The Game

          Sunlight warms my already sweating skin evaporating the droplets that attempt to cool me even as they come to the surface. The cool grass beneath my head provides some welcome comfort against the beating sun. Birdsong trilled from the trees, interrupted only by the excited squeals, yelps, and laughter of children on the play set, only a few feet away. Delighted cries of “You’re it!” come ringing from every direction, followed swiftly by bright and unrestrained laughter. I lift my head to see children scramble for cover whenever out of the sight of the tagger and scatter once more like startled pigeons whenever another comes near.

            I let my head fall back to its pillow of grass and through squinted eyes I look towards the sky. Songbirds playfully flitting from tree to tree are the only obstruction of my view of the pure azure sky. Closing my eyes once more, I breathe deep, welcoming the warm summer air to rush past my lips and fill my lungs with its heat. Suddenly, I am lightly pelted with wood chips. I sit up and see that one of the children is calling me to play a new game. We all split into two teams and rush to either side of the playground. The rallying cry goes off, and both sides charge. I dive behind a seesaw and keep my head down while the others dash up the stairs toward one of the slides and taunt the other team, giggling all the way. As one of the other team’s members flies past me I peek my head out, point my finger towards him, and yell “BANG!” He laughs hysterically as he falls to the ground. I sprint from my hiding spot to join my comrades on the play set, electing to take the unexpected route of the monkey bars. My small arms reach up towards them, but cannot reach. I jump and feel the rewarding head of sun baked metal under my fingers, but all too swiftly as they loosen and I tumble toward the ground.

            Searing pain rushed from the back of my head to my eyes and they are forced to close. Loud sobs emanate from me, but no parent comes to my aid. I slowly open my eyes and through the blurry haze of unfocused eyes I see a sky far more ashen and grey than blue. The birdsong is far louder in my ears as I look toward the playground where my allies are bravely holding the other team back. A brief flash now accompanies the “bangs” from the finger guns. The boy who invited me to play yells to me, telling me to get up and give him some cover. As I stand, blood rushes to my head, bringing with it a new wave of pain while reality fluctuates before my eyes. There is no more bright laughter, only screams, and the calls of birds have been replaced by a sharp whistle, a sound I know all too well. The birds themselves now screech and rain heavy fire upon each other far above the earth. The man I had shot was garbed in all grey, and shrieked for help in some foreign tongue as his blood, too, abandoned him.

I rush to join my commander as a bomber roars overhead, causing the earth below us to shudder in fear, or perhaps it was I. A flash of light ahead blinded me as I felt a swift heat pass enter my chest and just as quickly exit. I grasped for it, felt a strange gap where none should be, and then felt nothing at all.

The American Dream - A Poem

THE AMERICAN DREAM 

by Brett Stewart

So, like many students in my class this week, I had to give a speech. My speech's prompt was essentially the impact of modernity and technology on the philosophical idea of the American Dream. Does modern technology and an interconnected world help or hurt reaching the American Dream? When thinking about answering the question, the following poem spewed onto my paper within minutes. I've posted it here for more to enjoy, and many of my classmates asked me to post it. I hope you enjoy it -



What to you is the American Dream? 
It's moved from the light into darkness, or so it may seem.
What fuels the endless pursuit?
Is it justified by coveting bounty and loot?

Has modernity assaulted the American race?
Or do you just start at the finish, making slower pace?
Aren't we supposed to be the dream-makers?
With god on our side we built cathedrals and cars and massive skyscrapers.

We once were a nation who stood up for what was right.
Now, money and power have made us lose our train of site.
Maybe the modern beast hasn't sent the Dream to it's tomb;
Maybe everything else has just filled up the room.

Is the Dream always something new and nifty?
I'm sure it's never been getting gas for $3.50.
Maybe the Dream was to finally succeed;
Now it must assuage our ever-growing need.

The dream sure isn't what it was 50 years ago;
It's gotten much harder to reap what you sow. 

So has modernity weakened or strengthened our path?
It's nearly impossible to stand back and do the math.
The numbers say your rate of success is much slimmer;
But your environment builds you up, praising you a winner.

What of technology, in this pursuit? Has it been very kind?
Has it pushed you steps back, or enlightened your mind?
You can argue both, I honestly don't care,
Life has never been fair, and in the end your subject to the demons of your own lair.

So let's not point fingers at the LCD's.
We're the only ones that hold the keys.
The race will be harder with more runners in place;
That's just plain logic, it's always been the case.

Maybe modernity is unraveling us by the seam,
But, what of it? 
Don't let it stop the pursuit of the American Dream.


- The world is growing into a much more competitive place. Your American Dream is the Dream of hundreds of other people your age. But, that doesn't mean modernity or technology is hurting the American Dream. It's just harder to achieve.

Those who reach for the stars, and miss time and time again, will achieve the American Dream. Because one day, they grab hold of one, or become one.

Mermaid Tears

by Kristina Hagman

A stranger came up to me today

With the most peculiar thing

He held a vial in one hand

And in the other, a ring.

He handed me the bottle,

with a smile on his face.

He gave me also the ring

in a gesture full of grace

“These are important for you,

You’ll need them sometime soon.

Drink the liquid and wear the ring,

Be ready for the moon.”

I took the gifts and message too

With questions in my head

But he only winked and turned away,

Leaving me full of dread.

I uncorked the bottle

and took a deep breath.

It was salty as the sea;

smelling just like death.

I hung the ring around my neck

it was a noose of lead.

I prayed that when the moon arrived,

I would not be left for dead.

A week had passed

since the stranger’s warning.

The air was frigid

And filled with mourning

The moon would come tonight, I knew.

It was time to face my fate.

Whatever Destiny had in store,

I wished she would be late.

But as the moon lit up the sky

I knew that it was time

I uncorked the vial of mermaid tears

And in the distance heard a chime

With shaking hands and beating heart,

Upon my finger I placed the ring

I closed my eyes and parted my lips

And with that, began to sing.

A beautiful song erupted

Vibrant, and full of life.

But then the melody quieted

And I could feel the strife.

Cold water drenched my body

And I knew that I was she

who had left the water for the land

who had become, well, me

I had cried these salty tears,

A long, long time ago

And where the ring would lead me now

I most certainly did not know.

But one thing I knew with certainty:

I needed to find the man

Who had given me the ring and vial

Who had lent a helping hand.

He had returned to me my identity

And for that I owed my thanks

There were so many lacking memories

From when I had left my ranks.

The memories flowed back to me,

the life under the ocean.

I remembered crying those mermaid tears

That were used to make this potion.

A tear slipped down my cheek just then

Salty as the sea

It had no magical properties,

because I was still me.

Did I wish for the waves?

The life I had back then?

That person was different from me;

Did I wish for her again?

The answers to these I did not know

I was quite sure of this.

But a little voice had told me:

“It’s alright to reminisce.”

I realized I did not miss my life

Down there under the waves

This life on land was good enough

For one, like me, who behaves

Although I had once been someone else

This was who I was, now

I was content with these memories

And with that, I made a vow

I would be happy with this life

Since I had chosen it

I would live each day completely

And I promised to never quit.

Something strange happened that day,

The most peculiar thing.

A stranger had given me a gift,

And I saw what life could bring. 

Sink

I wasn't sailing alone for long. But I was.
I remember thick, salty wind blowing in my face rather than supporting my hollowed back. 
I heard my struggling, tight gasping as I lost the reasons I kept my head under the wind.
So I ripped my throat wide open with the courage you handed me so long ago, so I could inhale, but what I breathed burned like peroxide. 
I saw nothing, as I grabbed for gauze and band-aids but I realized I had ran out many battles ago.
My life jacket had deflated when I popped a hole in it trying to swim as far away as I could.
I sat there, saying farewell to ragged hands, and they held my shaking voice together, because I was too out of breath for "hellos" anymore.
I worried if I hand drifted to an island, if the blood of my guilt would follow in trails of ribbon behind my shattered lifeboat. 
If I would be turned away.

If I was to far gone to be fixed.
That I couldn't have a paradise.
I thought I was going to drown. And I did.
But I want change.
I am a surgeon for the broken-hearted.
I think it's my obligation to bring that silky-soft fire-proof blanket over the shoulders of others who don't have the strength to blow out the flames anymore.
I needed a way to see.
I cut bifocals out of sea glass so I could imagine what it would be like to live with greened greed. Greed of self.
I feel saved because of my endless eternity of perceiving daisies now when all I saw was rows of thorns.
I forgive myself.
Now I can change.
I will build a world of strange things that bring me dire need. I wanted to make a bed golden daises and cry aloud for how far I've come.
I choose to accept that I won't always get the joy ride. I'll float along in most storm, keeping my face above the iced water. I refuse to sink.
I dream for warmth.
I hope I wash up on someone's loving shore. Sparkling with sand of new time.
I predict nothing.
I know I will drift on.

One and Only

by Kristina Hagman

A tribute to Madi Flink

We may not know your story, 

The inner workings of your mind

But we know what people called you,

And that was one word: kind.

Your smile, your laugh, your eyes

Your personality so true

How is it you're gone?

The one and only you.

Many tears have been shed

As we lay your soul to rest.

But we send you the best wishes

For eternity and all the rest. 

Love Like Coffee

artwork by author

by Kristina Hagman

The old man held the mug in both of his old wrinkled hands. Steam swirled up and brushed his face before dissipating into the air. He breathed in deeply but shakily — his lungs were not as they used to be.

The bittersweet smell of coffee rose toward his nose, his brain knowing the scent before it reached his body. Leaning forward, he picked up the small pitcher of cream in the middle of the table. Pouring it in slowly, he watched it swirl with the dark brown of the coffee. He added a packet of cane sugar and stirred gently.

Taking a sip of the hot drink, he smiled. It was good coffee, for sure. But it was not as good as that of his wife. His thoughts brought him to another time.

He walked down the frigid streets of New York, his hands tucked tightly into a gray wool coat. The cold air nipped his skin, teasing the warmth out of his breath. Walking just a bit faster, he turned a corner and saw the coffee shop.

It was small but inviting, with a cheery sign hanging in the window. It was empty; it was almost closing time. A lone barista was wiping down tables, her sleeves pushed up past her elbows.

Not wanting to disrupt the routine, but now yearning for coffee, the young man pushed open the door. A bell jingled as he entered. The barista looked up, a pleasant expression on her face.

“It’s almost closing time,” she announced simply.

He nodded, “I know. But coffee sounded just perfect right now. If it’s an inconvenience, I could…” He gestured toward the door.

“It’s alright. You’re here already. And it wouldn’t be kind to have you wander in search of the second-best coffee in New York!” She smiled up at him and moved to pour hot water into a filter.

The room was silent for a while as the coffee machine whirred. It beeped after a minute or two, and the girl prepared a cup. She let the foam settle on top and gave it a quick stir with a spoon. Carrying it over to the table where the boy sat, she handed it to him.

“No charge,” she said.

He looked into the cup. A heart of foam floated atop the dark liquid. “Why the heart?”

“Everyone can use a little more love. Plus, it’s Valentine’s Day. You looked lonely.”

The young man came to that coffee shop every day for the next week, until he worked up the courage to ask the friendly barista out on a date. The old man sipped at his coffee, a smile crinkling his wrinkled face as he remembered his first date.

It was another cold February day, and they were going ice-skating. Shyly, the boy took her hand, emboldened by the pink that flooded her cheeks.

They skated in circles, laughing and sliding along. The girl’s hair danced behind her, the strands escaping the grip of her hat. The tips of her nose and ears were red from the cold, but she was happy.

When they were finished with skating, the young man tugged her toward a hot chocolate stand, purchasing them both a cup of the steaming liquid.

“Coffee is better,” she teased him.

Coffee was better, the old man thought. It had been such a unique part of their relationship, one that popped up over and over again.

He remembered his proposal to her, with coffee. It had been a year after their first meeting — Valentine’s Day. He corresponded with her coworkers and they allowed him to use the coffee shop where they first met.

He decorated it with Christmas lights, taking her there long after the customers had left. One of her friends acted as their server, taking their orders. She ordered a latte.

With its arrival, she smiled. It had a foam heart on top. “Everyone can use a little more love,” she remarked.

He smiled back at her, nervously sipping his drink as he waited for her to find the ring at the bottom.

The old man looked at his cup fondly, almost to the end of his drink. He would never forget the shine of her eyes as she said yes.

           

He remembered the iced coffee they served at their wedding reception. He remembered the coffee his wife gave him to announce her pregnancy. He remembered the coffee they shared to consol each other after each miscarriage. He remembered giving each foster child, all eight of them, a coffee cup and coffee grinds as they left to go to college. He remembered the solemn eyes of his wife as she gave him a cup of coffee, telling him that she was dying. He remembered sneaking coffee into the hospital as she lay sick. He sat there for a long time, and remembered.

            He glanced around at the coffee shop. It had been many things over the years — a bookstore, a boutique, a small restaurant, and ever so often a coffee shop. This year, it was a coffee shop. He came often, and the young hosts knew his face. They listened eagerly to him as he told them how they shop would change, how the world would change, how people would change, but how memories would always stay the same. 

Saved

By Larson Ross

I see the light, I have been saved! And it’s all thanks to one man who took time out of His life to take time out of mine. I was on a date, sitting outside an ice cream shop with my girlfriend, when He parted the sea of people and came up to us. Obviously, I was up to blasphemous actions, or he wouldn’t have come, but I’m still at a loss as to what those were, but I’m ever so grateful that He saw into my soul and judged me in need of a spiritual intervention. “I can see you guys are having a nice time,” he so  humbly said. “I want you to get back to that, so I’ll make this short.” He then quickly spent the next ten minutes explaining the teachings of Jesus and the dangers of the sins that I was surely committing, though He had not seen them.

When, alas, he took his leave, he gave me a gift of one million dollars. Well, a fake piece of million dollar currency which had upon it words informing me that I was going to Hell because in my past I had looked upon a woman with lust. The evil in me initially made me reject these words as pompous and false, but as I sat there, his message tore through my thoughts like a bear through an orphanage. What if He was right? I didn’t want to go to Hell. I had already looked upon a woman with lust, and the one million dollars made no mention of possible repentance. Surely, though, this glorious crusador wouldn’t simply tell me of my unavoidable damnation just to feel superior to us shameful barbarians. He must have been trying to save my soul, so I accepted His god into my heart, and avoided looking at my female companion for the remainder of the night. Tomorrow, I promised myself, I shall change my horrible tendencies.

And thus, I doned horse blinders. These were effective for a time, but they didn’t solve the problem of seeing women directly in my line of sight. So, I took the logical next step and gouged my eyes out. Now there’s absolutely no danger of me spying a woman again! I know to some, this may seem a little extreme. I can understand that, and I hope you enjoy being boiled for eternity along with the likes of Hitler and Martin Luther King Jr.; he was married, after all.

Say what you will about my actions, but I care not, for I am free! Free to commit horrible acts of violence and engage in ridiculous amounts of sexual depravity without the fear of cosmic punishment. And boy, did I take advantage of these freedoms, for I was right in the eyes of God. However, soon, missionaries from other churches came to my door. I couldn’t refuse them, you see, because I had no idea that they were missionaries at first, due to my condition. They talked of their deities and how I was sinning in their eyes as well. Again, I’m an easily frightened individual, and I didn’t want to be banished to a horrible underworld in their religions, because they might be right as well. So, I accepted all religions that I was exposed to, to guarantee my salvation in at least one, if not more, afterlife.

And thus, I have officially become the world’s first Jenova’s Christian Islamic Hindu Shinto Manson Family follower of The Later Day Saints, and I couldn’t be happier, or more worried.

Silence

Photo Credit: Alec MacLean (See more)

Kristina Hagman

The silence was deafening, and the pain ran thick. She had been in love, flying on a cloud. All the sweet words, the caresses in the night, they had all been for nothing.

            There was no worth in herself. Her mind was corrupted, and her body no longer pure. Now, even life held no meaning.

            Lying there, on the beach, she was torn. Water licked her fingertips, and she thought about how it would be so easy to let it claim her. A few steps into the waves, and everything would be over. The pain, the sorrow, it would all disappear.

            But the brief moments of happiness, and the joy would all be gone as well. Would it be worth it? No bad things, but no good either. It would be another place filled with bland equilibrium, for the rest of eternity. No feelings, and no end. Forever. It was a long time, to be sure.

            The tides came closer, lapping further up her arm. The gentleness reminded her of his touch, and her heart broke further. A single tear leaked out and rolled down her cheek, coming to rest in the crevice by her lip. She tasted it. It was salty, like the sea.

            The sea, the sea, the sea. It called out to her, a silent voice in the night. The waves made no sound, oddly, as they crept up the beach. Come, the cried, Come. Satisfy us. Come. We need you. Come. You need us. Come. We can help you. Come.

            Her hand closed around the moist sand, her fingers digging into her palm. She didn’t want to die, not really. But the thought was so tempting, sweet like sugar. It promised a place without pain.

            She stood up, wading slowly into the waves. Her splashes made no sound, yet still the waves beckoned her to come. Tears fell down her cheeks freely now, falling quietly into the ocean. Single drops, nothing significant at all.

            She felt like one of her tears. No one would notice if she was gone. She was just a single person, just one drop in the vast ocean. No one would care. The waves came up to her hips now, stealing the heat from her body. Goosebumps ran up her arms, and she rubbed them away.

            The water was cold. The waves were full of malice. Still, they called out to her. What are you waiting for? Come. It’s easy. Just let go. Let us take you far, far away. Come.

            Pushing the thoughts away, she shivered. The moon was out. A bright orb in the sky, illuminating her body in a soft light. She could barely see her reflection in the waves, but it was pale, sickly, and white. What was she doing to herself? Nothing good, that could be sure.

            She glanced at the moon again, but stray clouds had covered it. Slowly, painfully, she headed back toward the shore. The water reached out to her, not ready to give up yet. It wrapped around her ankles, reminding her of the promise of silence they gave. A defiant shout tore itself from her throat, the loud noise carrying far across the sea.

            With a final step, she pulled free of the water. Collapsing on the ground, she stared up at the moon. It was perfect and glowing, the opposite of her. She was as far from perfection as possible. However, she was at peace with that.

            Other people might not accept who she was, but that didn’t matter. Time could fix that. Death was still an option, but it no longer held much appeal. She curled up on the ground. And smiling, she fell asleep. 

Lunacy- Answers?

Aaron Bilek

I could not contain my excitement. All of my colleagues ridiculed me for even considering taking on this quest, and the knowledge that I was the correct one was enough to keep my spirits up the entire trip home. Not once did I remove the cloak, not that there was any need to. The external temperature, no matter how hot, couldn’t affect the internal temperature, which kept me cool. The curious thing is, that when I asked a few people how I looked in my new attire, all I got was quizzical looks, as if they didn’t notice anything besides my clothes. I didn’t pay too much attention to them and decided to research the cloak some more when I arrive at my apartment. 
I hailed a taxi from the airport and gave him my address. As a test, I inquired about how my cloak looked on me. The driver just smiled and rose the barrier between us. He wouldn’t speak to me the rest of the trip and didn’t stay long enough to accept my fare.I filed the information in my head and made my way up to my home sweet home, apartment 523. Due to the age of the building, every step I took creaked under my weight. I reached my floor and headed to my door. Halfway down the hallway, I heard movement from behind me and wildly spun around. My face flushed with embarrassment when I realized that it was just my elderly neighbor Arty. he flashed a smile and complimented me on my new cape. It was my turn to be quizzical since nobody else seemed to even acknowledge its presence. I told myself I’d talk to him about it later, since now, I was starving. My door yielded easily, and after locking it behind me, I rushed to my kitchen and prepared a feast, for after all those meals I had skipped on my adventure, I had worked up quite an appetite. After consuming most of the food I had stored, I grabbed a final sandwich and sat down at my desk. I opened my aged laptop and considered applicable keywords for a search. After all, my journey wasn’t over with the discovery of my childhood goal, it went much deeper than that. I had to know why.
 Why was the cloak just left there? Why did I create a map during my blackout? The list went on and on. The details of my search online isn’t important, but what I learned was. Long ago, when humans were still in a hunter-gatherer society, an internet conspiracy stated that extraterrestrial beings brought technology and knowledge to the human race in order to further our advancements. once humans had built up enough power however, they wiped out the aliens and stole items of power from them. The humans built secluded shrines to these relics and the shrines were lost through time and war.
 Now, I’m not one to follow silly stories written by silly people, but when I read this one, I had a gut feeling that this was the closest thing that I would find to the truth. I wanted to venture further, however the pocket of my jeans spontaneously burst into flame. I ran into my shower and hopped in whilst turning on the cold water. The flames subsided, but the searing heat remained in place. After about ten minutes of residing underneath my shower fully clothed, the heat dissipated. I limped back over to my desk. Suddenly, I remembered what I had stored in my jeans pocket. I shoved my hand inside to see if I could find any remnants of the map that resided there. 
Expecting the worst, I found a paper fragment. Except it wasn’t just a fragment. The entire map was still intact somehow.  I was baffled. Even more baffling was that once the map was unfolded, it was an entirely different map than what was once there. instead of a chart ringed with symbols, this version of the “map” featured a list of what I soon translated to be coordinates. I sat in stunned silence at yet another miracle until there was a knock at my door. Shaking my head, but still in disbelief, I rose and headed towards the doorway. I peered through the lens to the hallway, but it was void of any life
 After I opened the door and confirmed my suspicions, I turned around, ready to go back from whence I came. Fortunately, I was looking at the floor, for if I wasn’t, I would have missed the white envelope resting there. I picked it up and my heart skipped a beat when I saw that the language written on the envelope was identical to the language on the map. I opened it warily and pulled the note out of its case. The note boasted the same language as the envelope and the map, so I sat down and translated another shock of a lifetime.

    Mack-
        It’s time you knew. After all, you have claimed your first artifact and I feel the
    ground shudder as the wheels you have set in motion roll. That cloak of yours, yes I
    can see it, triggered a countdown once it was removed from its resting place. This
    countdown ticks down to the release of an evil beast, one held captive by the magic of
    all items similar to your cloak. The only way to defeat this beast now is to collect and
    master the rest of the items. Your map should show you the way. I’ve kept an eye on you
    since your childhood, and I made sure that that map was ingrained into your life. The
    blackout was an unfortunate side effect of the bonding process, but it worked in my
    favor. You, and you alone, have been chosen to access the knowledge of the stars and
    unite the items to destroy the beast. Best of luck, we’re all counting on you.
                       
                                -Artemis “Arty” O’ryan

A countdown? My map? The beast? This answered many questions, but left many more in its wake. I sighed and re-packed my bags, for this was a journey that needed all the time I could give it. The only was I could figure out more was through experience. And boy, this journey, and epic journey, that will last throughout the ages, well, it’s just beginning.

Lunacy -The Conveance Cloak

 Aaron Bilek

Immediately, I tried the bolt, but to no avail. After examining the bolt, I concluded that it must have rusted shut. I reasoned that if the trapdoor was old enough to have a rusted bolt, it must have rotting boards as well. I searched my pack for a hammer I had brought with me and extracted it for my pending act of vandalism. Bringing the hammer up for the full-on assault at my goal, I noticed some strange symbology on my intended target. Paying it no mind, I smashed my hammer into the theoretically decaying wood. A crash could be heard throughout the orchard and flocks of birds were sent flying away. Before the impact I had closed my eyes. Now, upon opening them I could see no damage whatsoever on the trapdoor. My hammer, however, featured a broken head. I was too desperate and so close to give up on my life’s goal completely. Pacing back and forth, reconsidering my approach, my eyes fell again on the strange symbology I had noticed earlier. With a much calmer mind, I set about examining these runes. Pulling out my map, a comparison could be noticed. In fact, the markings on the trapdoor matched the symbols on the map exactly. I read aloud my interpretation of these markings, and was granted instant gratification. With a long, loud squeak, the trapdoor opened, revealing a pitch black hole with a ladder propped up on one side. I threw a stone inside to determine the depth of such a seemingly endless hole, but unfortunately, I could not hear any collision from below. Turns out the thing WAS endless. At that point, I had half a mind to ditch this project and get away from this dark anomaly. In fact, I started doing just that. But then I noticed night had begun to fall, and in the countryside, I could easily see the beginnings of a beautifully starry canvas. If I had left at any other time of day, my adventure would be over, and I might have had a normal life. But I didn’t, and my sense of determination returned to me, bringing bravery and courage along with it. I strapped me bag over my back and with flashlight in mouth,  began the descent. Periodically, the inside of the shaft was searched by my flashlight, never finding anything of importance. I continued down, never losing my resolve, never once thinking about returning. However, minutes of climbing turned into hours and my muscles became fatigued. Hours passed by until finally I reached the point where I physically could not go any further. Hooking an arm around the ladder for assistance, I took the dying flashlight out of my sore jaw and looked around one last time. Nothing new, my ladder extending infinitely above and below me, surrounded by bare, grey walls. I was about to return the flashlight to my mouth, but exhaustion reached me first. My last thoughts were of the beautiful night sky I had seen countless times. Then, I fell.

***

I landed with a hard thump. After taking a second to regain my breath, I realized that I was on a moving platform. With a shudder and groan, it slowly transported me to a doorway which blended into the surrounding walls. The door recessed and revealed an Egyptian-esque entrance to a tomb. My residing platform tipped forward and I stumbled into the awaiting hallway. My escape from falling until I died astounded me, but I had more pressing matters on my mind. I took a step forward, exploring the passage, when suddenly, with a resounding thud, the recessed door closed again. Turning back around, I noticed my path was illuminated by sandstone basins containing fire, but there was no obvious signs of fuel or smoke. Although this intrigued me deeply, I ventured down the path instead to expose more of this secret site. My journey seemed to be longer than it actually was,due to my tiredness. However, I made it. I entered a room similar to appearance as the hallway leading to it, just larger and containing a black coffin at the center. After my excitement faded, I explored the chamber. Without finding anything noteworthy, I turned my attention to the box in the center. I felt the smooth surface of the box and could not find any means of opening it. Before giving up, I remembered the words I had spoken to gain entrance to the endless hole. Once the words were said, the tomb yielded its secrets to me as quickly as the trapdoor and I eagerly pushed the lid aside. Inside was the most beautiful garment I have ever seen. It was a cloak, possessing an alluring and captivating presence that only the night sky has been able to replicate. It came to my mind that this cloak was indeed the night sky, but I pushed the silly idea out of my head. The cloak came out of its resting place and ended up upon my shoulders. The tomb rumbled and my thoughts raced to escape. Suddenly, the cloak engulfed me in its dark essence. There was a slight movement under my feet, but my panic engulfed any other observations. Just as quickly as it covered me, however, the cloak unfurled itself to reveal that I now stood atop the entrance trapdoor. I passed out for the final time, looking at the starry skies. I woke up around midday and tried to replicate the abilities that had allowed me safe passage from the tomb. No such luck. Planning on exploring more in depth later, I set out on my way home. If only I knew that that day was the first of many, with more challenges and prizes than I could ever imagine.

Expedition Journals #3

These are the expedition logs of Larson J. Pendelton Ross the III esquire, Archduke of Canterbury. Transcribed into modern day English by Larson Ross, Descendent of the Archduke.

September 20, 1885:
Stephanie and Jeremy are gone! To my horror, I found my camp empty and half my supplies gone upon awaking this morning. No tracks betray their path. No matter, if Sir Reginald Roderic Nigel Charles Winston Walader could explore the untamed wilds of South Africa with only his wits and a team of slave natives who knew the land like the back of their whipped hands, then I could continue alone.

September 21, 1885:
I tripped and fell near a hole in the ice, my tobacco fell through, and I dared not go after it. It’s not like it’s worth killing a man over, especially myself.

September 22, 1885:
It grows lonely on the ice, so I carved myself an effigy of an Indian man out of seal bone. Oppressing someone again feels so good, even if it’s just a figurine. I named him Havij, I have no idea if that’s an Indian name, but it doesn’t matter, since I never call him by it, I just order him to fetch me tea, spices, and make textile products for the fashionable ladies back on the isle.

September 23, 1885:
I have written a code of conduct for true British gentlemen because I needed something to pass the long nights. The list is not so much written as it is carved into my arms (I have no paper besides the ones in this journal, and these are for dated entries only). It is as follows so far:

1. Be British
2. Grow facial hair (mutton chops preferable)
3. Excessive harrumphing is a must
4. Oppress the Irish
5. Make fun of the Irish for being oppressed
6. Realize your native food is terrible, and go out and conquer far off lands to find better meals
7. Own a pipe
8. Put the letter ‘U’ into words which do not need it
9. Reject bright color colours
I had to carve a line though one word because it was misspelled.

September 24, 1885:
The tracks seem to be circling. I hope to find the creature soon, as the longer this takes, the more likely it is that some weather phenomenon could erase the trail. What could the pandacorn be eating out here? Could I find some as well? I grow tired of yeti meat, but it’s still better than bangers and mash.

September 25, 1885:
I had quite the long argument with Havij today; it was on the subject of my sanity. Havij believes that I am insane, but I disagree. I ended up winning the debate when he spontaneously sprouted the wings of a bat and flew off in a huff.

September 26, 1885:
Note to self: find someone real to have conversations with; bone sculptures can’t communicate civilly.

September 27, 1885:
My suspicions were correct. I rose over a drift today to find a disheartening sight: the dreaded eskimo village which Jeremy had gotten us chased out of. Jeremy... I miss having a scrappy companion to harras. Do I dare return to the village? Perhaps they won’t recognize me without my party or my well groomed facial hair. (I made Johnson trim my mutton chops daily to ensure perfection, but with him dead, my face was a mass of scraggly hair.)

September 28, 1885:
I need warmth, I need company, I need breath which smells of seal and arctic fish to caress my neck. My need for the stripper-gloo outweigh the risks of capture and death. What I need most of all, however, is Jeremy.

September 29, 1885:
I rescued a woman from the oppression of the stripper-gloo and have placed her in my employ. (Willing or not) Perhaps employ isn’t the best word, as she will never be paid. Her former name is of no importance, as I have bestowed upon her a much more dignified one: Jeremy two.

Expedition Journals #2

These are the expedition logs of Larson J. Pendelton Ross the III esquire, Archduke of Canterbury. 

Transcribed into modern day English by Larson Ross, descendent of the Archduke.

He was traveling the arctic in search of the legendary Japanese Pandacorn, whose horn he was going to use to make a potent aphrodisiac, with his trusty team of explorer/servants.  The most notable of the group, besides the archduke himself, was Jeremy, a ten year old lizard boy taken from the Amazon Rainforest.

September 11, 1885:

The tobacco for my pipe has run out; I have seldom smoked on this venture, so I suspect one of the crew has been stealing it. We’re gaining ground on the pandacorn, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is stalking us like a fat Belgian stalks the cart of a cake merchant, hoping for something to roll loose.

September 12, 1885:
I awoke this morning, brushing off the various seal pups that had gathered around the crew at some point during the night; a few mewling in protest. As I stretched, I was shocked to see some specks of tobacco on Johnson’s jacket. The traitor! If he is willing to take my tobacco, who knows what else he is capable of? Talking back to me, perhaps? I shall not sleep soundly tonight, I’m as nervous as an upper class man taking a carriage through an upper-middle class part of town.

September 13, 1885:
Stephanie gave me an ultimatum today: Light a fire to warm us all, (and in the process keeping Jeremy alive, something I want less and less as time goes by.) or she would leave the expedition.  She knew that I would soon go insane without her witty banter and willingness to engage in gentlemanly brawls, something that I refuse to record in these journals due to their feminine qualities, so I agreed.  As a result, we now have no sled, and Jeremy remains frustratingly alive; I could almost taste that roast lizard-boy.

September 14, 1885:
We made little progress today, due to the lack of a sled. The thoughts of eating Jeremy are further from my mind now, as his lizard eyes give me those cute, cold-blooded gazes. His playful nature is reminding me why I brought him in the first place. Also, there is no way to roast him now, as we used all the wood from the sled. I, as the finest of gentry, would never consider consuming raw sentient creature! I would only eat one if it had been properly cooked in a civilized manner.

September 15, 1885:
The pandacorn is closer than ever, I can almost feel my mutton chops tingle. Despite our forthcoming victory, moral is low, because the jerky is finally gone. There were even more seal pups gathered around us this morning, and Johnson suggested eating one. As a counter offer, I suggested eating him; the group was silent after that. I am very curious as to why we have seen no adult seals.

September 16, 1885:
Our second foodless day began, and I can see Johnson eyeing the pups with the same gaze as a wolf stalking a fat German child. More of my tobacco has gone missing, and I am growing tired of Johnson’s petty theft. I would confront him, but surely an upper-class gentleman cannot be expected to chastise such a giant, muscular, armed middle-class individual. I shall get Jeremy to do it.

September 17, 1885:
I awoke to a horrid sight: Johnson holding the body of a seal pup, his face covered in blood. I struck the corpse from his hands, and yelled, “Johnson, you fool! You’ve doomed us all!”
“What? All I did was consumed this creature, we haven’t eaten in days, what else was I supposed to do?!” Johnson rebutted.  Stephanie and Jeremy had been awakened by the commotion and were staring at us as the ice beneath our feet began to crack.

“What’s happening?!” Johnson screeched, in a tone not unlike a small girl protesting the loss of her favorite toy. Suddenly, a great, grey beast broke through the ice, and let out a guttural bark.  We panicked and began to run as more and more of these creatures sprung up from below. I saw my opportunity; I threw my knife and it found its place firmly in Johnson’s leg. He fell, and the seals descended upon him. The rest of us ran as far as our legs could carry us from the scene.

September 18, 1885:
The seals are far behind us, and I shall sleep soundly knowing that my tobacco is secure.

September 19, 1885:
How embarrassing, I found in my pack this morning the meat of the yeti that I had skinned. I laughed and laughed at this oversight as Stephanie and Jeremy glared at me with cold, hard stares.