"The General" by Ariel Wilson

All week he received injuries- broken legs, a purple bruise on his left cheek, and small cuts that covered his arms from the many explosions. Late at night, when the fighting stopped, the young General sat down with a flask of water, pulled out some battle plans and went over the next moves. The fighting would continue the next week. He never stopped. Even when he was tired, he still fought, capturing hidden spies, his face flushed red from the heat and new bruises forming under his uniform. Fighting was becoming even less pleasant theses days, 6 deaths, instead of 3.

He kept a picture of his parents tucked firmly in his back pocket. New soldiers fresh out of training march forward, standing tall like trees at attention, and the look in their eyes, a mix of fear and excitement.

“Um... G-general! S-sir!” The nervous ones stuttered.
If they were brave, his uniform would be neatly pressed, and he’d say “General!”

He rested his hands under his chin, no matter how fearless they’d acted, their legs shook like a nervous child. The soldiers all smelled the same-all of them. Maybe it was the way they stood out in the sun all morning that made them smell this way- like burning plants in the summer heat.

One slow evening when the enemy was not attacking, leaving the soldiers bored and waiting for commands, the enlisted men marched up to the General’s tent along with the youngest soldier, holding one of the civilians. The enlisted men looked just like they did when they first enlisted only older and covered in scars. The General matched them up amused to find that none of them had really changed, the oldest still serious, the younger ones still silly. The first enlisted man pushed the civilian to the front and began yelling about a thief and execution.

The General stood slapping the enlisted man across his face. The other enlisted men’s eyes widened, the shock evident on their faces. The young soldier backs away, his eyes averted as mumbles a quick apology.
As they waited, the enlisted man’s breath coming in short puffs, like a dog in the summer heat. His breath was hot. The General wasn›t shocked when the enlisted man pulled him to the ground and, for a minute, let curses slip from his mouth. Only after the civilian ran away did he release all of his anger, which the General took proudly and waited before moving away, giving the General time to say “It’s time to go home.”

"Travelers" by Bethany Griffice

The railroad tracks display the way,
through the crooks and creeks of the earth,
revealing the created nature.
Distance passes under my feet,
and into the breeze.
Vivid and dull greens of trees,
sway as the wind blows.
The tilted pier decays in the calm murky river.
An arched moon hangs over my head,
still in the suns light.
Grey white clouds cover the dim blue skies.
Confusion surrounds me as the world passes by.

"A Prayer To My Laptop" by Alaina Williams

O praise be to hp, bless your fourteen-inch screen
Smooth and thin. I adore the fact that you let
Me push your ebony buttons. Shine upon
Me your eternal light when I gaze onto you
In the midnight hours. Let me stroke you softly
As you rest on my lap, flipping through pictures from M-Rave,
My celebrity fan-fic and singing a soothing rendition
of Megitsune by BABYMETAL.
Take me from the terror of Creepypasta to the
Swoon-worthy clips of Johnny Depp, and round it off
With the flat out confusion of singing unicorns
And suspicious bears. O Goddess of Entertainment
And Knowledge let me French braid your cord into my lock as
I hold you close to my ear lobe giving the death glare if
Anyone even looks your way. I shall protect your
Hot exhaust, no one will give you warn keys but me
Can you believe that our one year
Anniversary was just a few months ago in January?
Later on I’ll bathe you with those scratch free lavender
Wipes I got for you.

Here Alaina read this poem.

"Moxie" by Tommie Collins, Jr.

When I have fears I won’t reach life’s potential
Never spanning to the fulfillment of aspirations
Unable to produce musical vibes that feel essential
Illustrate to millions a vision they use as direction

Build culture that will brand my heart in humanity
Gaze on the hills of Tuscany with my true love
Spend chilly morning fishing, to instill heritage in my family
Mold foundations of wealth and legacy to embrace and rise above

To never read and learn the eternal chapters of existence
Not just discovering truth to empower the nation
But to conceive my true identity after genuine patience
To view the beauty of Revolution from my windows of exultation

So when understanding life, there should be no hesitation
                                                             So when understanding ambition, there should be determination

"Broken Image" by Ariel Wilson

The broken antenna,
Cracked side mirror,
A tire lying on its side
As smoke rises from the overheated engine.
The bakery comes into focus.
Flowers, benches, and the sharp sting of cinnamon
Trip from the bookstore.
The door opens,
And she takes in every shelf:
The worn-out carpet,
The round table that wobbles on one leg.
She stops,
The book’s cover, a cherry red like her car,
The silver title, the broken antenna,
As the afternoon sun scuttles away from the broken image.

"The Old Country House" by Patty MgBodile

The whitewashed ledge at the end of the porch was painted
With a laziness that would make Tom Sawyer proud.

A faded young woman with frayed, peroxide-yellow hair languished on that ledge,
Her legs brushing up against the knee-high sledge weeds.
Her name was Billie Mae or Peggy Sue—
Either way, folks had been calling her “Baby” since she was four.
Back then, she used to do up her hair and make up her face
Just so she could perch up on that porch ledge,
Perch right up—straighter than a china doll—for people to watch as they passed by.

Behind her, a warped blue porch door clapped open and shut in the wind gust.
If you stared long enough, you could see that one side was painted
Brighter than the other
As if someone had done a first coat of paint all the way and had stopped
Halfway in the middle of the second.
The door would always creak after a rainstorm and would never close right—
If you were lucky enough to get it closed at all.

An old, rotting post-pillar drooped under the weight of the sagging old house.
When people used to sit on the porch on hot summer nights,
Drinking cola and having a grand old time,
they would pick at the grape vines that grew
 On the pillar as they gazed at the stars.
There are no grape vines nowadays…

Now the tired old house leans and slumps to one side
Like a solider on a crutch and a wooden peg that
Hides the stump of a leg
Blown off in battle long ago.

"Real" by Kayla McCall

I clutch the desk before me, desperate for something to hold on to. The clouds are moving in on me, and if I let them, they will engulf me entirely, and I’ll never see the sun again. The only sense I’m aware of is sound as I can hear the dull, melodic dripping of water hitting the ground continuously as a pipe leaks in the basement. I focus on it feeling my heartbeat slow in time to match that of the water. Eventually, my head lulls to the side and I bury it in the crook of my arm. This seems to be my life now—living, but not really living. The only things I can account for in the last week are the four walls of my bedroom. I want to try, but can’t seem to find the courage to do so because living hurts. So I continue on with what I’ve been doing—finding refuge in sleep—which seems to be the best course of action right now or at least the best I can think of. It dulls the pain, however briefly, and helps the days go by faster.

Sleep won’t come to me now though no matter how hard I chase it. I sigh before pushing myself up with my forearms so I’m now sitting up in my chair. I look up towards the wall ahead of me and feel tears prick behind my eyes as I catch sight of the picture that has been haunting me for— what? Two? Three? Yes, three weeks. Three weeks since he left. No, I remind myself. He was taken. I know if he had the choice he’d never have left me.

The picture is frozen in time on the night that he died. I remember that night so vividly—both the good and the bad—and I know any attempt at suppressing the memory would be futile. We’d spent that night as we would any other night, “riding the stars” he would call it.

Grayson was always the very upbeat, lively type of a person. So positive sometimes that he made you want to slap him and hug him at the same time. Whenever I was mad or sad about something he would pull up and take me for a ride in his beat up, old clunker of a car and a wide smile stretching across his face. Riding around with him was the only thing that could calm me down, and that night I was completely livid, and I could see him take a deep breath as I walked towards his car. He knew my moods like the back of his hand and in that moment he knew to tread lightly.

“Hurry up, Erin. It’s freezing out there,” he yelled through the window of his car. He only opened it to a crack as if opening it any more would make all the heat that he had accumulated in his car escape into the frozen air. I made a point of walking slower just to further annoy him. He thought that anyone being cold or God forbid freezing himself was positively ungodly.

I got the rise out of him that I craved. “Do not test my patience. I’ll leave you out there to freeze,” he said with mock seriousness. I could just make out the smile that always commanded his features through the foggy, condensation laden window.

“I’d like to see you try,” I answered, and he promptly revved the engine. I chuckled before rounding the car and swinging open the door on the passenger side of the car.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he said. “Being out in weather like this makes me think you have a death wish,” he smiled. I feel a pang at that comment made so offhandedly then only to mean so much more now.
I’m the reason he died. I’m the one that called and complained to him about a matter so trivial that I don’t even remember what it was now.

Even so, that was one of the best cruising rides we’d ever had together. Once I got over my petty feelings— mostly from the help of the boy, my best friend, that wouldn’t stop smiling at me even when I was trying to stay angry.

He complained in his own lighthearted way about the cold and groaned when the snow began to fall, but other than that no objections left his mouth and we rode on.

The stars were so bright, and I rolled the window down to get a better look, much to Grayson’s chagrin. I felt the wind whip across my face and laughed—really laughed harder and for longer than I’ve ever remembered.

“Ladies and gentleman she’s lost her mind,” Grayson yelled over the roar of the wind. I rolled my eyes but couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face. That night had been perfect and it was hard to imagine life could get any better than that. And it hadn’t, and it still hasn’t.

The snow— which had originally been falling in light swirls dusting the ground with its powdery color— began to fall in earnest. We couldn’t have cared less though. In the back of my mind I think of those two teens who didn’t have a care in the world and it’s hard to believe I was one of them. That girl seems so far away.

And now thinking back on it we should have been a little more worried. We should have cared that the snow began to obstruct his vision, but still he persevered.

“Close that window before we freeze to death,” he yelled, but he was still smiling.
“Yes sir,” I said saluting him before rolling my window back up.

“Have I done it?” He asked.

I furrowed my eyebrows, “done what?”

“Cheered up the forever sulky Erin Somers?”

I rolled my eyes before answering, “Yes another victory for Grayson the Great.”

“Grayson the Magnificent, you mean.”

We pulled up at a gas station eventually, and I waited in the car while he filled up the tank, but he didn’t get back in when I expected him to. I swung the car door open and hopped out eventually after my curiosity won out. I found him leaning on the side of the car staring up at the sky.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“I am, but I just wanted to look for a second.”

I smiled before reaching into the car and grabbing the camera he kept in the center console. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” I told him tossing the camera his way. He caught it before turning around fully and taking a picture of me. I tried to suppress the grin that threatened to take shape across my face.

“Stay there,” he said before jogging towards a woman on the other side of the gas station. He talked with her briefly gesturing towards his camera before coming back towards me the woman in tow. He handed her the camera and the next thing I knew he was standing beside me, wrapping his arms around me. One look at the goofy smile on his face made the uncontrollable laughter bubble up in my throat anew. Before I knew it we were both laughing trying to contain it long enough to take a decent picture.

I look up at that picture now. I pull it off the wall and just stare at it. We were so happy. He was so happy. I look at the mussed, windswept dark curls on his head, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the smile setting all his teeth on display, and I feel my throat close. A single tear trails down my face, and I close my eyes.
Once we composed ourselves after the picture Grayson retrieved his camera from the woman who was now smiling fondly at us. We hopped back into the car and once we were settled he turned to me, “I don’t think you know how great you are.”

“What?”

“You. You’re amazing,” he didn’t elaborate any more before starting the car up and starting out on the road again.

We drove for an indeterminate amount of time after that. Time seemed to stop moving once I felt the car slide off the road. We were driving down a hill when his car slid on a patch of ice. Once that happened all I remember is feeling my heart drop to the pit of my stomach and spinning, so much spinning.

I woke days later in the hospital with my parents standing over me sniveling quietly.
“What happened,” I asked my voice hoarse from disuse.

“You… and Grayson were in a car accident,” my mother gasped and the way her voice broke when she said Grayson’s name made my stomach churn.

I looked at her, panic rising inside of me. “Where is he?” I barely whispered.

“He’s gone sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” That was my father that time, I think. At that moment I didn’t care about anything, but his words and how they couldn’t be true. No. They couldn’t be true.

A day doesn’t go by where I don’t think about him. He should have lived. I would have died if it meant he could live. Why am I here? Why should I be allowed to live when he is dead?

I’m pulled from my reverie by a soft nock on my door. “Erin?”

I don’t answer, but the door opens anyway and when I look up my mother is staring down at me.
She looks at me and I know she can see it in my melancholic expression and my blotchy cheeks. She doesn’t say anything though. She leads me to my bed after prying the picture from my hands. By then I’m crying openly with no hope to conceal the fat, ugly tears pouring from my eyes, and I don’t care. I don’t care about anything right now, and it only makes sense that I look as bad on the outside as I feel on the inside.
My mother sits on the side of my bed letting me cry while she runs her fingers through my hair and makes gentle cooing noises like she is soothing an infant. Once I’ve cried myself empty I just lie there waiting for the tendrils of sleep to pull me under.

I wake some time later. I look about my room as if it is some foreign place before finally orienting myself. I stand and walk over towards the window on the wall across from my bed intent on closing the curtain when I catch sight of the snow falling earnestly from the sky. It must have begun to snow after I fell asleep and it has not let up at all. The ground is covered in a thick blanket of the stuff and the bright color of it seems to light up the night giving the illusion of early evening when, in fact, it is well into night.

I stand frozen to my spot as I watch the huge chunks fall clumsily from the sky. It hasn’t snowed since... I close my eyes before breathing deeply. I walk towards the door opening it slowly before stepping out into the hallway. I quietly pad down the hallway peeking in my parents’ room to find them sleeping soundly as I go.
When I make my way towards the front door I stand with my hand on the door knob for several moments before turning it. I pull the door open as soundlessly as I can manage and step out into the frozen air without so much as a hat to serve as a boundary to the frigid air.

For a while I just stand there not knowing what to do. I stretch out my hand and catch a few of the snowflakes in it and watch as they melt quickly into the lines of my palm.

I feel tears well up in my eyes anew before blinking them away.

“It’s just snow,” I whisper to myself.

And it is. It’s snow. It’s here. It’s real. I can feel it biting into my skin and it tethers me to reality.
No more ‘what ifs.’ What if I could have traded places with him? What if I never called him that day? What if he was here with me right now?

No. I can’t do that anymore. No matter how hard I want it to be it isn’t real.

“This is real,” I mutter, my lip quivering. My best friend is gone and it’s snowing again.

I remain outside for an indeterminate amount of time watching the snow fall to the earth. After a while I notice the sun peeking out from behind a few clouds ready to begin a new day.

That’s real too.