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VOLUME 7 ISSUE 1

This issue is dedicated to
human reflection.

Designed By: Nuvia Carrera & Ximena Torres Ramos

The mission of Elysian Magazine is to inspire students at Aurora University to create unique works of art and to provide an outlet where creative voices cannot only be shared but also admired.

 

Cover Photo: A Human Reflection

Photo Taken By Ximena Torres Ramos

​

​

“A print keepsake symbolizing creative voice and college memory."

Small Talk in a Grocery Store
Mia Woltman

     On the rainiest day of November, Jessie Dylan rounded the corner of 31st Street and rushed into the market that usually saw him on Tuesdays. The awning’s holes dripped pools onto the signs posted outside the door, the same weathered signs that displayed the weekly coupons. He greeted the cashier, whose name he still did not know. The poor guy – who seemed to wear misery on his stubbled face like it was situated there in permanent marker – had never fixed the blurred ink on the nametag pinned to his apron after scribbling it on the first time. Jessie scoffed at the carelessness as he relaxed his grip on the back of his woolen coat. He couldn’t wait to throw out the heavy thing stitched with itchy fibers and buy an actual jacket.

     The bell tinkled above when he picked up a rusted basket and started down an aisle. In the chaos of the day, he had forgotten to make a list. Fruit always cheered him on gloomy days when the cold was freezing over Chicago’s potholes.

 
     While fumbling with a plastic bag he’d pulled from a roll the cashier needed to refill, Jessie saw a woman near the tomatoes. She wore an oversized jacket that looked much softer than his. The brown plaid contrasted her gray sweatpants, but she caught Jessie’s attention, no doubt. Her hair was a messy kind of beautiful, like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. This woman standing in front of him, though, was doing something peculiar with her feet, swaying like there was a routine for the fuzzy music playing over the speaker. She had shoved her pants into her drying boots, drawing even more attention to her feet with the bulkiness of them.
 
     “Do you need these?” Elizabeth Steven lugged her heavy basket higher on her arm and shuffled aside for the man who looked like he was posing as an English author. The only thing he lacked was a cigar pipe, but then again, maybe it was wedged into a pocket.
 
     “Oh. No. Sorry. But I do need those.” Elizabeth followed his fingertip to the apples. The store’s produce was organized by color, not by seeded or seedless. Perhaps there were fewer arguments that way, less bickering about which things were categorized as vegetables and whatnot. She let the man pass, catching the scent of him – wet pavement if such a cologne was possible. She turned back to the tomatoes and was practically getting to second base with one the way she was testing its firmness when she heard the Shakespearean speak again. “I don’t think tomatoes pair well with that much chocolate,” he joked, feeling up a honeycrisp.
 
     Elizabeth froze dumbly for a moment before she realized he was poking fun at her basket. She tugged a loose curl behind her ear. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. Hell, the more the merrier, right?” He chuckled and shook his head simultaneously.

     “It’s been a while since I’ve binged like this, I’ll have you know.” She tried her best to emphasize her sarcasm. His mouth opened and closed as if to show understanding. “I’m a dancer.”
 
     He decided in favor of the apple and faced her. “That explains the slice of cake hiding under those grapes and the foot thing.” She collapsed her shoulders as if feigning defeat. “You got me.” They both shared a small talk giggle as another customer reached between them. With slippery shoes and a drenched outfit, the woman huffed in frustration as she navigated the narrow aisle. They backed themselves into a wine rack.

     “Wait, what foot thing?” One of her eyebrows lifted as if on a puppet string. “You were dancing a whole waltz when I saw you.” He gestured to the store to mock her chosen audience. Her cheeks became pink.

     “What about you?” She asked, taking in his muscular appearance that no longer seemed to suit an English writer. Square jaw. Dark features. Blue eyes.
 
     “Oh, no. Not a dancer. Not me.” His eyes scanned a row of reds.
 

   “Your career.”
 
     “Accountant. Well, I was an accountant this morning. Not anymore.”
 
     “No?”
 
     There was a pause then and Elizabeth realized why. He was studying her, looking at her as if she was some oddity on one of the shelves. His attitude was a bit bitter but now, with his eyes on hers, she thought there might be something sweet in the wine he drank. “I think you ought to start waltzing then.”
 
     He released a genuine laugh, and Elizabeth thought his smile was worth the rainy errand – that and the chocolate.
 
     “I haven’t laughed all day.” A sigh. “Anyways, are you famous or something? “Quite the opposite, actually. I just turned down a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to stay in one spot. I like my errands too much here to travel more.” Having admitted her homesickness aloud made her feel crazy. She said it with a sense of craziness, too.

     “No, I get it. Who knew working sixty-plus hours for my dream company would turn me into a workaholic.” He brushed a hand through his ruffled hair so that a few raindrops landed on the tiles. “And not the good kind. Got to slow down sometimes.” His drooping voice was met with the ringing of the register.

     Elizabeth took the noise as an opportunity to reach out and touch his woolen arm. “I’m sure things will work out. I better go though. The rain is stopping and this basket is giving me an unwanted workout.” He nodded when he saw the pedestrians who had come in to seek cover start to leave.

     “For you too. Wait, your name?”
 
     In the line of customers waiting to pay, she yelled, “Elizabeth Steven.” He wore a curious grin, making her heart stutter again.
 
     “Isn’t it normally Stevens with an ‘s’?”
 
     “Yes.”
 
     “Ah. Jessie Dylan.”
 
     She smiled, handed the cashier some cash, rolled her eyes at the boy’s nametag, and turned back to her new acquaintance. “Nice to meet you.”

I'm Not Your Love
Kim Leslie

I see your starry gaze and your blushes
as you melt from the inside and skip
over my mere presence, your holy eclipse.
It’s apparent that I’m your latest crush.
Your notes, written in pen, dream of us as lovers.
They sing about an eternal dance
where we exchange sweet, sucking kisses
and long embraces as soft as silk cushions.

 

However, we can’t be a couple.
It’s not you; it’s me. I much prefer
singlehood’s freedom to your love’s chains.
I’d rather not gag on your kisses and cuddles
and pretend to be a passionate partner.
I’ll dance to my own rhythm, true and unafraid.

Beast

Photo Taken By Andy Salazar

Beast B&W.JPEG

Keeper
Robert McDonald

     Matt wiped the sweat off of his brow and let out a little sigh. When it came to beekeeping, it was always a bit of a risk to go for a break. After all, taking the veil off for a drink was just asking to find a random bee clinging to your suit and get stung, but any beekeeper worth his salt knew he was going to get stung once or twice or three times a week, on a good week.


     However, that was when he took notice of it. Yes, there was, in fact, a bee clinging to his suit. However, its movements were sluggish and its wings made no effort to fly. He took the little worker in his gloved hand and lightly prodded it.


     “Dad,” a toneless voice called out. Matt turned and saw 13-year-old Daniel standing at the door. “Mom says dinner will be ready in an hour.”


     “Daniel, come here,” he called out. The boy walked step-by-step in a little tiptoe march. Matt had done the same thing when he was younger. He held out the little bee for Daniel to see. “Do you see how this one is weak?”


     His son nodded, but didn’t say anything. Matt continued.


     “We can feed him some sugar water. Can you get some?”


     Daniel disappeared into the house. Matt checked himself over once more and finally sat down on the bench outside of the screened-in porch.


     It had only been a few months since the diagnosis, but his fascination with bees had started much earlier. He’d always had a tender hand, but somehow with a son very much like himself, Matt felt he just couldn’t click. It was easy to understand the predictable reactions of a bee. Sure, they each had their own personalities, or at least he liked to think so, but they remained simple and similar. Not people. People were hard.


     Matt stretched his back out with a groan as he prepared for his son’s return. Daniel was never into bees. Maybe it was resentment because Matt liked them so much. Can’t go liking stuff your old man likes, after all. But Matt just couldn’t understand that. If he gave bees a chance, they weren’t that bad, right?


     Daniel reappeared from the house. In his hands was a bottle cap, apparently already prepared with some sugar water. He carried it out carefully, and once the pair reunited, they presented the small insect with the sugar water.


     Matt stared at the bee with fascination. “See, see how his mandibles move when he drinks it?” He smiled in Daniel's way.


     For once, Daniel appeared to be watching, smiling, even. “It’s like Kamen Rider.”

​

     Matt continued to watch the bee for several moments as he processed what he heard. He rose his gaze up and gave Daniel a look of bewilderment. “... What?”


     Daniel’s smile faded. He turned away and began walking back to the house. “Dinner will be ready in an hour,” he repeated, then pulled the sliding-glass door shut.

Abuelo C
Naxalí Cervantes

I am one of your many granddaughters
 

Having a close relationship is something I longed for,

Any grandchild would want to feel your embrace,

Today will be just like any other day,

Every day passes by like how the sun will rise the next day
 

You held my father temporarily, then you left him

Oh to only see you one time, just so you

Understand you will never be my grandfather.

Frozen Tomb
Kim Leslie

White waves swirl around on fields and cliffs.
Crystals cling to the edges of broken windows,
water droplets frozen.

​

Not a soul remains in the splintered shamble
where the former inhabitants used to dwell.
Winds of nipping cold have frozen their blood
til it halted; now all that remains
are the roof and walls,
discolored and suffocated.

​

The white ashes have flooded the place,
erasing landmarks of human life
Photos with smiling faces have lost their color,
now snow-covered sheets.
The fireplace’s last embers have died
and ice has snuffed out its warmth.
The meats, fruits, and vegetables are now hard and gray,
their color and taste drained away.

​

The howls continue, blowing
the white waves in circles.

The Words We Chose
Aurora Williams

     “Will you just shut up!” the boy screamed as he stomped

into his room, slamming the door behind him, causing a photo

on the wall to lose its place on the nail and crash toward the

ground below. The boy paid no mind to the sound of the

shattering glass and the shards that now littered his bedroom’s hardwood floor. He yanked his chair out from its place at his desk and propped it up against his door. He replicated a make-shift barricade he had originally seen in a cheesy ‘80s movie, that he had since perfected in prohibiting entry to his sacred space. Specifically, prohibiting his younger sister’s entry.


     She had once again gotten on his nerves while he was trying to do his homework, constantly badgering him on when he would be finished and if he would play with her upon its completion. Her high-pitched voice was constantly heard throughout the whole house – he swore you could feel the house vibrate whenever she spoke. Not to mention how, whenever she would speak, it sounded as if she were screeching through a megaphone. It was the kind of voice that was equivalent to scratching one’s nails across a chalkboard. It made the boy want to rip his own ears off for even the smallest sensation of relief.


     Even when the teen was not doing homework, his little sister was constantly nagging him, no matter the activity. If he was quietly reading on his own in his room, his sister would either be repeatedly barging into his room or, when the chair prevented her entry, she would be insistently knocking, demanding to show him some insignificant, low-quality drawing she made. It was always either that, or just wanting to chat his ear off about whatever cartoon she had watched that day. They were complete contradictions of each other; whereas he absolutely adored the quiet, always embracing in the solace of her absence, she would regularly be as loud as possible, always attempting to antagonize him at every opportunity. It grinded his gears whenever she would annoy him just for the sake of doing so.


     This time was, unfortunately, no exception.


     He had been attempting to complete a rather difficult homework assignment on a subject that he, admittedly, didn’t entirely understand. The assignment was due the next day in class, but the teen was simply drawing blanks, with the only things he had written down being his name and the date. That coupled with his obnoxious sibling up to her usual antics in constantly interfering with whatever task he was doing, caused his rage and anxiety to finally boil over. He had had enough of her constant “what are doing?”
“can you play with me?” and “when will you be done?” as well as her perpetual poking of his arm. He roared in frustration before he tore up his practically blank page and 
tossed the shreds in the air, turning his back as the shreds fluttered gracefully onto the tiles of the kitchen floor. He stormed off to his room, angrily screaming at his sister for being the nuisance she was.


     Now, he lay face-down on his bed, howling in rage into his pillow. She had always done this. She had always bothered him when he didn't want to be bothered. She had continuously touched and broken his belongings. She had always told embarrassing stories of him whenever she was in the presence of his friends. It was to the point that he no longer brought his friends over or even mentioned them, because that would just be one more thing for her to nag him over.


     He screamed into his pillow until his throat went raw, heavily breathing and growling as he angrily attempted to regain his breath. He felt his saliva drip out of his mouth and onto the pillowcase, giving the texture an uncomfortable slimy feel.


     “Great,” the boy muttered through gritted teeth, “just one other thing I have to get done because of her...”


     Right on cue, he heard tiny knocks on his bedroom door. However, they weren’t as erratic as usual. They were small and soft, almost as if his younger sister were knocking cautiously, like she was afraid of him.


     He didn’t care about her feelings. She had never considered his.


     “Go away!” he roared, his already sore throat feeling even more raw as he unleashed his pent-up fury on his sibling.


     A petite, muffled voice could be heard through the door, “but-”


     “Just leave me alone!” the boy cut off his sister, resentment dripping off his screams.


     A few seconds passed before the same soft knocks sounded again, this time, much quieter to the point they were barely audible. They were more than loud enough to him, though. The boy had reached his breaking point. He launched himself off his bed and marched towards the door, ripping away the chair and hurling it across his room before flinging the door open. He stared daggers down at her, meeting her petrified sky blue eyes peering back up at him.

​

     “I said to leave me the hell alone!” he shrieked, “just go away! No one wants you here!”


     “Really...?” the child whimpered, tears stinging the corners of her eyes.


     “Yes, really!” her brother hollered, spit flying out of his mouth as his hands were flying in a barrage of angry gestures. “I wish you  weren’t my sister! I’ll be happy if I never have to hear your annoying voice ever again!”


     With that last parting, he slammed the door in her face. He then turned on his heel to flop onto his bed, squeezing his damp pillow over his ears to drown out the sound of his sister’s pathetic sobbing.


     He knew he would get in serious trouble for making his sister cry upon his parents’ arrival home from their outing. However, he honestly couldn’t care any less.


~~~


     He adjusted his tie in the mirror, mind hazy as he barely processed the rest of his sloppy appearance. His ocean coloured eyes were vacant with dark bags beneath them, complemented by his tangled and greasy brunet hair, he resembled a shell-shocked soldier returning home after a bloodied battle. His black suit was wrinkled, a result of him forgetting to iron it beforehand in lieu of his mother’s multiple reminders. He had been forgetting many things lately. The past week had been foggy, the days seemingly blending together into a concoction of anger, shock, grief, and sobbing on repeat like a broken record.


     His parents had been a wreck since the accident, especially on this day, when the funeral service would be held in a few short hours. The man who ran the stop sign was currently in police custody, awaiting his trial for vehicular manslaughter. She was just walking to the park with her friends, like she did every weekend. She hadn’t even finished the third grade... there was so much that she would never get to do. There was so much that he would never get to say to her.


     It was just last week he was screaming that he never wanted to hear her voice again. Now, he would give anything just to hear it one more time. Anything to hold her close and reassure her he never meant those harsh words. Anything to tell her he loved her.

​

     When his parents first informed him of the accident, he refused to believe them. Days later, he went up to his little sister’s room, expecting to find her hiding in some kind of twisted game of hide-and-seek. Instead, however, he found her empty room in its usual state of disarray, having been left untouched since her death. He could have sworn there was some veil of melancholy blanketing the room. But what really hit him was the silence, it was so deafening.


     As he walks into the funeral home side-by-side with his sniffling parents, the gravity of it all finally hits him. The future seems so uncertain now. But there is one thing he knows right now in the present: he hates the quiet.

Tiled Perception

Photo Taken By Bridget Tully

Tilted Perception.JPEG

My Dear Constant
Mia Woltman

My dear constant.

I find it hard to let go
of all the history,
the timelines of laughs, most of all.

I sit in front of you
and watch you pour me a cup.

Caramel cream.

Your eyes remember one thing
while mine remember another.

Sweet sugar.

Years have passed yet here you are
to say hello and me goodbye.

Mixed milk.

An open door must be closed
To keep the breeze from changing sail.

You blow before you sip,
touch a finger to your lip.

I ache to know we’ll leave here more alone.
But even patterns only last until
cycles
break.

And so, I know, though I’m sad,
time unfolds truth like laundry.
You’ve remembered how I take my coffee.
You smile when my eyes tell you how I’ll miss
this.

Goodbye my constant, you’ve made me unconscious.

And it tastes bittersweet.

denial
Jessica Somogye

when i look up the name
Oliver
google tells me it means
true
affectionate

when i think about the name
Oliver
my mind floods me with happy memories of you
staying true to each other
and your undivided affection

when i type the name
Oliver
into my phone
the screen is filled to the brim
with pictures
texts
videos

when i say the name
Oliver
you turn your head towards me
look over your shoulder
come running from the next room
embracing me in a hug that is as warm and peaceful as
hot chocolate after hours in the snow


and when the phone rings
i snap back to reality
but
i still hear echoes of
your voice
on the other line

i still look for your car
and i find myself turning on
your playlist
every time i drive
and i still see your face
when i close my eyes

i still recite your order before my own
at the culver’s drive-thru
double burger - plain
(with cheese)
and a large fry with a sprite

when i’m grocery shopping
i find myself looking
for anything key-lime
you never knew i hated it
because it was your favorite
and the smell of a corona
still makes me think of you

and i still get emails
from barkbox
about your dog
and they ask if you’re going
to place another order

i still watch the bears lose
and i still root for michigan
because they were
your favorite teams

and i still dream about
what was supposed to be our future
i wake up happy
feeling like a cup of hot chocolate
after hours in the snow

only to mourn the loss of a reality
i
never
had.

anger
Jessica Somogye

how could i have been so stupid?
how did i let you into my life
so willingly
i was so naïve


i trusted you
that’s why


did you plan how you were going to dismantle my definition of love?
you promised me marriage
you promised me a house
you promised me a happy family


for you to just rip my dreams of our future
out of my brittle hands that were molded
around the rough draft that was our relationship
at 11:22pm on a tuesday night
telling me it took you three days
to mutilate three years


i just wanted to love you
and that i did
i loved you unconditionally
i loved you uncontrollably
i loved you like your mother should have
and you left me like she left you


i played wife, girlfriend, and mother
all in one, three people you never deserved
and you still didn’t want me
i was doing your taxes because your mother wouldn’t
it was something to do with the government because


that’s all you really cared about
while i was reminding you to brush your teeth
because she gave up
and to schedule that doctor’s appointment
because she never did
lying to my family, yours, and myself
while doing your laundry and cleaning your room

what was it about you
that made me cling
to the nothingness and emptiness
that was our relationship?

why did you feel the need to brand
the blissful feeling of love onto my soul
and then leave like we weren’t hopelessly
devoted
to each other
or maybe that was just me

i did sofuckingmuch for you
and your goddamned ungrateful
disrespectful
excuse of a family

i gave you my best years and i don’t know
if i will ever be able to do for someone else
what i did for you – what i thought i was doing for us
and you didn’t even fucking deserve it
and neither did i

you told me i was the best thing that ever happened to you
and so did your mother
and emotional turmoil is what i get in return
you put me through hell by
stringing me along
with the promise of heaven

you told me you loved me just hours before
was that still true when no amount of anesthesia
could have subsided my uncontrollable sobbing
into the hardwood kitchen floors of my childhood home
after you broke my heart and spread the remains without a care in the world?

my childhood home - my parents’ house
that you just hated to visit so much because the eight hour drive was too much
but i spent every weekend at your childhood home because i loved you
and you know what?

i made that damn drive for you and you never once heard me complain about it
why? because i loved you
i made that damn drive for you when your parents were fighting and you had nowhere to go
why? because i loved you
i put a roof over your fucking head when your family wouldn’t
why? because i loved you

i drove an hour and a half in the middle of the night
in the pouring rain to pick you up from that house
fought with your drunk ass friends to let me take you home
why? because i loved you
and for some reason i cared about you too

but you know what?
i cannot name a single thing
of that magnitude that
you did for me
because you never loved me, you just loved the idea of me
i never even got flowers, just hell in a human-shaped vase instead
and wondering if you were going to come home in a good mood

and another thing
something i know you won’t remember
because who else but you
would be drunk enough to be fucking around
with an open blade
because you tripped and it landed in my thigh
not only do i now have irreversible trust issues
but i have a permanent two inch scar on my body
from you

and i will never get back
the part of me that you took with you
after your lies ripped my heart out
and shredded what was left of my devotion to you
and i will never forget
how you looked at me with your dead
soulless eyes and said goodbye

what did i do to deserve the lifelong burden of ever knowing you?

bargaining
Jessica Somogye

what if it never happened?
what if you never decided
to shatter my heart
into unrecognizable pieces

would i still be making your lunch every morning?

what if you meant it
when you said
you loved me

would we still be visiting your grandma every saturday?

what if you meant it
when you said
you couldn’t wait to marry me

would you have proposed by now?

what if you meant it
when you told me
to my face, looking so deeply into my eyes that you touched my soul
that you couldn’t wait
to see how wonderful of a mother
i’d be to our kids

would our list of baby names still be useful?

what if that promise ring
you gave me
meant something to you too?

would it mean more than what you spent on it?
because that’s all you ever talked about

was it me?
was there something else
on top of everything i did for you
that i didn’t do?

i can fix me
if that’s all it was
i promise
i can fix me
what if we just
start over?
can we please
just start over
if only i could find a way
to erase the pain you made me feel
within the uncharted waters of my soul
when you walked away
if only i could find a way
to trick myself into trusting you again
then maybe,
we could start over.

Do You Shine As Bright As The Sun

Photo Taken By Andy Salazar

Do You Shine As Bright As The Sun.JPEG

Morning, Mourning Dove

Photo Taken By Donovan Capet

20240714_150928.jpg

Mind, Body, Soul
Maddy Dittmann

How can someone teeming with love and energy
Simply turn to dust and dreams, a lifeless frame?
It all happens so fast. So soon. Too soon.


The mind is unpredictable, works in ways of its own,
Tumbling on its own time, taking over its host,
Brilliant yet bizarre, creative yet complex,
Terrific, but the turbulence was too much to take on.


The body is a beautiful battleground,
Every organ against another, inner workings waging war,
Attacks from all sides intimidate and destroy,
But it fights fearlessly until the very last breath.


A rich, rugged tree grows from the roots of the soul,
And rebellion, strength, and resilience stem from the trunk.
It’s the origin of all our stories and history,
So why would anyone seek to strike it down?


Even as you slip away so suddenly,
Your spirit and energy soar like eagles in the sky,
A symbol of all we stand for. Your love. Your story. Your life.

One Year, Three Months, Fourteen Days
Maddy Dittmann

We were friends to lovers,
But now we’re just friends
If you can even call us that.

On the off chance we talk,
It's nothing but disdain and mindless gossip.
I’d show my support through short, safe answers
And mask annoyance I felt bubbling under the surface.
I’d let my feelings roar like that before,
But I’ve learned from you not to do that anymore.

When our emotions came together,
We could turn from tranquil to turbulent.
After the delight of a date, I’d always crumble into pieces,
Crying and complaining in the passenger seat.
You were patient and kept your composure everytime,
But the thoughts just kept on flooding in.

I’m not talented. No one cares. Everyone else is so much better.
And you’d try to tame me again...and again...and again.
I’m hoping the next person that you love
Doesn’t keep crashing down on you like I did.

In spite of all the thunderstorms, we did have some sunshine.
Every dance we attended, every adventure, every movie date
Brought nothing but happiness and hope.
We could throw away all our worries and enjoy the night,
No matter the battles we both fought on the inside.
You’ve probably deleted the pictures, shunned the souvenirs
Muddled the memories of our happiest moments,
But those were so blissful, I can’t bear to let them go.

I still smile thinking of how we began,
That first message. That first date.
That first sign of the lovely, lighthearted couple we became.
We’d hold hands in the hall, partner for projects,
And remain by each other’s side, no matter the situation.
I miss the sensation of starting something as lovely as us.

But more often than not, I find myself thinking
How such effervescence can come to an end.
That night you pulled into the parking lot and asked,
Do you think this relationship is working out?

At the time it was a good way to go out.
We had our very last long conversation,
Declared our love wasn’t built to last,
Gave hugs and happiness as you dropped me off at home
For the very last time,
But even the most peaceful of separations
Can bring about streams of tears behind the scenes.

Now I see pictures of you on my feed every once in a while,
And you’re shining bright now, it seems.
You’re sparkling with a smile on your face in every picture I see,
And are achieving greatness, as I always knew you would.

I may long for the love we once had,
But I hope for nothing but happiness for you,
And I know that your next special someone
Will love you as much as I still do.

Bright Geometrical Interactions

Artwork By Richmond Outlaw

(17) Bright Geometrical Interactions .jpg

Are You Hungry Yet

Photo Taken By Andy Salazar

Are You Hungry Yet.JPG

In the Morning
Yadeliz Fernandez

8:30-8:52 In the Morning
 
“Don’t look so disappointed,” he said.

But I couldn’t help it; my body couldn’t hide its annoyance. In reality, he just added to my list of disappointments. I might have bruised his ego a little bit or turned him off from me—I don’t know. What I do know is that he has never not disappointed me.
 
His lack of communication is disappointing.
His inconsistency is disappointing.
His ambiguity is disappointing.


Herein lies the problem and the biggest disappointment yet: When it comes to him, I am not myself. I am a secure woman who knows what she wants, or at least feigns to know. I am confident in what I bring to the table. I am clear-minded and authoritative with my needs.
 
However, when I think of him, all I feel is confusion, and that’s disappointing. My logical side knows that he’s a bigger red flag than a bullfighter’s. Everyone knows it, and we know I deserve better, but instead of leaving, I sigh.

“I’m not.”

Corner Store Runners
Maria Vazquez

I saw how you avoided conflict
Instead of throwing a fist or two you chose to run a few blocks over
Drink away your pain, anger and sadness
I wonder if frustration was there when you ran from yourself
I knew you were pretending
I wonder if you’d be proud of how long I kept up with my own charade
Took after you after all
I run to the corner store too
I pick my own poison
Did you know they have plenty of options to choose from
I want my options to involve less violence more peace but nevertheless the same idea
Running from the truth of things
No longer on foot and no one to run after
Instead, I drive alone
Running from me, running from them
Deep down I might be still running after you
Running after a life where I’m appreciated, cared for and loved without condition for now
I make my weekly runs
Thinking of you still
I hope one day when I find myself turning the corner it holds happiness not sorrow
I hope my hand is not outreached and barre, I hope to look to my side, hands intertwined
with love

Ardi, Lili, and Tani
Bridget Tully

     Once upon a time, a newly married couple move into a country farmhouse, where the only hanging painting featured three red-haired girls on a mountain. The painting stirred the couple’s desire for children, even as they struggled with infertility.

     After three years of praying, the woman found a pinecone in her garden. She planted it right next to her house and prayed one more time. Before long, a red-haired fairy in a green dress appeared to her; she introduced herself as Everly, the Forest Fairy.

     “For giving me a home,” Everly said, “I will give you children in return.”

     As so, the woman became pregnant immediately. She sat next to the tree, as it grew alongside her belly, to thank God every morning. After nine months, she and her husband gave birth to triplet girls who, like Everly and the girls in the painting, had red hair.

     Everly helped dress the babies; the first wore a flower crown, the second a night sky onesie, and the third was tanner than the others. When the mother saw them, she gave the names of Ardith, Lilith, and Tanith; the father shortened them to Ardi, Lili, and Tani for everyday use.

     As they aged into early childhood, Ardi, Lili, and Tani spent much of their time playing outside. Ardi ran around in the garden while Lili tried to pull all the flowers from the dirt unless Tani stopped her. Before they did all these things each day, the girls glued their eyes to the painting of the “Mountain Girls,” as they called them, for encouragement.

     Throughout the next four years, Ardi, Lili, and Tani frequently dreamed of climbing a mountain so that they, like the Mountain Girls, could stand on one. Every time the girls told their parents about the mountain, though, they said it was too dangerous to climb one.

     However, the girls’ desire to climb a mountain together continued to grow as they entered primary school and learned to read on their own. One day after school, Ardi, Lili, and Tani sat in the school library looking through a book that featured the same painting of the Mountain Girls they had at home. While Lili asked questions and Tani pointed out words, Ardi read about the painting’s history aloud. From doing so, the girls found out the painting captured a true event of three girls climbing a mountain.

     Ardi, Lili, and Tani rushed home immediately to tell their mother about the painting’s history. Even after they persuaded her to let them be like the Mountain Girls, though, their mother said, “Girls, you’re not climbing a mountain.”

     Lili stomped outside with crossed arms and a frown as her sisters followed. When she was about to pull another flower, though, Lili looked up at the nearby pine tree, which had miraculously grown taller than her house throughout her six years.

     “Lili, what are you looking at?” Tani asked as she caught up to her sister.

     “It’s the pine tree,” Ardi replied with a jump. “If we climb this tree all by ourselves, Mommy and Daddy can take us to a mountain!”

     “Can I climb fast?” Lili asked, pulling her hair. “And throw branches?”

     “Can I beat you or Lili?” Tani asked.

      “Yes,” Ardi replied. “Be nice, please.”

     As so, the sisters spent the rest of the afternoon climbing up the pine tree. Tani sped up to beat Ardi and Lili, becoming the first to reach the top. Lili also tossed out several branches and pinecones throughout her journey.

     Upon reuniting at the top, Ardi, Lili, and Tani talked about their mountain climbing dreams until it got dark outside and their father called for them. Even though the pine tree was so thick the girls could not see their father, they exclaimed to him about climbing the tree without help from the top.

     The girls climbed down the tree the same way they climbed up; Tani moved below Ardi and Lili threw out branches and pinecones.

“Will you take us to the mountain now?” Ardi asked once they reached the ground. “Please?”

“Maybe when you’re bigger,” their father said as the girls went inside with him.


     After the girls graduated from primary school five years later, their parents took them bike riding on the nearest trail. Ardi, Lili, and Tani, as they have always done, talked about climbing a mountain as they followed their parents on their bikes. They even looked around trying to spot mountains; yet, they kept finding none.

     The family did not even park their bikes at a mountain, but at a park with a steep hill that was higher than all the surrounding trees.

     “We thought you’d take us to the mountain,” Ardi told her father.

     “This giant hill,” their father replied, showing off the hill, “is mountain preparation.”

     “Go ahead and climb the hill,” their mother instructed. “Dad and I will join you for a picnic when you reach the top.”

     “What if we can’t see you?” Lili asked. “Would we have to shout and throw sticks...”

     “Do what you did in the pine tree,” their father replied.

     Ardi, Lili, and Tani ran towards the hill and began marching up. Because there were no branches to grab onto, though, each step felt like lifting rocks. Tani helped Ardi up the hill as she began to slow down while Lili got onto her knees and crawled. The girls moved so slowly it took almost an hour for them to reach the top.

     Once the girls reached the hilltop, they could not even look down as the surface was too wide. Yet, Ardi, Lili, and Tani shouted to their parents in the loudest voice they ever used and sat down to wait.

     “I’m scared,” Lili said after ten minutes, clutching her knees. “Did Mom and Dad even hear us?”

     “If they didn’t,” Tani added with a head shake, “they didn’t even start climbing.”

     In response, Ardi prayed for their parents to reunite with them. The girls waited for thirty more minutes until their mother and father arrived with water bottles and a picnic basket.

     As their mother promised, the family ate lunch on the hilltop; Ardi ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while Lili, who preferred spicy foods, ate a pepper jack sandwich and Tani, with a preference for unusual food combinations, had apple butter and fluff (a peanut butter and jelly variant). As the girls ate, they daydreamed about, upon climbing an actual mountain, posing in a picture to look like the Mountain Girls.

     Once the family finished their lunches, their father removed his camera from the basket. “How about I take your picture right now?” he asked.

     The girls all shook their heads.

     “We are the Mountain Girls,” Ardi commented, placing her hands on her hips.

     “Not the Hill Girls,” Tani added with a head shake, “or even the Tree Girls.”

     “When you finally climb a mountain, Dad and I might not be around to take a picture,” their mother replied.

     “How about you let us climb the mountain as soon as possible?” Tani suggested.

     “I cannot wait after we graduate from high school,” Lili added, crossing her arms. “When we’re in high school, you and Dad should still be around.”

     “How about a few days before high school graduation, then?” Their mother resolved.

     The girls nodded as they drank their waters and followed their parents down the hill. This time, though, they rolled down the hill together instead of marching or crawling.


     As Ardi, Lili, and Tani entered adolescence and aged through high school, they thought more and more about their dream picture. They thought about it so much by their sixteenth birthday that they got sketchbooks that day; the girls drew frequent pictures of mountains.

     A few days before the triplets’ high school graduation, though, their parents died in a train wreck. Even though the young women inherited all their money, it was not enough to even support themselves. Hence, they sold a lot of belongings they enjoyed but did not need, including the painting of the Mountain Girls.


     The triplets spent their first few weeks of adulthood with nothing to look forward to. They got so bored they engaged in chores that mirrored their early childhood behaviors; Ardi cleaned the house with Tani’s help while Lili pulled the weeds in the outside garden.

     One day, though, Lili found a packet of tulip seeds in the garden. Not knowing who put it there, Lili planted the seeds there and prayed for them to grow.

     Lili went outside to check and water the tulips each day over the next three months. The night she found them fully grown, Everly appeared to her out of nowhere. She took the tulips and made herself a flower crown, thanking Lili for planting them.

     “I heard you wanted to climb a mountain,” Everly commented. “Is that right?”

     Lili nodded with a frown. “We don’t know where one is, though,” she said.

     “Bring me some items from your sisters,” Everly instructed.

     Lili entered and exited her house to bring Ardi out with a vase of three flowers and Tani with a tanning spray bottle. Everly first tapped her wand on each of the flowers, turning them into three round carts. She then turned the tanning bottle into a unicycle, which automatically connected the three carts with strings.


     As Everly drove them on the unicycle, Ardi, Lili, and Tani thanked God with Psalms and Proverbs; they prayed in their carts nonstop until they arrived at the mountain.

     Upon thanking Everly and leaving their carts, Ardi, Lili, and Tani stared at the mountain, which was high enough to fade into the clouds. The triplets frowned and widened their eyes as they slowly approached the mountain.

     “Everly,” Lili moaned, “this mountain will take over three days for us to climb.”

     “We don’t even have food and water to get us through,” Tani added.

     “If you took us to a smaller mountain,” Ardi commented, “we wouldn’t need food and water to make the climb....”

     “This is an enchanted mountain,” Everly explained, “and I lived in the trees here before they got struck down by lighting, and I moved into the pine tree your parents planted.”

     “Are there other fairies to help us?” Ardi asked.

     “They will help you,” Everly said, “but only if you complete tasks throughout your climb.”

     The women thanked Everly as she disappeared. They prayed one more time before taking their first steps up the mountain. The bottom of the mountain was nothing but jagged rocks, so taking even one step drew ounces of sweat out of the women.

     Ardi, Lili, and Tani climbed for several hours before they found a sparrow perched on the edge of a mini cliff. They sat down near the sparrow, wanting to rest from their workout but also not wanting the sparrow to fall off.

     Before falling asleep with Ardi and Tani, Lili scooped the sparrow in her arms. They woke up the next morning, though, to find no sparrow in Lili’s arms. Instead, a brunette fairy in a brown dress, who introduced herself as Sienna the Sparrow Fairy, appeared.

     “As a reward for helping the sparrow,” said Sienna, “you can bring three rocks to me.”

     Ardi, Lili, and Tani continued their climb up the mountain to collect a few loose rocks with Sienna following. As soon as the number of rocks reached three, the triplets sat down to watch Sienna turn them into three hard-boiled eggs; Ardi got a regular egg while Lili’s egg was spicier than the others and Tani’s had a darker yolk. The triplets thanked Sienna as they ate their eggs for energy.

     The triplets spent the next day struggling to climb even more since it rained constantly; the rain created puddles of water for the triplets to drink, but it also made the rocks slippery. Yet, the triplets persevered until they found a shivering dove on another loose cliff. The wet women didn’t want to leave the dove alone, so they sat near it having to make another decision.

     After a few minutes, Lili scooped the dove under her armpit and followed her sisters further up the mountain until they found a small cave. The triplets entered and fell asleep as Lili kept the dove in her arms. As with the sparrow, they woke up to find the dove absent; a blond- haired fairy dressed in a white dress, who introduced herself as Paloma the Dove Fairy, appeared in its place.

     “Now that you saved the dove,” Paloma said, “You can bring me three sticks for a reward.”

     Ardi, Lili, and Tani searched the cave for three sticks and brought them to Paloma, who turned them into three carrots; as with the eggs, Ardi got a regular carrot while Lili’s was warmer and Tani’s was darker. The triplets thanked Paloma as they ate their carrots.

     The triplets spent the following day struggling to climb even more than before, as there were fewer and fewer rocky edges to step onto. Perhaps they neared the top of the mountain to stare at it with wide eyes and frowns; the tip was pointy with no rocks at all.

     Ardi, Lili, and Tani prayed and drank water from nearby puddles before they fell asleep. They woke up the next morning to, unexpectedly, find Everly in front of them.

     “Can you help us reach the tip?” Ardi asked.

     “There is no way for us to get to it,” Lili added.

     “You don’t need to reach the tip,” Everly replied, “because you’re already...”

     Nevertheless, as Lili did on the giant hill seven years earlier, Ardi, Lili, and Tani crawled towards the tip and held onto it.

     “Here is your reward for climbing the mountain.” Everly took out her camera to capture a picture of the triplets. Afterward, she gave one printed copy to each woman.

     The women examined their pictures, feeling thankful Everly could take one in their parents’ place. However, the women could not help but frown; there was nothing to replace the Mountain Girls painting in their parlor.

     “Everly,” Lili asked, “can you give us a giant picture?”

     “Once you climb down the mountain,” Everly promised.

     Ardi, Lili, and Tani climbed down the mountain for three more days, helping birds and getting food from fairies along the way once again. When they reached the bottom, Everly guided the girls back into their carts and drove them home. Upon returning to their house, Everly turned the carts and unicycle back into flowers and a tanning spray, which Ardi and Tani carried
back inside while following Lili.


     Everly spent the next three years painting a picture that looked exactly like the photo she took of Ardi, Lili, and Tani. As soon as she finished, Everly returned to the triplets’ house to hang her painting where the Mountain Girls painting used to hang.


     Ardi, Lili, and Tani thanked Everly as they looked at the painting, which looked almost like their mountain photos. The women even daydreamed about their own children taking inspiration from the painting that illustrated a collective dream that came true.

     The triplets named the painting after themselves: “Ardi, Lili, and Tani.”

THE END

Raglan Castle, Wales.JPEG

Reglan Castle, Wales

Photos Taken By Ainsley Martin

Roman Amphitheater

Roman Ampitheater B&W.JPEG

Home
Robert McDonald

Faint heat on wood and tile
four beans around a pudgy center
does cool with time, yes.
The squish of jowls no longer
drips trails from bowls
to beds, it can’t be denied.
Hazelnut and marshmallow fur
no longer warm a room
with their rotund snort, it’s true.


But the refrigerator may rumble
perfectly to sound like a snore
and make you wonder if you heard
their love from beyond.
Some days you will wonder
why the hurt isn’t so transient.


But the roses left beside stone-stubborn memories
And the love once brought to a home?
These do not fade so easily, either.
Tread these floors again.
Remember the life you lived in that warm home,
and be bittersweet-happy not to step in dribble.
After all, you brought them home,
and in return, they made one.

Eye Glasses
Jett Hussey

     The eyeglasses hit the floor with a clatter. Tommy’s face contorted into a scowl as he watched Maria toss them on the floor.


     “You’re a no-good cheating sonuvabitch, Tommy.” She spat his way, “When my daddy finds out you’ve been seeing girls around my back, he’s gonna kill you.”


     It was less of a threat and more of a promise. Maria’s dad had connections to the mafia, that’s what his friends warned him of when they first started dating. Now the ring on his finger
felt more like a noose.


     Her red high heel stomped the eye glasses to pieces, shattering the glass and breaking the arms.


     “Maria, listen sweetie—” Tommy was cut off by a slap to the face.


     “Don’t you ‘listen sweetie’ me!” Maria’s pretty face contorted in her rage and she kicked the remains of the eyeglasses back to his feet, “I’m not your sweetie. I ain’t even your wife no more, you—”


     She shook her head, turned on her heel and walked away with her fists clenched. Tommy thought about calling after her, persuading her it was just a mistake. It was just a one time thing that would never happen again, he’d swear it. But it would be a lie. He had been meeting prostitutes behind her back for nearly a year now. Every time afterwards he swore it was the last, and that he only loved Maria. But he had been loving on Bambi, Isabelle, Jasmine, and Priscilla, all behind her back.


     Looking down at his broken glasses he began gathering the shards. He was a pathetic sight to see right now.


     Next to him the door swung open and a girl in a skimpy, cheap bunny suit stepped out. “Wife troubles, Tommy?”


     He cleared his throat awkwardly. She grinned at him, it was clear she’d overheard the whole argument. The echo in the alleyway must have carried their voices. After dropping his glasses in the dump he gave the girl his best ‘kicked puppy’ look. She gave him a smile in return and he followed her back inside.

Hematite
Robert McDonald

Black stone rings, you
and I
are advertised
pseudo-scientifically as
“stress absorbers”.


I hear you say that
if the worst happens,
you’ll turn to a bridge
before you turn to me.


The brittle rock breaks down
under sweat, heat, oil
so I know if I handle you too much
you’ll break.


But I am a stress absorber,
like it or not.
I carry you with me
on my hand all day.


When my ring tells me
it may break,
that’s when I know
I have to keep it on.


We are not unturned stones,
and there shall be none
between us.

The Art Room
Maddy Dittmann

In the art room,
All twenty some of us created
Precious paintings, stellar scribbles,
And, most important, magnificent memories

 

We came from different homes,
Shared different stories,
Imagined different ideas,
But we all spoke the language of art

 

Rolling clay at our color-coded tables,
Slipping on a smock, splashing paint on the paper,
Emulating the artistic idols of yesteryear

 

Scrawling pastels between lines of our sketches,
Decorating and personalizing our little paper folders
Growing, changing, becoming ourselves
With every project we created

 

The ideas in our imagination
And special stories housed in our heads
Would make a happy, healthy home
Built on respect and reliability,
Magnificence and melody

 

And compassion and creativity
If we could come together again
And speak the sacred, special language

Of the art room

Bee on Veronica Flower

Photo Taken By Alexandra Espinoza

Bee on Veronica Flower.JPEG

Dr. Estella Shaw
Madalynn Sedgwick

     Space. Lots of space.

     Stella had always wanted a large lab, but this.... This was almost too much.

     When AstroMine offered her a one-eighth section to their halo station, she couldn’t pass the opportunity up, especially after her incident.

     Years of medical school researching trauma were nearly wasted due to dumb calculation errors. The internal review board set her back one too many times. So now she was here, deep in the asteroid belt, on a private station, far from the regime of Earth.

     The first time she looked out the lab's windows, she nearly screamed as an asteroid hurtled dangerously close to them. But the shield deflected them. Now, she was used to the near-death experiences, appreciating the advances of technology a little more each day as she realized the asteroids were what kept them hidden. Not that they needed to be, but after growing up on the Lunar station, she appreciated the seclusion compared to the thousands of people passing through the Earth’s moon station.

     She had escaped her family, the station, Earth, everything. She could start over any way she liked. She could finally research trauma the way it needed to be researched. To finally be able to understand trauma would be a huge step in society. Imagine the possibilities of the human mind without the fear of trauma holding anyone back.

     Stella watched the asteroids pass by, a small smile on her face.

     “Dr. Shaw,” her assistant announced. “Subject 001 is ready.”

     Stella turned, “We call them volunteers, Jen, but thank you. I will be right there.”

     “More like convicts...” Jen mumbled under her breath. Every station had its fair share of bad apples.

     Stella ignored the comment and made her way to the main lab. The doors opened to reveal a man strapped to the operating table.

     The man struggled against the restraints as he watched the doctor gracefully pull on her white lab coat as she approached the table.

     “Thank you, Volunteer 001, for.... well, volunteering.” Dr. Shaw picked up one electrical lead in her white-gloved hand, tapping it against the other. She couldn’t tell what made her smile more: the sparks the leads sent across the lab or Volunteer 001 fighting the restraints, his brain already exposed. “Your response will contribute a lot to science.”.

Nuestro Amor
Naxalí Cervantes

Cuando te conoci,
Escuche los ángeles cantando,


Cuando te vi con otra,
Mire las nubes llorando


Cuando te grite,
Escuche los rayos allegando,


Tres días sin ti,
Es eternidad,
Tres años contigo,
No es suficiente


Quiero cocinar contigo,
Dormir contigo, bailar contigo


Quiero discutir contigo,
aislar contigo, regañar contigo,


Escribe la historia de nuestro amor

Love Song Written By Ants
Tessa Danko

Today I saw an ant carrying a
cicada wing across the path before me.
I admired his strength and
I admired his gentleness and
He reminded me of you.
Speaking of, I’m sorry
I called you too early this morning.
I often forget that you are midnight,
Velvety and dark
And I am dawn,
Airy and intense.

​

Later, we listen to the lake’s hum.
You read, I write.
I look at your eyes looking
I’m watching your fingers
Turn the page. The ripples
On the lake dance with the wind.
I have never known excitement like this,
I have never loved someone
In this way.

Come here often?
Andrea Barrón

Your go-to karaoke song is “Under the Bridge”
by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Your voice is the disco ball for the night.


Your friendly demeanor lures anyone in for conversation.
Towards the end of any party, you’d know everyone’s name in a room and a fun fact
about them. Sam visits Texas in the summer, and Tom lost his retainer at a Six Flags.
Party tricks were not for you but ignoring me without even meaning to was your favorite.


We don’t see each other at parties anymore. Rather, I don’t get invited to parties
you’re probably at. Do strangers you meet notice the nectar in your voice
when you talk about hybrid seeds in your garden or specific types of wood
finishes on drums? Do their eyes land on the subtle forehead vein you have when you
laugh? Do they notice how your eyes shrink to tiny black pearls when you retell a story
from Catholic school?


How am I to unlearn all of this about you? How am I to face you knowing your perfect
day would be at a pond with a beer and no presence of me?


Does your mind go blank when you meet someone new who likes guavas and poetry? Do
you walk into parties wishing the rim on your glass were me? Would you pretend not to
know me if we ever meet at a party again? Would we laugh like old college roommates?
Would we act like passing strangers in grocery store aisles? Would you offer me a drink
and sprinkle in a comment about the weather? Would the world finally stop for us just for
five minutes?


How different it would be to not know anything about someone you used to know
everything about. Yet, I’d know what song you’d pick for karaoke, and you’d know why
I lost touch with my cousins.


No animosity, no hard feelings. Just two strangers talking at a party– that’s what someone
would see. Music flooding the space between us, red solo cups nestled in our hands, and
our eyes melting into a familiar view, pretending that we can both believe that a person
can just be a person and nothing else.

After
Cassidy Jeschke

After it happened..
I was broken.
I couldn't talk.
I cried my eyes dry.


My friends were happy.
Finally, I wasn't with someone like you.
Rude and careless.
Annoying and loud.
Mean to everyone...
But me.


After it happened..
I felt like I couldn't breathe.
I felt sick to my stomach.
I felt a big gaping hole in my heart.


Anxious.
Depressed.
Careless.
The 5 stages of grief came and went.
After it happened...
I finally began to find myself.
I'm happy again.
I'm carefree.


Because of you.
Because of what happened.
I'm me.

when the curtains close
Kennedy Keaton

i am the zombie formulated from the grubby hands of society's show manager, the one who puts me under the blazing light and tells me to dance
 

but my bones ache


the automation hits my body and my mind runs mute
 

i was made for something more


so i will my mind to let the spotlight morph into the sun; the burning light morphs into a warm embrace that radiates to my soul- a creature with pieces of my inner child intertwined within it
 

i'm exhausted from needing to memorize scripts but something about the improv that a child offers feels different, exciting, new
 

so when all is quiet on set and the audience gone, i break away from the chains of mainstream choreography
 

i am an adventurer creeping through the night with moonlight on my figure
 

i am an eagle soaring through the sky, hunger for its next meal
 

i am everything
 

i am nothing
 

i am free

if x stands for
Kennedy Keaton

they tell me to sit down and solve the math computations


i ask them where the numbers came from, who gave you the formulations?


they slap my hand and warn me against deliquent behavior
 

the followers whisper "we must answer these equations to find the sum of the savior"
 

so i mute my doubt and write what i can and let them fill my head with lessons
 

until i explode at home, my diary a list of exponential confessions

Evening Window.JPEG

Evening Window

Photos Taken By Donovan Capet

Tallest In Chicago

Tallest In chicago.JPEG

Empty quotes
Cassidy Jeschke

"I'm gonna marry you someday."
Except you left before you got me a ring...
"I can't wait for you to have my last name."
But mine remains the same...
"I'm always here when you need me."
Then where are you now?


All my childhood I dreamt about someone saying these things to me.
Then you came along,
Open-hearted and open-armed.
You made me smile and feel safe.
You gave me what I had dreamt about my entire life.

 

Then you left,
No real explanation to why.
Broken and alone,
I remembered all your empty quotes.
You lied to me with every word you spoke.
And I can't believe I fell for it.
I can't believe I made it make sense in my head.

 

"I can't wait for our forever."
Is the one that got me the most.
I believed in it.
In us.
But what you've taught me –
I can only believe in myself.

Time's Fallen Soldier

Photo Taken By Ximena Torres Ramos

Time's Fallen Soldier.jpg

Florence

Photo Taken By Andy Salazar

Florance.JPEG

Life as a flower
Cassidy Jeschke

Each day grows longer while my pain blossoms.
Each feeling becomes more intense and in tune.
My drowsiness from the night before seems to be a never-ending cycle.
My sadness for what I know I must do but without an urge to move,
The drowning feeling of everything piling up on me,
As if life shouted for all of my problems to pounce when I finally got a chance to lie down.
The smell of flowers is slowly fading, bringing a strong scent of decay while the colors bleed
from them, leaving them dull and gray.
My anger, growing like a weed
My anxiety, spreading like creeping Charlie
And my mood swings, smudging my brightness like the falling petals on a dying flower.

Remember to buy aluminum-free lavender deodorant
Andrea Barrón

I love writing until I have to write. Andrea is a writer.
My friends boast to random strangers at parties
like snobby suburban soccer moms.
I look down at my drink with guilt,
knowing the last thing I wrote was a notes app reminder to buy deodorant.
But, what if writing isn’t always writing?


What if it’s my morning walks in downtown Chicago
when I reeked of young and stupid?
My tennis date with my friend,
where we discuss the same three rotating topics and
convince ourselves we need to start a podcast.
The summer evenings I went to improv classes
and learned it is more fun to say yes to things than to say no.
The car rides to school listening to The Smiths
and thinking how an awful man like Morrissey
could produce music I cry to during morning traffic.
The first sniff of my clean bed sheets
after people-watching in the laundromat for hours.
In place of writing, I sometimes do this, I live.
When I am not writing, I am also writing.
I am a writer when I sob with my pen,
laugh with friends at a bar, and scout for pimple patches at Walmart.
See me enjoy drinks with friends at our local dive bar or eat dinner
with my family for the first time in months.
My mom made albóndigas.

​

I am writing.

Elysian

Contact Us at elysian@aurora.edu

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