Category: themed issue

ABUSED

Ragged, scared, abused.

Cries unheard.

Mouths famished.

Hell is for children.

PEDOPHILE

Undisguised,

Stalking smallest wonders

To quench the devil

Hidden inside.

SCHOOL VIOLENCE

Red painted hallways

Faces splashed with fear.

Words left unspoken

As life disappears.

Sitting and watching the trees sway in the warm breeze could never get old to me, or at least I never thought it could. Nowadays, the trees look withered, and their leaves look wilted and brown. Actually, most things look like that now, like everything is slowly dying, slow enough where you don’t notice it right away. I can’t stand to look at those wilting trees… it breaks my heart every time I remember how they used to be, how we used to be, how the world used to be.

No one really believed that there were monsters that went bump in the night, not until we came out and told them; the “we” being vampires, were-animals, fairies, elves, witches, and other said creatures. The humans kind of lost it. Okay, not kind of, they completely lost it, but I guess that’s expected, right? I had hope that it would turn out differently, but now I know that my wishing was all for nothing. The war is finally over, but the effects of it won’t go away just as quickly. So many people died because they were afraid. Fear has always brought out the worst in people. The humans were terrified of the unknown while we were afraid of not being accepted. Both sides were jittery with apprehension for the future, and neither side had any idea what was in store for them. So now the world is in shambles, and roughly half of the population is dead.

Lately I’ve been lying around day dreaming about what could have happened if we had all just tried a little harder to understand each other… oh, and if the humans hadn’t tried to annihilate us. Things could have been great, no more hiding, no more lies. Sadness consumes me for a brief second, but I quickly shove it down. I just miss my family, I miss my old life, and I miss the normalcy of my routine in the world. I get startled out from my day dream by an annoying tug on my long, blonde hair. I jump up and whirl around to see a tall man leaning up against the side of a dying tree with one of the most irritating smirks I’ve ever seen placed on his handsome and cocky face.

“Who are you, and what are you doing sneaking up on people like that?!” I yell, mostly out of embarrassment for being caught off guard.

His smile grows even wider as he looks me up and down. “I didn’t sneak up on you. You’re the one who was so out of it you didn’t even hear me walk up,” his tone implying how careless I had been for letting a stranger sneak up on me at such a vulnerable moment.

I feel the heat rush upwards as a bright red scorches my face. I get even angrier at this and pull out my machete attached to my hip. His eyes grow wide as he puts his hands up and slowly backs away a step, the smile never leaving his face.

I stand there and take my time admiring his handsome face and lean body. His golden, tan skin stretched over his hard, taught muscles captivates me as I let my eyes roam over his masculine physique. I begrudgingly admit to myself that he’s exactly my type and I wonder how his teeth are so sparkling white. I mean, who has time to brush their teeth every day during a monster apocalypse? It infuriates me how gorgeous he is, and how captivated I am by him. I realize that I’ve been staring at him for longer than I should have been and finally get enough of my brain cells working to speak.

“What are you smiling about,” I seethe.

“Nothing,” he responds calmly. “You’re just cute when you’re angry.”

“Cute?! You think this is cute,” I roar as I surge into the air to land on him and take him down to the ground with me on top, my machete pressed firmly against his throat.

“Extremely,” he murmurs softly so as not to cut himself on my sharp blade.

I feel my face start to tighten into a grim scowl and I forcibly try to smooth the wrinkles I’m no doubt creating on my face. I look down into his sparkling gray eyes and wonder why he still has that infuriating smile plastered on his face. “Who are you?” I practically hiss.

“Gabriel.” The smile momentarily leaving his face before being replaced by a quizzical expression. “Why were you lying on the ground outside by yourself?”

I pause for a brief moment before answering. “I was thinking about what it would have been like if the war hadn’t started,” I utter the words and instantly regret them, wishing that my face would not betray my feelings of embarrassment. How could I possibly have felt that telling him the truth was a good idea?

His face slowly stretches into one of his usual grins, “You must be like a white witch or something, right?”

“What? No, I’m not, why would you say that?”

“Oh, you know, the whole lying on the dirty ground thing, in a forest, thinking about peaceful alternatives to war. Just sounds like something a white witch would do.” He lets out a quick yet strained laugh, and I realize that I still have my machete pressed against his throat. I slowly take my blade off of his throat and climb to my feet while keeping an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t try to do anything rash.

“Well, I’m not a white witch.”

“Alright, well what are you then?”

“I’m none of your business, that’s what.”

He gives a short chuckle. “Awe, don’t be like that.”

“Don’t be like what? I don’t even know you. Just leave me alone.” I tried to really mean what I said, but I knew that my words rang false. I had been searching for other people for a while now and had no luck. Of course, when I do find someone he turns out to be the most exasperating man I’ve ever met. I honestly have the worst luck.

“Oh come on, I bet I’m one of the first people you’ve seen in a long time. You’re craving for social interaction, everybody does.”

The truth in his words made me even more enraged. I didn’t like how he saw right through me; saw through the façade I put up so that I didn’t get hurt. Living like this isn’t easy, and it’s hard to trust people when you don’t know if they’re human and trying to kill you…which reminds me. “What are you?”

He pauses, clearly taken aback by my change in subject. “What’s it to you? What do you think I am?”

I consider my answer carefully and finally respond, “Warlock?”

He smiles and sprawls out on a patch of moss, “No, guess again.”

I release an impatient sigh, “I’m not playing this game with you.”

“Fine, what are you?”

I lift one eyebrow and give him my best dirty look, “Necromancer and succubus.” The words come easily from my lips but it wasn’t always like that. Knowing what I was as a little girl had been hard. I had just wanted to be like everyone else; I had just wanted to be normal. Even in the supernatural community I was considered strange. Being able to raise zombies and control vampires was almost as weird to some of the supernatural community as it would have been to humans. And my other ability; being able to feed off of sexual energy and kill people with my touch, was considered extremely rare. The second gift came later in life though; only after I had gone through puberty.

I try to read his facial expressions and gauge his reaction. His grin only grows wider to the point where his flawless white teeth are on full display.

“Sexual zombie queen, I like it.”

I give an irritated moan, pivot around, and start walking in the opposite direction, trying to get as far away as possible from him. I don’t even care that he’s utterly gorgeous anymore, and one of the only people I’ve seen in a long time, his personality completely ruins it. How could such a handsome man be such a childish boy?

“Wait!” He yells after me, “I never got your name!”

“Good! Leave me alone.”

He quickly catches up to me, and I quicken my stride in a last ditch effort to lose him. “Why are you so quick tempered?” he inquires. Not even flinching at my attempt to get away from him. “Shouldn’t you be happy that you finally met someone, and not just any someone, a very attractive, handsome someone.” He flashes me a brief yet flirty smile.

“Cocky much? And no, I’m not happy. I’d much rather be alone than hang out with a guy as annoying as you.”

“Ouch. You don’t have to be so mean.”

“I’m not mean, I’m honest.”

“Yeah sure, that’s only what mean people say so that they don’t look hateful.”

I heave a sigh of frustration.

“You sigh a lot. Is that like my cue to go away or something?”

“Actually it is. Get the hint?”

“You know I like you, you’re funny.”

“Great, exactly what I wanted.” I respond in my most sarcastic and displeased tone.

“Look, you’re a pretty girl, I’m a handsome guy, were like the last people on earth, you know what that means, right?”

“No, please inform me. I’d love to hear what that means.”

He chuckles then states, “It means that we have to have beautiful babies and repopulate the earth.” I glance over at his face and let out a laugh of my own because his face is priceless. His facial expression is just so serious and honest that you know that he’s messing with you.

“Aha! I got a giggle out of you, finally!”

I instantly sober up and frown, “I don’t giggle.”

“Sure you don’t,” he replies, while pretend zipping his lips shut.

I roll my eyes and keep on walking, not sure where I’m headed, but honestly I never do. He keeps pace with me, and we don’t speak for an exceedingly long time. Finally, he breaks the silence and asks, “So you still haven’t told me your name.”

I quickly glance over at his tall, built physique and hastily look away, “Winter Rae.”

“Ahh, now I get it. Ice Queen, huh?”

I grimace and quicken my pace. “Sorry, sorry, just a joke,” he adds quickly. I keep quiet and walk on and after a while a thought occurs to me, “You never told me what you were.”

“I…what? Oh, ummm, ya know, just a regular boogie woogie like you.” I peek over at him between a curtain of my fallen hair, “A boogie woogie?”

“Yeah,” he says hurriedly while avoiding eye contact.

I stop in my tracks and stare at him, stunned. “You’re human!” I wail. I try to back away as fast as possible, but I trip over a root from a large tree and fall back onto my ass. I begin to crab walk backwards all the while fearfully watching this enormous man that could easily snap my neck if he really wanted to. He doesn’t move the whole time, he just watches me with a startled look on his face, and his arms outstretched in an “I won’t hurt you” kind of gesture; like I was an animal that he didn’t want to frighten.

“Get away from me! Get away!” I scream.

He desperately tries to calm me, slowly taking a few steps forward, “I’m not going to hurt you. Please! Listen to me!”

I ignore his pleads and proceed to climb to my feet and sprint away. I jump over fallen branches, and duck under sharp twigs, leaves crunching under foot, and heart racing so fast that it felt like it was going to wrench itself out from my chest. I can hear his steps close behind me and getting closer with every ticking second, his legs much longer than mine and far stronger. I push with everything I’ve got, but it’s not enough. I’m tackled to the ground and pressed firmly to the dirt floor. “Look,” he begs, “I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve been on my own for so long, and I don’t care what you are. Not all humans want to destroy you guys. Please, just listen to me for one fucking second!” I squirm and fight to get out from under him but soon come to the realization that it’s no use and give up. I lie limp in his grasp, my face pressed securely on the dry leaves. I guess he sensed my defeat, because he slowly loosens his hold on me. “Now, if I let you up you won’t run, right?” he probes. I slowly shake my head back and forth in affirmation. He then lets out a sigh of relief and releases me. I lie there for a few seconds to let him know that I won’t run, and then gently stand up from my position on the ground. I calmly look him in the eye and wait for him to make the next move.

“Look, I meant what I said. Not all humans want to kill you guys. I didn’t want the war to start in the first place, but…” he stumbles over his words, fumbling for something to say.

I release the breath I had been holding and reply, “I believe you. I just got scared, I’m sorry,” I quickly look away from his probing eyes.

“No, don’t be. Ummm, so how about we go find some grub to eat,” his change in subject surprises me, and I laugh.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that,” I mumble as my face turns scarlet. He gives me one of his charming yet irritating smiles, and a thought quickly flits across my mind. When I think of the future now…I have hope that we’ll be able to coexist without the hiding and the hate.

We start to walk toward a cluster of abandoned buildings and life goes on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I‘m not afraid of the most severe
storm
Not afraid of the effects of global warming
Not afraid I might not wake
the next
dawn

But I’m scared of Loving You

Not afraid of going bankrupt
or when the volcano might erupt
Not afraid to go to
War
Not afraid to be shipwrecked
on a lone shore
Not afraid
of being locked up for
a crime
Not afraid of the passage of
time

But I’m scared of Loving You

I don’t fear the
deep blue sea
Not afraid of the most
deadly disease
Not afraid to admit that there
are people in this
world I can’t help
or please
Not afraid to say
I’m not perfect

But I’m afraid to admit that
Loving You
is worth it

Not afraid of the
dark
Or when the end of the
earth
will start
Or the fact that I will
grow old
I guess that’s just how
life goes

But I’m afraid of Loving You
Loving You
means I have to let down my
guard
That I have to admit
I fell for you
hard
It means I have to take
the chance that
love may
hurt me
and I have to
take the road of
Loves journey

And if love fails
I have to endure
the
heartbreak

I have never told anyone this
but with you I have
to speak the truth

I’m
Scared Of Loving You

Fate spins and sways

As a watch does on a chain

A small white stick

Impatience is overwhelming

Life stands on a balance

And on an edge of a cliff

What is to come tips and falls

 

Two pink lines

Stomach surges, heart pounds

Panic rolls and floods through

Lips dry, blood boils

Death to the man who caused this

 

Feelings caper about

One as the leader

Skipping and then falling

Another takes it place

Fear and devastation

Then delight and joy

Finally the want for blood

 

Death to the man who caused this

If only he had controlled himself

If only he held it in

Better to have cut it off than put it into hell

If only I would have known better

If only it wasn’t true

The angel growing within me

 

 

Gwen was nearly vibrating with excitement. Her head twitched on the pillow with barely restrained energy. In a mere thirty blinks, her alarm would whine, opening the gate for her to morning, to breakfast, to people! She blinked, one, two…skip a few…thirty! Gwen catapulted out of bed and frantically showered, finishing before the water was hot. She kicked her brothers’ doors open and slid down the stairs banister, whooping with early morning delight. In less than a thousand clicks of her eyelids, she would be at school.

Blink.

“But when accusative pronouns are used to modify a person, they…” the professor hummed along at the edge of Gwen’s understanding, a bumblebee just out of swatting range. Her mind was swimming with consuls and conjugates, and her eyes started to darken, to droop. No! She couldn’t afford to fall asleep, to waste time. A wink of sleep threatened imperfect grades, unwatched spectacles; a life not lived to the fullest. She bent over her desk and copied. She could not afford to miss anything.

Blink.

Catherine leaned back on a bean bag, moaning.

“You have no idea how exhausted I am, girls,” she whimpered. Gwen nodded compassionately, but Bella snorted.

“Try Theoretical Astrophysics first thing in the morning, Cat. Then you can pretend at exhaustion,” Bella needled. Cat jerked up. Maybe she was pretending, Gwen thought, as Cat snarled,

“It’s hard enough functioning after homework, but I can hardly fall asleep some nights, what with seeing the Dream Stalker on the news and all.” Bella instantly swallowed her rancor, and Gwen leaned in. Cat was trembling. “I just keep watching all the pics of his victims, and hearing how their bodies were all found in their beds, and just keep envisioning waking up to that, that horrid…pale…mask…” Cat dissolved into tears. Gwen and Bella awkwardly held her while she sniffled.

“Don’t worry, dear, the cops will catch him. He will make a mistake and they will catch him. They always do,” Bella consoled her. The killer always makes mistakes? Gwen wondered. Or the police always capture them? Something that Catherine had said was niggling at her.

“How do you know what color his mask is? How do you know he even wears a mask?” Gwen probed gently. Cat hiccupped, and then laughed.

“Poor, poor, Gwendolyn. Always behind the times,” Cat tittered through her tears, “look.” She pulled out her fancy new phone and showed her friends the screen. Gwen’s eyes quickly flitted around the frame of the picture, homing in on details. It was on “castorcitypolice.gov”, so the photo was no internet prank. It was a BOLO, which meant the cops were so desperate they had resorted to crowdsourcing. The picture itself was from a steep angle, probably a security camera. In the grainy darkness of the screen, a white-masked shadow was captured in profile. The mask was cold and featureless save for the black-rimmed eyeholes and aquiline nose; malevolence, fleeing the scene. Ice settled in her stomach.

“Oh, dearie! You’ve gone so pale,” Catherine cried. “I’m sorry. Now you won’t be able to sleep tonight,” she apologized.

“Or ever again, by the looks of her,” Bella teased, and the two of them burst into laughter, banishing their fear. Gwen swatted them away irritably. They had made her lose the count! Was she on eleven thousand five hundred sixty nine blinks today, or eleven thousand five hundred sixty seven? She had to keep the count. She could not…

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

The Dream Stalker seized Gwen’s wrist. His ancient, arthritic hand held her more firmly than fear. His face looked so naked without the mask, wrinkled and ugly, like a baby. His mouth writhed, and spat out,

“Hot.” Gwen nodded gently and dabbed the murderer’s forehead with a damp cloth. The old man eased his grip and snuggled deeper into his blankets. Gwen stood up and left him where he lay on the floor of the barn. She cleaned up the plates and cups, and hid his food and medication stores under a hay bale. With any luck, no one would find this lonely place; if they did, then all they would see was a homeless man, swaddled in woolen dreams. As she was laying out his breakfast for tomorrow, the legend turned and gazed at her with failing eyes. “The boys in blue will not find me, will they, girl? You did not tell them?” he pleaded. His voice quivered with fear. She patted his hand.

“I told no one,” she whispered, “no one. You are safe here,” she reassured. He nodded dimly, and shriveled into his bedding.

“Yes,” he rasped, “safe.” Gwen leaned over and kissed his brow. She was too late; he was already dreaming. Such a poor, wretched old man, she marveled. He had been great once; he had torn all up and down the East Coast, killing women in their sleep and leaving traces only to tease the “boys in blue”. That had been thirty years ago. He was old now, forgotten, his murders pinned on his younger brother—case closed. She was glad the man was so old-fashioned—he would be hurt that someone actually was killing under his name. She turned to go.

Gwen looked on the wall where the Dream Stalker hung his reminders; the straight killing knife, as sharp and cold as memory; the curved blades for ripping; the mask. Through unblinking black sockets the white mask watched. It was cold and impassive, sleek and sleepless. She fastened it to her face, and it fit as lightly and naturally as a dream that one returns to, after a long banal day.

The Dream Stalker ran on through the night, each footfall claiming the earth as her own. Her breath was calm and measured. Her hands were steady and full of steel. Her path was unwavering and sure. And in her head, the count.

 

 

Who am I? What do I belong to?

This woman, my father’s mother.

So mean, so German.

Am I like her too?

Everyone knows their generations.

What am I?

 

My father, adopted.

Who is he?

Does that mean I don’t belong to her?

Steinen, sounds German to me.

 

50% Greek they tell me.

I love it, but it’s only 50.

Where does the rest come from?

 

Learning, reading, fascination.

Picture, imagine, model.

Athena, Aphrodite, Artemis.

Greek myths become hobbies.

Become loves.

 

1/8th is German.

My “grandmother” I see.

No German, I say.

No never in me.

 

1/8th is Cherokee.

Where does that take me?

So small, does it really affect me?

Interesting, I say.

Maybe part of me.

 

The rest is lost,

Whatever I want it to be.

What can it be?

 

Whatever I want,

I look in the mirror,

I look in my mind.

 

Thick, dark hair.

I never burn.

Summer brings dark “olive” skin.

Big eyes, thick lashes.

Care-free, Daddy’s girl.

A family as big as the Mediterranean.

 

My mind speaks,

Love for the myths,

Love for the family,

Love for the art,

Love for the food.

 

What am I?

I am Greek.

I am 100%.