a passing haze of touch,

graces the skin of my forehead

and rounded cheeks

like the film of a plastic curtain.

Everything is clouded 

in sheets of slate-gray– 

the sky, the concrete beneath my Adidas sneakers, 

even the birds with their muddied feathers, 

wrapped tightly around their little bodies, 

hop across asphalt streets,

bright blue faded. 

The cold is bone-deep,

the misleading kind that made me think

I’d be fine if I left the house in just a sweater and jeans,

’til it leeched the warm flesh of my body,

made my chest go clammy.

I keep walking along the tall, metal fence,

teeth quivering slightly in my jaw,

cars whistling by the sides of glass buildings.

A song plays in my headphones

from the iPhone shoved in the back of my jean pocket,

a Noah Kahan song,

one of the few that I know by heart,

something about driving with an empty engine,

about moving as slowly as the seasons. 

Each step I take along the sidewalk feels like a mile. 

I keep walking. 

The post Spring: “Growing Sideways” appeared first on GirlSpring.

Zines are magazines not created by a company or publishing house, but instead by one person or a small group, and sold nontraditionally. They are often handmade with glued on photos and art and hand written paragraphs or phrases. Zines became popular for their lack of censorship and attention to detail. They are often used for activist movements, by small artists wanting to spread their work, or as a piece of fan work for a separate piece of media.

The Start

Zines were originally created in the early 20th century with the amateur press movement. Small printers would buy their own printing presses to make magazines that were more specific to one central idea. They were originally known as “little magazines” and were often overlooked. However, in the 1920s, black artists started using zines to share their work and promote the black community. Ten years later, zines started getting picked up by science fiction fans by creating “fanzines”. These were used to share theories and opinions on their favorite stories. This subsection of zines eventually expanded to other fictional media such as comics, music, movies, fantasy, and horror. This also paved the way for the first fanfiction zines to be made in the late 60s, early 70s, by house wives who were fans of star trek.

Activism

Also in the 1970s, with the invention of the photocopier, zines expanded their popularity because they were easier to mass produce. Zines became very popular in the punk music scene of the 1970s and 1980s for several reasons. The main one being that the movement was built on the foundation of anti-establishment and a rejection of mainstream media and corporations. So, the zine allowed them to stick to that mentality while also promoting and advertising their events and music.

Pigging backing off of the punk scene movement was the “Riot Grrrl” movement of the 90s. The movement focusing and discussing sexism through the lens of punk and alt music and art. Zines were a crucial part of this movement and were used to talk about discrimination in a way that wouldn’t be censored and allowed for creative freedom. As the movement evolved, so did the world, and some of the women of the movement moved their zines online to reach a wider audience and be easier to access. The new electronic version of zines, known as e-zines, is still used to this day.

Our zines

Today, zines are used in a myriad of different ways. Fanzines are still popular but have become more of a charity focus product. Many fanzines’ revenue goes to a charity of the author’s or authors’ choosing, with the extra set aside for any popular guest artists. Zines are also still used in the punk and activism circles to share stories, art, news, and event times. These zines, especially the punk ones, lean more into the craftsmanship aspect of the zines and will make fewer zines just so each zine can be made by hand.

Zines are a creative and incredibly specific and personal form of art that highlights the author’s feelings using several different art methods in one media. It is extremely accessible and easy to make. If you have a spare moment, try making a zine and expressing yourself. You’ll be left with a magazine that’s a tiny part of your soul that you can read and view yourself through fresh eyes.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Sources cited:

https://lva-virginia.libguides.com/c.php?g=1332410&p=9812968

https://www.sheridan.com/magazines-register/a-brief-history-of-magazine-publishing/

The post Zines, Art in your Pocket appeared first on GirlSpring.

drags in a new era with the gray,

where the cold dew of winter dusk

slowly fades 

to the beaded light 

of reluctant dawn,

reflected in drops of rain 

left from a fresh pour,

cleansing time clean,

dripping between the gaps

of my fingers,

running my dry mouth wet,

relentless,

a beginning with no certain promises,

another notch added to my belt,

as I tell myself

“no matter”

still clutching onto the last shades of hope 

for revolution and change

to shock life 

back into dead dreams

and cure a drought with a single shower. 

The post New Year’s Eve appeared first on GirlSpring.

You may give and receive gratitude in your lifetime.

Sometimes, “Thank you”  is given as a spoken response.

Sometimes in the form of a card, hand-decorated or color-sorted by slanted shelves.

Sometimes it is the one that reflects a resolve, partially or completely.

Sometimes it is given in the roaring applause or quiet snaps and hoots.

Sometimes it is the look in someone’s eyes that nothing else can explain.

Sometimes it is held in the closing of a hug or the shake between two hands.

Sometimes it feels like something else.

Sometimes it is glanced over like crumpled paper on the street.

Sometimes it comes with some heat to it, stinging like the scent of sea water in the cool air.

Sometimes it feels cold, like a snow-covered doormat when all the lights are off in the house.

Sometimes it is the missing piece in someone’s fragmented heart.

Sometimes it is the start of something better or worse.

Sometimes it is the steps in the routine repeated day after day.

Sometimes it is the eyes of someone who feels stuck in time.

Sometimes it is the word of the world.

Sometimes I hope it means something to you

And this something– and I truly mean it –

Is my Thank You.

(Thank you for taking the time to read this, I really appreciate it :). )

The post Something About Gratitude – Free Verse appeared first on GirlSpring.

By Charlie Lawley

Inspired by The House On Mango Street

We’ve lived in the same house all my life. It’s old. Before we moved in, it was Mimi and Pop’s house, but then Pop passed, so we moved in. It’s big, and I have a room all to myself, but it’s my house, not my home. My house always seems to feel colder than it should, like it’s slowly dying. Sometimes it’s as cold as January in Alabama, like no one really lives there. Because we don’t really live there, or at least I don’t. I live where my friends are, because they are my home. At my house, I don’t laugh like I do when I’m at home. It’s different. When I’m at my house, it’s just me, alone. I’m always kind of awkward there, like the whole house is telling me to take my shoes off or fix the pillow. But at home, I’m myself. Even though we’ve lived in the same house my whole life, it’s not my home.

My Name

My name is gentle. Light and gentle as cotton candy. It is calm and quiet—Charlotte Anne, sweet and soft, like a marshmallow. My great-grandmother was Anne. I loved her, but the name was more hers than it will ever be mine. She was gentle, like the wind the morning after a storm. She was warm, like the fresh cookies she made. But that is not me. I am not Charlotte Anne. I am not gentle, or light, or warm, or quiet, or anything that my name is. That’s why it’s not my name. My name is loud and funny; it is messy and not perfect. My name means a whole lot more than a soft, quiet, gentle daughter. It means I make mistakes, and I am mean sometimes. Even though my name is Charlotte Anne, I am Charlie.

Rich

People look at our house and think we are rich. People who come inside believe we are even richer. “Your house is huge,” they say, like it’s a mansion, with rooms big enough to get lost in. They say it so much, like a broken record, over and over and over. But that’s because they don’t see what goes on inside that huge house.

We’ve never struggled much, but my family is not wealthy. We have never needed help, but fights are inevitable. Fights in our house are like the seasons changing. It’s always going to happen, no matter what. And sometimes, that big house, which is not rich, is holding its breath. Even though we’re not rich, I am. Not because of my house, which is still holding its breath, but because of what else I have. What’s my own? I have my friends and my family. My nieces and my best friend. They are worth more than we have ever had. We are not rich with money, though some people think we are, but I am still rich in life.

Loud

Everyone in my family is loud. My sister is loud, like fireworks on the Fourth of July. She’s always been like my dad, funny and extroverted. She holds the conversation at family dinners, telling my parents about her day. My mom is quieter than that, but she is still loud. Sometimes she is as calm and placid as a mouse, and other times she is loud like the fireworks that are my sister. My dad is as loud as my sister, so when they’re together, it’s hard not to be quiet. They are like fire, and gasoline, and I have to be the water.

People say a lot about me because my sister and I are yin and yang. They say I’m both my mom and dad. People say I’m quiet when I want to be, but I can also be loud. They say that I am my own person, and my face talks before my mouth does. People say that I’m not loud, but expressive. They have a lot to say, like a parrot with opinions, but I think that I’m loud when I’m around the people that make me loud. It’s hard to be loud when you’re always the one who makes it too loud.

Notice

I pretend that I don’t notice anyone, but I do. Hiding behind a face that’s not mine. A mask. Pretending keeps me safe. It whispers in my ear that it’s better this way. I have to pretend so that no one knows, but I’m lying to myself, too. I pretend I don’t notice, I don’t wish, I don’t look. But I do. Every day, I notice him, like noticing a lamp clicking on in the corner. But he doesn’t notice me. He sees right through me; I’m invisible. He wouldn’t even realize if I were on fire. So I don’t notice him, because if I notice him and he doesn’t notice me, it would be like the bride saying no at a wedding. I would lose face. So I never notice. Not noticing keeps me safe from everyone. But also from myself. Because if I tell myself that I don’t notice, then I don’t have to wonder why I can’t notice. Because I don’t.

The post The Same House appeared first on GirlSpring.

and time sifts through my fingers

falling

as swiftly

as the golden burned leaves

struggle to fly off branches

the world

spins out of my control,

silk blue

swallows my head

I hold out my hand,

expectantly,

and a single leaf

drifts and catches

in some hole in my heart

my hand tightens,

it crunches against my dry palm

I cling

to desperation

to hope

for a better season.

The post Under the Oak Tree: A Poem appeared first on GirlSpring.

I heard my daughters scream from the living room. This was a fairly regular occurrence with the two of them. I stroll leisurely from my bedroom. When I entered the room, I saw my older daughter, Julia, on the right, holding her hair. I asked what was wrong, and she screamed at me, “Mom! Lucy tried to cut my hair!” They were on two different sides of the room. Facing off in a standstill. I couldn’t see Julia’s face, but I could imagine her expression.

I looked over at my giggling toddler. Holding a pair of craft scissors from the office. Her clothes had little cuts in them, presumably from the scissors. Her smile was big and bright. Like this was better than the ice cream we get from the corner store. She looked over at me. A bubbly laugh burst from her throat. She proudly held up the scissors, as if they were a trophy. “Look, Mommy, I’m giving sissy a haircut,” she told me. There were so many questions on the tip of my tongue.

The glint in her eyes was familiar. A childlike curiosity and non-understanding of the world around her. Just wanting to get into everything she can. Her grip on the scissors was pretty tight, like she’d brandish them as a weapon if needed. Her hair, black as the night, that once had two full braids, was down to one. I could see the missing braid lying on the ground, next to our gray couch. Her smile couldn’t be any brighter if she tried. I ask Julia what happened, turning away from Lucy.

“I was taking a nap on the couch and I felt something.” She explained, “I felt something move, and when I opened my eyes, she was walking towards me with the scissors. I immediately got up and moved away. Now she’s just holding them.” I looked back at Lucy. She was pouting a bit. I started walking towards her. She took a few steps back.

“Lucy, darling, can you hand me the scissors?” I ask her calmly—the years after my Julia have mellowed me a bit. Not trying to be as hard on Lucy as I was on Julia.

“No! These are mine!” She says back. I feel my eyes twitch. I stand next to Julia, looking at her. Her expression is mad like mine. “Lucy! Give me the scissors!” Julia yells. Lucy doesn’t move an inch from her side of the room.

“Lucy, please come over here,” I ask again. I put a soft smile on my face as I try to placate her to come over. “You won’t be in trouble, sweet girl,” I told her. However, Julia speaks up before I can stop her.

“Yeah! You’ll just have to eat some veggies and be on time out!” she says. I turn towards her fast, a shocked expression on my face. These were words I used before, but didn’t think Julia would be the one to say the quiet part out loud.

I look towards Lucy again. I begin again. “No, no, no! Lucy, honey, you won’t be in trouble. Mommy’s not mad, and you won’t be in trouble.” I wave my hands in front of me, trying to backtrack and get her to listen. I grit my teeth as she shakes her head again. Lucy’s little face starts to seep into a frown. She looks between us, an angry pout bleeding onto her lips. Then, a smile comes back, but it’s more sinister than before.

“I’ll give you the scissors if you can catch me!” She shouts before taking off. Julia and I stand still for a second, then we give chase. That’s when it started to go downhill.

We ran after her through the house. We run through the kitchen, dining room, and bathroom, yet she’s too slippery. I have to take those scissors before she cuts herself or worse. All the while, Lucy’s giggling and screeching as she narrowly escapes us. My mind goes a mile a minute as I think of all the ways she could get hurt.

She could cut herself, trip and fall with them, and so much more. All we need to do is get the scissors. Julia chases her back to where it all started. I enter the living room a few seconds later. Lucy is sitting on the couch, waving the scissors in Julia’s face. Like she’s taunting her. I walk up to them.

“Lucy Jones! If you don’t hand me the scissors right now, you will be in big trouble, young lady!” Julia tells her. My mouth twists down. I love both my daughters, but Julia is acting a bit too much like a parent for me. My smile is strained as I help her.

We continue with this song-and-dance. I try to grab Lucy’s arms, while Julia tries to grab the scissors. Any time we get that close, we need to back off because the scissors are too close to the skin for my liking.
Lucy gets off the couch and tries to run away again. My patience has been stretched thin at this point.

“Julia! Grab her!” I yell to my oldest. She does just that. Scooping her up by her midsection and sitting down on the floor. Lucy squirms and kicks in her lap, but does get out. I reach for the scissors, but in a show of toddler strength, she lunges at me, but she doesn’t get too far. I fall down.

When Julia grabbed her, she hit the ground hard. She screams a bit from the pain, like toddlers do. Her scream sets me off. How dare she act like such a spoiled little brat! I get up fast and do something I never thought I’d do to my little Lucy. I strike her across the face.

“Lucy Jones! I am tired of your constant disrespect! You will hand me those scissors right now, go to your room, and think about what you did!” I yell at her. Lucy stops her struggle, and Julia looks with disbelief. In one last fit of childish anger, Lucy screams again and throws the scissors at me. Tears of fury began pouring from her eyes.

The post Craft Scissors appeared first on GirlSpring.

What’s especially alienating is when everyone else seems to love fall. Everywhere, I see people raving about pumpkin spice lattes, scented candles, and Gilmore Girls. Maybe I would love fall more if I lived in Stars Hollow, but I still don’t understand this pattern. What confused me even more was when netizens dubbed fall as the “basic white girl season” – I had no idea fall was that huge of a deal! How did we peg that stereotype onto this season? 

History

Fall has been associated with school, harvests, and Thanksgiving in the United States. During fall, people feel a refreshing sense of new beginnings (and the urge to buy school or office supplies) long after graduating from school. The proliferation of fresh, local produce at the grocery store or farmer’s market encourages people to try seasonal flavors like pumpkins and apples. People also share the harvest by engaging in social activities, like fall festivals, carnivals, and feasts like Thanksgiving. 

Surprisingly, Thanksgiving was once a regional holiday limited to New England. It wasn’t until the mid-19th century that Thanksgiving gained national recognition. A nationalistic, whitewashed history of the first Thanksgiving and Thanksgiving recipes spread in national newspapers. Businesses capitalized on this new tradition to sell food, kitchen appliances, and fall decor to women. Housewives everywhere felt compelled to conform to the image and live out the American Dream with their Thanksgivings. 

All of these historical factors synonomize fall with nostalgia, family, social gatherings, and warmth in America. These traits are also traditionally feminine. Combined with Thanksgiving marketing strategies, fall has become the season for stereotypical homemakers to enjoy cooking, hosting, and spending time at home with family.

Social Media Trends

Modern women are much more than housewives now, but the marketing strategies and cultural schema have stuck. Starting in the 2010s, netizens have noticed a variety of “basic white girl” essentials, including Taylor Swift, Hydroflasks (and other trendy water bottles), Lululemon, and a fondness for fall. Basic white girls allegedly take aesthetic social media posts in fall foliage, binging fall-themed TV shows, frolicking in their new boots and cozy outfits, and, of course, inhaling pumpkin spice everything. While some think “basic” dismisses the interests of women as shallow, others embrace the label. Even people who aren’t White women post about enjoying fall like a basic white girl! Regardless of one’s stance on this stereotype, it is undoubtedly a pervasive cultural phenomenon.   

I’m still not convinced enough to like fall after researching and writing this article, but maybe I’ll dislike it a bit less. After all, fall isn’t just for basic white girls; it’s for anyone to enjoy. 

The post Why is Fall the “Basic White Girl” Season? appeared first on GirlSpring.

By Victoria Spear

Prologue: The Discovery 

Stars.

 A fixed luminous point in the night sky, which is a large, remote incandescent body like the sun.  

The night calms the state of mind for many people, others it’s a nice time to bask in the lonely feeling of solitude. Not that having no friends is a bad thing like many people portray , in the end it’s better to have none than for them to leave you or stab you in the back. A teen in all black traveled down the street of envy. 

The city was much nicer than this, but to the teen boy it was his safe haven. The restaurants felt like home, the stores of clothes and gifts lined up reminded him of his grandmother in a way. The currents of the sea roared, begging him to jump into it and escape all his problems, to wash away the sins and burdens that scared him to the core. 

The streets were filled nonetheless, a huff came from the male teens nose, the hot air visible as he blew out into the cold night. The strip mall was popular due to it being close to the docs and Orion’s Cliff , the hot spot as many people would say for teens and young adults to hang out and go on dates during the summer and winter. His dark green eyes reflected the lights within stores couples and friends walked out of, his dark hair and dyed brown tips tapping-smacking 

his face gently as he walked down the crowded sidewalk. His nostrils were filled with a nice bitter aroma of seafood and overused perfume and cologne. 

Two girls looked at him and giggled, their clothes and phones flaunted their wealth along with the twelve shopping bags they were carrying. 

One waved at him, clearly recognizing who he was, he showed no response and kept walking. The girl glared back in response claiming she wasn’t even interested, no doubt trying to regain pride and fill her ego. 

The lights illuminated the side of his face, his sneakers were worn down and dirty, unlike the rest of his branded sweats that were fresh out the wash this morning.  Although it was a bit chilly outside he stuck to his regular clothing choice, even if he had goosebumps underneath his hoodie. Turning the corner he took a glance at the building titled ‘Force Waves’ a bloody shark taking a sharp bite out of the F in ‘Force’. The sign was freshly replaced to attract more attention from shoppers passing by, with the help of the boy’s donation, the restaurant has been gaining much more profit. 

The comforting smell of his favorite food being  grilled filled his nostrils as a smile slowly crept upon his face. With a familiar warmth welcoming him as he opened the door he felt his problems lift from his shoulders for a few minutes. 

“ERIN! My best customer! How’s life been treatin’ ya these days?” , a bellowed laugh and grin erased any frown and left on the teens face. Erin looked up at the father figure before him and gave a quick smile. The owner of Force Waves was no other than Mr. Ibis, he prided himself in keeping his family restaurant afloat along with the rest of his family. 

The restaurant was a building made out of five boxcars, an idea Erin brought to their attention when he was in seventh grade. Not only is it a modern way to catch attention , but it also was a great way of recycling and not letting the boxes rust away in landfills. The walls had a nice warm feel of a diner than a restaurant if he was completely honest, the fact that it was in a nice area gave it top props as well. Not only were the lights giving off a soft yellow, but they gave a nice contrast against the blue walls with printed lettering of sea folk tales he’d heard so many years ago.  

The reason he came and visited so much was due to the family and the food he couldn’t go a few days without even if he tried. 

Mr Ibis’ wife Astrid, most of the time is in the back handling the bills along with keeping up on the stock. Their son Jasper currently works with them on the weekends while away from college, where as their daughter Gaia was a senior like Erin attending Oryn High, from what he’s been hearing the past few days she’s been planning on going to culinary school off in the east to open up her own location to build up Force Waves name. 

“I’ve been doing alright, finishing the second semester has been a real pain,” Erin propped himself up against the front desk, he watched the man behind the grill eyeing the meat as it browned, “But hey, at least I have three more months left and I’ll be done with that hell hole.” His frown returned, he watched his mother’s family friend flip the fresh ground beef on the grill along with fresh battered shrimp swiftly thrown into the fry with a swish and flick. 

Ibis saw his expression knowing that the past couple of months have been surely stressful, especially with his exams and plans to ditch the city of Oryn all together. It’s a routine for Erin to come in around dinner time, he’d always end up getting the usual; the number four combo shrimp hamburger, light onion rings, with a nice orange cream soda to swig it all down.

 Erin simply couldn’t let go of the simple comfort food his mother loved along with him. The Ibis family were all too familiar with the two and grew fond of them over the past years since he was five. The familiar ringing of the bell as Erin ran into the building in excitement greeting everyone he saw while his mother held a soft smile, unfortunately, those times weren’t cherished as they should’ve been. 

“Ah, but you and I both know you’re smarter than you let on,” The chef replied with a soft voice, “You have enough money saved up to buy your own home and start a whole another life altogether. It’s a shame that you haven’t been thinking about other things except escaping.” Erin let out a smack of the lips at his jab, reminding himself it was the only way to be free, to truly reach his goal. 

“Gaia has been helping us run the restaurant after school till seven or so and managed to meet a nice boy around your age,” He continued, he swiftly started adding grilled onions on the sandwich before drizzling his signature sauce and placed the bun on top, “I know how you feel about romance n’ all but it wouldn’t hurt to at least have a friend.” 

He glanced back over towards the teen boy, his shoulders slightly shaking, eyes placed on the floor. The chef let out a rough breath and wrapped the remainder of the sandwich before grabbing the orange soda from the fridge. Five years have passed and it only seems like the teen’s heart was going through endless turmoil. He wouldn’t be surprised if he never gave his father a letter goodbye. 

“Big I, we’ve been over this, my father would only ruin anything that comes into my life. Everything will have to wait until-” Erin was cut off with the adult’s sad stare, his sharp green orbs placed themselves back on the floor. 

The Chef placed the paper bag on the counter, grease from the fried onion rings showed on the bag right next to the restaurant’s logo. The air between the two grew tense, the teen already knew where this conversation was going, the reality was he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to be reminded of the town he’d be leaving behind, the memories he made here with her and his old friend. The laughs, the smiles, the tears shed, the adventures, the promises, all wiped out once that diploma is placed in his hands. 

Yes, he was scared about the sad reality, if he leaves everything, his home of Oryn, …….who would he be exactly? 

His thoughts were interrupted by the chime of the eatery’s entry. Two teens walked in, a boy Erin’s height along with a girl a few inches shorter, her head matching up with his shoulder. The girl immediately  recognized him and flashed a signature Ibis family smile, “Hey Erin! How have you been? Ready for Mr. McCormick’s anatomy exam this friday? You have complained to him over and over again that studying the body is a bit uncomfortable for you!” She let out a loud laugh, slinging an arm around his shoulder a bit awkwardly before yanking off his hood. 

“Gaia! What have I told you about the hood?! People are going to notice-” Gaia yanked the hood back on his head before hitting him on the arm, her hazel eyes held mischief like her older brother, but her dyed blonde shoulder-length curly hair resembles her mother. She was still in her soccer uniform from practice, practically still dripping from sweat and mud and dirt-stained her uniform. Her tanned skin glowed with the light provided in the room, Erin will admit he saw her as his older sister, both of the Ibis siblings treated him as their younger brother much to his dismay, but he couldn’t shake the nice feeling he had at the thought of them referring to him as family. 

“Sorry lil bro! I forget sometimes you don’t like to spark attention since you get enough of it at school as is.” Gaia simply backed towards the boy still in the entryway, he eyed Erin with a look he couldn’t quite catch through the bangs in his eyes. The boy reminded him of a fellow classmate he used to do projects with in chemistry junior year. He held nice brown eyes, a narrow nose, as well as a fade that tampered up to his fro on top, he wore sweats like him, but they were also drenched in sweat. 

“Oh! This is a good time to introduce you two! Erin, this is Raeden Mitchell, we met a few months ago and have been dating since!” 

Raeden walked up and held out a hand to shake, he towered a bit over him, but nonetheless, Erin tried his best not to show too much social anxiety in front of everyone. A laugh erupted from behind startling him, Astrid emerged from the office, her carefree sound bounced off the walls and into his ears, he relaxed and shook the other teen’s hand. 

“Raeden is the quiet type, but he’s more open when you get to know him. You two both have a lot in common, plus he’s in your english class, I’m surprised you look like you two didn’t know each other.” Gaia hugged her boyfriend’s side, Raeden’s face relaxed and fell into an expression of adoration. 

‘They fit perfectly’ was the first thing that popped up in his mind, the two in front of him were currently chatting with Astrid. He seemed to zone out for a while thinking about leaving them, but it’s not like they won’t have anyone else not coming into their lives, they’ll move on while he’s away. 

“We won’t forget about you if that’s what your thinking,” Mr. Ibis stood right beside him, paper bag and orange soda in hand, “You’re an essential member of our family, things won’t feel the same when you leave, just promise us one thing-” He placed his large hand on top of the boys hooded head, the other handing him the food and beverage, “That you’ll visit us as much as you can and never forget to remember your home.” 

He simply nodded, digging his hand in his pocket pulled out a twenty and placed it in the chef’s hand, “I promise, and I promise everyone worldwide will know about Force Waves.” Erin placed a small smile on his lips before leaving his family and friends with a wave, but as he left the restaurant and rounded the corner, it fell, along with a single tear before roughly wiping it away. 

~*~

The waves roared against the distant shore, the rocks looked almost like crystals if you looked hard enough, the moon shone on them brightly causing an illusion of obsidian. 

Erin downed the rest of his orange soda with a sigh, in two hours he’ll have to go home before his father notices he isn’t there. Not that his father notices when he’s out late nowadays , but he always decides it’s better safe than sorry. He stared up at the night sky, the stars shined like bright lights, angels watching every move and action we make. 

‘Just two more months, just two more, and I’ll finally be able to live on my own accord. To finally find my purpose.” Erin smiled at the thought, he’s been writing non-stop in his journal. Adding up the money, days, gas , sweat and tears it would take for him to be as far away from his hometown as possible. 

Two stars shone brightly in the black sparkled sky, one shot in the direction towards the east of Oryn, Erin peared closely towards the second star. A bright yellow and orange hue reflected slightly, the size growing tremendously with each passing second. 

The teenage boy’s eyes widened at the sight of the incoming bright flash of light, his feet moving before he could activate his reaction towards the reality of the big mass about to crash where he was currently standing. His breathing grew ragged as he scrambled to climb the rocks he once sat upon every afternoon around this time of weather, letting out a shout at the incoming heat he took cover behind a rock like wall covered in sand and moss. 

The impact from the crash sent sand and debris shooting out in every direction, Erin held his head down on his knees to prevent anything flowing into his face by mistake. With each wave that rolled onto shore the heat slowly diminished , he lifted his head to be met with the smell of glass and burnt wood. The air felt foreign in comparison to the salty dense air he’d grown accustomed to each afternoon. Pieces of wood were scattered in front , causing Erin to wonder if the landing caused damage to a part of the dock as well.

“The hell?” He looked around at the void area, which usually remained clean from trash and litter from foot traffic, only to find a sparkle of heated sand turned to glass. ‘ The Commission always has their pilots land in the water for a safer landing. Did something go wrong? ’

Gaining his bearings, Erin dusted off his sweatpants and hoodie trying to get rid of any sand laying waste on him. A mello high gasp caused him to still, a struggling breath cut through the silence once more along with a painful groan. 

Erin cautiously peeked out from behind one of the boulders blocking his view, the scene that was provided was breathtaking to say the least, there was a gray line between good and bad on how he saw the sight before him. After all, you don’t see alien girls crashing in escape pods every day.

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By: Victoria Spear

Liddle, where is your head?

Has the Red Queen Rolled it again? 

Tongue out, eyes rolled back, the girl lacks response. 

The blue buckled vest must be too tight again. 

And here we were about to have a tea party.

The mice from the stairwell won’t be in attendance. 

The flowers, the flowers!

They are to Blame! 

The chatter, no squeal from their swayin’ stems 

 by the window of the blonde. 

Ah, caught talkin’ to the flowers again Liddle? 

Nasty Little Things.   

– Victoria Spear

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