VIKING VERSE
Volume 1, Issue 1; October 14, 2025
Illustrated by Emi Demirci for "The Midnight Crows," page 3 Written and Published by Egan's Creative Writing Class Illustrated by the Art Class
His fear is burning him on the inside, like a thousand daggers piercing through his skin. Sweat slides down his forehead as the one-eyed crows group together above him, forming a thick black thunder cloud. All he can hear is the evil laugh of the black birds and his heartbeat thumping in his chest. Pouring out of his eyes like water fountains are bitter tears of fear. He tries to scream, yell for help, but all that comes out is a desperate whisper. His soar voice mixes with the sound of his hopeless sobbing, and his vision becomes blurry. Falling, he wraps his pale arms around his legs and digs his head into the ground. His jaw opens and closes as if he is trying to speak, but his gaze is blank and his face looks lifeless. The boy stops moving as the crows gather around him, making a black bubble around his body. And as his fear and resentment of death fills a gap within him, the boy jerks up, yelling, his fists balled, grasping his dark bedsheets, dark as the midnight crows.
The Midnight Crows By Anahi Hottegindre Lebegue
Pg. 3 Pg. 4 Pg. 7 Pg. 8 Pg. 9 Pg. 10 Pg. 12 Pg. 14 Pg. 15 Pg. 16 Pg. 17 Pg. 18 Pg. 19 Pg. 20 Pg. 21 Pg. 22 Pg. 23 Pg. 24 Pg. 25 Pg. 26 Pg. 28 Pg. 29
Editors: Nikki Yordanova and Rita Northam Schulze
Table of Contents
"The Midnight Crows" by Anahi Hottegindre Lebegue "Memories" by Nikki Yordanova "Competition" by Yiming Sun "Fearful Forest" by Kyan Sheth "Confusion" by Yousuf Elmalk "The Locker" by Maya Stern "The Dead of Night" by Ella Goldberg "Winter" by Henry Themaat "The Echoes I Can't Hear" by Stephanie Hsieh "Snowflake" by Coraline Heise "Betrayal" by Annabelle Witteles "Skiing" Theo Zhang "Sunset" by Mika Markovich "Wonder" by Avy Vinodkumar "Heatwave" by Macie Northam Schulze "An Ominous Place" by Dylan O'Brien "Hands of Friendship" by Ziya Charaniya "Survival" by Gyan Guthula "Cold" by Amar Ahuja "The Hike" by Vera Skachkova "Lucky Cherries" by Ari Eagleman "Pastels" by Rita Northam Schulze
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Memories By Nikki Yordanova Illustrated by Quinn Pollmann
Hurling myself onto my unmade bed, I curl myself into a ball, mimicking a roly-poly, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I let it all out. The oceans coming out of my eyes have no stop, and I cry and cry until it feels like there is no water left in my body. Opening my eyes, all red and puffy, I stare at the puddle that is absorbing into my sheets filled with my tears. Feeling all rejuvenated, the muck re-enters my body, and I launch myself out of my bed. With a frown and furrowed eyebrows, I become a dinosaur, stomping around, kicking the clothes littered upon my clothes, slapping my walls, my desk…I scream like a wild animal, and it is only then when I come back to my senses. Looking around my room, I feel like a spectator and my room is the aquarium. Staring around at the destruction I have created, my eyes catch a now crumpled box - covered with pictures of me and my friends, me and my pets, me and my family - its contents spilled across my cream carpet. I feel like a piece of my heart has broken as I stare at what used to be my most prized possession - now ruined. No, what have I done, my thoughts croak as I rush over to the box, my tears once again meeting my eyes - but now for a new reason. I gingerly move the lid to the box and set it aside as my shaking hands begin to pick up the contents and examine them. Annual birthday cards since the year I was born, Polaroids of my friends and I filled with our smiling faces, paper mache creations my little brother created for me…and soon all these memories in the forms of paper are sprinkled with tears as the water escapes my eyes, like a cloud that has just had too much. Rummaging to the bottom of the box, I find a drawn unicorn that I made on my eighth birthday, that has been carefully taped together, and is attached with a note. I immediately recognize my mother’s swirly letters, and the memory comes flooding back in, as does the small smile that cracks open my mask of fury.
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With a scrunched face and slouching posture, I slam open the door leading me into my cage, right away met with the guard - my mother. She grumbles a question directed toward me, but like always, it goes in one ear and out the other. Shaking my head, I storm up the stairs, my backpack hanging leisurely on one shoulder. I fling the door to my room open and am greeted by the jungle that lies within. The jungle with clothes as vines, trash as rocks, and graded assignments sprinkled like rain. Tears begin to creep into my eyes as I stare at what used to be an obsessively organized room - the collages filled with people which used to bring me joy now hanging crooked on the baby pink walls. I throw my bag on the floor, my body shaking with anger, as I rip open the zipper. Snatching the assignment, I crumble it into a ball, but even with my best efforts, the 66% scribbled in red sharpie is clear at the top, sticking out like a sore thumb. A grating scream escapes my throat as the assignment joins my swamp of a room.
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I had drawn this unicorn on my eighth birthday, and I had worked so hard to make it perfect. I had used my best art supplies, my glitter pens, my Twistables, and when I was done, I was so so happy because it pleased my perfectionist self - something that rarely happened. Having immediately ran to my mother to show her, she had then spun me around the kitchen and said to me that I was her “perfect girl” - I had felt invincible. Then right away, I had ran up to find my dad in hopes to get the same reaction, and my mom had gone back to cooking dinner - her focus having been off the unicorn. Walking down the stairs, hand-in-hand with my dad, we rushed over to the kitchen, only to find my unicorn, ripped in three parts, the head completely gone. I screamed, and my chin began to quiver as I looked around for the culprit. Then there he was, my little brother Theo who was three at the time, holding the unicorn pieces. He was three years old, so his favorite hobby was destroying things at the time, but I did not care as I screamed and screamed at him until my voice went sore. My parents then screamed and screamed at me for yelling at Theo and making him cry when he was only three years old - like I was in the wrong. I remember feeling my heart ache as my parents took my brother's side once again. I had run up the stairs and slammed the door. I did not come out of my room that day, and I spent my birthday all alone. The words, “Nothing is so broken that it cannot be fixed” are written on a post-it note and attached to the unicorn, its parts taped together to make it whole. I had never known that my mother had fixed my unicorn that day and that she had put it right where it belongs - in my special box. As if on cue, my mother stands at the doorway, her chin trembling and her eyes wet. I rush into her embrace, and she holds me tightly, like a baby bear finally coming back home to its mama bear’s hug. Stroking my back, we stand like that for a while before I am finally ready to break away, and my mother goes back downstairs. Looking around my room one more time, I now stare at it in a different light. Rolling back my shoulders and cracking my knuckles, I start slowly folding my clothes, throwing away the trash, and pulling the cover over my bed - because even when you hit rock bottom, nothing is so broken that it cannot be fixed.
Competition By Yiming Sun Illustrated by Emi Demirci
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As my teammate passed the baton, I ran as fast as I could. Streams of sweat dripped across my face as I ran. The sound of the crowd cheering drowned in my ears as I knew they were not cheering for me. When I looked up to see how I was doing, my heart dropped. I was falling behind. My legs ached, and I was gasping for air as I struggled to run. I gotta prove them wrong, I thought. I did not get into this team for nothing. I thought back to when my classmates called me a wimp. A nerd. Just because I could not run fast. Yet now, these same people are counting on me to carry the baton to the very end. It was at this time that my legs stopped aching, and I felt light on my feet. Whizzing past the people in third and second places, I furrowed my eyebrows. The person in first was still ahead of me and was about to reach his destination. My legs ached with every step, and my heart was pounding. The ache in my legs turned into a burning sensation as I was gasping for large amounts of air. When I passed the finish line, I collapsed onto the grass next to me. When I opened my eyes, the loud cheer of the crowd filled my ears, and I realized they were cheering for me.
The trees swayed to the steady, cold breeze, making them look almost lifeless, like zombies. The crooked branches were as sharp as katanas, and they cast ghostly shadows along the muddy ground, mixed with dead leaves and tree stumps. The sky, dark and gloomy, made the atmosphere as colorful as the ground itself. An old, dirty, sticky pond lay next to the mouth of a cave, like the cave was drooling into the puddle. The smell of decaying branches and rotting carcasses filled the dirty air. There was a pathway leading into the forest beyond the border, where no one had gone before. Wolves howling in the distance. Animals scampering by to escape the wolves. A world of chaos.
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Fearful Forest By Kyan Sheth Illustrated by Keira Toguchi
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Twiddling my thumbs, I swiftly stomp my foot on the ground. As I look blankly at the whiteboard, the numbers are slow in my head. Biting my nails, I gnaw my lip and start scribbling down the notes. While fidgeting with my fingers, my body starts to tremble. Eyes bulging, I glance at the information on the board. More notes add on to the whiteboard by the second, too many for me to process. My head swivels from side to side. I start to rapidly smack my pencil on my notebook. The room spins around, making it impossible to focus on anything. My attempt to read the board is like trying to read a half-burned letter; the words are still there, but they are scorched beyond recognition. My brain screams for the logic it needs which simply didn’t exist here. All of a sudden, a river of tears stream down my face.
Confusion By Yousuf Elmalk Illustrated by Zara Ali
picked back up. Hidden on the edge, a scarlet-red book had flopped onto its face, dust peeking through the edges. It was well-worn with use and age, read again and again over the years, dog-eared pages and passed notes covering the interior. While the upper shelf had little stuff, the floor held even less, no discarded jackets covering it like most. Stuffed in the corner, a bag full of detailed cards hid. Invitations for her birthday party, enough to give to all her school friends, her mom had said. By the time the party had come around, not one had been handed out, and the girl claimed all her friends were just busy. White pieces of crumpled paper were strewn across the other side, their faces as cratered as the moon. A three page speech, with detailed notes on how to present it, written over many late nights.That’s why you should vote for me for Student Council Treasurer, it read. Only one other person had run for treasurer, and they had won; theirs was the only speech ever delivered to the school. Before the girl had delivered her speech, she had run off the steps, returning into the huge crowd. The locker door slammed shut and was drenched in darkness yet again.
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The Locker By Maya Stern Illustrated by Catherine Kung and Jade Cortez
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The girl’s locker was relatively empty compared to the overflowing ones that surrounded it. It had no personal touches, no notes from friends sticking on the inside wall, not even a mirror like most girls. While no color lay on the walls, the brand-new textbook that sat on a shelf was shiny and vibrant. A brown paper-bag lunch had been dropped next to it. Seeming to suck the color from the rest of the locker, it had been packed by the girl’s mom, not realizing the girl threw it out every day and bought a junk-food school lunch. In the corner of the shelf was an instant photo, three girls grinning wide, hands on each other’s shoulders, but their smiles had a bit of melancholy, with the sign above them: We’ll Miss You! Formerly in a place of honor, it had fallen to the cold metal ledge and never been picked back up.
The screeching of crows split the icy air as shadows slither over fallen twigs which carpet the ground like scattered bones. Scuttling insects scamper underfoot while night falls over the eerie landscape. The stench of damp earth and mildew fuse with a choking fog, blurring the arching trees. Bare limbs jut out of tree trunks like bony fingers grasping at the inky, starless sky. Whispering faintly, a wind winds through the barren woods carrying the sound of creaking wood and the rustle of shriveled leaves. The distant light of the waning moon casts elongated shadows, distorting the view and creating unperceivable, disconcerting areas of blacked out forest. Glistening like a broken mirror through the shadows, a delicate cobweb is visible. Perched on the web, a creature with eight long spindly legs, an oval body, and eight sets of blood red eyes all glinting with hunger.
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The Dead of Night By Ella Goldberg Illustrated by Ashley Percy and Zoey Zou
She yells so loud that I can even hear her, still, I can’t make out what she’s saying. My fists clench and my teeth grit. I try to hold in my rage. I open my mouth to scream back at her, but I already know nothing will come out, so I close it. Why can’t you just understand me? I sign to her, knowing she can't understand. Staring at my hand motions, she starts hollering. My face fumes, too scared to say anymore, I storm up the stairs to my room and slam the door shut. I don’t know what happened, but my entire body starts to tremble as my knees drop down to the floor. Head down in my hands, my body forms into a ball. Feeling the many tears streaming down my face, the thoughts that I want to share out circle through my head, but every time I try, no one understands. Tears soaking my palms, I hear the door of my room creak open. Leave me alone, I want to voice. Not looking up, but whoever it is, the person wraps their arms around my shaking body. Feeling their vibrations while they’re mumbling soft words, I can’t make it out, but I lean towards the touch anyways.
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The fire, crackling like little explosions, heats my cold blue hands after a long day in the snow at Vale. I pick up the white mug holding the sweet hot chocolate my mom made for me. Soaking in the dark brown milk, the marshmallows do a little dance with every sip. Picking up my precious comic book, my warm hands flip to the page where I left off, where Captain America was fighting the Red Skull. I rotate my head to peer out the cold window to see a gondola tugging itself up the gigantic snow covered mountain. Falling like little stars, the snowfall glides onto the forestry and hides the little creatures in the glimmering trees. As I begin to take another sip, a squirrel, chasing one of its friends, scurries up a frosty tree. The flakes drift down onto the wet, blanketed ground. All of the sudden, an idea pops into my head. “Hey Dad! Let’s go sledding!”
The Echoes I Can't Hear By Stephanie Hsieh
Winter By Henry Themaat Illustrated by Zoey Zou
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Betrayal By Annabelle Witteles Illustrated by Kiko Yamada
My eyes started to blur as I looked at my past friend. All those laughs, all those cries, all those hugs, they were fake. All fake. A thousand bricks seemed to slam against my heart as I saw her apologetic smile. Like she could fix what she did. I opened my mouth to say insults, but I couldn't seem to form words. My mouth turned dry and my body turned stiff. I looked around the scenery. The beautiful red, green, and yellow trees, the ice blue sky, and the breathtaking lakes didn't seem to fit the mood. I closed my eyes slightly, feeling the cold wind brush against my shoulders. I then knew what I had to do.
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Snowflake By Coraline Heise Illustrated by Jinna Seed
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Crystalline, fresh snowfall blanketed the forest floor. The crisp, clean air danced all around me, promising hope and new beginnings. Gazing across the snowy, rolling foothills, I saw children, bundled up in thousands of layers, falling down so they could make snow angels. Pretending they were reindeer, dogs pranced around the ridges of the hills and rolled downhill, yipping and grinning. Smiling parents sipping cider and hot cocoa watched from the sidelines. The townsfolk were the voyagers on an ocean of white, but I couldn’t quite decide on the shade – either creamy white or almost blue. Packing snow into imperfect spheres and tossing them, kids laughed and ran around, dodging and weaving. A boy extended his arm, caught a huge snowflake on his mitten, and ran around, beaming and showing all his friends. Despite glancing every which way, I could not find one face that was not smiling more broadly than the sun.
Sunset By Mika Markovich Illustrated by Quinn Pollmann
Miriam sat on her chair in her room, the air conditioner’s soft hums and a pencil meeting paper filling the room. The light from the sunset outside bounced off her bed through the curtains. Getting up, she placed the pencil down next to her art and opened the curtains enough to watch the sun lower into the distance. The sky was a gradient of blue, yellow, orange, and pink. The beautiful sight could be seen in her eyes. A bird flew through the air. After watching for a few minutes, Miriam slid the curtains closed and turned back to her bed, walking towards it. Sitting onto the bed, Miriam laid down and felt her eyes closing. Eyelids feeling heavy, she decided not to resist and closed her eyes as a few final calming chirps from the birds outside lulled her to sleep.
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Skiing By Theo Zhang Illustrated by Chantal Du
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The trees beside me turned into a green blur, the only spots of color so high up on this mountain. As I turned on the slope, the wind overpowered the soft whooshing of my skis and roared in my ears. Through my frosty mask, I grinned. Not one other person in sight. I frequently yearned for this loneliness, the white expanse leaving me alone with my thoughts. The reddish brown of a rusty sign caught my attention as I raced down the mountain. I had missed it! Swerving to a stop, I began marching up the steep hill, my skis digging into the soft snow. My warm breath began to fog up my visor, and I fell to the ground with a soft thud. The air was thin, and the slope even steeper. Panting, I removed my goggles and continued up the mountain. As I faced the cruel winter, tears welled up in my eyes, specks of needle-like snow stinging my flushed face. Arriving at the small cliff on the mountain, I sat down and unclicked my skis, my ski poles clattering to the ground. I gazed up at the world, the gray clouds masking the winter sun. Below me, a fathomless pit beckoned me towards it, colorless instead of tenebrous. The consequences were brutal and unforgiving, like the winter that surrounded me. I listened hard to the noises around me, but the howling of the wind was omnipresent. I sniffed, but there was nothing. I felt, but there was nothing but cold. I tasted, but the freezing water disappeared in my mouth. The absence of feeling was something that I craved. In this ever-changing world, this nothingness was what fueled me. I began to sniffle. I had lost track of time. The cold had penetrated my clothes and started crawling up my body. Reluctantly, I picked myself up with a sigh, put on my skis, and returned to the world below.
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Heatwave By Macie Northam Schulze Illustrated by Aditi Jindal
Wonder By Avyukth Vinodkumar Illustrated by Jade Cortez
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Letting out a long, lazy yawn, the Sun burrowed his head under the irresistibly fluffy pillow of cumulus. After a few more minutes of slumbering in the sky, he stretched his long arms through the fluffy blanket, allowing a few specks of sunlight to dot the once bleak and rainy day as his blazing eyes flickered open. When he leaped through the dreary yet soft clouds, sunshine serenaded the murky water below which now shone with brilliant blue. The Sun danced and darted along the wide, rolling hills with nimble feet and a bright smile for hours on end, sending small flecks of gold flying towards the hot sand. As the day drew to a close and the tide crawled towards the shore, he beamed down at the last few dawdlers at the beach, who were paddling or barbecuing on the damp sand. Sitting comfortably on the skyline, the Sun let the tips of his toes meet the waves, the contact forming a shimmering peachy orange as the salty current made his feet sizzle. Stirring the bubbling turquoise brew with one finger, he lay down and stretched his long limbs to their full extent. At that moment, the sky exploded with vibrancy and light, like a fresh canvas splattered with warm hues of pink, orange, and red. As the Sun watched the last people retreat to bed, he plucked a cluster of clouds from the sky above and sunk beneath the edge of the sea. Snuggling into his bed for the evening, he hummed gently with his eyes closed as the last bright streaks of summer dissolved into the dark, dramatic evening.
As I strolled out of my house, I tightened the scarf around my neck, the chilling air flowing around my neck. Trotting down the steps, I froze, gazing at the fiery sunset-painted trees towering over me. I picked a berry off a tree and held it in my index finger and thumb as I felt leaves crunch below me. Cheeks red and air chilly, my hazy breaths appeared like smoke dancing in the air. Letting my gaze wander over the reds, oranges, and yellows on the trees, I spotted a fox hiding behind one. The fox ran off, tapping against the concrete sidewalk. Sniffing the berry in my hand, the fox stared back at me, noticing the berry I had grabbed off the tree. It edged toward me, and with an inviting smile pasted on my face, I offered the berry to the fox. The fox nibbled on the red berry, licked its lips, wagged its tail, and ran away.
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Hands of Friendship Written and Illustrated by Ziya Charaniya
I sat there sprawled across the ground, wishing I was with them playing cards and laughing, yet instead being the I am fool, I’m here. My clothes were torn in places which exposed the gashes spilling blood, which stung me, but more so my mind. Why? Why did I think this would be a good idea? Hearing running, I squinted to decipher who it was. Through my blurry eyes, I spotted them—Marti and Edna. I made out Marti's gleaming smile, trying to remind me that everything will be alright. Edna was wrapping her crisp handkerchief around my bleeding knee. Together they lifted my dust-covered body off the ground and then put my arms on their shoulders. We stumbled across the dusty barren terrain, alone with nothing but each other and hope. I wished I had asked them why. Why did you save me from my fate? I deserved to be left there. I now long to see Marti's reassuring smiles and feel Edna's caring embrace.
An Ominous Place By Dylan O'Brien Illustrated by Zoe Couillaud
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Dead skinny branches hang overhead. The trunks of a once healthy forest surround the area. A crescent moon rises high in the night sky. Giving just enough light to see the long damp shadows in the corners, the moon shines faintly. Sitting still, a cold pond lies lifeless. By itself, a fox silently stalks these woods, then moves on through the darkness. Large brown mushrooms grow from old dead trees on the ground. A dusty cobweb can be seen, reflecting the moonlight on this cold still night.
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Cold By Amar Ahuja Illustrated by Nathan Leung
Survival By Gyan Guthula Illustrated by Ziya Charaniya
A dented car rolls to the curb, one headlight flickering, the engine rattling like it might fall apart. The window slides down slowly, and a man in a mask and ragged hoodie motions for me to get in. I don’t move at first. My smile feels stiff as I glance down the street, but it’s empty. My hands stay deep in my sleeves. I step closer. The door creaks when I open it. A cage splits the car between front and back. The seats are ripped and stained. My shoulder presses to the door as I slide in, one hand resting on the handle. The car starts moving, but not toward the road. Gravel cracks under the tires. The trees swallow us. My knee bounces. Fingers pull at a string on my jacket. I stare at the back of his head. I bang the cage. Again, harder. I kick the seat. He doesn’t say a word. I roll the window down and scream into the trees. The wind catches the sound and takes it. I grab the handle. Locked. I yank. The lock pops. I hit the door with my shoulder. It gives. Cold air rushes in. My foot catches the edge. My legs drag. I hit the ground. My arms fly out. My palms burn. I roll, scramble up, blinkers flashing behind me. The engine roars. I run. I sprint, barely feeling the ground beneath me. Branches tear at my sleeves. My breath comes in gasps. My heart slams in my chest. I duck low. Every step lands hard. I don’t look back. The forest closes around me. My fists stay up. My head turns every few seconds. Then a small light fills my eyes. I stumble toward it, legs shaking. A gas station. The glass door slams open. I grab the phone. My fingers shake. The numbers blur. I press them anyway. A voice answers. I can’t speak at first. My jaw stays locked. A siren wails in the distance. Lights flash outside. I sit stiff in the back of the police car, back straight, fists tight in my lap, eyes forward, seatbelt digging into my chest, the feeling of the road still in my bones as the cruiser rolls toward home.
As Jimmy slung his backpack over his shoulders and stepped outside, the cold, stinging air bit him in the face. With red ears, Jimmy pulled his hood over his head, huddling down into his sweatshirt. He crossed the road and hopped onto the glistening sidewalk, the crunch of snow under his feet surprising him. As Jimmy strolled towards school, he opened his backpack, searched for his treats, and pulled out a small thermos of hot chocolate and a fresh gingerbread muffin. As the warm liquid met his lips, the cold faded away from Jimmy. He took a bite of his gingerbread muffin, thoughts of Christmas and no school swimming through his head. Finishing his breakfast, Jimmy spotted a huge icicle falling off the overhang of a house. Rushing to meet the frozen ground, the icicle shattered into thousands of tiny mirrors. Jimmy picked up the biggest shard, staring at the reflection of the frowning sky. He placed it in the snow and blew into his hands, rubbing them together to rekindle his warmth.
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Early morning of July 10th, summer of 2009, the crickets were louder than Marcus’s own pounding heart. The idea of hiking the mountain got his blood pumping, and a sudden energy filled his bones. The mountains loomed like an overbearing parent that never knew when to back down. As his feet began to rush ahead of him, Marcus was forced to slow down to conserve energy. The sharp bushes with tiny green leaves and their aromatic flowers scraped and tickled his bare knees. The floral scent filled his nose, almost as if he could see the color of the fragrance. Baby pinks and light blues swimming in front of his eyes, jasmine and cinnamon as one strange blend. The sun beat down on his shoulders as Marcus tried to shield his neck from the harsh rays. The wind tasted like fresh weeds and crisp water, and the rough, jagged stones under his soles made him kick rocks and miniature pebbles. The trees slowly closed in, shielding him from the worst of the heat. The incline was almost enough for Marcus to wish he were back out under the cruel beams of light. Sweat was beading at his hairline as droplets rolled down like tears on his face. His dirty brown curls stuck up with wild fever, his hands death-gripping the bright pink hiking sticks Marcus was forced to borrow from his sister. Turning the corner of the path, he was faced with a beautiful view. Trees below and birds chirping. A doe and her baby chewing on the leafy grass. Marcus pulled out a little digital camera to capture this sight; his breath abated, but his eyes were sparkling from the golden sun and wholesome view. Having absorbed the view, Marcus pressed onward. Fueled by the thrill of the climb, he trekked forward. The trail began to level out, the taste of water in the air filled his nostrils. It was like someone had turned on a huge humidifier in the middle of the wilderness. The buzzing of the dragonflies beckoned him along, and Marcus quickened his pace in hopes of reaching the source of the flying creatures. Soon, the trees parted to reveal a pristine lake nestled in a basin of divine temptation. The surface reflected the sky like a vast mirror. The sight took his ability to breathe; the water shimmered invitingly, with hues of blue and green, asking him to take a dip. And without a moment’s hesitation, Marcus pulled off his shoes. He threw his hiking sticks on the rocky shore, flinging his clothes off where they landed on a prickly bush. Marcus raced to the water's edge before lunging into the depths. The water was cool, fresh, and blue, like those marbles you buy at the candy store and try to eat. He sank into this cold embrace. A rest well deserved. Marcus let himself drown in the sensation of pure bliss and accomplishment, the mountains behind him like a painted scenery.
The Hike By Vera Skachkova
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Laura’s home is scattered with moving boxes, most unopened. The ones she did choose to crack ajar are filled to the brim with books, which also happen to litter the floors and few shelves on the walls. Her new house is the only one on its street, willow trees and flowerless shrubbery hugging the muted, pastel building and curtain-pulled windows. On the pale blue walls are the few photographs Laura owns, the only other thing besides necessities and books she has unpacked from her moving boxes, and they show little signs of people. A couple show her mother and father, but most are of serene waterfalls and meadows. Looking for electronics in Laura’s house would bring you up short-handed, as the only item of hers plugged into an outlet is her old record player, her ambient CDs still stacked up in her boxes. Throughout her few, small rooms, she does have a kitchen and a living room, each with a small, comfortable chair that has been loved for many-a-year. Farther at the back of the house, there is an area with a bed most likely meant for guests and friends, but Laura has turned it into a cat sanctuary, already having propped up the cat tree and beds, her three kittens snuggled up together, purring in unison. On the hardwood floor of her home, Laura has placed many thick, vintage rugs, all of which are seemingly unnecessary, as she wears socks most of the time anyway. As for her wardrobe - which she still has left boxed up - there isn’t much variety, just giant sweaters, thick socks, and baggy pants.
Lucky Cherries By Ari Eagleman
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Walking outside that morning and feeling the sun on my skin was like being blessed by god. It was a bright sunny day, and I was wide awake. With a big smile on my face, I turned on my car and started driving to work. The drive was calm and peaceful, a smooth ride through a quiet city, when suddenly this was all interrupted as a car skidded across the street only missing my car by inches. I swerved lanes, changed my course, and headed to the gas station with shaking hands. Strutting into the gas station with a huge grin and gleaming eyes, I purchased a lottery ticket. With sweaty shaking hands, I scratched off the lottery ticket with my lucky coin as my legs began to shake. My jaw dropped, and my eyes bulged; in front of me stood three cherries standing side by side like brave soldiers. Gazing up at the lottery numbers, I nearly passed out. My lucky cherries had won me 20,000 dollars. I thanked the cashier then skipped out to my car. Driving away, I set my maps home. I wouldn’t need to work for a while with money like this. Just before I reached my driveway, a stray nail punctured my tire, and my car spun out of control. I let luck take the wheel as my car perfectly swerved into the driveway before screeching to a stop.
Pastels By Rita Northam Schulze