We all sat around and looked at this bridge that had been created around the 3rd Century BC. My colleague was a Yale grad and such a stickler for specifics about his various ideas that never really went anywhere in my opinion. He loved pointing out discrepancies in what he thought was incorrect with various structural and ground based engineering. It’s like his genius hindered him from really excelling in the field because even though his drafts/sketches and auto cad work was impeccable, he lacked realistic pervasive measures and implementation protocols that the General Contractors would actually take and work on. We both sat there in Germany and looked at this old rock of a dirt ramp so to speak and determined that using this foundation to create a newer more stable bridge would be a complete disaster if it wasn’t first leveled out properly and redesigned from the ground up. This project was made by an old steel mill company that had been in business in the area since the 15the century and there were completely against any type of demolition against this old relic because of how much they loved their countrymen’s heritage and land in this beautiful region of Berlin. After speaking with these Steel Mill owners whom we’d contracted with for this new design, I began to understand that we were dealing with some outlandish and unrealistic expectations to redesign a historical relic that had no shot in hell to be restored properly or to be maintained in some way shape or form without a demolition job straight out of the movie Iron Man. They truly believed that there was a way to restore the foundation in a sense where the old structural integrity of the bridge could remain in some way shape or form as if it were a little puzzle piece that would fit into a grand scheme planned art masterpiece. Looking at the schematics and recommendations they had suggested to us, all I could think about was the fact that we were dealing with a 2,000 year old bridge that had to be destroyed and cared for in some way shape or form in order to get this German Government ordered mandate out of the blocks and going as soon as possible. The deadline was in 18 months when it had to be fully restored or “completed” in a way that would make sense for heavy trucks and vehicles to be able to travel across this bridge regularly and daily due to the growing industries and storefronts popping up along the outskirts of the city. When the time came for us to begin the art work and drawings for what this thing would “actually” look like, my colleague says to me “they missed a few things with the structural integrity equation format that I had memorized when I was back at Yale. I just sat there and looked at him and thought “why didn’t I major in English Literature instead.” Puffff puff.

Eliza’s mother was trapped in the body of a puppet. Her arms and legs were strung up in strings so tight they’d lost feeling to all her limbs. Who was controlling the strings? How could anyone know. Before this happened, Eliza’s mother told her “everything happens for a reason”. Perhaps it was the doing of God. Everyday Eliza came home, she’d drag magnets behind her, letting them attract rocks and pennies and what not. Since Eliza’s mother could no longer care for herself, Eliza was the primary caretaker. She’d open the door to find the home in disarray and her mother being flung around, getting bruises on her body while she stared at her daughter. Eliza was lucky her mother could no longer feel the pain. Eliza dumped her magnets down at the door and would drag her mother over to the bathroom, tending to the various bruises and cuts on her arms and legs. Eliza would feed her, bathe her, talk to her, and do other tasks her mother could no longer do. Even when she had dumped off her magnets, some still stayed permanently stuck to her back. And if she ever wanted to leave, the rest would stick right back on her. She struggled to walk around her own house, the magnets on her feet making her slow. She feared one day she’d be too slow, and she’d lose her mother, the only person she had left. Everyday Eliza went to run errands, she’d meet men who would toss magnets at her. They’d stick to her face, run up her dresses, down her shirts. And everyday she’d bring them home. Eliza wondered what the point of it all was. These magnets made her so heavy, and her mother could not protect her anymore. She didn’t even know what was going on. Eliza snapped back to reality as her mother flailed in the bathtub, her arms and legs going up and down and spraying water everywhere. There was no future for us now, Eliza thought to herself as she slowly put her mothers arms down and hummed a soft song as she bathed her, a small magnet sticking to her arm.

She was leaned against his chest as they rested on the banquette in the club. She looked up at him, laughing, her perfect face so open and happy. He was laughing too. They held each others gaze. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, and didn’t pull away. Their faces inches apart.

That’s when I see it, the tall, horrendous monster looming over me clutching my friend in its hand, threatening to crush her at any moment. Come on, think! I have a sword in my hand but it might as well be a spoon, I’m to much of a coward to use it even with my friends life in danger. A cry suddenly broke my train of though “Alex, help, please!!” My friend was still alive and was begging for my help, how could I be so incompetent? I drew the sword to my center and faced the monster with shaking hands “I-I’ll show you!” I stuttered. How heroic. Before I could rethink what I was doing the monster lunged at me with its jaws. I haphazardly swung my sword at it, but it was to no avail. I miraculously managed to dodge the attack but still got scratched up from it. “Alex!” I looked up, my friend still in the deadly hands of the beast. “Throw me the sword!” Now there’s an idea I like. Cara always knew what to do. The monster whirled around and attacked once again, in the least calculated way possible I threw her the sword and slid under the beast, now behind it. Cara, who was much more gracefull and badass elegantly caught the sword and immediately sprang into action. “Eat this, bonehead!” Cara yowled as she sank the blade into the shoulder of the monster. It loosened its grip causing Cara to fall several feet to the ground. Of course, she stuck the lading and turned back around, ready for round two. The beast locked its eyes on Cara who motioned for me to get behind her, I was happy to comply. “You’re gonna regret ever coming near us!” Cara huffed as she struck the monsters leg, hard. The beast then tumble back, right as it did so Cara ran behind it and pointed the sword up at its backside, the beast then fell directly onto the sword, and onto Cara, ending its life. Once the dust settled I ran over to the wreckage. “Cara? Cara?!” I then saw a hand twitching beneath the massive creature, then it began to move. Eventually Cara crawled her way out from under the beast and was now covered in dirt. “Cara oh my god how did you pull that off, sometimes I swear you’re magical” I reached and pulled her into a hug. “Yeah I’m just glad I was able to get ahold of the sword, it would have been a useful as a snail in the salt mines” Cara smiled “yeah yeah, that just means you have to credit me for your victory” “Whatever” Cara rolled her eyes. There was a small pause before anyone spoke again. “So, guess we better get going then? The quest isn’t going to finish itself!” Cara said joyfully while fumbling to get the sword out of the monsters chest. “Yes, I agree” I said trying to hide my slight disgust at the sword being yanked from the monsters stomach. “Well then, off we go” Cara smiled as we both walked deeper into the forest.

First, open the door without a snap Don’t wake the evil wizard from his nap Then, tip toe in as slow and swiftly as you can Don’t you dare wake up that sickly man Grab that glowing orb he calls his own From under his bed all made of stone Next, fleed the scene as fast as you can Grab his broomstick next to the dustpan Finally, fly into the night dogging the stars I knew you could do it you made it so far

Ella de cabellos negros rondaba por la cumbre de aquella lejana loma. La luz de la luna iluminaba su rostro moreno y ojeroso, curvado desde su lumbar hasta su cervical, desfigurado por algo indiferente de los años, algo oculto. Un lobo hambriento a la luz de la luna sólo podía significar peligro. Éste se escondía en la hierba grisácea, se camuflaba y con la paciencia de un cazador experto removía la tierra bajo sus garras. Una mujer y un lobo. Un asesino despiadado y una mariposa débil. Ella saltó hacia la figura del can, sorprendiéndolo por completo. Se agarró a su pelaje y arrancó su piel. Su cuerpo cual arma, envolvió al lobo y lo atravesó con su brazo izquierdo. Los gemidos, la sangre y la luz de la luna adornaban el lugar. La mujer usó todo su rostro y lo introdujo en el estómago del lobo, logrando que el animal de su último respiro. Se deleitó con los órganos tibios del ser y gozó de su festín, finalmente en cálido silencio. A lo lejos, una pequeña niña perdida presenció toda la escena, ella sólo estaba buscando a su madre. Su cuerpo entero reaccionó al ver esa figura familiar devorando al animal salvaje. Comenzó a transpirar helado, se paralizó de pies a cabeza y las lágrimas brotaron desesperantes. "Mamá" quería gritar. Ni una palabra salía de sus labios pálidos. La noche sólo proporcionaba una ventisca gélida y un silencio interrumpido por los sonidos horripilantes al remover tejidos viscosos con tus fauces. Las lágrimas salientes de la pequeña la abrumaron tanto que tuvo que suspirar por aire, soltando un estruendo dirigido directamente a los oídos de la fiera. La mujer levantó su cabeza del vientre del animal. Su rostro estaba manchado por un líquido rojo y pedazos de tejidos colgantes en sus cabellos cual adornos. Sus labios estaban irritados por haber hecho contacto descuidado con los ácidos gástricos, lo que producía que se mezcle su propia piel con la del animal, terminando en una miscelánea escarlata. Miró en dirección del sonido, ella denotaba una mirada inhumana con dotes únicamente depredadores; esclerótica rojiza, iris de noche y pupilas inexistentes. El peso de mil rocas se posó sobre la indefensa niña al conectar miradas con su madre. Quería correr, quería gritar, no sólo lo quería; lo necesitaba. Las más remotas fibras de su ser se removieron, conspiraron para mover al menos un músculo; pero, lo único que consiguieron es temblar. La pequeña sentía el pavor en sus huesos y no podría combatirlo aunque quisiera. Lentamente, la mujer cargó su propio peso en sus extremidades y avanzó con dificultad hacia la pequeña. Los movimientos que sus brazos hacían eran físicamente imposibles; capaces de fracturarse en otros cuerpos, pero no en el de ella. Avanzó con peligrosos ángulos e hizo que sus ramas secas sigan en camino. Su mirada jamás abandonaba a la niña. El silencio ahora plagado del sonido de huesos rotos y torcidos. Un hilo de saliva caía por sus labios maltratados mientras avanzaba. A su paso dejaba una estela de sangre, viceras y tela saliente de su vestido rasgado. El camino que la separaba de la pequeña se hacía más corto, y al acercarse más se podían ver las lágrimas brotando de ambos seres. Al estar frente a la niña, un único pensamiento cruzó la mente de la mujer. Moría por hacerlo. Se despojó del espacio que las separaba y la abrazó. Besó su cabeza y disfrutó del momento. Cerraron sus ojos y sonrieron sin darse cuenta, sus propios cuerpos cobraron conciencia y se alcanzaron para prometer nunca dejarse ir de nuevo. Ambas cubiertas de sangre y otros sentimientos gozaron del momento y apartaron sus miedos. Madre e hija reunidas finalmente.

I want to write poetry. I just want to. I need to. My fingers itching to grasp my pencil, scratching words out and out and out to such a mediocre beauty. Right now, this minute, this second, and second and millisecond, I just want to write. Instead of meaningless, completely meaningful, irrelevant, useless, brief conversational answers. Which answer such idiotic, philosophical, beautiful, thinking questions. I want to be a poet. I don’t want to be a poet. I want to be more and utterly more, overwhelmingly more than I can ever be. I procrastinate my school work waiting under my hands that write. I procrastinate never when it comes to the ruled paper I don’t follow. And I’ve come to my comfort, The one I seem to not have mastered, Nor find talent in.

Rust and mineral. Though she had no sentience, she felt almost, as if she smelled such. Her heart made of ion, pulsing oil through wires embedded within her chrome “skin”. _Will i ever be real? _She thought. Even the voice in her head was monotone, robotic. She approached the core, it emitted a cool light. A light that had once comforted her, now left her with her only emotion, anger. She reached towards the core and with force, stuck her hand through it, with force. That light that once reminded her of her existence, now leaving the room. As her thoughts vanished, the last sound she heard was the failure of her systems.

Part of me wishes i fought harder. Part of me wishes i let go sooner. It's the conflict within the depths of this soul in which inhabits me, that feeds gasoline to her fire; a raging flame of desire that can only be tamed with the snowfall of...pink? Yes i said pink. I know what you're thinking, "what the fuck is she talking about." Let me explain. For so long, this desire for beauty, peace, elegance, and love, lived within my walls; clawing at every texture, begging to be taken seriously. And it was; for a short while. But enough inner turmoil raged within, and it had finally begun to break the dam that held back such an evil from escaping. And so, once the storm commenced, and the wreckage was apparent, there was a certain love, or lack there of, that surfaced. This, hatred towards humanity and self became overwhelming. So naturally, there was no fucking pink in sight. Every single grueling day was pitch black no matter how bright our sun shone. The love and joy i once felt, had been ripped out of the seams and shattered, along with the trust that had been so long gone. Part of me wishes i fought harder. Fought harder to patch my dam; fought harder to keep my love on her throne. Part of me wishes i never let go of my love for all things elegant, beautiful, and pink. Because maybe if i never let go of that love, it wouldn't have taken me so long to learn how to give it again.

“I have to go,” Abigail said, laughing.  She started toward the already-whistling train, but Cecil was faster, catching her hand.   “I’ll see you again soon?” Cecil asked, his smile faltering.  Abbie’s heart softened.  Cecil may have worn a carefree face well, but Abbie knew how much she worried.  In truth, it was a little infectious.  She’d been losing more and more sleep as of late, her mind so full of thoughts of boarding school, of the future, of Cecil.   “I’ll be back in three weeks time to visit.  I promise.”  She dropped a kiss to Cecil’s palm, as if sealing the message.  “Now I really have to go.”  But Cecil, apparently, wasn’t satisfied.   “You’ll be okay?”  He took a hesitant step toward Abbie, who reached out and touched his cheek reassuringly.   “Don’t worry, my love,” Abbie whispered, flushing scarlet as she spoke.  She’d never considered himself outgoing, so to speak, but Cecil always made her act downright shy. Ever since they were children, Abbie couldn’t help but blush at the sight of Cecil’s floppy red hair, his pretty green eyes, the sound of his gentle laugh. God, she would miss him in the city. The thought of being miles away from him at a strange new school was enough to make her sick. Still, she had to admit the new opportunity excited her, and she couldn’t wait to explore everything the city had to offer. She fixed her grip on her suitcase, glancing up at Cecil, who tilted his head for a moment in that thoughtful way of his, before brushing his lips against Abbie’s cheek, swift as the wind. Abbie’s breath caught in her throat. No matter how many times he kissed her, it always felt like the first. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered. Abbie‘s lips turned up at the corners in a bittersweet smile. “I’ll write,” she promised. Cecil nodded, his hand resting faithfully against his heart. The two shared a last, lingering glance before Abbie turned away toward the train, and the next chapter in her life finally began.