Photograph By Kirsten Bisconer
There Is A Spirit Of Junkyard Monsters And Bliss Unfettered by Elias Kradel
A bending projection
Gets to know the mind,
Scrambling down nooks and crannies
Like spiders and children; the spiders
In search of meat
And the children
In naivete.
It seeks openings
As if it were a river,
Not a painting of curves and crowbars unmade.
From the river's manufactured brethren, christened as the bending projection,
There is a spirit
Of junkyard monsters and of bliss unfettered.
Behind the lit eye,
Only fate dwells.
A bending projection
Gets to know the mind,
Scrambling down nooks and crannies
Like spiders and children; the spiders
In search of meat
And the children
In naivete.
It seeks openings
As if it were a river,
Not a painting of curves and crowbars unmade.
From the river's manufactured brethren, christened as the bending projection,
There is a spirit
Of junkyard monsters and of bliss unfettered.
Behind the lit eye,
Only fate dwells.
Artwork By Riley Mercado
This Is Halloween by Anonymous
In the patch we are clinging to vines
like our life depends on it.
At any time we could be snatched away
or left to brown and soften.
A squirrel gnaws away at the vulnerable spot
hiding insecurities unless a little boy
in a fuzzy plaid shirt tells his mom we’re the one.
He steals us home,
riding in a bumpy pickup
to the dining table where
the little boy’s grinning
with a knife and he’s lost
two teeth but also carves two teeth into us.
At first we’re afraid but then realize
it’s ok because we’re made to be resilient,
to bleed out our seeds and sit on porches
in the midnight dark under the stars.
We are the first, the last, we are the Halloween
everyone knows and loves and better to be well-worn
and make your mark on this world
then left to be rotting on that vine.
In the patch we are clinging to vines
like our life depends on it.
At any time we could be snatched away
or left to brown and soften.
A squirrel gnaws away at the vulnerable spot
hiding insecurities unless a little boy
in a fuzzy plaid shirt tells his mom we’re the one.
He steals us home,
riding in a bumpy pickup
to the dining table where
the little boy’s grinning
with a knife and he’s lost
two teeth but also carves two teeth into us.
At first we’re afraid but then realize
it’s ok because we’re made to be resilient,
to bleed out our seeds and sit on porches
in the midnight dark under the stars.
We are the first, the last, we are the Halloween
everyone knows and loves and better to be well-worn
and make your mark on this world
then left to be rotting on that vine.
Artwork By Anonymous
Greenroom by Dinela Dedic
The fluorescent lights burned through all they touched, melting the floor into a pool of wax that shone with the luster of a silver dollar. Crisp, but not clean. Warm, but not welcome. The yellow air had a sort of snap to it, pinching at any hint of bare skin with the gall to expose itself on such an autumn morning. You were slid against a light pole, souring the air with your cigarette chugging out great clouds. Your apron was a bit too small, the spaghetti straps cinched your waist, but you didn’t bother to fix it. The faint blinking of a neon sign bled through the smog over the vacant parking lot, humbly reading, “Wa_ma_t.” You couldn’t help but smirk at the poor thing over the deep, guttural hum of a distant roadway. A final puff of smoke escaped your lips and you let your eyelids fall for a moment. There was a certain serenity to a smoke break before sunrise; but this time, the steady call of the insects had disappeared, leaving a tense silence save for the rise and fall of your breath beating steady against the faint tic of your watch. Tic. Tic. Inhale. Tic. Tic. Exhale. Tic. Click. Inhale. Click. Click. Exhale. Click. Click… Click... Inhale. Your eyes snapped open and from the very edge of your vision, a dark shape limped from the open doors of the greenhouse.
An inexplicable frenzy spidered its way up your throat as every prickling nerve stood erect. A breezeless evening. Frigid. There was a clatter of terracotta and the creature melded back into the darkness. You blinked once, paralyzed, before crying out.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be over there!” Your voice drew the atmosphere tight, forming a scarlet thread that laid suspended like a tightrope between you and the greenhouse. You trudged over begrudgingly, muttering a steady stream of exhaust that dissolved in the glacial air. You were not paid nearly enough to deal with some stupid kid crawling among the gardening tools, and yet, this felt terribly wrong. You reached for the key ring around your belt when you froze. You had locked the door not too long ago. An icy jet swirled with foreboding undertones through your legs, tugging you along into the blackness.
“The greenhouse is closed,” you called once more for good measure. When silence answered, the current pulled you in.
The room was drenched in a sickly olive, dimly illuminated by the yellow moonpools that glistened through the foliage-littered cellophane and leaving a snare of dark webs scritched across the dampened concrete. All the flowers had died, leaving their agonized skeletons reaching toward the sky, and tiny skull-buds littered across every surface. You stepped around storage boxes, arrayed like a labyrinth in the dim haze, and into a puddle of dark liquid. You thought nothing of it, until the faint scent of rusted metal pierced through the crude fragrance of wilted petunias. You were seized with chills. The dark puddle smeared itself across the floor, dripping then skidding then dripping once more around a shelf-
Clay shattered and a flowerpot oozed from around the corner. You didn’t realize your breath was still until a dim shadow bled taller and taller against the concrete. You were seized by a feral panic, stumbling over your own feet in a mad dash toward the exit. Frenzy overrode pain as you tore your leg against a stray pair of rusted shears, barely noticing the scarlet trickle threading its way down your calf. Blood beat mercilessly against your eardrums in a mad battle cry, screaming faster, faster! There were no recognizable landmarks in sight, and yet, you were so sure that the exit was right behind you. God, the greenhouse was this large? Why was the room this large? Did you take a wrong turn? Why was the-
You turned into a dead-end. Crackling tomato vines constricted splintered beanpoles, leaving long cell-bar shadows over the leaf-littered concrete. You grabbed a trowel off a cold, rusted shelf and held it out in front of you, trembling. There was no movement but the stirring of dust. You winced at the scalding pain in your leg as you crept forward, trying to make your way anywhere toward an exit. You felt yourself growing more and more lightheaded with every step, in desperate need of first aid. Behind every corner, shadows created demons of every size, hiding in the nooks of the storage shelves for anything unfortunate enough to come too close. Your breath rattled in your chest and your mind whirred with false pretenses. There couldn’t have been anyone here after lockdown, after all, you had the only key. You sighed, convinced that your eyes were playing tricks on you. At that thought you turned a corner, and inches away, a faceless mass stared back at you.
You screamed something horrible, but the creature shrieked something rancid. It slashed into your shoulder and once again the stench of copper choked the air. Warmth rushed to your fingertips and insanity seized your muscles as you plunged the trowel deep down into the dark silhouette. It crashed to the floor, and you threw yourself on top of it, repeatedly jerking the trowel down over and over again with a purpose beyond your understanding as the creature thrashed like a rabbit pinned in the jaws of a wolf. It whimpered, gurgling agonizing breaths before falling silent, brushing your face with a single cold, cold hand. You stumbled back and were sick on the floor, bile sizzling your throat on the way up. Panting, you glanced at the creature for a moment, warm slickness still seeping from your legs, before managing to pull yourself up against the cool metal shelves. Adrenaline drained into the stale air, and just over a rack of vases you could see the exit, bathing in a mustard luminescence. You started for the doors, not sure who the hell to call, but something made you double back. You turned to the creature, and in the dim, olive light peering through the cellophane you could see the shape of its face; and the way its spaghetti straps cinched its waist. Heartbeat quickening, that familiar fear spidered back up your throat. That was impossible; how could you not have known that it was a person? The clouds parted, allowing for the watery moonlight to reflect off two milky dewdrops. Bile spattered to the floor; you recognized their eyes.
You dragged your mutilated legs out of the greenhouse, a wave of frost breaking at the doorway and stirring stray wisps of hair plastered to your drenched skin. The parking lot was empty, and a tense silence settled over the yellow air. You trembled like a broken hatchling, dissociative and unhearing save for your breathing, beating steadily with the faint tic of your watch. Tic. Tic. Inhale. Tic. Tic. Exhale. Tic. Tic. Inhale. Tic. Tic. Exhale... Your eyes lolled up for a moment, and every prickling nerve stood erect. Something was watching you. Just beyond a burning pool of fluorescent light, a dark silhouette slid against a light pole, souring the air in great clouds.
Fin
The fluorescent lights burned through all they touched, melting the floor into a pool of wax that shone with the luster of a silver dollar. Crisp, but not clean. Warm, but not welcome. The yellow air had a sort of snap to it, pinching at any hint of bare skin with the gall to expose itself on such an autumn morning. You were slid against a light pole, souring the air with your cigarette chugging out great clouds. Your apron was a bit too small, the spaghetti straps cinched your waist, but you didn’t bother to fix it. The faint blinking of a neon sign bled through the smog over the vacant parking lot, humbly reading, “Wa_ma_t.” You couldn’t help but smirk at the poor thing over the deep, guttural hum of a distant roadway. A final puff of smoke escaped your lips and you let your eyelids fall for a moment. There was a certain serenity to a smoke break before sunrise; but this time, the steady call of the insects had disappeared, leaving a tense silence save for the rise and fall of your breath beating steady against the faint tic of your watch. Tic. Tic. Inhale. Tic. Tic. Exhale. Tic. Click. Inhale. Click. Click. Exhale. Click. Click… Click... Inhale. Your eyes snapped open and from the very edge of your vision, a dark shape limped from the open doors of the greenhouse.
An inexplicable frenzy spidered its way up your throat as every prickling nerve stood erect. A breezeless evening. Frigid. There was a clatter of terracotta and the creature melded back into the darkness. You blinked once, paralyzed, before crying out.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be over there!” Your voice drew the atmosphere tight, forming a scarlet thread that laid suspended like a tightrope between you and the greenhouse. You trudged over begrudgingly, muttering a steady stream of exhaust that dissolved in the glacial air. You were not paid nearly enough to deal with some stupid kid crawling among the gardening tools, and yet, this felt terribly wrong. You reached for the key ring around your belt when you froze. You had locked the door not too long ago. An icy jet swirled with foreboding undertones through your legs, tugging you along into the blackness.
“The greenhouse is closed,” you called once more for good measure. When silence answered, the current pulled you in.
The room was drenched in a sickly olive, dimly illuminated by the yellow moonpools that glistened through the foliage-littered cellophane and leaving a snare of dark webs scritched across the dampened concrete. All the flowers had died, leaving their agonized skeletons reaching toward the sky, and tiny skull-buds littered across every surface. You stepped around storage boxes, arrayed like a labyrinth in the dim haze, and into a puddle of dark liquid. You thought nothing of it, until the faint scent of rusted metal pierced through the crude fragrance of wilted petunias. You were seized with chills. The dark puddle smeared itself across the floor, dripping then skidding then dripping once more around a shelf-
Clay shattered and a flowerpot oozed from around the corner. You didn’t realize your breath was still until a dim shadow bled taller and taller against the concrete. You were seized by a feral panic, stumbling over your own feet in a mad dash toward the exit. Frenzy overrode pain as you tore your leg against a stray pair of rusted shears, barely noticing the scarlet trickle threading its way down your calf. Blood beat mercilessly against your eardrums in a mad battle cry, screaming faster, faster! There were no recognizable landmarks in sight, and yet, you were so sure that the exit was right behind you. God, the greenhouse was this large? Why was the room this large? Did you take a wrong turn? Why was the-
You turned into a dead-end. Crackling tomato vines constricted splintered beanpoles, leaving long cell-bar shadows over the leaf-littered concrete. You grabbed a trowel off a cold, rusted shelf and held it out in front of you, trembling. There was no movement but the stirring of dust. You winced at the scalding pain in your leg as you crept forward, trying to make your way anywhere toward an exit. You felt yourself growing more and more lightheaded with every step, in desperate need of first aid. Behind every corner, shadows created demons of every size, hiding in the nooks of the storage shelves for anything unfortunate enough to come too close. Your breath rattled in your chest and your mind whirred with false pretenses. There couldn’t have been anyone here after lockdown, after all, you had the only key. You sighed, convinced that your eyes were playing tricks on you. At that thought you turned a corner, and inches away, a faceless mass stared back at you.
You screamed something horrible, but the creature shrieked something rancid. It slashed into your shoulder and once again the stench of copper choked the air. Warmth rushed to your fingertips and insanity seized your muscles as you plunged the trowel deep down into the dark silhouette. It crashed to the floor, and you threw yourself on top of it, repeatedly jerking the trowel down over and over again with a purpose beyond your understanding as the creature thrashed like a rabbit pinned in the jaws of a wolf. It whimpered, gurgling agonizing breaths before falling silent, brushing your face with a single cold, cold hand. You stumbled back and were sick on the floor, bile sizzling your throat on the way up. Panting, you glanced at the creature for a moment, warm slickness still seeping from your legs, before managing to pull yourself up against the cool metal shelves. Adrenaline drained into the stale air, and just over a rack of vases you could see the exit, bathing in a mustard luminescence. You started for the doors, not sure who the hell to call, but something made you double back. You turned to the creature, and in the dim, olive light peering through the cellophane you could see the shape of its face; and the way its spaghetti straps cinched its waist. Heartbeat quickening, that familiar fear spidered back up your throat. That was impossible; how could you not have known that it was a person? The clouds parted, allowing for the watery moonlight to reflect off two milky dewdrops. Bile spattered to the floor; you recognized their eyes.
You dragged your mutilated legs out of the greenhouse, a wave of frost breaking at the doorway and stirring stray wisps of hair plastered to your drenched skin. The parking lot was empty, and a tense silence settled over the yellow air. You trembled like a broken hatchling, dissociative and unhearing save for your breathing, beating steadily with the faint tic of your watch. Tic. Tic. Inhale. Tic. Tic. Exhale. Tic. Tic. Inhale. Tic. Tic. Exhale... Your eyes lolled up for a moment, and every prickling nerve stood erect. Something was watching you. Just beyond a burning pool of fluorescent light, a dark silhouette slid against a light pole, souring the air in great clouds.
Fin
