.
I am Audrey Kelly, and I promise if I see bullying, hating or anything out of the ordinary, I’ll stand
up. If I can’t then I’ll tell an adult because I am going to make this school safe and the town we
live in safe and loving.
It takes one person to start .

60

Bullets

By Belen Sanchez Mathews
For every bullet fired,

a little part of us slips away.
That feeling of safety,

the feeling that everything will be all right.
We sit awake at night
after the bad dream
sweating,
heart pumping.
We see danger

and we have the choice:
fight or flight.

But we can’t run away from the truth.
We can’t run away from life.
So we try to fight it,
try to resist it.
We march
hand in hand
in the streets.
We don’t want
another bullet to be fired

another innocent person killed.
And yet it still happens.
A bullet can pierce skin,

but it also reaches something much deeper
than what we can see.

And sometimes the scar can’t be sewn.
The damage can’t be undone.

61

Hope

By Virginia Sanzo

I am Hope. I read of magical places,
I live in a Sudanese refugee camp. Fantastic characters,
The war of my people has been going on, New things,

since long before I was born. All of them give me Hope.
But we stayed until last year, The teacher comes and goes
when Mama and Papa had
with these books.
had enough. She sometimes can’t stay long enough for
Enough of
me to finish them.
Not enough food I will tell you:
Not enough water
Not enough shelter It is the worst feeling in the world.
Not enough protection It is like sucking on a mango,
Not enough certainty,
That we would live through the night. Letting the juices drip all over you,
Covering you in a sweet,
So we fled, sticky,
Me and Mama and Papa and Amani, my little brother. Loveliness.

We came to the camp, When you’re just getting to the final bit,
Which was safe. Sucking and squeezing
Which, to get the last drops,
It is taken away from you.
For Mama and Papa and Amani,
Was not fun. And you never get to finish that mango.
For me, But even though I don’t get to finish
Was heaven. these gifts,
these things that give me Hope,
Because there were books. help me understand my name,
Old books, I still receive Hope from them.
Hope that will help me escape war,
Ripped books, poverty,
Dirty books. sadness.
Hope that will get me to a place
The teacher that came to teach English
Would bring these gifts to us. with more books, and more opportunities
for my family.
Nobody loved the books more than me.
The books gave me Hope, Hope that will allow me to finally finish
My name, those mangoes,
That I never understood, suck the juice,
Until now.
squeeze it until there is nothing left,
savor it,

treasure it,
Hope.

Inspired by the voice of Kek, Home of the Brave by
Katherine Applegate

62

The Lady With The Kleenex

By Emma Phillips


It was summer, a humid hot day. I was on the train with my friends going home when a lady
walked in.

She didn't sit down. She didn't hold on to the railing. Instead she walked up and down the
aisle, putting a bag of Kleenex and a card in between the seats.

She put one next to my friend. I was standing at the time, so I noticed it first: “I am a single
mom with two children and no job. Please help me. God bless you.”

I felt guilt plummet in me. She wasn't that old. She looked young and tired. But I only caught
glances of her.

I thought about the card. The Kleenex. Her gratitude when she went around and received
small amounts of money.

She offered people the bag of Kleenex, but they turned her down as she would cry out: “Bless
you! Bless you!”

I asked my friends what to do and they said to not give her anything. I nodded and just stood
there.

She came by. She didn't ask for the money. She didn't beg. She just silently collected the bag-
gies and the card.

I watched as she hurried off into another car. I wondered if she really did have children. What
they would say to me if they knew I ignored their mother.

I fought back tears. My mother raised two children on her own. The lady had two children. She
was my mother, if my mother hadn't had a loving, kind family to support her.

I sat next to my friends and remained quiet the rest of the stops.
I wished and wished that I had done something different! Just even giving her a smile would
have been good enough!
To tell her: “There's a place you can go, it's called the Salvation Army. They’ll help you!” I
would have loved that opportunity.
I didn't mention it to my mommy as she picked me up from the station. But I promised myself
to make a difference. To not hold back on helping a family in need.
Everyone deserves a chance.

Through A New Perspective

By Jillian Hinck

63

SHORT STORIES

Zoom

By Patrick Mukherjee

64

Where Do You See Yourself in Ten Years?

By Anna Lindsay
My throat is parched and slightly aching, but I continue along eating refried beans
out of a recycled can. My sweltering metal trailer is behind me, empty of all life, until
tonight when the oven it is now turns into a refrigerator under the moon. My ripped,
mud-caked jean jacket is hanging loosely on my forearms, and a spare long piece of
cloth, frayed at the ends, is wrapped semi-tightly around my chest, allowing my
shoulders and stomach access to the hot sun that is slowly starting to go down in the
distance. A bandage is taped to my shoulder, a regret I sustained from a recent outing
that ended in disaster. Around me are my family, not by blood, but by choice, all
showing off a similar aesthetic as me. My bare feet are floating aimlessly in a duct tape
wading pool I made when I was particularly bored. I lie back in my dirty lawn chair,
my slick, gelled hair coming out of place and onto my face, and my dumpster Converses
on the ground beside me. I’m passed a box of popsicles, so I take one, not caring what
flavor it is, and hand it to the next person. It tastes like peach. Our makeshift dug out
cinder block fire pit is put out for right now. Someone’s yellow hovering Vespa
leans against it, and a sound is coming from the center of the pit that may or may not be
rattlesnakes. Nobody dares go near it without some sort of stick. A goat is chewing on
what’s left of my potted plant that is sitting outside my trailer. A radio is sitting in the
center, its antenna taller than most of us, playing a static version of some My Chemical
Romance song. Some sing along, others hum, and a few listen in content silence. The
government is convinced I’m dead. Things are good.
I hear someone walking towards me. I’ve known everyone here long enough to know
by the heaviness of the footstep who it is. I kick some water from my wading pool in their
general direction, earning an ‘ugh’, and then the pool is dumped on me. Water drips from
my face and onto my shoulders and down the rest of my body as I let out a sharp
cackle, shaking the wetness from my hair. I feel arms wrap around my waist and I’m
lifted out of my lawn chair. I laugh and shout and flail my arms, and all I get is a peck on
the cheek and then I see my refried beans being stolen. I am then finally put down, and
I snicker as I pull out another can, popping it open and digging in. The fire pit lets out a
rattle and I throw my forgotten popsicle at it. The goat has moved onto someone else’s
porch, while Gerard’s voice has moved on to another song, a louder song, something
with lots of bass and drums. A few people have gotten up and started dancing. I
smile through my overwhelming tiredness, glad that I can see the sun starting to set,
meaning the day is almost over. The land starts to cool off, and the faint hooting of
owls in the forest surrounding us can be heard if you try hard enough. I close my eyes
and take a deep breath. Things are good.
My trailer is freezing. We have long since put out the fire outside, and it is now bitter
cold. My jean jacket has been traded in for a warmer alternative, something made out of
flannel. I am certain I am the only one awake, except for the midnight creatures in the
woods around us. I grip my fleece tighter around me and try my hardest to fall
asleep, resting my head on the far end of my saggy couch. The bullet wound in my
shoulder is much more sensitive in the cold, but I am lucky enough as it is that that
stupid vendor was a lousy shot and missed my heart. I pile more blankets on top of
myself and sink into my cot, closing my eyes and trying to clear my head. I know that
everyone else in the park is sleeping peacefully. At least I have that. At least I have
them. Things are good.

65

Hold Your Breath

By Jiya Iyer


I’ve always thought my ability to hold my breath for so long was weird, but it wasn’t until I
turned fifteen that I realized just how weird it was. My great-uncle was a swimmer in high school,
and he almost went to the Olympics. So I always figured my strong lungs and love of the water
came from him. But soon, I would learn otherwise.

It was the evening of my birthday. After a grueling day of school and synchronized swim-
ming practice, I changed into pajamas, blow-dried my hair, and headed downstairs for cake. My
parents were waiting in the dining room with the lights off. As soon as I walked in, they started
singing “Happy Birthday.” My sister walked in with a cake frosted to look like a pool. The lane
lines were made out of rows of Smarties, and there was even a tiny doll wedged into the blue
frosting, reaching for a candy lifesaver and supposedly drowning. Fifteen candles ringed the edg-
es of the pool, and the words “Happy Birthday, Zoe!” were spelled out in the cheerful bunting that
hung over the “water.” I grinned. It looked exactly like the pool where I did synchro. Birthdays
were awesome when your mother designed and made baked goods for a living.

They finished singing, and I got ready to blow out the candles. I sucked in a huge breath,
just a few seconds early. I shut my eyes, and then heard my family falter over the words. How
could they forget the happy birthday song? My eyes flew open and I released the breath.

My mother cried out. “Zoe! Where are you?” I turned towards her, confused. “I’m right
here. What are you talking about?”

“You were right there, and then you disappeared and...” she trailed off, the color draining
from her face. She turned to my father with a look of dread on her face. “She’s finally finding her
powers. She’s becoming one of us, Luke.”

I stared at them, shocked and confused. “What are you talking about? Powers? One of
us? You’re not making any sense, Mom!”

She turned to me, looking uncomfortable. “In our family, people gain powers when they
turn twelve. But there are people who find their powers later, and you are one of them. These
people normally have powers that are either extremely rare, unique or powerful.”

“But invisibility is pretty common, right?” I asked. My mother gulped, then nodded. “So that
means I’ll be powerful?” Another nod. I stared at my family. My sister was mesmerized by her fin-
gernails. My father was tugging at his tie like it was strangling him. My mother just stared at me,
sad and scared.

“So what are your powers?” I asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence. “You all
have them, right?”

My mother and sister looked away, so it fell to my father to answer my question. “That’s
the thing, Zoe. We engineered a drug that would stop us from having the powers, since a lot of
bad things happened to the world because of them. You’re the first of our family to develop them
in almost a decade.”

66

Bird Girl/Vogel-Madchen

By Anonymous
A long time ago, back before magic folk were forced into hiding, there was a young girl by
the name of Finch. Finch lived in a cottage at the edge of a vast forest, with only her two sisters for
company. Finch had a little bird feeder that her father had made just for her, that she hung on the
roof of her porch. Every day she would fill the bird feeder, because every night a great number of
birds would come for dinner. Finch’s sisters called her Vogel-Mädchen (Bird Girl), but she didn't
mind. It was true; her friends were the birds and the other animals of the wood that she called her
own.
Finch’s favorite bird was a black-capped chickadee who she called Ash. Ash perched on
Finch's shoulder when he came, and she fed him seeds. One day, just as the spring flowers start-
ed to bloom, Ash came to Finch alone in the night.
You have done so much for us, he said to her in his little bird voice. You feed us your food
in the summer, and give us your shelter in the winter. My clan and I are granting you a wish to
show our gratitude.
“My wish…” Finch began, “is to be a bird like you. So I can finally feel the sensation of wind
in my feathers.” She spread her arms wide as if she had wings.
Now Ash was expecting Finch to say something like money or happiness, so her answer
surprised him. Are you sure? The life of a bird surely isn't as glamorous as yours. Maybe you
should change your wish.
Finch shook her head, twirling a wilting flower between her fingers. “I want to be one with
nature. I want to be this Bird Girl who my family seems to see.”
Ash sighed, his feathers puffing up. I cannot say no to you, since you are my best friend
and I am yours. But I cannot say yes, because your sisters will be in hysterics once they learn they
will never see you again… He looked around him, and at the round moon above him. You will be a
bird, but you must turn into a human once a month, during the full moon. That way I am still grant-
ing you a wish and you can still be loyal to your family. I will be back for you in the mourning.
Finch nodded and headed back inside her cottage, waving to Ash as she went.
The next morning Finch stood on her porch in her nightgown, both of her sisters beside
her. “I will be safe, I promise. We shall see each other in a month. Please, don't mourn my ab-
sence.”
And with that she stepped down the rickety stairs, ready to take flight. She spread her arms
wide like she had the night before. Ash perched on her shoulder and dropped a wilted flower on
her head. A breeze swept past as fingers turned to feathers and being stuck turned to being free.
“Farewell!” Finch called down below her as Ash followed her up into the open air.
At first it was fun, swooping and gliding with laughter. But soon Finch had flown too high;
now she could see as far as the next galaxy. Stars sprinkled the sky, in all different shapes and
sizes.
Finch flew even farther up and landed on one of the larger stars, with Ash close behind her
because he would never go anywhere without her. They say you can still see Finch and her little
chickadee perched in the stars on clear spring nights.

67

Holding On To Hope

By Cayla Kwok


The sirens blare, and seem to wail along with my heart. I take a deep breath and try to push past
everyone. All the doctors tower over me. Their long white coats swing past me.

I swallow and walk toward my mom, her head still resting on the wooden door. “Sorry,” I say quietly,
unable to say anything else. She nods, and forces a sad smile.

“I bet you can’t get me!” I run off into the busy crowd of people. Laughing, my brother chases after
me. I swerve around a tall man making his suitcase topple over. But I just laughed, not bothering to say sor-
ry.

“Slow down, kids!” A lady comes out with her hands on her hips. I nod hastily and take off again. I
glance back and see my brother, Aidan, still laughing. He reaches out, and before I can react he touches my
arm.

“Gotcha!” He smiles brighter. I shake my head and turn around.
“Cayla, Aidan,” my mom demands sternly. “Don’t run around; you’ll run into people.” She motions
for us to go back to our seats.
“But there is nothing to do,” I complain. I roll my hand against the leather seat.
“Yeah,” Aidan agrees. Before my mom can stop me, I lunge for him, and he takes off.
“Guys!” My mom’s voice is lost in the airport buzz as we dash into a crowd of people. They back
away in disgust. A lady in a pink dress glares at me. But I smile. I don’t care what she thinks. After all, she
thinks you should wear a dress to the airport. I laugh at the idea and race towards Aidan.
Aidan looks back at me, sticking out his tongue. He picks up speed, unable to control himself.
Bam! A wail silences the area.
“Aidan!” my mom’s voice cries out. My dad rushes forward to him. A crowd gathers at the sound of
my brother’s screams.
“Call an ambulance!”
One of our friends whips out her phone and begins to frantically dial numbers. I feel tears clotting in
my eyes.
“Okay,” my dad soothes Aidan. “I’m going to pull it out ok?” My brother doesn’t answer. I turn away
as my father yanks out Aidan’s hand. Out from the bottom of an escalator.
The machine crackles as Aidan wails in even more pain. The crowd of people kneel down to help. “I
got it out,” my father whispers to my mother.
My mom comes over, angrily. “I told you not to run around!”
Backing away, I fall onto the leather blue seat. My heart beats. ‘It’s my fault. He’s hurt. It’s my fault.’
My mom screams, frantically running her hand through her dark hair.
I can’t see. Everything is blurred with tears. I hug my knees and rock back and forth.
“Carry him into the ambulance!” a voice calls out. I hear my brother wail again in pain.
Shutting my eyes tighter, I moan. The screams fade into the distance, but my heart hasn’t stopped
racing the slightest bit. I cry into my jacket, tears still crowding my eyes.”
“Let’s go,” a soft voice says. I look up and see my father. “Let’s go to the hospital.” He swings our
backpacks over his shoulder, and plucks me off the ground.
I cry into his shoulder. “Sorry,” I murmur.
My dad ruffles my hair, “It’s okay.”
“He’s going to be okay,” my mom promises me. “He’s going to get stitches, and then he’ll be okay.”
I glance up at her, “Stitches?”
“They’re going to sew his hand back together.”
“Oh,” I look down.
“It’s okay,” my mom nods. “We’ll stay with Uncle Frank for another day and then go back to Boston.”
I nod, unable to say anything.
“I’m going to check in with Aidan,” my mom tells me. “You can go look in the waiting room, I think
there’s a tv.”
I nod again and drag myself into the waiting room. The tv is full of colorful, singing animals. I feel
another round of tears coming, and quickly push them back, directing my eyes to the screen.
I wait and wait. Guilt is bubbling up inside me, and tears are becoming impossible to stop.
I watch as many people come out the door, looking relieved. I keep waiting. This is your fault. I push

68

out the truth and keep willing Aidan to appear in the doorway.
I keep waiting.
My eyes are tired of watching cartoons, and my stomach won’t stop growling. More and more

people stream out of the door. I feel the knot in my stomach tightening.
I glance at the door again. I make out a blurry figure. A boy. Aidan! Jumping up, I manage to

grin.
Aidan smiles a little bit, dry tears clotting his face. He looks around until his eyes find the tv.

“Mommy?” He looks up. “Can I watch tv now?”
My mother laughs, too relieved to say no.
Aidan plops down next to me, and suddenly the knot in my stomach is gone.

An Excerpt from “A Misunderstanding”

By Jessie Ma

Lylee Anne: Point of View

“Okay class, any questions about the project?” Ms. Konduke asked. “Don’t forget, you will have
partners for this History project, but...” She was cut off by the mad scramble of students grabbing their
preferred friends. I sat in my seat, smiling, but my heart was sinking. If we got to pick partners, I would
be forced to work alone again. No one would want to work with me.

“CLASS!” Ms. Konduke clapped her hands. “Before I was so rudely interrupted..” She glared at
the boys, still fervently whispering together. “I was going to say, I will be assigning partners.” I let out a
sigh of relief, at the same time as there was a collective groan from the class of sixth graders.

“Okay, last pair of partners! Lylee Anne, and…” Ms. Konduke called. I sat straight with curiosity,
wondering which classmate I would be forced to work with. “.....and Kayla.” I turned my head to look at
the girl behind me. I smiled at her, but she wasn’t looking at me.

Kayla scowled and raised her hand, shooting me a glare. “Uh, Ms. Konduke?” Kayla interrupt-
ed. “I have a question?”

The teacher paused her ranting about Ancient Egypt and replied, “Yes, Kayla?”
“Can I not work with Lylee Anne?”
Many people turned to look at Kayla, and then glanced at me as they started whispering. I
shrunk in my seat, my head ducked in humiliation. How dare she insult me in front of the class like that! I
thought furiously. But maybe she had a great project idea with her friend and was disappointed. I
shrugged it off. Kayla didn’t mean to do anything.
I drew my attention back to the teacher and Kayla. Kayla stared at Ms. Konduke with her teeth
clenched and her chin up, as if daring the teacher to give her detention.
Ms. Konduke lifted one arched eyebrow. “Excuse me?” she asked, shocked.
“I said, could I not work with Lylee?”
“Um, it’s Lylee Anne...” I blurted, and my face flushed with embarrassment.
Ms. Konduke glanced at me and frowned at Kayla. “Miss Kayla, this is not how we act in this
class. You hear me?” Ms. Konduke said, her voice calm and serious. “You will apologize to Lylee Anne,
and work together with her in a friendly manner, or there will be a problem. Understood?”
“But-” Kayla protested. Ms. Konduke put her hands on her hips. Kayla rolled her eyes.
“Understood,” Kayla said, and shot me another glare. “Sorry,” she said, obviously not sorry at
all.
“Good!” Ms. Konduke smiled. “Get working!”
“Hi!” I said to Kayla as she dropped into the seat next to me. “So, what’s up?” I said, trying to be
friendly.
“The ceiling,” she muttered, ignoring me and grabbing her art pencils. I laughed so hard I snort-
ed. She gave me a strange look, and exchanged a look with her friend, whose group was next to us.
“Okay, Kayla, I was thinking we could do a black background on the poster, glue some facts on,
draw some images of the mummies, and paste them on,” I explained.
Kayla turned her head away from her conversation with her friend. She said, “Okay, Lylee, I
think that...”
“It’s Lylee Anne,” I corrected, smiling sympathetically. “It’s hard to remember.” It’s not, I thought

69

secretly.
“Lylee, Lylee Anne, whatever,” she said, annoyed. “How about we do more bedazzle? Like gold paint,

special designs to make it look cooler and more interesting.”
“Nah,” I said. “It’s interesting enough! Who doesn’t want to learn about mummies?”

Kayla rolled her eyes and slowly said, “Listen. There is a creative grade on this. Plus, if we make it
more interesting, more people will like it.”

“Nah,” I said again. “The teacher will like it. We should just type out an essay about the mummies and
paste a picture of one. Easy!”

“You don’t understand,” Kayla said, shaking her head. Then she started talking again with her friend
Amy.

“We can at least start some research!” I said, tapping her shoulder to get her attention. She brushed
me off and kept talking to Amy.

Rude! I thought, and started to find some websites on mummies.
Kayla: Point of View

Maybe I was a bit too harsh on her, I thought as I grabbed my lunch tray. I had started some research
on mummies, and they were pretty interesting.

But still, no one wants to read an essay I thought with annoyance as I stuffed the mac and cheese in
my mouth. I had a perfect image in my head: black poster with tiny gold hieroglyphics around the border, some
bright-colored interesting facts scattered around the poster, and images. But Lylee Anne won’t do it. I really
don’t like that girl. All the teachers like her, even though she bosses people around. Even my parents like her.
They always compare me to her: “Oh Kayla, why can’t you stay out of trouble like Lylee Anne? She’s so ma-
ture.” “Kayla! Practice your piano! Lylee Anne practices two hours a day!” “Why can’t you be more like Lylee
Anne? She’s so responsible, she already babysits her sister!” I don’t understand why people like her better
than me. I mean, once in fifth grade, we took a test, and I got the same exact number of problems right as she
did, but the teacher gave her an A, and I got a B+. Talk about unfair.

And there was also that one time in first grade when my dog had died. I was alone on the bench at
recess because I didn’t feel like playing with my friends, and Lylee Anne walked over. She said, “Hey, you
shouldn’t be sad! It’s such a nice day outside! Smiling makes everything better, see!” She had given me a big
cheesy smile. “I know you are sad, I can relate! Today wasn’t a very good for me too!” she pouted. “I didn’t get
a hundred percent on the quiz today.”

I had just stared at Lylee Anne in disbelief. Even though I was only six years old, I remembered think-
ing Why is she so annoying? Why can’t I be sad? You're not the boss of me! My dog died! And then Lylee
Anne had just skipped away.

I sighed and started shoving yogurt into my mouth. Like it or not, I should apologize for being so rude
to her. A thought came to me. I could invite her to work on the project at my house! Ms. Konduke did say we
should work on it outside of school, and I could try to be nicer!

I immediately stood up and looked around the lunch room, searching for Lylee Anne. I spotted her
sitting alone in the corner of the cafeteria, reading a book. I walked over to her and tapped on her shoulder.

(to be continued...)


70

An Excerpt from “Staeria”

By Olive Lawrence
I sit here on an icy cold bench, in a cell that is only ten feet by ten feet. I have been here for centu-
ries. In front of me, there is a desk with a quill pen and a piece of paper. On the floor around me there are
thousands of other pieces of paper, scattered on the ground like fallen leaves of a tree. I am writing a story.
My story.

…..
It begins in a dark alleyway in the heart of the slums of London. The sky overhead is dark, and the
clouds are heavy with the promise of rain. Wind whistles through the chained gate at the end of the narrow
passage. The gate is wrought with intricate designs, which, at a closer glance, seem to be gaunt faces,
screaming in misery. From out of the mist comes a figure, cloaked in darkness, emitting an aura of fear. It
glides through the filth on the cobblestones, and kneels reverently in front of the gate. After making the
necessary obeisances, a faint hiss emanates from under the cowled hood. “Massster,” it whispers. “I have
come far.”
From out of the folds in the robe, a skeletal hand rises. As the fabric falls away, the rest of the arm
is visible. It is mottled and discolored, the veins standing out against the stark white skin. As the bony fin-
gers brush the cold metal, a grinding is heard from the recesses of the fabricated swirls on the gate. The
shaft across the gate lifts, seemingly of its own accord, and the gate creaks open, revealing the misty
blackness beyond. The air beyond the gate is abysmally cold, and the figure’s breath shows as a white
mist. So lightly it’s like her feet never touch the ground, the woman, for it is a woman, seems to float into
the dark.
Meanwhile, in a respectable part of the city, a man is sitting in a brightly lit, well furnished room.
The man has white hair, and his face is map of wrinkles. His eyes are dull, and his mouth droops down in a
slight frown. His head rests in his hands, and his brow is furrowed in thought, as if he is pondering some
great matter of importance. A primitive looking map is laid out on the desk before him. The names are writ-
ten in a forgotten language, and the land masses seem to be not of this world. The edges are brittle, and
the top left corner seems to have been burned away. It is obvious that the map has been through many
ordeals.
All of a sudden, the man’s head jerks up, and a smile dances around the corners of his grim
mouth. Slowly standing up, using the arm of his chair to support his weight, he reaches for a polished ma-
hogany cane. He hobbles from the room, closing the door behind him.
Only a few moments after the old man leaves the room, a squeak comes from the window. The
curtains rustle, and a hand reaches in and pulls them back. Behind the curtains, a young boy is seated,
straddling the window sill. Holding the sash up with one hand, he hops into the study and gently lets the
window close behind him. Darting over to the desk, he scrutinizes the map. Noticing a pair of scissors lying
on the polished wood next to him, he carefully cuts out a name in the bottom right of the map. Stuffing the
fragment into a hidden pocket in his grimy trousers, he scuttles back to the window. Taking one more quick
glance over the room, he opens the window, and disappears into the night, taking the fragment with him.
Behind him, the dry leaves on the ground shift, then float into the air, and take off, turning to the left of a
fork in the road, following the disappearing footsteps of the boy.
The boy hesitates in the gaping mouth of a passageway, but, steeling himself, hurries into the
darkness. The air here has a kind of weight, and the damp is oppressive. As he comes out of the dark and
into the light, he is startled at the sudden lack of darkness. He ceases motion, and looks around. The in-
cessant pressure has lifted, and the dampness is no longer so pronounced. He has entered a chamber, its
ceiling vaulted, with gold and gems fastened onto the stone walls. A torch is burning by the entrance to
another chamber. There is an inscription written over the ironbound door. It reads “Dare, if you will, to enter
the Sepulchre of the Damned.”
The boy pushes the door open, and peers into the dim interior of the small room. It is empty, ex-
cept for one thing. In the very center of the room, there is a long box. It looks like a coffin. Kneeling beside
the box is the cloaked figure that had previously entered the same passageway. Swiftly turning at the
sound of the boy’s footsteps, the hood falls back, and he is faced with a horror that he never imagined. The
eyes are completely black, shining like the depths of a well at night. The nose is nonexistent, except for two
slits above the mouth. The mouth is a lipless gash, a black hole in the terrible face. The skin is stretched
tight over the bones, and the veins in the temple are pulsing. A long, jagged scar snakes over the hairless
skull. It is an angry red, and looks like it was recently stitched.

71

The boy starts in shock, going very pale. The figure hisses, and focuses her gaze on the boy. Her
eyes seem to burn with intense hatred, and that hatred is aimed directly at the boy. He gasps, and his
eyes roll back in his head. Succumbing to the woman’s stare, he goes limp, and falls to the ground, life-
less.

The woman’s lips lift in a gruesome semblance of a smile, and she swiftly makes her way over the
fallen boy. Lifting him up with no apparent effort, she carries him to a hidden alcove. Dumping him to the
ground, she turns back to the coffin and kneels, her lips moving as if to pray, her eyes again focusing that
intense ray of hatred. But this time, it’s on the coffin.

Outside, the leaves lift from where they had been resting, swirl in the air, and speed back to the
house, entering through the window that the boy had left open. They slip under the sash, and drift through
the open door. They stop right outside the door, as if to check that they are alone, and proceed down the
stairs, turning into what must be the formal dining room. Two men are seated at the long table. One of the-
se men is the elderly gentleman who had been in the study before. The other man is unknown. The men
are in intense conversation, whispering with a mad fervor.

“We must obtain that missing piece!” The younger man is passionate, his hands moving wildly
about in the air, his hair coming undone. “It has hitherto gone unnoticed. We cannot let it be found by they
who would undo us!”

“Calm down, dear Nicolas. If they have taken it, it will be useless to them without the rest of the
map. And they do not have that, and they will never get it! We will keep it under heavy guard at all times.
Rest assured, it will never fall into their hands. Our heritage goes back to the ancient emperors of Rome.
They would not want to risk such an influential ally.”

“But that is just the thing! Our heritage is only them. We have none of their riches, none of their
knowledge! What can we do, besides sit and watch them take our treasures?”

“We can do nothing but wait for their next move. You know that.”
“Yes, but-”
“But nothing. We will wait.”

(to be continued….)

Dragon # 1

By Elsie T. Coleman

72

An Excerpt from “Different”

By July Desparrow
Chapter 1: Being Amber Fairsnow

(which is the best!)
I'm sorry, we have a long way to go before that happens. My name is Amber Fairsnow.
My mother chose my name because it means fierce, and the way she tells it, I did not want to
leave the womb. She actually chose a good name because I am a fighter. Or a warrior. Pick
your poison, it's all the same to me.
I live in a small city called Fennenharrow. It is a place where people are meant to be the
same. Anyone diverse or unique is considered an outcast. They’re called Differences. That
would be me. Living up growing crops is not for me.
Neither is having an arranged marriage, I mean, what if the guy’s insufferable? What am
I supposed to do? Pretend to like him? It’s a horrible tradition that is set for your 16th birthday.
The day when you become a woman, and all that crap.
My sixteenth birthday is in two hours and I am freaking out. Apparently the parents choose
the suitor which in my opinion is unfair. I'm the one losing their freedom! Don't I get a say in
who, at the very least? So that's why I'm pacing in my room with my older sisters, May and
Audrey, who are laying on my bed. Their faces radiate boredom. May is laying upside down
and is reading a magazine. Audrey is leaning on her hand, falling asleep. I don't care. I just
need to rant about the unfairness to someone who went through what I'm going through. May
and Audrey are both wives and mothers.
May has a daughter named Ruby and Audrey has a daughter named Samantha.
Samantha is older than Ruby by three years, making her twelve. I know, she's close to my age.
Audrey had her young and is older than me by several years. She even has a few faint streaks
of grey in her pearl-white hair.
I don’t look like my sisters or my mother. They all have light hair and fair skin. Matched
with their blue eyes, they are stereotypical beauty queens. Meanwhile, I have chocolate
colored hair, tan skin, and surprising green eyes. I never met my father so it’s possible I
resemble him.
Anyway, back to the catastrophe at hand. I'm getting married! Now I’m rambling on and
on about this disaster and how cruel it is I can't pick a guy to marry. Finally, May breaks
through my tirade.
“Who?”
I pause, disoriented. She interrupted me talking about not being able to pick a husband.
“What?” I ask, horribly confused. She flips on her belly, looking me in the eye, hers
sparkling.
“If you had a choice to marry someone, who would it be?”
I open my mouth and shut it immediately, pondering her question. Who would I marry? Everyone
in this town is dry and dull. The only people I know who aren't are my mother, May, Ruby, Audrey, and
Samantha.
Oh, and Joey Rainah, of course.
He’s this kid who has a knack for saying just the right thing to make me laugh. On the
first day of school, he sat with me because everyone was scowling at my attire. I wanted to
stand out from the boring hues of natural tones. So I wore a dark blue shirt with red pants. He came up to
my barren table and gave me a rakish grin. “Room for me?” he teased, plopping down across from me.
I was so shocked that the apple I was taking a bite of slipped from my grasp and landed in my
mashed potatoes. I have never laughed so hard. Mash flied everywhere, it was hysterical. Joey smirked at

me. “Your poor apple. Having to succumb to living in the mashed potatoes. What did it ever do to you?”

I smile sheepishly. “It was McIntosh,” I respond snarkily. “It might actually taste better
covered in mash.”

Joey’s grin widens. “True enough,” he amended, taking a bite of lunch. His coffee
brown eyes twinkled with mirth.

73

It was there and then that I got a friend. And a crush.
“Amber!” A distant figure speaks my name and snaps their fingers. I jerk out of my
reminiscing to see May grinning ear to ear. “Oh, you got it bad,” she tells me.
I sidle out the of the room before she can accuse me of liking someone. “I just remembered that I for-
got to do some chores,” I lie. May is a total gossip. If she knows who I like, Fennenharrow knows who I like.
Besides, it's not like it will make a difference. The chance of me ending up with him is slim to none. Just to
none, actually.
May follows me like a sheep looking for treats. “C’mon, Amber! I'm your sister, you have to tell me
who you're crushing on! It's been so dull with Ruby away,” May whines. May’s husband, Roland, is on a busi-
ness trip and took Ruby with him for the week. I'm upset about this because Ruby can always make me
laugh, even when I'm in a funk. Like now.
“No, May,” I sigh.
“Why not?” she wails. I grin at her. She can be so childish sometimes, it makes me
laugh.
“Because if I tell you, you’ll tell everyone. And it will be a big thing that I don't need.”
I peer out the window. The sun won't go down for a couple hours, and I have a burning energy that
has to be expressed in sword fighting. My favorite. I give May a sidelong glance and a sly grin.
May takes a step back, eyebrow arched. “I know that look, and the answer is no, Amber,” she replies
to my unasked question. But her fingers twitch. She wants to practice just as much as I do. First thing you
should know about May: she may seem delicate and fragile but she is a cold -blooded warrior. Give her a
weapon and an enemy, well, bye bye buddy.
I narrow my eyes and clutch her wrist. “Practice with me and the topic of my crush may
come up,” I tell her slyly.
The temptation to know my secrets is too much. She gives in.
“Race ya!” she yells, scrambling for the weapons outside. She grabs an ax, I grasp a
sword.
Let the games begin.

(to be continued……)

An Excerpt from “Nature’s Soul”

By Aurelia Le Hegaret
Chapter One: It’s Not What You Think It Is

You probably think that elemental powers must be so cool, that it would be awesome to master fire,
water, air, or earth. Well, let’s just say… don’t be fooled. You’re wrong, and not on just one part of it.
First of all, there are ten elemental powers (eleven if you count the Untamed One). There are many
powers within each element, and you probably haven’t even thought about most of them, haven’t even imag-
ined that they could be a thing.
Next, forget about having all the powers, or having several powers. It’s only possible to have up to
five powers, and they all have to be in the same element. Yep, you can’t control everything! Also, you have to
have these powers from birth, and they usually become active around the age of thirteen.
Oh, and did I mention these powers take years of intense training to master, and until then, they can
only fully manifest under deadly circumstances? Most of the time they don’t even help with what’s going on.
Who cares if you can breathe in space if you’re being chased by raiding rebels? Nobody, that’s who. See
what I mean? It’s not such a joyride after all.
Forget about finding your power one second and mastering it the next. Nothing can accelerate your
mastery of an element. Forget about one day waking to find that you can become invisible at will. A different
universe, a different era.


Chapter Two: Kyroa

I wake up one morning to a burst of cold air in my face. I jump to my feet, and look frantically around
my room for an open window, or door that’s ajar, or anything that could explain the cold. I check the locks on
my windows, refusing to admit the obvious. I’m an elemental, an ice elemental! I’ve dreaded this moment for

74

years, the moment when I would find out if I’d inherited my great-grandfather’s power. If you have an ele-
mental ancestor, your chances of being one are multiplied by five. The powers don’t have to be the same
as theirs, but they’re probably there, somewhere, waiting.

I like my life: my house, my friends, my family. I don’t want to leave for some far-away academy
where you get tested day after day after day! I don’t want to be constantly running the risk of dying in a
competition, or to spend years of my life training to master something I’ve never wanted!

I keep scanning the room, looking for ice, or snow, or anything! Only ice can be cold like this!
Where could it be?

Wait. A. Second.
A cold shiver runs down my spine… wait… with my frantic rushing around, it didn’t occur to me
that my problem could be… yes, it is!
I am not frozen, I am frost!
My body is solid ice.
“You look so amazing, honey! Aren’t you happy? You’ll be going to the Academy!” my mother
gushes.
We’re sitting on the stools outside our hut. The canopy trees stretch their needles and leaves high
above into the bright sky. In all this green, I am the outcast, my harsh, whitish-blue body cutting through
the soft glow.
My father goes into the house and returns with paper, some yimi berry juice, and a sharpened
stick. He dips the stick into the juice and begins to write.
“Now, Kryoa, we aren’t happy to see you leave. We’re just so proud that you’re an elemental. It’s a
fantastic opportunity! And, anyways, we don’t have a choice, we have to send you to the Academy. It’s the
law!” my father states.
I sigh, exasperated. I know it’s not their fault, but I just want to stay home! I walk back into the
house, resigned. The law is, well, the law, and I have no choice but to go to the Academy. I pack my things
in a woven basket and sling it onto my frozen shoulder. Suddenly stricken by an idea, I shake the basket
off again and instead sit by the cooking fire. I concentrate as hard as I can. After what feels like an hour,
my body slowly melts back into flesh and bone, my hair moving again, my skin no longer hard and cold. I
wrestle the heavy basket back onto my shoulder and walk outside.
Maybe it was an hour, or maybe I had just been deep in concentration, but I hadn’t noticed that my
parents were now talking to an Academy Official, frantically signing pieces of paper that confirm my abili-
ties and age. They turn as I approach, and the Official nods his head.
“Follow me, miss,” he commands, and my parents give me a tearful farewell as I mount
the...well…it’s not a chariot, so to speak, but it’s not a carriage, either. What is that pulling it? As I try to
make sense of what my eyes are telling me, the Official smiles and answers my silent question.
“It’s a Golem, created by the Elementals with the power of Golem Creation.” He smiles at my incredulous
face and gestures for me to climb in the chariot that the horse-like Golem is pulling. I climb in and wave to
my parents. They look so proud... if only I could stay with them, bask in their love for a while longer, but it’s
impossible. I have to leave, and we all know it. I swivel my head back around and try to enjoy the ride.
The familiar trees slowly fade away, replaced by larger trees with doors and windows. I guess that
this is Burchyn, the town closest to ours. My parents taught me to read, write, do math, etc., so I never
really had to go into town. I stare at colorful markets, busy people, winding platforms, and flexible bridges
stringing the trees together. We slowly leave Burchyn, and turn onto a larger, worn-out road. Hours pass,
and we ride through towns, each one larger than the last, until we arrive at the capital of Reviolista: Oukan.
I stare at these homes: they’re huge! They take up most of a tree, and the trees themselves look
larger than usual. Their features are as if they were grown for the sole purpose of becoming houses, al-
most unnatural.
“These trees were grown by Elementals with the power of Terrakinesis,” the Official tells me. “The
Academy will be even more impressive, so get ready!”
As we arrive at the gates of the Academy, I understand what he meant. The Academy consists,
from what I can see, of one huge tree surrounded by smaller trees. They are all connected by rope and
plank bridges, and the majority of them seem to lead to the central tree, which is of a magnitude that I had
never seen before. It’s at least six times larger than the other trees, and is marked with panels of glass and
a large door at the bottom.
The Official hops off the chariot and beckons for me to follow. I step gingerly off the wooden struc-
ture, my brown, rough tunic snagging on the edge. I yank it off and follow the man into the dreaded school
that is now my prison. The second we pass the gilded ivory doors, my breath stops. Huge panes of glass
depicting the symbols of the ten elements let the sunshine in. Rays of light fall onto a pond filled with wa-

75

ter lilies in the middle. Moss-covered stones form a loosely-made maze, and students laugh and chase each
other as colorful fish swim between the rocks.

Suddenly, a student falls. Guffaws of laughter sound through the hall as the boy stands up, fuming.
“You pushed me! You’re gonna pay!” he yells. Before any of the chatting teachers can react, jets of
water erupt from the pool and douse one of the students from head to toe. As the girl stands up again, she
erupts into flames and launches a jet of fire at the boy’s head. He counters it with a wave of water, sending a
few of the fish flying. But before they can manage to engage in a full-out brawl, a gust of wind comes spiral-
ing between them, picking them up off the ground and shooting them high up a couple balcony levels. A
door opens high above and they are whisked inside.
Whispers spread throughout the hall, and I hear things along these lines:
“They’re in the director’s office…””Will they get banned?” “Fighting’s illegal unless it’s in class and
authorized by a teacher!”
The Official pulls me into a side corridor and leads me up a staircase. “That boy there clearly had at
least Hydrokinesis, and the girl probably had Fire Mimicry and some sort of fire manipulation. Don’t follow
their example. Fighting is not allowed unless it happens in class or when agreed to by a teacher,” he says as
he leads me through corridors and up a few flights of stairs.
Finally, we seem to arrive at our destination: a bridge that spans the gap between a small tree and
the Academy. The tree is entirely made out of ice, or so it seems, since it could be glass. Somehow, the
walls are opaque enough that you can’t see through.
“The trees on the south side of the Academy, this side, are for girls. The northern trees are for boys,
and there are a few levels for students that don’t identify as either,” the Official tells me. He leads me over
the bridge and into the small stairwell of the dorm. We go up two or three levels (by this point I’m starting to
hate stairs), and we finally enter a door on what is labeled to be the eleventh floor.
The room is huge! The Official hands me my schedule and information on when the school year
starts (two weeks from now), how dorms are set up (two gender with some extra, ten trees for each gender,
each one specially set up for a certain Element category, etc.), and some other things that I’ll read once he’s
gone.
The Official smiles at me and says comfortingly, “I know it’s hard to leave so suddenly, but it’ll get
better, you’ll see.”
Yeah, right. Just when I was getting so overwhelmed that I nearly forgot how irritated I was, there he
goes and reminds me. Thanks a lot, as if I didn’t have enough going wrong in my life.
I plop down onto a chair and the Official leaves the room. I glance around my new room. My bed is
white, with a light blue cushion, and semi-opaque curtains with snowflake patterns surrounding it. The walls
are painted white, and curtains of colorful light like the Aurora Borealis seem to shimmer on them. Every-
thing is whitish-blue, and the chair and the desk in the corner seem made out of ice… or maybe it’s glass.
There’s a huge set of doors opening onto a clothing storage closet, and I see a few white and blue uniforms
folded on the shelves, along with some other clothes. The uniform consists of a white tunic and light blue
leggings, with a snowflake embroidered on the tunic. As I look to the far wall, I see a corner with soft, blue
chairs and bookshelves. There’s a huge window opening out on the forest besides the Academy, and a
small door leading to a little balcony.
I begin to read the pamphlet with information about the school. I unfold the piece of paper with my
schedule on it.

Kryoa, Ice Elemental : First Year
First Period: History of Reviolista and Elemental History

Second Period: Elemental Mastery : Ice
Third Period: Survival

Fourth Period: Strength and Endurance
Fifth Period: Combat (Ice)

Sixth Period: Academics (English, Mathematics, etc.)
On the first day of training, students will stay in their rooms until called by the Academy Dean. They

will then be tested to find which powers they master in their category.
History? Ugh. I hate those kinds of things! I want to be active, not stuck in a room where I have to
memorize date after date after date!
Elemental Mastery? Hopefully that’s learning to use your powers, so I can get SOMEthing out of this
place!

76

Survival? Sounds fun, as long as it doesn’t involve death, cannibalism, or pain. I hate pain.
Strength? Ugh. Sounds like a drag. At least I’ll get stronger, but I hate physical work or efforts un-
less it’s something I find fun, like climbing a tree.
Combat? Sounds dangerous. I hope it won’t involve injuries or intense training. At least it uses our
powers, though I must admit I’m not looking forward to getting scorched or buried alive.
Academics? The worst of them all. Science is cool, but besides that, it’s a bore. At least it’s all one
class, not twenty individual classes that make the school day go for ever and ever and ever.
Well, I guess I’ll just wait around, go to the introductory meetings, say hi to other trainees my age,
and play it up until I can go home. I can’t wait to leave this place!

(to be continued….)




An Excerpt from “Illuminutters”

By Lucy Pachter
———————————————————————————————————————————-

Mission Summary No.8082139
Transmission 001

Dec. 21 2051 AD,(Old Convention)
0.0.39 NSGA(New Spiritual Guided Awakening)
SENT TO SHADOW GOVERNMENT BY KNIGHT 919F2, FIONA FAIRGLOW
As my crew, 80202HG(Hermione Gauge), 82208PB(Patricia Bunker), 1327AL(Allie Longitudinal), and my-
self have been suspecting, the disturbances in the psychic energy field have been sharply increasing over
the past 3 lunar cycles as solar cycle 38 of the New Spiritual Guided Awakening comes to a close. This
peak in unbalanced spiritual energy occurs on this day every year, as today is the anniversary of the Great
Awakening. We predict that the energy peak can create portals to alternate realities. Some realities are pre-
dicted to contain valuable items that will aid in the violent takeover of civilization. My project of mass fluori-
dation has blocked the pineal gland’s natural function as the body’s receiver of psychic frequencies. Trans-
mission Closed.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A boy, no older than 17, stood against a blue tinted window. His shoulder-long light brown hair was
constantly being brushed out of the way or pulled. A sign on his table read, ‘Nigel, Your TRUTH Messen-
ger’. “Now remember this advice, it will keep you clean. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING that in-
volves Russia in ANY way, is COMMUNIST PROPAGANDA! If you val-”
Gabrielle paused the video and pulled away from her tablet to laugh. Alexis grabbed a handful
from her rice cereal and was very glad she couldn’t choke, because if she could, she would have. After
swallowing her rice ball, Alexis laughed with a “shocking realization.” “Hey, that knocks out some of us,”
she paused, ”Ruthie, Doris, and Micky for a few examples.”
“Right, they were named after Russia or places in it,” Gabrielle added,” And Sabrina, Mad, Flor-
ence, and Olga. Named after Russians.”
“And you’re not safe either, Gabby!”
“Why not?”
“Because Mad isn’t. Dmitri Mendeleev predicted your existence!”
The girls laughed, Gabrielle coming to the biggest ‘realization’ yet. “Wait, with everything he did to
develop the periodic table, does this mean ALL the elements are propaganda? And if everything is made of
elements….?”
Gabrielle and Alexis both shouted, ”EVERYTHING IS EVIL PROPAGANDA!”
Michelle flung open the door moments later. “You called me?” She looked at the tablet in confusion
and shock. “You are watching Crackpot Nigel? Are guys really that low?”
“Nah, we don’t believe any words out of his mouth. We just watch to laugh about it!” Alexis turned
to see Michelle packing a bag. “Actually, what are you doing here?”
“This is my room too, As. And don’t worry, I am not going to ruin Christmas two years in a row.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mission Summary No.8082139
Transmission 002

Dec. 21 2051 AD,(Old Convention)
0.0.39 NSGA(New Spiritual Guided Awakening)
SENT TO SHADOW GOVERNMENT BY KNIGHT 919F2, FIONA FAIRGLOW

77

Third eye witness testimonies report periodic extreme psychic energy surges every 10-30 minutes. Since
my last transmission 4 hours ago, there have been 20 of them. They consist of ultrasound humming, fol-
lowed by the opening of circles of bright colored light spanning all visible frequencies. We believe these
are the predicted portals to alternate realities. This transmission is being sent from my cancer-causing mo-
bile device as my crew prepares to enter a portal expected to open in 2 minutes. I have set up my crystal
radio to contact and alert the other knights when we reach the other side. I am not expecting any signal
from inside the portal.
Transmission Closed
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sure, the Sun sets earlier in winter, and sure, the locals will be arriving in their heavy winter jack-
ets because below-the-freezing-point-of-water-at-standard-atmospheric-pressure-temperatures are some-
thing they’ve never known, and they need something to go beyond their limits. Hey, Hannah was still look-
ing forward to her twilight party. The Elementals’ reputation needed mending after the ‘Chemikill Elemen-
tals’ scare.

“Hannah, I see some clouds near the horizon, but otherwise, all clear. Unfortunately….” Nettie
said as she walked over from the house.

“Hey, Stargirl!” Octavia teased,”Is that the aurora or something?” She pointed to a faint patch of
light high in the sunset sky, so high it was untouched by the colors.

“This far south, I doubt it. Plus it looks like it’s moving towards us.” Getting up from the grass,
Hannah ran into the house, ran up the stairs into the attic, walked to her telescope, and looked through it.
This was not an aurora. Nor did it look like a comet; it was still too bright out for most stars, and it was mul-
ticolored.

No, it couldn’t be. Scientists look for a naturalistic explanation, they ALWAYS find one. It’s never
aliens. Or Portals. “Girls, I don’t know what to say. It’s ALWAYS something plain and simple, but my
‘hypothesis’, can’t quite call it that, is that the light is a-”

“UFO?!” Helga joked.
“Well, if what it’s doing can be considered ‘flying’, then technically….” Hannah paused. ”Okay,
enough beating around the bush, WHO FORGOT TO CLOSE THEIR PORTAL!!!”
“While after presenting the evidence, this portal hypothesis seems plausible, there are a few flaws.
One being that we cannot control the altitude of our portals. The trees that could be below the spot it ap-
peared are not tall enough. Also, our portals cannot move, and it appears to be coming nearer. So while it
is likely a portal, it is probably not one we created.” Sigrid bowed. “You are welcome.”
The ten Elementals outside continued to monitor the light. It got closer and closer until it matched
the brightness of the Sun that had been down for about a half hour now. People flocked outside in their
winter sweaters, acting as if it was unbearably cold. A dozen people asked if it was the northern lights, on-
ly to get Hannah ‘calmly’ explaining they were too far south, angrier each time.
The portal stopped directly over the Elementals’ yard. Four figures emerged, then it vanished.
“Hey Siggy?” Ferris started to say, ”Are you sure this isn’t our portal?”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Now, if you guys weren’t such INCOMPETENT FOOLS...” One of the figures spoke, only to be
cut off by its own amazement. They all stepped forward, and the Elementals could clearly see that they
had dark skin and dark gray hair that flowed with every movement.
“HERMIONE?!”, Sadie yelled out in confusion.
“AHH! You know my name! You’re psychic!” ‘Hermione’ grabbed a blue liquid in a bottle from one
of the other figures. “I must close your third eye!” She forced Sadie to drink the liquid. Sadie immediately
spat it out and grabbed the bottle.
“Mouthwash? I didn’t swear?” Sadie looked confused as she read the label.
“Anticavity FLUORIDE mouthwash!” ‘Hermione’ screamed.
“Yeah, I get you’re not supposed to swallow it.” Sadie paused. “But if you’re trying to poison me,
just know that I’m an Elemental and your attempts are futile.”
“Oh, the Elementals were once a proud team. But we were driven apart in the life wars
of…” ‘Hermione’ began to reminisce.
“What are you talking about? We’re fine!” Sadie snarked.
“What do you mean, ‘What are you talking about’? You live in the meadow with the NaturePops,
teaching those around you about your all-natural skin, hair, and nails.” It was becoming clear that
‘Hermione’ was dead serious. She continued, “I see ten Elementals in this starlit field. I know all their
names. Eight of them are NaturePops, four form the basis for life, four are vital minerals. The other two are
neutral, and they do not concern me.”

78

“Sooo, you know about all about us, somehow?” Ferris said, puzzled.
“Yes. You are the Elemental of iron.”
“I-I-I know that.”
“And you help people find all-natural plant-based sources of you!”
“My diet is, like, 70% meat.”
“And you help women connect with their natural cycles!”
“Wait, what….gross!” Ferris turned to Sadie. “I’m going to bolt. See yah!” Ferris ran into the Ele-
mentals’ Earth House.
“Oh, well...” ‘Hermione’ could not finish.
“We don’t want our life stories,” Maya jumped in to say.
“Well, the TL:DL is that as a Knight, you NaturePops are my sworn enemies.”
“Enemy? You’re in my band!” Sadie interjected.
“A band? With YOU?!” ‘Hermione’ looked disgusted.
Meanwhile, Ferris raced up the stairs to the third floor of the house. She frantically banged on the
door with the ‘12’ painted on it. Zoe politely opened the door, only for Ferris to push her backwards onto
her bed. Hermione was admiring her fish tank.
“Hermione! Hermione! Come outside!” Ferris shouted.
“Wha-why?” Hermione was very annoyed.
“You’ll get it when you’re out there. Now, come!” Ferris dragged Hermione outside, where she
quickly looked her gaze on her doppelganger.
“What? This can’t be?!” both Hermiones said in unison.
“It’s dark out. Let’s go inside,” Hannah said awkwardly.
In addition to the Universal Top Ten, all the Elemental equivalents of the portal people were in the
living room, ready to discuss the situation. “So, you guys came from a portal after, what again?” Patricia
asked.
Her counterpart responded, “We measured huge spikes in the background spiritual energy field.
These spikes produced portals to alternate realities.”
“So,” Allie started, “You guys are alternate universe versions of us?”
Her counterpart responded, “I guess we are. You okay with that?”
“ We’ve been through a lot,” Ferris sulked.
“Well, I guess you alternatives can stay here for now. You can sleep in your counterparts’ rooms.”
Everyone agreed with Hannah’s suggestion.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mission Summary No.8082139
Transmission 003

Dec. 22 2051 AD,(Old Convention)
1.0.39 NSGA(New Spiritual Guided Awakening)
SENT TO SHADOW GOVERNMENT BY KNIGHT 82208PB, PATRICIA BUNKER
This transmission is being sent from the house belonging to people very similar to us from this alternate
reality. This suggests they are our alternate universe counterparts. We will begin interrogating them tomor-
row-wait no, later today. I forgot it is 3:34 AM. We will test to see if this universe has the same laws of
physics, chemistry, biology, and same government structure. Then, we will continue our plans of mayhem
and suffering. Then-
———————————————————————————————————————————-

“Patricia, why are you on my computer in the middle of the night?” Alt-Patricia looked up from the
screen in horror as Sigrid put on her glasses.
“S-s-s-sending an email?”, after speaking, Alt-Patricia saluted Sigrid. “Saluting a NaturePop, good
job, 82208PB, good job,” she said under her breath.
“To whom?” Sigrid questioned.
“People at the top of the pyramid”
“Metaphorical pyramid?”
“Yes, madam?”
“How did you log in? Or are you using my account?”
“Your password?”
“My passwords are random characters!”
“I hacked it?”
“YOU HACKED IT?!” Sigrid’s yelling woke up everyone in the room. Patricia stomped over to

79

Sigrid. “Oh, uh, which one are you again?”
“The one from this universe.” Patricia said, annoyed. She noticed her counterpart at the comput-

er. “Why is one of the tabs a search for ‘best places to bury a body so the police don’t notice it?’”
“BECAUSE I’M EVIL AND SO ARE YOU, ME!” Alt-Patricia shouted. She ran towards the win-

dow and opened it. “Oh, and Sigrid, lose the glasses. They make you look like an intellectual. I know
how you NaturePops hate that.” She prepared to jump out the window. “Oh, and lose the computer. You
NaturePops hate those too.” She jumped.

“Best day of my life!” Sigrid and Patricia both said sarcastically. They both jumped out the win-
dow. They found Alt-Patricia had stolen Sigrid’s phone.

“And, what are you doing on my phone in the middle of the night….outside?” Sigrid questioned.
“Just getting my daily dose of cancer-causing radiation,” Alt-Patricia said robotically.
“Wouldn’t that be easier during, you know, the daytime?” Patricia responded.
“But all-natural sunlight is good for you. It gives you vitamin D!”
“One, that takes a few minutes. Two, you don’t need vitamin D. Three, you can’t get cancer.
Four, phone radiation doesn’t cause cancer. Five-”
“I GET IT!” Alt-Patricia ran away, so Sigrid and Patricia ran after her.

(to be continued…)

Cecilia
Among The Flowers

By Lucy Pachter

80

The Gallows Tree

By Julliette Bennett

The rough rope brushed against my throat. Surprisingly, it was loose, with an inch to spare
me from choking. A small mercy before what was to come.

My feet stood upon an old wooden barrel. It creaked as I shifted my steps on the faded
wood. The height of it put me a foot or two above the crowd.

The crowd was watching me with sullen, hateful eyes. None held pity, as I had expected.
Many were from the village, easily identifiable by the shadowy circles under their eyes and clothes
that had forgotten color years ago.

But others were lords and ladies, ones that had seen me commit the slaughter. They
sneered down at the muttering peasants, leaning away from their dirtied skin and ratty hair. Even so,
they stayed, eager to watch justice for the death of their people.

Mothers had brought children, not caring about their first witness of death, too full of mis-
placed rage to put their mind before their heart. I wanted to fling myself into the crowd, to pick up the
children who knew naught of what was going to happen. I wanted to cover their innocent eyes, to
carry them away from the horror.
The horror this useless death would bring.

They would not understand. They could not understand.
I shut my eyes tightly and turned my head back down towards my feet once more. There
would be no convincing them, but I had to try.
The whispering died down, feet shuffling as many people turned to face someone.
I opened my eyes, knowing who they were looking at. The Executioner. Or whatever you
wanted to call him, anyway. An old man, but he stood tall in the gaze of everyone who watched.
Purple robes, rich in color, covered him like water, swirling around his feet.
My eyebrows knit in confusion. Clearly rich and powerful. But why is he the executioner?
Nevertheless, he strode through the crowd. They stepped back, their wide, hungry eyes
showing their eagerness for so-called justice.
The man finally reached the front of the crowd and stood there facing me, a self-righteous
smile written all over his face.
“My, my, my. It seems we have caught our little assassin.” As soon as he spoke, everyone
went silent, even those who had been muttering about the clear demonstration of his height in the
hierarchy.
I narrowed my eyes. I had been taught to trust my instinct, and this man showed every signal
of deceit and lies.
My fists clenched, muscles tensing as they strained against the rope binding my wrists.
“I did not want to kill those people,” I spat, rage twisting in my stomach.
He frowned in mock confusion, tilting his head. His hands were clasped together in front of
him, a gesture trying to show that he was kind and forgiving, yet his eyes told me he was anything
but.
“Did you now? Our witnesses could object. They said you seemed quite eager to take those
lives.”
I shut my eyes, memories flashing through my mind. Blood on my knife. Fifteen bodies. And
worst of all, the feeling of relief. Relief at the fact that they were dead. I should not have had that feel-
ing.
“Those beings, I do not know what they were, but they were not-” I swallowed. “They were
not human.”
Some snickered, while others just went into full-blown laughing. He smiled, but then waved
his hand for them to be quiet.
“Not human, hmm? Then what else could they be?” He was goading me, I could tell, trying to
turn me into a fool in the eyes of the people. But it was too late now. I had already spoken of what I
believed, and there was no going back.
I grit my teeth.
“I do not know. But their eyes, they were...dark. Black. Evil. Something unholy.” Fear trickled
into my voice as I thought back to the people I had killed. Or whatever they were.
The man chuckled, walking up to me. “You see, ladies and gentlemen? These are the
speakings of the insane! Or...would you object?” He looked at me with a raised brow. Turning back
to the crowd, his arms spread in a ‘you see what I mean’ gesture. “I’ve been to the madhouse, I’ve

81

seen what the people speak of. Demons, monsters, the Loch Ness in our lake. She killed in a
moment of insanity, but we still have to get rid of the dangerous, don’t we?”

Murmurs of approval swept through the people, heads bobbing up and down in agree-
ment.

“Let this execution be one of pity.” Fake sympathy dripped from every word he spoke.
“Let it be of mercy for the mind.”

The gracious persona he had created was cast away as he turned back to me, his
voice dropping to a deranged whisper.
“We can’t have you telling everyone about us, can we? No, we’ve all got to be kept a
secret.” He grinned, his smile widening unnaturally as if he didn’t know how a real smile would
look. Something uncomfortable writhed in my stomach.

Slow confusion rewrote my expression. What did he mean, be kept a secret?
He kicked the barrel beneath me and I drew in a shocked breath.

Time slowed as I dropped, the rope tightening around my neck.
And as I fell, the first thing that turned to black were the eyes of the executioner.

Falling Angel

By Elsie T. Coleman

82

An Excerpt from “Embers Burning’

By July Desparrow
Chapter 3: Colin

I examine Nightshade’s arm. A long slice mars the skin from her elbow to wrist, curling around
the length of it. I glance at her. She seems bored, like she has better places to be. “And you got this
how?” I ask, walking toward the shelves of salves our Alcamai have made.

Nightshade is a True, which means my mending power doesn’t work on her. There are just
some gifts that don’t mix well with the power of the Trues. Sometimes it backfires, or just plain doesn’t
work.

She rolls her eyes as I lather the salve on her wound. The skin pinks, then mends itself, knitting
back together. “I was fighting Lil, okay? She was reaching for my arm, so I twisted out the way and her
nail scraped me. I’m fine, really.”

Lil is a Weapon. Any part of a Weapon’s body can be used as well- a weapon. Poisonous tears,
venomous teeth, knife-like nails. Even a pat on the shoulder from one of them can result in a trip to the
Hospital House, where I work.

I test her arm. She doesn’t react as I press on where the skin is fusing back together. She gen-
tly pulls my arm out of my grasp. “Colin, I’m fine. You don’t have treat me like I’m made of glass. I’m
tough.”

I sigh, rearranging the healing salves from most-used to least-used. Skin mending is at the front.
Shocker. “I know, Nightshade. I’m just anxious. Mirielle should have reported back by now.” I can't lose
another person I love.

Nightshade nods, rising from the hospital bed and slipping on her black jacket. She flicks the
collar so it stands tall, wrapping around her throat. She looks deadly, even if you didn’t know about the
five inch knife she keeps in her shoe.

“Mirielle? I wouldn’t worry about her. She’s an Implanter. She can just touch someone and stop
them like that.” Nightshade snaps her fingers for emphasis. “Your sister’s going to be fine, I’m sure of it.”

I nod, uncertain. Though Mirielle always says she’s got it, she won’t ever disclose details with
me. All I know of her latest mission is that she was assigned to infiltrate a human school to find a miss-
ing Being, which makes no sense because no Being have ever left to go live in the human realm.

Nightshade begins to make preparations to leave. I cross my arms, raising my eyebrows. “And
where do you think you’re going, Miss-slices-her-arm-open-twice-a-week?”

She scowls. “The arena. Where do you think?”
I roll my eyes in response to her oh-too-typical comment. “No way. You’re not allowed to go to
the arena for at least two hours. Healer’s orders.”
Nightshade gives me a look that would make some Beings lose control of their bowels. She
leans against the door frame, her mad, intimidating look plastered to her face. Her voice is calm and
smooth when she speaks, though. “You were my friend before you were my Healer, Camillos.” She uses
my last name, like a mockery.
“Yes, and as your friend I’m saying two hours. As your Healer, it would be a full day.” She
scowls and I add softly, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
Nightshade’s frown softens and she purses her lips. But her face sours a moment later, and she
opens her mouth, probably to snap that of course she won’t get hurt. But just then another Healer, La-
Rissa, bursts through the door, cutting off whatever reply Nightshade would have made.
I send a silent thank you to the Elements.
LaRissa looks frazzled, like she doesn’t know what to do. Her eyes latch on me and she smiles,
relieved. “Colin, thank the Elements. Your sister has returned with Nikko and a female Being.” But her
voice is rushed and she stumbles over the words, the way she does when she’s in shock or when she
has just watched someone die. Neither scenario makes me feel better.
The tension that was fermenting in my stomach eases as Nightshade gives me a smug told you
so look.
“How is she?” I ask LaRissa as she starts to lead me to wherever Elle is.
“Oh, she’s fine. Well, she got a few minor burns on her arm, but it’s Nikko I’m worried about.”
I frown. Nikko is a smug, arrogant guy, but he’s hardly ever hurt after a mission. Apparently, he’s
too good at his job to get hurt. I let myself relish in the knowledge that he’s hurt before putting my per-
sonal problems aside and return to being a Healer. “What happened to him?”
LaRissa twists her dirty blonde hair around a finger, anxiety flickering in her cobalt eyes.

83

“I’m not quite sure. He’s not fully responsive, even after the Menders worked on him. Appar-
ently, the Being they were after is a spitfire. I’m not sure what she did, but the whole right side of his
face is swollen. A few broken teeth and bones, but that was fixed. He’s got a concussion, a major
one by the look of it, but after the Healers went and affected him, he’s stable and should be totally
fine in less than a week.” Her words ended in a rush of relief, which did nothing to soothe the knot of
emotions in my gut.

I nod anyway. It make sense. Beings heal quickly, even without our help. It’s part of
our body’s infrastructure.

“Also...” LaRissa chews her lip as we come to a halt outside the waiting room. “...Vera’s
here. She needs to send Mirielle on another mission soon, so she’s disclosing details to her right
now. Vera wants you to meet the new Being because, well, apparently... she’s going to be your new
floormate.”

My joy at Elle being okay sputters out as a gut-wrenching thought flashes across my mind.
Is she replacing Peyton?

Panic blooms in my chest at the thought. Peyton shared the floor of our tower with Night-
shade and me. She was my lo- one of my only friends. It was devastating when she left. She defect-
ed to the rebel group that wants to take over our social hierarchy.

The “Turned.”
It was awful. She had left only a vague note saying that she didn’t belong and was tired of
people treating her like a disease. I can’t quite say I blame her. Peyton is a Consumer. She can
draw someone’s power out of them merely by being in the same room with them. Nightshade and I
were two of her only friends. I think she was just tired of being treated with disgrace. No one wants
to surrender their power, so everyone avoided her like the plague. It must have been too much.
A hollow ache clenches my heart where Peyton once filled it. I remember her nervous
laugh, quick wit, and determination to not let other people’s thoughts of her discourage her.
LaRissa unlatches the door and says, “Good luck” before slipping into another room, where
I see Nikko lying in a bed. I suck air through my teeth. That does not look good. And I’m about to
meet the person who did it.
I rally my courage and push through a second door, colliding with the small girl on the other
side. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” she blurts out.
I frown as I detangle myself from the Being I just ran into. She swipes a hand across her
cheek, almost imperceptibly
This is the girl who hurt Nikko?
The girl is a few inches shorter than me, can’t be much older than sixteen, and has choco-
late- colored hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She averts her eyes from mine, a red blush creeping
into her already pink cheeks.
“I’m fine,” I say slowly, frowning at the girl.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers again. “I was just going to check on Nikko. The people here said
he’ll be fine, but I need to apologize.” She frowns, thinking. “Again.”
The girl makes a move for the door, but I block it. “It’ll do no good. He’s unconscious.”
She frowns deeper, still staring at the floor like it’s the most interesting thing in Vera City. I
try to think of something to say, and stupidly open my mouth when the door creaks open. Thank the
Elements.
“This is she?” a voice says from the doorway. “The Being who single handedly took out the
infamous Nikko?” I look back to see Nightshade leaning on the doorframe. Instead of a sneer on her
face, she’s got a curious smile.
Nightshade approaches the girl with a tilted head. The Being-I really need to learn her name
- lifts her head with a defiant look on her face. It is clear that no matter what Nightshade says, the
Being will not be a pushover. I mentally raise my eyebrows. She didn’t act this way with me.
“I didn’t mean to. But if some boy who claims to have magic and with a single touch can
show me visions of me torturing people- tries to grab me- I’m going to protect myself. Sue me.”
Light dances in Nightshade's eyes as her brow creeps up at the girl’s remark. I feel a bubble
of laughter rise in my throat at this girl. Nightshade continues, not bothering to hide her snort. “I’m
not going to scold you. I’m here to tell you bravo. A- what are you, sixteen?- year old girl putting Nik-
ko in his place. Nice going!” She bumps the girl's shoulder as the Being blinks in surprise.
“Fourteen.” The girl draws the word out, squinting thoughtfully.
“What?” Nightshade frowns, glancing at me. I shrug, entranced with the exchange.
The girl continues. “I’m fourteen. Well, fifteen in one month, but for the moment, I’m four-
teen.”
Just about my age, I realize. I’m a few months older than fifteen, and Nightshade is a few

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months older than me.
Nightshade grins. “Even better. What’s your name?”
The girl locks her eyes on me, examining me the way I had Nightshade’s wound. For some

reason, the word Ember flits across my brain.
I frown. Her brown eyes bore into mine, never blinking. I have the most horrible feeling she

sees more than my appearance.
“J-u-l-y.” The girl draws out her name slowly, analyzing her surroundings and us with a new

wariness. “You know, like the month?”
Nightshade smiles, looping her arm with July’s. July looks startled, and gives me a look like

help. I grin at her and a nervous smile settles on her mouth.
“Well, July, I’m Nightshade Da- well, last names aren’t important, are they? And this is Colin

Camillos.”
Nightshade nods towards me and July bobs her head in a polite hello. “Now come. I heard

that you lived in the human realm. Tell me all about it as we find Vera.”
“And squeeze some much needed information out of her,” July mutters.
July grins in delight as Nightshade laughs, tossing her head back. “Oh, I like you. And you

remind me of someone.” They examine each other thoughtfully, both shrugging at the same time as
they give up.

I shudder as I notice the resemblance between them. That must be what Nightshade means.
July is, as LaRissa puts it, a spitfire. Just like Nightshade.

And Peyton.
The thought makes my chest ache once again. July notices when I sigh quietly, narrowing
her eyes and taking in my stance. I make a funny face and she grins. I return it easily, and then tune
back in to what Nightshade is yammering on about. “So, what’s the human world like?”
July gives Nightshade a small smile. “Well, I only lived in a small town, in a small state, but...
it’s ... diverse. There is no “what” to the human world. It’s so varied, there is really no way to describe
it. But where I lived, it was nice. It was home. There was little crime, I was with my friends, my moth-
er was there... I loved it.” Her shoulders droop and her eyes drift into the distance. Her lingering
smile fades. She whispers, “I’m going to miss it.”
Nightshade bumps her shoulder, and July blinks herself out of her reminiscence. She gives
her a thankful smile. Nightshade shoots her a grin in response. “Well, at least you’ll be here with the
two most awesome Beings there are.”
July raises her eyebrows. “And who might they be?” She gives a good natured smirk, her
sarcasm making the situation light.
I sigh. “Well Nikko, the big airhead, thinks that that’s him, but I think Nightshade means us.”
“No way,” Nightshade responds, grinning like a fiend. “I meant Mirielle and me. You’re a total
dork.”
July gives a snort of laughter, and her eyes twinkle with mirth. I throw my hands up in exas-
peration. “I just can’t win with you, can I?” I ask Nightshade.
She skips down the hall, calling a “Nope!” over her shoulder. I look to July in hopes of finding
an ally, but she’s stifling giggles. “Hey, Colin, if you're looking for support, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to
side with Nightshade on this one.”
I huff a breath. “Nightshade!” I say with an eye roll. July raises her eyebrows in warning, but
I continue on. “I can never win with her!”
July tosses her head back and laughs. Her brown eyes catch the light and I notice a glimmer
of gold on the outer edges of her irises. Kind of pretty. Nothing like Peyton’s, but pretty nonetheless.
I blink. What a random thought.
July stops laughing and just smirks at me, arms crossed. I observe her deeply, trying to see
the creature that took down Nikko. All I see is a defiant girl, with pretty eyes.
“Hey, lovebirds!” Nightshade calls from the end of the hall, her head poking around the cor-
ner. Heat creeps up my neck and I step away from July impulsively.
July just raises her brows to Nightshade, who smirks in response. “Anyway, July and
Colin, Vera asked to speak with you two. She’s right in here.” As Nightshade’s floating head disap-
pears, I whip my eyes to July to gauge her reaction. She’s smiling faintly, as if there’s a joke only
she’s in on. She notices my gaze. “What?”
I shrug, unsure of what to say. “Nightshade likes to make fun. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“No, I know that,” July replies casually. “It’s just this feeling I have about her. Like I know her
from a distant memory, but I can’t place it. It’s driving me nuts.”
I nod, saying, “The resemblance is uncanny.”

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July turns to me as she begins to walk toward the area Nightshade mentioned. She frowns,
her brow creasing. “What resemblance?”

I give her an incredulous look. She really doesn’t see it? The sarcastic mask, the quick wit,
the sharp tongue. She’s almost exactly like Nightshade, only more reserved and self-conscious. I
open my mouth to tell her, then bite my tongue. “Not telling. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from be-
ing a Healer, it’s not to meddle.”

We round the corner together and July asks “Healer? Not doctor? Not nurse?”
I frown at her. “What odd words.”
“Not to me.”
I open my mouth to respond, but July is already gone, slipping into the room ahead of us with
cat-like stealth. I roll my eyes.
“July.”
“Colin!” is her sarcastic response.
I grin in spite of myself, shoving my way through the doorway.

(to be continued…)

Answer to “Riddle Poem”
Appearing all over the world, I am in
Everything, slipping into your thoughts, speech and writing.
I am in your 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9, though you may not realize it.
Only sometimes I am seen as five, mostly counted as six. I put you in the
Universe
And I am in the middle of sandwiches, subways, and hugs.
Sometimes younger people forget me, but you don’t very often. You remember now.
Answer to the riddle: Vowels

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