Author: Hayley Arthur

Fabrice Poussin

Maya Bowers

Sitting on the second story balcony in low slung hard patio chairs we sat facing each other. Her body faced me, her face purposefully staring off into the hills. It was later on in the summer; the relentless heat had killed off most of the vegetation. The hills were brown and low. The heat cast a haze along the horizon line. Unimpressive compared to the towering mountains of Alaska. Off grey-white, rough outdoor carpet stained with cigarette ashes and burn marks scratched our feet.

“I just don’t think I can do this without him… where will I go? What would I even do?”

She stared off into the distance, her shoulders slumping, the late California sun casting a golden hue across her tanned face.

My chest clenched and my head pounded, watching my best friends’ eyes, where there had once been fire and depth were now replaced with a dull, shallow look. Before Rob, when Brenna looked at you it was like she could read your mind, read your soul, and know your truth. Even when you didn’t want her to. Now she just stared through me.

“You lived for 30 years without, think of all you’ve gone through, I’ve watched you take care of siblings all throughout middle and high school, take care of your aging parents, take care of yourself. You have always been independent and strong. You’ve always been filled with a fierce fire. How has he been able to convince you that you’re nothing without him?”

“You don’t get it. I can’t leave Noah with him. Who would take care of him?”

“You think I don’t get it? How can you say that? I’m a mother Brenna, and this kid isn’t even yours. You’ve known this kid for a year. I get you love him, but he’s not your responsibility. He was fine before you and he’ll be fine after you.”

“You don’t get it, Rob fed him nothing but mac and cheese for every meal. He just sat around smoking weed when he wasn’t at work. All Noah did was play video games. I actually make sure he’s taken care of.”

Frustration began to build inside me; I didn’t want to hear anymore that I didn’t understand. Of all the people, I understood the most. I had felt firsthand how the cruel words from someone you love could hurt more than their fists. How effortlessly they could take your love and use it to twist your mind, break your heart, and dim your soul. The way their eyes would darken while they hurled insults and accusations, accompanied with a small smirk. Just enough to let you know that they knew what they were doing, and they were enjoying it. A game just for them, with the goal being to destroy you and also encouraging your love for them. I knew exactly how she felt. But I couldn’t find the words she needed to hear. No one had magic words for me either.

“Brenna, I get that it wasn’t ideal, but he wasn’t being harmed. He was fed and had his basic needs taken care of. You cannot sacrifice your life for him.”

She continued to stare off into the distance, pointedly avoiding my eyes. “Did I tell you about the first fight me and Rob had?”

I almost didn’t want to hear it; I knew how he had hurt her over and over and made it clear to her that he felt no remorse doing so and would do it again. But I felt that she needed to tell me, she wanted someone to share the weight.

“No, you didn’t.”

“It was about 3 months in. I had just moved in. He said he wanted to marry me.” She paused, taking a long drag from her cigarette. “I had found messages on his phone, he was talking to and sleeping with other girls, I confronted him after Noah had gone to bed. I told him I was going to leave.” Another pause, still avoiding my eyes. “He choked me and shook me… dragged me down the hallway by my hair. The only reason he stopped…” Her eyes finally meeting mine. “Was because Noah came out of his room and asked us what was going on.”

It clicked with me that this was beyond a stepparent and stepchild love. She felt like they were a team. Brenna and Noah against Rob. They protected and took care of each other. She felt indebted to him.

“Brenna… I understand you love him, but we both know that Rob would never hurt him. Is he the most involved and present parent? No, but he does hurt you. And that little boy is going to grow up and see how his dad hurts you. This will be the example you both set for him. The best thing you could do for that kid is to leave. He’ll be safe, and he’ll see that when you abuse your partners they leave. That is the best example you can be for him. And one day, that little boy is going to grow up, and he may start treating you the same way.” My voice was cracking, I felt desperate. Frustration rose in my chest, clouding my head, making it hard to think.

Her eyes hardened, her shoulders straightened. Before the words came out of her mouth I knew where her mind was, what her decision was going to be. Nothing I could say could change the outcome. I knew her stubbornness better than most. I realized for the first time in decades of friendship that her unconditional love could be both a strength and her greatest weakness.

For the first time in months her voice sounded strong, resolute.

“I have to stay. You just don’t get it. I have to stay.”

Hearing those words felt like a knife twisting in my heart. But like I had to be the one to save myself, I knew Brenna had to save herself. Now, it was a waiting game. The only thing I could do was to sit on the sidelines and watch her march towards her destruction. Hoping she knew that I would be waiting for her, with love, forever.

Natalie Tankersley

I have a confession. I think I might have loved you, and I never said a word.
I shouldn’t be writing this. We both know better than to put information of this nature down on paper. We both sacrificed our ability to be honest with each other on the altar of reputation long ago. Honesty is a luxury that neither of us can afford these days. And yet, I’m writing this anyway. I’m handing you a loaded gun in the form of a letter, and I’m trusting that whatever your feelings about me are, you won’t shoot me in the back. There’s no turning back for either of us now.
I hated you when we first met. Both third graders with puffed-up chests and an inflated sense of self-importance. Your brown hair chopped into a bowl cut. My blonde bangs pinned back with flower clips while they grew out. You, the youngest in your family, who could make the whole world quake with a single word. Me, the oldest in my family, who had a tongue sharp enough to split people open. Your obsession with politics and rockets. My obsession with books and words. In hindsight, it was inevitable that we clashed. We were both too much, too enthusiastic, too articulate, and too mature for our age. We were sparks in a world of darkness. Two stars in one school might have managed to avoid one another. But two in one class? We were doomed right from the start.
We hated each other with a burning intensity, but we couldn’t leave each other alone. Isn’t it funny how thin the line between hatred and obsession is? We glared, hissed, and fought with brutal words and barely concealed insults.
We threw our hands into the air like it was a competition, adrenaline pumping. I remember wishing I could just ignore you, but you shone so brightly. It was impossible to look away. Was it the same for you? Did I consume your thoughts to the point of distraction? Did your success even matter if I wasn’t failing? I never asked. At the time, it didn’t seem important. Now, it feels like it might have been the only thing that ever mattered.
You remember the collision? Our teacher announced a group project, her eyes narrowing at our little faces. We both groaned, and I caught your eye from across the classroom. We never played well with others, you and me. Neither one of us liked to share the spotlight, share the workload, share the glory, and share the A we knew was in our future. Maybe that’s why, when our teacher said we could choose our own partners, we met in the middle, and our worlds imploded on themselves.
No more attempts to outshine the other. We made far better partners than we ever did enemies. Your pride and my glory mixed together until no one could even look at us, much less come close to our combined talents. We were the best of the best. Untouchable by anyone. We were infinite, a galaxy stretching a thousand stars.
And then we grew up. You finally got rid of that awful bowl cut you sported all through elementary school. My blonde hair melted into brown, and I learned how to hold a curling iron and use makeup. We changed. As loudly as we came together, we fell apart with nothing but a sigh. You held court in the lunchroom, surrounded by guys, and I faded into obscurity, taking in strays until they crowned me queen.
But even in a high school with hundreds of students, we found one another. The brightest stars in any room although others came close. We pulled the best into our orbits, friends instead of dictators for the first time. Your ego softened. My arrogance dulled. And when we collided again, there was no implosion, no earth shattering moment, no noise at all. Our worlds seemed to merge as if they had never parted at all.
It’s your fault. How was I not supposed to fall in love when you were backing up every idea I ever had, when you lit up every room you walked into? You’re the only person I have ever met who could match me step for step, who could read my mind. How could I stop myself from falling when you played me symphonies in empty classrooms, smiling up at me, hands flying across the keys? Maybe that’s when I knew. I was totally and completely, utterly irreversibly, in love with you.
Did you ever suspect? Sometimes I wonder if you knew all along and turned a blind eye to keep our friendship safe. How could you not have known? I can see it in my eyes when I go back through the old photos. I tried so hard to keep it from you, to bury it inside me, six feet under. I valued you too much to risk you over something as silly as emotions.
Maybe you really never knew. Maybe I should have taken it to the grave. You probably would have preferred it that way. Still, the longing sits in my stomach like a ball of lead, keeping my feet firmly on the ground like an anchor. I can’t move on, and I cannot go back. I have to do something before I lose myself here. Do you understand? The person I used to know wouldn’t have. Maybe I don’t want you to understand. Maybe I just want to burden you with everything I’ve ever carried on my own shoulders before it’s too late.
I close my eyes and all I can see are your fingers dancing across piano keys. All I can hear is the edge in your voice as you speak in front of the class and your laughter as I take our classmates apart with a single sentence. I find you in every word I say, every word I write, like somewhere along the line, you nestled yourself in the hollow parts of me. You’re haunting me, a living ghost, in every waking moment.
Still, in my fantasies, I can see what we could have been. I can see myself spilling my guts to you in the quiet of the public library, you pouring over a book about the space time continuum, me reading a novel. I’d whisper it aloud and you’d look up from your book, eyes widening. My breath would catch, heart hammering in my chest. You’d take my hand, and I’d watch admiration turn to fondness turn to love. And we’d change the world together, because we would have never been able to do anything else.
We were never satisfied with anything, but we could have been satisfied with each other.
I see you in my dreams. We’re older now, and we run into each other at a stuffy charity gala. A common acquaintance tries to introduce us, but we know more about each other than anybody else in the world. Still, we humor them, and I blush when you kiss the back of my hand. You’ll pretend not to know every speech I’ve ever given by heart, and I’ll pretend I haven’t kept every newspaper article ever written about you. You’ll pretend that you don’t own every book I’ve ever written, and I’ll pretend every dedication wasn’t about you. We’ll both smile, and you’ll ask if I want to dance. And just like we did that first time, we collide all over again.
We take the world by storm, and they never see us coming. We’re too much, too young, too passionate, too idealistic, too intense. We’re us again, partners, teammates, masterminds. I charm everyone we meet with a sweet smile and let you spin me around the dance floor. You shake hands and press kisses to my hands when you think no one is looking. We spend our evenings in a library, and you watch with that fond expression as I pace back and forth on top of the table. We write books, speeches, articles, and more with both of our names tangled together on the covers. One day, we’re photographed with wedding bands on our hands, but we never announce anything. Some things belong to us and not to our careers. We’re good together. Better than that, we’re happy together. Best of all, we love each other.
I’m being unfair, and I know it. You’ve always said I was too good with words for my own good. I’m not asking for anything real. I’m not offering you anything real. Just fantasize with me for a moment, and tell me what might have been.
There it is. I’m handing you my heart with both hands. Isn’t it funny I still trust you more than I trust myself? Maybe we can burn the altar of reputation. Maybe one day we’ll throw it all away. Or maybe not. It’s in your hands now, love.

Jesse Lee

Pinpricks of silver on black velvet,
scattered remains of last night’s
shattered moon.
A glowing beast,
a ball of light held in its mouth
as he stalks through the night.

The raiders of the sea
called him the torch of Loki,
guiding the mischievous god
to the land of mortals.

The ancients knew him as
Orion’s hunting companion,
following his master into death
to hunt the night dark west.

He gave his blessing to the archers,
His blood to the wolves,
His love to the lost,
an eternal fire against
the shadows.

He answers the howls
of his earthbound brothers
with a shimmering, silent dance,
burning brighter than all his celestial kin,
a wildfire among candles.

Lucas Durand

“Steep your steps ever in Light
And shun the umbral grasp of Night.”

These words often our mothers say
To children, lest they disobey.
For Light holds the Darkness at bay
And proudly heralds coming Day.
Where It reigns, the Void holds no sway.
Steep your steps ever in Light.

As such, when I must walk alone
I stride within the Sunshine shone
By lamps aflame o’er cobblestone.
Though their glow gutters with gusts blown,
They guard against Dark’s threats unknown
And shun the umbral grasp of Night.

And yet the darkened places call.
Though Night has naught, it offers all.
While I am not the shadows’ thrall,
Within my soul I feel it crawl:
The thirst to yield and Lightless fall.
Steep your steps ever in Light.

“Perhaps in twilight, you would rise.”
So the Night says, and so it lies.
For dusk no true compromise
And, once conquered by Nighttime, dies.
Heed not its whimpered, whispered cries
And shun the umbral grasp of Night.

When Dawn awakens, brilliant, bright,
And burns away our ev’ry plight
Firm faith shall turn to sunlit sight.
Until that Day sets all aright,
Resist the Dark with all your might.
Steep your steps ever in Light
And shun the umbral grasp of Night.

Anna Thomas

my love for you is in persistent retrograde
the candle is being lit – the wick won’t ignite
the river is flowing yet never forms a cascade

removing the mask – never revealing the masquerade
the key is in the door – the lock is still tight
my love for you is in persistent retrograde

stepping out into the sun – still in the shade
the moon comes out – the sky isn’t bright
the river is flowing yet never forms a cascade

erasing the words – the lines never fade
the stars shine – the day still isn’t night
my love for you is in persistent retrograde

getting off the path – somehow never strayed
turning left – still heading right
the river is flowing yet never forms a cascade

fighting for your love to find out it was a game of charade
looking forward but keep on losing sight
my love for you is in persistent retrograde
the river is flowing yet never forms a cascade

Natalie Tankersley

Writers are born,
shaking, squealing, and struggling to describe the world
they’ve been thrust into, sitting
on their grandfather’s knee, babbling, bumbling, and bouncing as stories pile up
in their heads, collecting
dust before they learn to
turn thoughts into ink

Writers are created,
whispering, waiting, and wondering about the things that
live in their heads, emerging
from the depths of nights alone, escaping, envying, and editing
their thoughts until
their hearts bleed, spilling
aching and raw onto
a blank page

Writers are forged,
hunching, hallucinating, and haunting over their desk with
hands on keyboards, begging
the words to come,
dragging, demanding, and daring writer’s block to stand
in their way, knocking
the walls to their creative
wellspring down

Fabrice Poussin

Anna Roberts

I screamed when I got tagged
in the front yard of the funeral home
because I couldn’t when I saw
my grandmother’s body in that casket,
stiff and gaunt.

I chased some other kids,
my cream, butterfly-print dress
rippling in the breeze as I ran
farther from the funeral home
and the dark rooms inside it.

Bailey Lane

It is so beautiful,
how You can take beauty from the ashes, the heartbreak into harmony,
the brokenness into beauty,
the pain into purpose.
It is my joy,
my honor,
my greatest gift,
to be redeemed and loved by You.