"Simon Says" by Mckenzi Alyce Williams

“Shut the door, Simon! They’ll see us!” Aurelia whisper-yelled, her doe eyes stretched even wider with fear.

“No one can see us Lia! It’s pretty dark in here.” Simon replied, obviously not concerned by the possibility of being caught.

“It’s not dark enough to hide this.” Aurelia said harshly, pointing at the rolled up Persian rug. Sweat dripped down her forehead, a sign of her hard work.

They didn’t plan this, it just happened. Who would’ve thought that one game of Russian roulette could get this messy? They had removed all of the bullets. Six bullets, and somehow, one of them had ended up embedded in Carl’s head.

“Just help me get him out of here. It happened and it’s over.” Simon said. His usual lazy smile was replaced by a grimace.

Aurelia laughed dryly and complied. She had always known that Simon was trouble, but she had thrown caution to the wind. He was so alive; such a beautiful mess. She couldn’t help but love him and love who she was with him. Taking a deep breath, she bent down, securing a corner of the rug in her fists, and pulled. The soft material slid easily across the hard-wood floors. The oak had been scrubbed of any and all evidence earlier, so the smell of harsh chemicals assaulted their noses.

“Geez! Who knew that Carl was this heavy?” Simon interrupted Aurelia’s train of thought. She could hear the touch of amusement in his voice.

“This is not funny Simon!” she dropped the rug quickly, making the coffee table rattle, “Wait, did you do this on purpose?!”

Simon’s grin faded quickly and he stood up, also dropping his side of the rug, “What do you want from me Lia?! I told you it was a mistake so just drop it!”

Sweat also cascaded down his face, dripping from the slope of his nose. Light blue veins protruded from his neck telling of his anger. His fists were clenched tight and he let one go to push a stray strand of dyed gray hair back in place. His watery blue eyes were livid, mirroring his rigid posture.

 “I-I’m sorry.” Aurelia dropped her head, feeling guilty. She knew that if she didn’t back off that it would just make things worse, “Let’s just finish this.”

“No. How about you finish this by yourself. I’m out.” Aurelia’s head snapped up quickly at his words. Was he serious?

Simon walked around the body, leaving the room with a grunt. She stood there in shock, not sure what to do. First anger flooded her, and then sadness followed. Her mouth opened and closed. She was loss for words, and in that moment, she knew that she would do exactly as he had told her to do. If she didn’t, it wouldn’t be done and that was something she couldn’t risk.

The smell of cigarette smoke from the balcony brought her back down to earth and she bent down, gripping the rug yet again. Pulling the body proved to be hard work, but she dragged it all the way outside. Finally, she hoisted the body into the dumpster and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Trash day was tomorrow and by the time someone realized that Carl was missing, he would be buried under tons of garbage. A lone tear made its way down her face, staining her dirty cheeks.

Aurelia pivoted and walked back into the house, plopping onto the rickety couch. It groaned under her weight. She looked at the balcony door, making sure that Simon was still outside and reached into her pocket. Five bullets rolled into her hand. She smirked, raising her hands to sit behind her neck. The rest would be for Simon.

"A Pretty Normal Story" by Isaiah Brown

   

Ladies and gentlemen, skinny and stout, I’ll tell you a tale I know nothing about; the admission is free, so pay at the door, now pull up a seat and sit on the floor. One fine day in the middle of the night, two dead boys got up to fight; back to back they faced each other, drew their swords and shot each other. A blind man came to watch fair play, a mute man came to shout “hooray! A deaf policeman heard these noises and came and killed those two dead boys. He lived on the corner in the middle of the block, in a two story house on a vacant lot; a man with no legs came walking by, and kicked the lawman in his thigh. He crashed through a wall without making a sound, into a dry creek and suddenly drowned; the long black hearse came to cart him away, but he ran for his life and is still gone today. I watched from the corner of the big round table, the only eyewitness to facts of my fable; but if you doubt my lies are true, just ask the blind man, she saw it too.

"Riders of Kaneonuskatew" by Carly Koenig

I watch the cockfighters and Spitzhaubens scratch at the loam
peck and claw
until shards of sunlight prickle out of the ground,
tossed aside instead of worms
now treats for magpies.

The guttural noises of dairy goat and hair sheep are stuck on tattoo
and the old man’s loud Albanian voice never ceases.
There’s always that weird growl from the community well--
haven’t figured that out yet, but the neighborhood boys?
They say it eats toads.

All I know is the old man’s goats are copper deficient;
their tails are like fish spines.
Seems eerie,
like Death managed to nip their tails
before they outwitted him
as goats are prone.
Seems eerier with the clouds gathering over Ana’s wheat fields.

There’s always something fresh to the air here,
but it’s manure and monsoon.
Like beets: dirt into dirt.
People die every year, cramped up in their houses (breathing stale air)
or struck by lightning in the field,
but rain smells delicious.

Then there’s the buzz of it in the air before--like now--
and I think of the birds sitting on the old zapit poles.
Bigger than you, but it can’t touch you,
can’t hurt you.
Miles and miles away.

Everything is miles and miles away, until it isn’t.
It’s why no one here wants to leave: here they can be afraid.
They can jerk away when the traveling book salesman coughs,
and it’s all right.
Small town small-minds, scared of shadows and the prince of darkness.
Really actually scared of wolves and plague, which is written right into their bones.

We live on top of bones here, too; they float up with those monsoons.
We can’t forget, so I watch the kaneonuskatew
watch with the same sunken, pallid eyes
as those around me.

The book salesman said the name came from some Canadians,
some people called Cree I’ve never heard of--
when I said so, he said that the riders are the reason--
and that the name fits.
“One that walks on four claws,” he said, giddy.
They have four feet with four claws on back, but six front.
Bodies like horses,
tails like those goats,
teeth like musk deer,
and feet like witch familiars.

Strange, strange, like the sounds from the well.
But like the boys feed toads to the well’s citizen,
old men think of how the increased grip of claw in loam
would make plowing the hills easier.

I don’t care about the kaneonuskatew.
I care about their riders.

"Whiplash" by Mckenzi Alyce Williams

Just a little farther.
Her hands clutch the grass,
Pulling herself back home;
Willing her body to move.
Bits of dirt,
Embedded under her fingernails
The wind steals her ribbon.
Mama would be mad,
Grass stains on her pink dress
Daddy said cryin’ was for babies and drunks
She allowed one shaky breath,
And she focused.
Just a little farther.

"The Chinese Crested and the Frog -Sean Williams

A Chinese Crested yelped,
After it accidently hit an electric fence,
While playing with a Chihuahua outside,
The Chihuahua had long hair and was spotted,
The Chihuahua sped like roadrunner,
To Charles’ owner Rebecca and found him,
Then later that night a frog sat outside,
My window sill had a greenish look to it,
The reddish pink belly blew up like air,
Like helium in a balloon it grew,
“Girl go get my laptop,” said my mom,
Then I finally fell asleep in bed.

"Come My Way" by Haylé Baker

It was if a black cloud when the it flew away
Oh come my way
I remember you were green as grass
Oh come back my way
We were in the park when you flew away
It smell like fresh pool water that day
Oh please come back this way
The kids were laughing when you went away
Please kites come back this way

"The Wind Speaks" by Kayla McCall

The wind
Speaks with the string
Whistling and whispering
Its long song
Singing tales of its long adventures
Over mountains and beyond oceans
Telling stories to the earth
Through the kite that flies through its depths
The wind speaks with the string
Of its travels near and far
The wind
Speaks