MMuse Staff

Editor in Chief: Katelyn Jewell Director of Writing: Braeden Hughes Director of Art: Ryan Peden-Spear Directors of Layout, Design, and Absurdly Long Filler Titles: Joe Adkisson, Will Adkisson Director of Public Relations: Ceilidh Peden-Spear Mmuse Webmaster: Connor Maynes Directors of Proof-Reading: Eli Dorney, Eric Iverson Staff Members Extraordinaire: Annalee Beaulieu Cassie Besso Jen Crockett Elizabeth Cummin Megan Reilly Juliana Skelly Brian Nicewicz Sam Burke Dedication: This issue is dedicated to former MMU student and photography teacher Steve Miller. Thanks for all your support.
Art & Photo Credits (clockwise in a circle from top left) Front Cover: Ryan Peden-Spear Inside Front: Ellie Penfield-Cyr, Samantha Elgins, Ceilidh Peden-Spear p1: Jasmine Douglas-Hughes, Nicole Cookson, Ted Grover p2: Kelly Baldwin x 2, Fatou Badjif p3: Ellie Penfield-Cyr, Alex Clift, Marina Bowie, Ashley Bergeron p4: Ryan Peden-Spear, Abbie Glitman p5: Rachel Danis, Ellie Penfield-Cyr, Rachel Danis p6: Abbie Glitman p7: Jennifer Adkisson p8: Cody Jones, Molly Sagar p9: Ryan Peden-Spear, Molly Sagar p10: Gabe Cummings, Ceilidh Peden-Spear, Mitch Lane p11: Vivian Farrell, Ted Grover p12: Ceilidh Peden-Spear p13: Rachel Danis, Ashley Bergeron p14: Ted Grover p15: Kelly Baldwin p16-17: Ryan Peden-Spear p18: Jasmine Douglas-Hughes, Nicole Cookson, Jasmine Douglas-Hughes p19: Jasmine Douglas-Hughes, Nicole Cookson, J.J. Stone x2 p20: Ceilidh Peden-Spear, Aidan Hartswick, Ashley Bergeron p21: Jasmine Douglas-Hughes, Brad Adair, Ashley Bergeron, Fatou Badjif Back Cover: Braeden Hughes

For more art & poetry visit the MMuse website: Go to the MMU activities page; select literary magazine.

Madre Naturaleza Madre Naturaleza, Su flora y fauna me encantan, Su ojo brilla amarillo, es amor a primera vista, nuevo amanecer, un nuevo amor. Deseo que tenga el mismo amor, No se puede explicar en palabras, como una sensacin; Suplico que usted me oiga, merece algo mejor, Y el mundo merece algo mejor! Ojal todas las personas compartanel mismo amor, M corazn se siente dolor cundo Suplica Slvame por favor, Y nadie ayuda.
Mother Nature Mother Nature, Your flora and fauna enchant me, Your bright yellow eye, is love at first sight, A new dawn, a new love. I wish that you have the same love, It cant be explained in words, like a feeling, I plead that you hear me, you deserve better, And the world deserves better! Lets hope that everyone shares the same love, My heart feels a pain when You plead Save Me Please, And nobody helps.

Looking for Words Im looking for words to put into verse, The words in my mind are rather diverse. But my thoughts collide, and they slip and they slide; Writers block is such a terrible curse. - Joshua Blow

- Adam Wechsler

Half Volley I remember the thrum thrum of rubber and fuzz against gut the sound somehow soft and firm at the same time. And I remember the sweet smell of grass and of your sweat the two somehow commingled in a corner of my brain. And I remember watching you, Mom, with your racquet on the verdant court the two somehow always meant to be one: you and tennis. ****** ****** ****** As a result of back trouble which you blamed with a smile deliciously wry on carrying my restless body so untamed a point for me of devilish pride, your game had reached an apotheosis of mental design. No longer of power, you now fought fire with: direction. As opponents slammed away, you kept the ball from line to line until the openingthe mishit, fallen short for your: collection. Then, youd take control. Then, youd turn the court. Then, the half volleys thrum thrum. Then, you were at net. Then, your coup de grce. Then, over. ****** ****** ****** As you lie dying, I think I am catching up on your tennis lessons: Your lovely song about a strong base, about bent knees and a firm grip all fruitless then as all I did was swing hard and shoot from hip. Do you remember my rage, Mom? the fight in the sand box at such an early age, the embarrassing call home from pre-school, then kindergarten, then first grade then I missed football signups and screamed and screamed for days and days? Do you remember, Mom? My scattered years? all those crushing tears all the aimless flailing and all that miserable failing?

Sadly, I do, but what I remember more is you. I remember your calm and equipoise, your knowledge that boys will be boys even thought I was no ordinary one, soft and firm, you caught my rancor with aplomb the way you caught my wild shots, every rip with a strong base, bent knee, and firm grip. ****** ****** ****** So, as I see you before me this sad day, know your half volley to the world has landed in play. - Bucky Brandt

Ave The notes float and soar over you, angel wings on the backs of clouds, and the hairs on the nape of your neck prickle and twinge with the faith and creed coursing through your veins. Et in terra pax hominbus, or peace to the singers, to the fermatas, to the pianissimos, and to the religion of music. Listen to the gospel, you god-fearing being, and be rewarded; listen to the choir, you sinners, and be absolved. Crescendo and diminuendo to ask forgiveness and Stop on the quarter rests to go to paradise your encore awaits you. Let the cadence carry you into sky, and rise with the dissonance into the ethereal unknown. This is your church, your god, your religion. Fill your soul with music and you will be absolute. Gloria in excelsis Deo. Amen. - Rebecca Young 3

My minds sunk so low, Sophocles, because of you. It has turned itself to a bubbling mass of mush all because You felt the burning desire to go create something deep and meaningful. Did you ever once stop to think of the impact you would have On future generations? Have you any idea all the anguish and misery You have caused the tiresome teenagers already burdened mind By crafting your all-mighty Oedipus Rex? I have spent countless hours with my head held low, Dreading the day I would be asked To draw out the power and interpret the meaning of your despicable play. You should be ashamed, Sophocles, To ask of people such high, demanding levels of thinking. Its rude of you, Sophocles, to overestimate the abilities of everyday people What did the innocent teenager ever do to deserve such a punishment from you? Sophocles, honestly, who do you think you are? - Hannah Zaske Te vi hoy Te vi la semana pasada Te dije que eres mi luz, mi cielo, mi otra mitad. Me amas? Dijiste Nuestro amor era tan bello como el cielo en un da de verano tu amor es mi medicina para mi corazn Pero Te llevaron Te vi hoy Me hizo recordar cunto te am Estemos juntos para siempre, decamos Por favor dime, Por qu saliste tan temprana? Dame tu amor otra vez Pero yo s, no puedes No te vayas msejos Recuerda eres mi luz, mi cielo, mi otra mitad. Te vi hoy pero estabas en el cielo
I saw you today I saw you last week I told you that you are my light, my heaven, my other half Do you love me? You said Our love was as beautiful as the sky on a summer day But they took you I saw you today It made me remember how much I loved you Lets be together forever, we used to say Please tell me, why did you leave so early? Give me your love again but I know, you cant Dont go any further Remember you are my light, my heaven, my other half I saw you today But you were in the sky

The Human Element The people known to you and unknown to me, or perhaps vice versa. Give us a reason or a thousand questions that demand a definition for a word that has no meaning. This is the human element. An equation resides in you. A fire (not fueled by oil or coal) embraces a constricting heat that has given the soul a new variable. A sword presents two edges. A plan thats been practiced and revised (lost to thin air) grants us new life with gifts of unborn qualities. They are the sounds, the eyes, the pumping blood, the breath of life, the human element. - Taylor Garner

- Gabe Cohn

Never Enough Time Wont you tell me, mother nature, How roses smell? I havent stopped by in a while, the fragrance is blocked by a pile of check lists, expectations, and work all to guile us into bumblebees, working away night and day. When the honey is most needed, the pollen is gathered and the flowers are seeded, I wonder if only Father Time had a gift shop, then the most popular, top of the list in palpable sight would be the extraordinarily useful traffic light. Because by its purchase I could easily surface the color I desire, so whenever I tire of all my work and favors Ill turn it red to waver all my expectations and indulge in temptations. I would change it to yellow to precaution the stop and enjoyably mellow down for a second or two deciding what to do next during the absolute disaster of the earth moving faster when the light again goes green and time passes quickly where were sleep deprived and sickly rising before the sun hustling to get done what was due before, and adding even more to a never ending list of strife of school of work of life. - Molly Sargent

Inevitable You cant wait for it to come, Yet you beg for its destruction, Its a prison in some eyes, Yet some see the connection, Soft as the snow, gentle as the rain, It will always come for you, Theres no one to really blame, Creeping at windows, knocking on doors, It will make everything clear, This time its yours. - Emily Dreibelbis 5

Blacklight Jam The lights, the traffic, the roadwork Of the center of Richmond Frustration with the idiot in the car in front of us Fights for my attention With my frustration At having to rewrite my entire essay And having a lab report due the next day But then Adam flicks off the lights And I close my eyes to the Thump of Rudys pounding bass Measured, careful, calm And the thump of my pounding heart Measured, careful, calmed Then waves, crashing on the sand Crashing on a sunny Maine beach in July The crashing of the waves In waves, Dylans crash And then his feet In triplets, thundering Thundering, a storm A ways away, over the ocean Over the crashing waves Over the crash The right, left, right Of a perfectly timed regiment A marching band Thundering, thundering Thundering over the crashing waves And then a crack Over the rocks, down the beach The crack of a tree, ripped From its stump, by a stick Cracking across the head of the snare With a burst of whiny, screaming feedback Adam commences strumming the choppy, offbeat strum Of the little girls feet Splash, splash, splash Along the waters edge The screen tent Flapping in the wind And then a pause The flapping of the tent slows The regiment, the marching band The thunder, all pause And Rudys bassline Measured, careful, calm And my heart

Measured, careful, calmed Then my fingers Measured, careful, calm Begin I touch the strings Testing them Tickling them into Their warm, familiar chime An arpeggio Breaking through the clouds Of the oncoming storm I let the sunlight hang a moment Resting, warming the sand Of the Maine beach And then my palm Muffles the sunlight Thick, impenetrable Clouds Closing over my strings But with a flick of my thumb The strings jump to life The flock of seagulls On the beach Resting, before Bathing in the sunlight My thumb flicks Their wings flick Screaming, singing Higher and higher Reaching up, parting the clouds Breaking through, to the sky My fingers Sliding across the fretboard And the regiment, the thunder Marching Dylans feet Left, right, left Marching A tree, crashing off the head of the snare

The voice of my strings Screaming, singing Over the splash, splash, splash Of Adams strum And then a wave The biggest yet So big you can hear it coming A ways off So big that Dylans face Gleams With anticipation With sweat His wrists Never failing in their whirling And I feel my own sweat On my own forehead Across my own brow The wave Drawing near Yet we never pause Right up until Crash... And then, nothing But Rudys pounding bass Measured, careful, calm And my heart Measured, careful, calmed - Willy Bresee

Serve your state on the front lines: and kleos will make you immortal. Achilles and Ajax, Odysseus and Agamemnon, The front lines hold the glory. But how do the back lines feel about this . . . A farmer from Argos, a blacksmith from Thebes, a noble tradesman from Athens, For the love of holy Zeus, Where lies the immortality of an honest, low-ranking warrior? Not on the summit of Olympus like mighty Heracles Not in the texts of Homer like Achilles and Odysseus No, It is only the front line that will be remembered. That tiny one percent will earn great kleos; For it is he who wields the pelian ash spear who lives on and on, Not he who conducts the plow. - David Brandt
like I wanted it to help so I acted like it did, to beat around the bush a little less. There was something fishy out there that morning, though. At first I tried to convince myself that it was just another hallucination, trying to dismiss it, you know. Folks always try to write off the things they know they shouldnt see. Cant trust their own powers of observation. Anyone who has any sort of faith in their own senses is a psycho on one plane or another. My reasoning is that everyones got the potential to be crazy like that, from the day theyre born on to the point where they realize that no one wants to see what theyre feeling so they crumple it up and throw it out. Phonies always miss the bin when theyre chucking out their garbage, Im telling you. They really make a mess of a persons headspace, I swear. Its enough to crack anyone down. See, though, the thing that I saw that morning kind of broke every semblance of reality Id ever conjured up in my own thoughts. It was easy enough to think about the people I knew, to talk to the people I liked even if they werent really around. Once I got them in my head I could store their characters in there. I could imagine what they were going to say. Most of them were

Crossing
It was kinda windy out, not really cold but not warm anymore either. If Id had a scarf I wouldve worn it. It was that sort of day. Id been out walking because, really, what else was there for me to do? Sometimes the people amused me, just watching them, you know, but most of the time I couldnt stand looking at them. They were all wrapped up in this crumby cluster of meaningless bustling, rushing around and not even thinking to apologize when they knocked your shoulder or stared a little too long at the clothes you were wearing because something about your outfit threw them for a loop. I mean, there was a bit of satisfaction in getting noticed, at the very least, but in the end it only ever made me kind of nauseous. For every person that walked by it felt like inches of the sidewalk were falling away from under my feet, like I was standing on a cliff and just laughing as it crumbled. If I stopped and listened hard enough I could hear the pebbles bouncing off the rock face, or at least thats what I fancied it to be. I wasnt sure about the things I felt with my senses anymore. I was hearing things, imagining them, cooking them up in my head and making myself sick every time I crossed the street. Allie wasnt here to hold my hand, but pretending still helped a little more

pretty goddamn predictable, but I guess thats what happens when you only really get to know a handful of people. I know it sounds beyond mad, but when I rounded the corner I saw this dogs tail. I had to blink a few times, make sure I hadnt just been kinda blinded by someones headlights or something, but I was positive that Id seen it correctly. Or, at least, if it was only in my head, it wasnt going to clear off that easily. I had to follow this dog I just had to. It was the most bizarre thing Id ever seen, which I guess you could somewhat accurately say meant something coming from me, but for Christs sake, this dog was doing something Im sure it wasnt supposed to. It was goddamn glowing, for crying out loud. A glowing dog in the middle of New York City. Id either completely beyond-hope lost it or the dog was real. I took my chances why the hell not and opted to figure out which one was the truth, or at least to try to. I suppose I wouldnt have known if I were imagining it just by following it to see what happened, if it were all in my head to begin with. Still, I went after it. I kinda swung my head around, trying to act nonchalant about it, looking to see if anyone else could see this strange dog, but they didnt seem to be paying it any mind. I kept after it for a while, trying to catch up while bumping into as few people as possible I didnt want to hand out any fake apologies and eventually it came to a stop, edging off to a spot that was less crowded. When it finally halted I got the chance to actually get a good look at it, and it only got stranger from there. It wasnt just glowing it was composed entirely of that weird light and a skeleton, its big, empty eyes trying to stare at me when I got close enough. It made me kind of nervous, but the dog seemed alright with me being around, at least for a couple of seconds. Then the holes it had for eyes lifted and it started growling, backing up before breaking into a full-on bark. Boy, that killed me. What are you supposed to do about a ghost-looking dog, anyway? Would it get offended if you gave it a bone to chew on, think it was disrespectful or something? I snorted at my own thought, forgetting for a second about the angry dog until it barked again, even louder as I tipped my head down, holding my forehead I was laughing so hard. My fingers found the edge of the hat and I stared at the dog, tugging at the brim. Dont like red, pup? I think it suits me.

Do you ever ask, why me? Instead ask, why not me? Bad things happen Good things happen Its not depressing Its a battle cry saying I am not my circumstances So next time ask, why not me? - Emma Sturm

- Katelyn Jewell

I am a series of empty quotation marks For I have nothing left to say I am a lonely picture frame Hanging from the wall With a square of dust Where a photograph used to be I am a flower that someone has forgotten to water Wilting in my vase I am nothing more than a series of yesterdays Always doomed to live in the past And never be part of the future - Annalee Beaulieu 8

Seismographic Kaleidescope Im often to be found more predominantly inside my own mind than anywhere else. My drawings act as a seismograph for my internal quakes, pieces of my mind snapping apart and the splitting lines rock apart with them. I am everything that I am not, and nothing that I am. Alice knew far more of herself than I, but I, at least, still possess myself. I will not shape myself into your molds. I am nothing of clay or wood, I am icy stone. I am the bottom of the glacier, the base root of the tree, the form from which the mold is made. I am no delicate flower, fragile and helpless. I am the oak-root, tying myself into the Earth, the reality, the truth. I am half-mad once-loved twice-lost four times a fool, but never a fool in love, never losing my mind, I was born with half semi-insanity and grew to be fully half-insane and this is my gift. You cannot drive me mad, cannot make me grieve by leaving me, cannot kill my heart because, dont you realize yet? It was born broken. So try to break me, try to hurt me, try to be crueller to me than I am to myself and see how successful you can be. You, my dear, are far too whole to break the broken, and darling, broken I am. - Maddie Besso 9

An Attempt at Alliteration A paladin, approaching Pikes Peak at a precarious pace (to perform the protection of an imperiled princess) and pondering problems in Platos philosophical points, perceived a peasant, perched on the peaks pinnacleperchance a pariah pondering his problems or a poor playwright, performing pithy platitudes. Peasants, pondered the paladin, Percival, do not possess the power to penetrate these problems; I will ponder my predicament by posing the problem to this poor plebian. Perhaps pronouncing my perplexity will produce productive perceptions. Approaching the peasant, Percival paused. Peasant, he proclaimed proudly, ponder my predicament! And the paladin proceeded to present his problem, more perilous than perhaps any prior perplexity. But productivity might perhaps not be produced by pondering the paladins problems; for preference, we will proceed to the points proposed by the peasant... Perhaps, proposed the pondering peasant, Publius, presently precariously perched on the pinnacle of Pikes Peak, a plethora of plentiful pickpockets pilfered the paragons paradigm, producing a paranoid population. The platitudinous peasant paused and proceeded to ponder the panorama. Poppycock! proclaimed Percival, his patience precarious and his personality pessimistic. The pact of pacifism puts forth the proposition that the protection of paradigms is a paramount priority! I ponder the personality of your past professions, that you percieve the problem so preposterously! A pariah? A papal professor? A pediatrician? Publius pondered his past profession of pilfering the paltry platinum plates present in the patricians palace. A painter. The paladin paused. A painter? You painted? Painting panthers, to be precise, Publius pointed out, pleased with his profiling. Preposterous! Precisely. Publius posed proudly, pointing at his pen and paintbrush. Personality is perfection. The paladin, perplexed and profoundly provoked, ponderously proceeded past the pinnacle on his pallid palfrey, Pancho. Perhaps our paths are predestined to part, peasant. The peasant pickpockets phrasing was poisonous: Push off, pinhead. The palfrey purposefully pranced past the perimeter of the peasants probing perception. Publius produced panpipes and, playing them perfectly, with prodigious professionalism, proceeded to ponder the panoramic perspective of the peaks pinnacle. - Joe Adkisson

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Imaginary Nature The birds sing, as the grass grows while the waves crash again and again as people walk and talk and never stop to look at themselves. The snow falls, the rivers flow, and no one knows why, but for nature: Nature of earth - nature of life. They walk and talk and never stop to look at themselves and think. Think for who they are and why. And why they follow her never-ending demands, the demands that never waver. They walk and talk and never stop to look at themselves and understand. Understand their thoughts and actions and why there is no happiness. And why the ruler of their lives Bears nothing but simply deprives them of individuality. No way to escape But by fate. The one that sees the truth Behind the deceptions falls so innocently victim. To be different and estranged Means to be unusually free. Never stopping, never thinking, never fully understanding That they are bland Decimating their potential to be as beautiful as the birds as wild as the grass as strong as the waves as unique as a snowflake and as free as a river. Never stopping, never thinking, never fully understanding Nature. - Lauren Dubuque 11

Round about me shines the snow, piled on the pine boughs: and moonlight, spilling from the vaulted heavens earthward, Tumbles as a waterfall.
- based off of Sapphos Third Fragment

- Callan Gravel-Pucillo

My Death
Recently, many members of the student body at MMU have participated in a game named Assassin, in which the Guildmaster assigns each player a target from amongst the other players to assassinate (tag with a ruler). In the first round of the game, I was cut down, and this is my story. Gather around and let me tell you a tale of bloodshed, betrayal, and paranoia. My story begins on the deck of a ship, sailing towards the Mountain of Mansfield. Off in the distance, the summit of the mountain could be seen piercing through a heavy fog, just barely visible between the dark gray clouds of winter. Standing upon the deck, a damp gust of cold sea air blew across my face, sending a chill into my bones, but I never flinched from the wind. Something else was on my mind, keeping me absolutely distracted from worldly affairs; I knew that my day had come and there was nothing I could do to stop it. As the ship sailed closer and closer to shore, the feeling grew stronger and stronger upon me. I tried to take my mind off of the events to come, focusing on the waves as they crashed into the hull of the vessel. They just threw themselves out upon the stretched wooden planks, never thinking about their end. The waves around them never stopped to mourn over those that were lost; they continued on, never even looking towards the massacres. They merrily flowed on into the fog, overtaking one another, falling beneath the surface then reappearing seconds later. How could anything be so indifferent about anything? How could I ignore my own death that was to come? A wooden pier drifted past me, stealing my attention, for now I was in the port of Mountain of Mansfield. The ship pulled up next to one dock, dropping the lines down to be tied off by a crew off-vessel. The gangplank dropped and passengers began filing off the craft. It was evident that many of the passengers were not used to water travel, for once they slowly stumbled off the docks and onto the connected shore, they fell to their knees and thanked the Gods for a safe passage across the foul beast of seas. I loaded my small sack of necessities onto my back and began walking off towards the gangplank. I was sent to this land for one reason only, and that was to hunt or be hunted. I knew today, I would only be the latter. My bag contained only a few dollars, some small sustenance, a spare blade, and a book to pass the time. One hand on the hilt of my blade, the other on the strap of my bag, I set out towards the main gate to the City of Mansfield. No guards defended this city, making it the perfect location for these cat-and-mouse chases. Walking into the City of Mansfield, I found evidence of my assassins arrival. Doubtlessly he had come earlier than I to set up an ambush against me. I had been in the city many times since I was a boy, so I knew every street, alley, and hidden pathway better than most. I kept my senses running hyperactively, closely examining every anomaly from afar, checking to make sure that I would have safe passage through the city. The Guild had set me up with a secure location, and I planned to make my way there and begin aligning my assets and allies. As I worked my way up the citys streets, I found my path diverge, posing the choice of a path that crossed a usual intersec-

tion for my hunter to linger in, or a crowded road that would take me in a round-about route to my destination. I chose the latter, keeping my eyes peeled for any movements. My hand clutched the handle of my blade tightly, sweat dampened my brow. Ever so slowly, I took step after step down my detour. I made it half way down the crowded street when I spotted my assassin and his allies turn the corner and stride towards me. We made eye contact, and swiftly began to make our way through the crowd towards one another. If I were to face this man, I would not do it in cowardice; I would stand and fight for my life.

Mere steps from each other, neither man had drawn his blade. I could feel the anticipation radiating from him as he came up right beside me. I saw the glint of his blade and immediately drew mine in a parry, deflecting the blow he assumed would be the last I ever saw. Thwarted, he took off in the direction from which I came, shouting me the warning I will have you by the end of this day. With panic in my heart and belief that this was true, I continued onwards to my destination. Upon arrival, I conferred with my allies about the current status of the other assassins in the hunt. I discovered that there were only a few of us left; the rest had all been killed off, awaiting me in World Beyond. I soon would join my fellow assassins in the great halls and enjoy the meads of the Hall of Valor. Until then, I would have to wait out my day in fear of my assassin. The rest of this fearful day was spent with my assassin sighting me, and I him, but never any attacks came towards me. That is, until two hours before I would be safe again. As I roamed the streets of the City of Mansfield, I again caught sight of the hunter, striding at a brisk pace towards me. I recognized the maneuver he was attempting from our earlier clash. This time, I would be ready for him. I anticipated his moves, calculating his time of attack. His blow came from my left flank, but it was blocked by my semicircular parry. Facing each other, he again lunged towards my abdomen, but again I parried his attack, but not without greatly wounding him. It could have been a deep enough wound to kill my assailant, but before I could deliver a finishing blow, he ran off in the other direction, most likely to find a medical assistant to repair his torn flesh. Skeptical of the battle, I continued through the city, conducting business and learning of the culture. When the time came for my departure from the city to a safe location, I gathered my baggage and went to check upon my bank in the city. I looked

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up and down each intersection many times before rounding any corners, scanning every crowd for the outline of the hunter. It was during one of these searches of the crowd in front of me that I failed to notice someone leaping towards me from a side alley. I reached for my blade, but it was too late. I felt the cold steel plunge through my flesh, severing tissue as it penetrated through my abdomen. I looked up, to see the hunter, standing over me, overjoyed with his kill. There was nothing I could do for myself now. The blood gushed down his blade and dripped to the frozen ground. I felt my body quiver with pain, jerking his sharpened blade, tearing more tissues with every shake. I cleared my mind of the torture that I was receiving, and congratulated my assailant, for he had skillfully ambushed and attacked me. He finally withdrew his blade, and I collapsed upon the cobblestone street as if his blade had been the only thing suspending me on my feet my entire life.

faces that were imprinted upon my memories. I saw my friends, the murdered assassins, happily feasting upon endless meals and drinking from falls of mead. I walked over, to them, knowing this could only be one place; the World Beyond. There was no need for explanation, and none was given, only a mug of mead and a helping of sweet potatoes. My friends and I began chatting, as if we had never departed from each other, telling fables of heroes and stories of our lives. I felt no longing for my life back home, for I realized now what my fault was. I had allowed paranoia of death to settle in my mind. Fear had engulfed my life, and resulted in my own death. When searching for the enemy, I failed to truly search for him. Had I opened my eyes and looked at the world in front of me, I would have seen the ambush from far away. But I had allowed paranoia to pull a curtain over my eyes, blinding me to the obvious. I lived my life in fear of death, when I should have been awaiting its arrival as that of an old friend. I did not experience being truly alive, I only lived through the days. Now I saw the reason for not just my death, but also my sorrow throughout my lifetime; I never fully lived. But now, I have been given a second chance, with a new life in the world beyond. This time, I will not allow my life to sit on a shelf and spoil like warm milk. This time, I will live.

- Brendon Giroux

When I die and am still, will memory be left of me? Who will regret when I am gone? Whose lives have I touched, As I lay there, still grasping my half unsheathed blade, I saw an What Muse-inspired legacy will I leave behind? ally of mine congratulating my hunter. In the final moments of Will I be just another who comes, drifts through this my life, I heard the words that revealed how the hunter had suclife, and leaves ceeded. My ally, a trusted member of my circle, had betrayed me, The world no better than I found it? revealing the location where I would be at this very time. This
ally was given no reward, only a verbal thanking for the information that led to my pain and suffering. With a final convulsion, my last thought was shaken up into my mind: why? Why must we all kill each other for sport? My assassin friends had been slaughtered for the enjoyment of another hunter, with no guaranteed reward to the victor. This was my final thought. Then there was no more me, no more City of Mansfield, no more assassin. Everything was gone. Until I awoke. The darkness slowly drew away its curtains and revealed to me the world. I opened my eyes, something I wasnt able to do minutes ago. I felt the light flooding in through my pupils, basking the backs of my eyes with a blinding whiteness. I felt a warmth flow from my neck down to my torso and out to the very tips of my fingers and toes. Looking down, I saw that my wound was no more. I no longer had on my bloodstained travelers garb, but white, fresh robes, made of silk that flowed across the skin without objection. The room in which I awoke was not truly a room at all, for there was no roof overhead and no walls encompassing me. I looked around me, and there stood

-Jamie Duke

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The Wild Man You know, about a year ago, something real peculiar happened to me. It was one of those cool, clear August days, the ones that come after the haze and humidity of July, and carry a hint of autumn in their winds. It was early morning at the time, and I was out enjoying some fresh air. It was then that I decided I should hike up Camels Hump that afternoon, with the weather being so beautiful and all. Camels Hump is one of my favorite mountains to climb, but this hike would prove to be like no other. You see, I decided that I was going to grab my camera, and hike up to the summit for a few sunset shots. The closest trail to my house is coincidentally one of the longest routes to the summit, the Bamforth Ridge Trail, which traverses the Long Trail for some five miles up to the summit of Camels Hump. In case you are unfamiliar with this hiking route, the Bamforth Ridge Trail is a winding trail, with many stretches over exposed ridgeline, along with some fairly steep sections requiring extra care. It receives little foot traffic, especially when compared with more popular trails like the Monroe Trail or Burrows Trail. so long to remember it I know not. Its bright beam pierced the darkest corners of the forest, but I soon found I had little need for it. The moon was rising, the full moon, and its white glow was more than enough to guide my swinging steps. It was a cool August night, a little wet under foot, a lot of moonlit shadows, but there was something else. As I descended farther into the pine-laden forest, I noticed something strange. The night was very quiet. In fact, it seemed the farther I continued down the trail, the quieter it got. Usually on a cool night like this the forest would be full of sounds, twigs breaking, owls hooting, crickets chirping. I listened again. Nothing, not a sound. You can imagine the fright that shook me when a long howl rang out across the ridgeline, rising from a low rumble to a high pitched scream, and echoing through the air and out across the valley. It was like nothing I had ever heard. No coyote could call like that, and certainly it was no wolf, for Ive heard them as well. I was wholeheartedly baffled as to its origin. The only conclusion I could come to was that it was none other than a person, hiking over on the other ridgeline, for the call had sounded at least a mile away. I decided I would give whatever it was a call back. If I had been smart, I wouldve kept my mouth shut, but I aint smart. I screamed, loud. My call echoed across the divide and out over to the adjacent ridgeline. It wasnt long before a response floated back across the moonlit divide. It was different this time, not a long drawn out howl, but a sharp, piercing scream that seemed to shake the air itself. It sounded closer this time, but I continued my idiocy, determined to not let this demented person think they had scared me out of replying. I inhaled the crisp night air deeply, filling my lungs to the brim, and let rip the loudest scream I could. Within seconds, a reply reverberated back across the barren ridge. I stood there a second, before a bone-chilling revelation came to mind. There was no trail on the neighboring ridge line for a person to be hiking on. At that point, the hair just rose up on the back of my neck. It was then that I realized my mistake; this was no person, and certainly no animal in the Vermont woods could utter a howl like that. I just stood there, unable to think, unable to move. And Id be there still, if another howl hadnt woken me from my daze. I realized I needed to hightail it out of there, for whatever was making that noise, was now moving in my direction. Before I knew it I was swiftly jogging across the ridge and back into the forest, with dappled moonlight dripping between the branches to light my way. I had covered approximately another mile before I heard another shriek, this time down in a gulley off to my left. It couldnt have been much more than a couple hundred feet away. I froze where I stood, adrenaline pulsing through my veins, fighting off the panic that had stricken my mind. The car was still a good mile away, and I knew whatever this thing was, it was going to have a little fun with me. It seemed the creature had sensed that I had stopped, for once again, silence fell on the forest. I was being stalked. Ill tell you, we humans believe were masters of nature, the top dog on the food chain, but we arent. Nothing is scarier than coming out of this haze and realizing that youre still a part of the food chain, that you are no longer the hunter of the forest, but the sorry quarry being hunted.

I left my house around 3:00 PM, parked my car in the parking lot, and commenced the strenuous hike to the top. Not a single person shared the trail with me; I was completely alone. It was just me and the birds, singing from the tops of the swaying pines. I arrived at the summit at about 6:00 PM, approximately an hour or so before any good color would illuminate the clouds floating overhead. I patiently watched as the sun sunk lower, and lower in the sky. Several other people sat propped up in the summit winds, backs against the coarse alpine rocks with me as we gazed upon the setting sun. Its orange glow reflected off Lake Champlain before it was eventually eclipsed by the spines of the Adirondacks beyond. I packed up my camera and followed the line of people leaving the alpine country behind. Alpenglow danced upon the horizon as I began the long descent down the mountain and back to my car. I passed through the small clearing near the summit of Camels Hump, and watched as everyone went their separate ways at the trail junction. I followed the Bamforth Ridge Trail, the sole person doing so. It would seem that from here on out, I would be alone again. The trees closed in around me as I continued down the trail. As the light faded, the murkiness of the twilight soon began to play tricks on me. Boulders became bears, trees people, and so forth. My vision was obscured by the dark gray that came with the setting sun. I broke out my headlight; why it took me

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I couldnt see the creature, but I could sense its eyes staring into me. Some large twigs snapped down in the ravine, and I realized that it was slowly moving towards me. There was a bend coming up in the trail ahead, and the moon was about to go under a cloud, and I decided that when it did, I would calmly resume walking towards my car. Perhaps the animal would lose interest. The cloud wafted over the glistening moon, and I started to walk. I made it perhaps a quarter of a mile before I sighed a sigh of relief, feeling confident that the creature was no longer in pursuit. I breathed in deeply as my heart beat began to calm, and it was then that a very musty, pungent smell struck my nostrils. It smelled like rotting meat and wet hair, kind of like a dog after having swum in a pond and rolled in bushes all day. The smell was quite peculiar, but I continued steadily walking, nonetheless. As I rounded the next corner, a large creature stood in the middle of the trail, and on two legs. As soon as I saw it, I realized what had been following me, and my knees buckled in fear. Standing in front of me, with a height well over eight feet tall, was an animal that wasnt supposed to exist. A Sasquatch was standing between me and the moon, and its silhouette was plainly visible against the bright light. I took the headlamp out of my pocket and shined it at the creature. It brought up its hands to shield its eyes from the beam, and I got a real good look at its human-like fingers, covering its glowing orange eyes from the light. Long black hair covered its entire body, all the way from its hands to its enormous feet. It was apelike to say the least, and very similar to a man, but different. Its human-like head was attached almost directly to its shoulders, with practically no neckline. Its legs

were disproportionately short compared with the rest of the Sasquatchs figure, but still much larger than mine. The feet were enormous, measuring perhaps 19 inches long, and I was simply overcome by the size of the animal. I continued to look it over, wondering what would come next. After about a minute of this, an eerie calm settled over me, as if I realized that the Sasquatch had no intention to hurt me. The animal seemed to be as curious about me, as I was about it. The Sasquatch then proceeded to break a large limb off a nearby tree, one I reckoned to be at least nine feet up, and it brought it down to its side. A distant scream floated from the tops of the outlying mountains, and shortly after, the Sasquatch standing in front of me replied to it. The creature screamed so loud that it shook my body to the bones, and after about another minute, it slowly lumbered back into the forest. I stood there thinking a while, until reality caught back up with me, and I proceeded to more or less sprint back to my car. The ordeal was over. And you see, that was my encounter with a Sasquatch. Ill never forget it. The entire experience left a lasting impression on me, one that has been carried with me ever since. Its a good thing, though, to know that a creature like a Sasquatch does exist, that science hasnt discovered everything. Who knows if its existence will ever be scientifically proven. It doesnt matter to me, though, because I know what I saw. As it turns out, the wild essence of the mountains does still live. Remnants of the wilderness that once was, still remain. It would seem humans havent paved the mountains into oblivion after all. Not everything in the woods has been tamed, and thats exactly how it should be. - Ted Grover

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Fragments (Reflections) I Fire and Sandstone The legions march across the land Through sundry shores and distant strands The kingdom is awaiting, though the land will fall apart With bow and spear and axe and sword The implements of bloody war With crimson blades and heavy darts With bloody hands and bleeding heart They march Through fire and sandstone They march With blade in hand and steel and fire Destruction reigns, intentions dire And all about the ravens circle, waiting for their feast The corpses pile to the sky But deafened to the wounded cries Uncaring though theyll never cease With mind and soul and heart of beast Through fire and sandstone They march It all means nothing, what theyve slain The miles of burning lifeless plains That no man stands alive in all the lands theyve traveled through With heartless eyes they cannot see With soulless hearts of apathy Never caring, never slowing, never stopping. They march. II Wyrd You speak of war as if it were the only way Though youve seen them lying Slaughtered there (on those plains) But freely your counsel was given and so Freely you shall depart (this life) To seek your bloody way. But for myself, I would not seek out war. For when it is over

The bloodshed You will go to the killing grounds And weep where the blood of heroes fell (fell) Fell on deaf ears; For that night they sailed away Into the darkness of uncertain wyrd And fate And raw and blinding death. Valhalla, you said. You might be right. You might be wrong. But now youll know for sure. Does it matter now? What you fought for. What you died for. What you wasted the unlived years of your life for, for what? Do you still care? Does it matter to you that but for a snake, But for a roll of the dice But for a storm, an eagle, an arrow All could have been saved? All that was lost? All that perished, that fell under the sea, that burned in the great fire? All that they hurled off the wall? No. I see it does not, wherever you are. Death has changed you little, then.

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III Viri Triumphales Like triumphant heroes they come, Armor shining in the mist Blinding (blinded) They come The red of the blood of the thousands Washed off in the river they crossed When the die was cast. Triumphant. For that is what they are, though those who do not carry shields Are carried on them. They will never die, Thats what they say. Glory is eternal, the glorious immortal. They say. But some had not Achilles choice. No immortal river as a child No god-forged shield No immortal wrath No choice. Some had not the choice of when to die, Did not know when their hour would come. So let the heroes have their day of splendor. Should we forget the fallen Who squandered their lives to become immortal? No. That is our gift to them. Let they who wasted their lives achieve what they sought. Let them never be forgotten. In time all things fade But as long as there are still men who remember us Let men remember them. Let men remember them. - Will Adkisson

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Unnatural Beauty Her divine laughter Floated, whirled, danced Through the late afternoon air The wind burned deep with every touch The river of rain dampened every spirit but hers Rightly so She was an unnatural beauty Her spirit was untouchable Strong, indifferent, persevering Through all the turmoil she had lived The pain had given her a bland taste of reality The sensuality of her thoughts left ones mind in a daze Rightly so She was an unnatural beauty Her mind was a scary place Haunted, desiring, anguished Through awestruck sleepless nights The lovely music drove her to tender insanity The awakening fear spun her in endless circles over him Rightly so She was an unnatural beauty Her smile lit up the room Dazzling, shocking, forged Through his eyes into his head The ruined hope in her eyes pained him The ignorance of each others care killed them both Rightly so She was an unnatural beauty -Juliana Skelly

He laughs, and the world is stillA single moment of the utmost joy, I stand atop the world. -Sarah Ludwin Peery

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The words spiral around my head like a never-ending whirlpool that engulfs my existence. They hum softly and fumble about the corridors of my internal labyrinth, unknowing and new, yet tooremote to acknowledge theirprehistoric entity. A fight rings on. The debate of whether or not their presence is due to my inevitable biological functions, or persists as a need to change the genes awakened by introverted decisions and external outcomes, is displayed in a tied game of tug-o-war. It should have been apparentwith eachdisguised inquiry, or throughthe anxiety-ridden musings that would have been analyzed for documentation, but the lopsided yet overtly centered mindof my own belonging couldnt bear to focus on left-brained logic. It wouldnt allow her self to face the redeemably cementedtruth. The trickling thoughts seep through the soggy wet wrinkled towel of my brain, but the words wait like an obedient servant. They know so much more than the backbreaking labors they are ordered to fulfill. - Bea C.

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T eras el mejor amigo de mi corazn T eras mi alma gemela T eras mi gua en la oscuridad. -Qu ha pasado? Quera que me quisieras Quera que me necesitaras Quera que seas feliz conmigo. -Por que no pudiste? Slo soaba con el da en que pudiera estar dentro de tus ojos Slo esperaba que un da yo fuera la sonrisa en tu cara Slo deseaba que un da tu estuvieras conmigo. -Puedes?
You were my hearts best friend You were my souls companion You were my shadows guide. -What happened? I wanted you to want me I wanted you to need me I wanted you to be happy with me. -Why can you not? I only dreamed of the day that I could be behind your eyes I only wished that one day I would be the smile on your face I only wished that one day you would be with me. -Can you?

-Victoria Mousley

En mis orejas, su voz me valora. En mis ojos, su sonrisa ofusca. En mis labios, su nombre baila. En mi corazn perteneces. Ruego que quedes conmigo mis rodillas del piso. Este noche exiges que te olvida este noche en el piso solo. Pide amor que no transforme, pido que amor me olvides. Amor, riesgo imposible, expir. Amor no vuelve!
On my ears, your voice I value. In my eyes, your smile dazzles. On my lips, your name dances. In my heart you belong. I begged you to stay with me from my knees on the floor. You demanded that I forget you that night alone on the floor. Love asked me not to change, I asked love to forget me. Love, the impossible risk, died Love will never return!

- Riley Carbone 20

Rima I Nos vimos en el espejo t por casualidad, yo con toda intencin Despus de una eternidad mirndote y deseando tu mirada. Con esa mirada me diste el mundo entero y tu primer regalo: La dulce luz de tus ojos. No me la quites nunca, mi corazn. Rima II Nos tocamos recogiendo una flor t por casualidad, yo con toda intencin Despus de tantas eternidades soando con el milagro de tocarte. Con ese toque tan ligero me diste el universo y tu segundo regalo: El besito de tu piel. No me lo niegues nunca, mi corazn. Rima III Nos susurramos, Te amo. - t tanto como yo con toda intencin Despus de lo que parece slo segundos juntos, no ms que un tantito. Con esas dos palabritas me diste el Cielo y tu tercer regalo: Tu corazn y mi salvacin. Sigamos as siempre, mi alma.
*Con gracias al dramaturgo Alejandro Casona por la idea de 3 regalos en su obra, Corona de amor y muerte.

Rima I We saw each other in the mirror you accidentally, I so very intentionally After an eternity looking at you and wishing for your gaze. With that look you gave me the whole world and your first gift: The sweet light of your eyes. Dont ever take it away from me, my Heart. Rima II We touched each other picking up a flower you accidentally, I so very intentionally After so many eternities dreaming about the miracle of touching you. With that touch so light you gave me the universe and your second gift: The sweet kiss of your skin. Dont ever deny it, my Heart. Rima III We whispered to each other, I love you. you as much as I so very intentionally After what seems like only seconds together, no more than a tiny bit. With those two little words you gave me Heaven and your third gift: Your heart and my salvation. Lets continue this way always, my Soul. *With thanks to the dramatist Alejandro Casano for the idea of 3 gifts in his work, Corona de amor y muerte.

- Carolina Ana San Lus de Alfredo

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