32nd Edition

2013-2014

Copenhagen International School

Journal of the Arts



All rights of reproduction and copyright are reserved and the sole property of the
COPENHAGEN INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL, Copenhagen, Denmark. This book
may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying without expressed permission from CIS.
COPENHAGEN INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL MMXIV
Labyrinth 2014



Dear Reader,


WELCOME TO THE thirty-second
edition of Labyrinth, the Arts Journal of
Copenhagen International School.
Thirty-two, of course is the
freezing point of water in degrees
Fahrenheit, so one could say Labyrinth
has now officially melted, but that would
not make any sense at all, so lets just
focus on the beautiful, thought-
provoking, funny, downright weird and
on the whole wonderful artwork of the
talented students at our school
You really are in for a treat, so
lean back and enjoy, and please
remember to check the website for the
Performing Arts categories too.
We would like to thank the PTA
for their generous support of the prizes,
it really is wonderful to see creativity
and artistic expression appreciated.

Oh, and let us know if you see
SKYCOW

All the best,

On behalf of the Labyrinth Staff,

Rebecca Lindroos & Daniel Sarstedt
Labyrinth Advisors









CONTENTS

Alumni Letters
Short Story
Black & White Photo
Poetry
Colour Photo
Colour Art
3D Art
Digital Art
One Act Play
Black & White Art
Non-Fiction
Doodles



3
6
53
56
104
112
123
129
138
148
151
161




Cover Art by Tanja Jensen




MORE LITERATURE, VISUAL ARTWORK AND PERFORMING ARTS
ON WWW.CIS.DK/Labyrinth

Labyrinth 2014
Alumni Letter

CIS Alumnus Letter to
Labyrinth

A BIT OVER a year ago I was travelling
across Australia with good friends, all
taking our gap year. I wrote the following
passage an evening, as a brief reflection of
what the van-travel was like. Over the
weeks we spent driving, sleeping, and
eating within this old-timer we experienced
beauty, desolation, happiness, and sadness
all bound to and a part of each other.
Within the roof it bore the etchings akin to a
Saw film, as if its last owners had been
trapped and left the ominous message that
we read each time we elevated our gaze
Wicked. As it evolved it was wicked, in
every respect of the word, bringing us the
trip of a lifetime, while placing us in several
literally life-threatening positions, as every
vestige of the van began to fall apart.

I wrote this wanting to add it to last years
Labyrinth, as I graduated in 2012, however,
being deep in the Australian heartland with
no way of forwarding it to Kbenhavn, I
accepted Id have to wait a year. With it I
want to express total gratitude for the
people who were a part of the CIS journey I
took. It was less than orthodox at times, and
I want every single teacher, advisor, and
friend to know that it has meant the world
that they were there. So, Karsten Engelberg,
Mary Donnellan, Ute Reichert, thank you
for the ever-present advice and assistance as
I got back onto my feet; Lena Raassina and
Lesley McDonald, thank you for always
having those smiles and doors open for
passing and heartfelt conversations; Fred
Chiappini, Anu Kokko, and Ms. Szili, thank
you for lighting a spark with math that I am
now exploring more; Garry McIntyre and
Vincent Murphy, thank you for the
adventure that was chemistry, a field I have
still to give up on; Kristjan Jespersen, thank
you for two years of working with BRAP
where adventures of a lifetime and life-
lessons were had, as well as the skills
gained in attaining sponsorships, and
wrapped with the occasional BRAP team
dinner; lastly, and definitely not least,
Werner Riedel, a great friend and teacher,
Olella Nyeindo, we took a road with TOK
and history that was never a bore, Joelle
Dines, the ever-retold francophone phrases
that marked the classroom with smiles, and
Bheka Pierce Obadiah Fleska you are
one of a kind.

So, here we go

~~ Dusk tuning in harmoniously on the
dust-filled Red Interior; ancient songs and
dreams emanating from the core of every
sand grain in the wrinkled face of the
timeworn desert, in every direction,
stretching unendingly beyond the curve of
3
ALUMNI LETTER
the earth. A fragile current breathes the
silent song on into the defeated day, and
ancestral dust moves and mingles once
more with the sands from which they were
borne; eerily stirring something in my soul,
not mere guilt, but longing regret from the
indigenous people, no longer singing their
dreams by day.


Im lying snug in my tightly fitted sardine-
tin, my snoring camper-companions inching
in from every dimension round me:
pushing from my immediate right and
smothering me from the above, rusty,
chain-ring lowered roof hammocks. They
hang centimetres from my nose, so close
that I can feel the moist warmth, the little
yet left, of my own breath condensing for a
fleeting instant on the synthetic cot,
cheating the malicious Uluru inferno,
unyielding even in the night.

From the rusting outcrops within the
camper-vans walls the paint peels, and one
can eye each layer of previous touch-ups,
like some famous geological field-site,
documenting a history of timid, if not
ignorant, fix-me-ups. The kind never quite
doing enough to correct the genuine issues
of structural integrity; leaving the moving
scrap-yard, composed of haphazardly fitted
bits from as many different dying car
models, as there are channels on the rasping
radio, a rickety roller in a fly disguise.

The outside hippy-paintjob of the small
Mazda van, just the last of many previous
covers, psychedelically depicts Bob Dylan
accompanied by lines of poetry, and calls
forth romantic notions of journeying the
road into the unknown. Even as we
acknowledge the hazardous state of our
vehicle, our new temporary home brings
with it its own charm. Our eyes are gullible
and hungry for the drive into the red
dustpan, pushing our fears into the dark
shadows cast by the gleam of blissful
ignorance. While the agoraphobia of those
vast expanses plays a balancing act with the
claustrophobia of not entering or exiting the
van, but for the narrow hole at the end of
my minimalistic mattress, my mind is
liberated from my vice-bound body,
allowing thoughts on the bygone hour,
month, and year, to amalgamate into the
tale that is my life.

A sliding door shutting on the pressurized
van cabin, rings out the day, and the locked-
in air tightens on our inspiring horizontal
figures, clings onto the miniscule felt-seat
fibres, and crushes upon crinkling instant
noodle wrappings (the journeymans
preferred fuel). Everything feels to implode
in the slipstream of expanding torsos. First
loosening, when fluidly, the expiring
breaths make shrinking chests. Like liquid
movements reverberating from side to side
in a tub, the airflow brushes on everything
in the van, in a perpetual settling,
unsettling, and settling again of the micro-
atmosphere. The rhythmic revolutions bind
every living and soulless object together
inside Mr. Dylan as poetic justice will
have as the small pulls and pushes of air
force every cog in the car, human or thing,
to spin in chorus; our entire universe lies
here for the moment, we are one. At last
night consumes us, and the symphony of
our sombre breathing rings through the
metallic cage producing the occasional
groaning steel.

By morning, the weight of the sealed car,
happily bubbling with sleep-trodden eyes
that watch the dust dancing in the
sunbeams, forces spasms in my legs that
have been dangling limply off my half-
metre-too-short mattress still asleep and
tingling with ten-thousand buzzing bees. I
wiggle to the door and fling my van-twisted
mass onto the sand, gasping for space and
fresh air. The day starts with beautifully
barren vistas all around, dotted with signs
4
ALUMNI LETTER
of life from the past and present. The road
waits, and I am ready to take it.

I presently am located in Boston, MA,
where I attend Northeastern University. I
have been Undeclared this here Freshman
year, but plan to declare a dual major in
International Affairs and Economics, while
taking the pre-med requirements as
electives. It is a fascinating road ahead, and
I am having a great time riding it. A last
addition that may amuse some, is that there
are five of us from the Class of 2012
attending here, and living just a pebbles
throw from each other on adjacent streets
ensuring to keep that Danish spirit alive
and well.

Viking Regards,

Nicolas Barclay Wittrup















Yan Poinssot
5
Labyrinth 2014
Short Story



Reading through the short stories in this section it would seem that a quality that many of
the writers have in common is the ability to look at the everyday world in startling new
ways often in absolute and simple amazement. They seem to stand and stare, building up
the story by degrees, attentively and evocatively, without having to get to the point all at
once. Whether the stories come out of the fascination of everyday experience, or out of a
strongly imagined alternative reality, whether they present the enthrallment of a slice of
life or have a clear punch-line - a quiet bombshell - the best of these stories are detailed
and attentive. Here we have a panoply of different scenarios - a postmodern world (2125),
a royal indiscretion (Burping with Royalty), an exotic tale whose seed came out of the Peru
trip (After Weeks of Travelling), a frightening dawn encounter (The Smiling Man) and much
more. The collection represents a feast of imagination and a mosaic of artful construction.



First Prize
Containing striking imagery while portraying
an intriguing and complex character,
Spinster manages to cover so much in few
words. The intense, flowering diction
captivates the reader right from the start before
carrying us along with the interesting
development of the relationship between the
two characters. The ending bats away any
signs of a hackneyed love story with the soft
sadness of a man left alone in the streets as our
spinster proudly strides away.


Spinster
Iris ten Have

BLACK VARNISHED MOCCASINS on
top of white knitted knee-high socks. Her
chestnut coloured hair all tightened up in
a conservative bun unaffected by the
movement of the head of the middle-aged
woman. She wears a black coat that
previously belonged to her long-deceased
mother. Next to her walks a man. Friend
or lover? We cannot be sure. There seems
to be a preciously controlled distance
between them. Unbroken ice.
The couple, assuming that is what
they are, does not talk. All buttoned-up in
her classic black coat, the cold April breeze
finds itself unable to reach the womans
skin and make her shiver. From the pale
6
SHORT STORY
skin on her cheeks it is apparent that she
has long been untouched by rays of
sunlight. Imagine the shock and the
destabilization of all the millions of cells in
her body, enjoying the flow of vitamin D
into their nuclei, but simultaneously
stressed by the amount of effort expected
from them. From a distance, all you can
hear is the periodic sound of the womans
heels clicking on the cobblestones with
controlled steps. The man wears leather
lace-up shoes that seem to caress the
surface of the ground without making a
single noise. Silence dominates the
atmosphere until, suddenly, a sweet
melody fills up the air. It is a bird,
announcing the beginning of the breeding
season. The season of bees and flowers,
the season of love. Something in the
womans belly is triggered. A warm
sensation, a release of tension.
This feeling is further emphasized
by a maladroit move of the mans right
foot causing him to lose his balance for
half a second and forcing him to take a
grip on his companions shoulder. Their
eyes meet: his are blue with small golden
flakes around the pupils, hers dark like
chocolate. She cannot breathe; she does
not know how to respond to his seduction
and desolate smile. She smiles back at him
then quickly looks down for she does not
want him to notice her vulnerability. The
man takes a deep breath, the smile on his
face remains unchanged. He decisively
strides further in his carefree gait, leaving
her standing there, fixed.
She feels naked. Her head is
spinning. Trying to ignore the wild
palpitations of her heart, she hides her
trembling hands in the deep pockets of her
mothers coat. She remains unyielding.
What happened to the determined steps
she took before? Will they ever come
back? She wonders.
Her eyes take halt on the masculine
silhouette of her companion. The effect he
has on her is unutterable. It is something
like a hot shower in the middle of the
winter, the sweetness of red fruit ice
melting on your tongue, champagne
bubbles and classical music. She imagines
what it would feel like to be held in his
arms and kissed by his lips. She censures
her feelings. Do not be dependent on a
man, she convinces herself. She has
struggled hard enough to become who she
is today. Stronger and more disciplined
than her mother, who by putting her
emotions and passions first destroyed
herself mentally. The single thought of her
mother, so fragile in the arms of her
careless and unfaithful lover, is enough to
stop her hands from sweating and turn
them into fists, ready to hit at any
moment. Each sentiment is forced back
into its locked cage. An impenetrable wall.
The man continues ahead of her. His
blond hair, dishevelled by the wind,
enjoys the coming of this new season as he
plucks flowers he finds along the way.
There is a bouquet gathered in his left
hand, a mix of buttercups, of daisies, of
crocuses, of roses. He brings them to his
nose, inhaling the fresh and soft smell of
Mother Nature. Feeling alive, he is
conscious of the moment. While he turns
his head to admire his lover, he wonders
how she will react when he will give her
the precious flowers he has picked to
please her. Perhaps simply a smile, but
today the man feels lucky and wishes for a
kiss. He turns back to reality and discovers
that she is not walking anymore. Slightly
surprised but not surrendering his goal, he
approaches her with timid gestures. Once
closer to her, the blood flows to his cheeks:
a sign of feebleness. She looks at the bunch
of flowers he is offering. The bouquet
hangs between them, waiting to be
accepted. But the woman does not move.
With disgust, she notices the skin under
the mans nails, turned green from picking
plants. There are scratches on his hands,
caused by his imprudence when
mutinously pulling thorny roses out of the
7
SHORT STORY
muddy earth. Tiny drops of blood roll
over his skin then spread over the petals of
a white crocus. The golden flakes in his
eyes no longer make her dizzy; they
disrupt the plain pigment of his irises.
Slowly the enthusiasm in the mans
expression fades. A wrinkle of worry
appears between his brows. He releases
his grip and the flowers fall on the ground
like rocks falling off a cliff. Ready to bow
down and gather them up, the woman
stops him from doing so. I am allergic to
flowers, she says with a cold and distant
voice, I should go back home, or the sun
will give me a migraine. Once made her
statement, she turns on her heel and
revises her plan for the evening while
longing for the cloudy skies of winter.
In a small town called Swansea
with tiny brick houses and narrow cobble-
stoned streets, softly illuminated by the
sun, you will find a man, flowers scattered
at his feet, staring at a black-coated
woman, walking at a rapid pace, away
from him. There is a mix of satisfaction
and indifference on her face that would
give any lover the shivers.





Mariam Hawath
8
SHORT STORY

Second Prize
A stunning story that brings a simple scene at
a park to life in many different ways. From the
breathtaking personification of a broken bike to
the powerful present tense in which the story is
written, this piece proves that a narrow focus
can amount to a wonderful literary work.


A Cool, Lonely Morning
Cameron Gough

A TALL MAN stands still, a military air
hanging about him. Hes wearing a long
brown trench coat, and a hat of sorts;
perhaps a beret? The weather is grim, with
a slight dusting of rain clinging to the
brown grass I lie on. Squinting, I can make
out each droplet, clear yet reflective,
hanging off the tips of each sickly blade.
The sight is revolting, as if nature were
trying to revive a dead body by dressing it
up in its Sunday best.
The man has been peering at me
for moments, but as each second slips
away, it passes through a glue trap,
slowing time to an excruciating pace. I feel
his piercing gaze, easily comparable to
tiny spots of heat searing the weak parts of
my flesh. I feel pressured, unable to move
as he takes a step forward. Theres a flash,
and the mans on the ground. The bike is
an outstanding crimson, the colour of ripe
cherries sitting on a kitchen counter on an
early summer afternoon. The bike is in
pain, sobbing gently as its wheels spin to a
stop. Its handlebars are a twisted snake,
latching furiously onto the stem, locked in
a vicious battle between the owners
hands and the forces of nature. A wheel is
bent, a pear compared to an orange,
lacking its circular beauty and functional
mobility. Only seconds have passed, and
yet the man has been restored to his
former stance. He glances to the side and
notices the bike, the beautiful bike, and its
fallen owner. He stoops, and helps the
biker up. The biker, in a state of shock, is
furious, but at the same time spilling
regret out of his mouth, like water flowing
over the edge of a cliff. The moment is
stunning; a freeze frame in my head of an
everyday occurrence; unique and special
to only the ones who experience it.
The man takes a step back. He
waits for a moment, perhaps considering a
better route to cross the road. His gaze is
again focused on me. I ponder as to what
this man could want; what could possible
allow me to be the absolute focus of his
attention.
As I watch, he makes his decision,
and dashes across the road. He moved
swiftly, his entire body still, save for his
legs, which were moving in a manner
similar to those of a predator; careful, yet
proud. I tense as the man strides towards
me. I look straight ahead of me, close my
eyes and take a deep breath. The air tastes
clean and cool, almost like a cold glass of
water. I savour it. A little voice tells me
that it could be my last moment.
The man slows, and finally, stops. I
can feel his shape looming over me, with
all of the hairs on my skin standing strong
like pine trees in a dark forest. My heart is
beating as if I have to say an important
speech. I can hear my blood rushing
through my ears. A car drives past,
perhaps speeding a little, and the man sits
down. We both stare ahead and gaze at
the beautiful sight in front of us: a hill of
dying grass under the bench we sit on, the
street further down, the middle-aged
woman across the road retrieving her
damp clothes from her balcony while a
young girl tugs at her skirt, the cyclist
waiting for a taxi to take him and his poor
bent bike back home, and finally, the
steam train just pulling into the train
station in the far distance. As we stare at
9
SHORT STORY
the tower of smoke on the horizon, I hear a
faint mumble.
Good morning General, sir.
I immediately relaxed.
Now its been a long time since
Ive been called that.




Third Prize
June 16
th
is a remarkable piece that manages
to tell its story through a distinctive and
captivating form. Each characters voice rings
of its unique personality while maintaining the
realism and authenticity of a documentary.
The immense build up to the end of the story
leaves the reader on edge and yearning for
more.

June 16th
C. Hans Culton

THIS IS A report of the incidents that
transpired on June 16
th
2028. This
documentary delves into the stories of what
happened that day from first hand witnesses
from the people who contributed to its
outcome. The documentary was produced over
several months of intense research.

Former Speaker of the House, Grey
Christiansen, on the political reaction of the
US.
Alright, just look into the
camera?
Yes please.
Okaywhere should I start?
Well ask a few questionsat the end
you can freely talk.
Okay, lets start then.
Alright, what were you doing that
day?
June 16
th
? Oh, that is a long
answer, but Ill start at the beginning.
I was, uh, needless to say, busy. I
had just started my job as Speaker of the
House. My whole life revolved around
doing, not sitting around, not commenting
on others, but doing. So, I was busy, but it
felt goodat least to me. I had been an
author, a businessman, an entrepreneur-I
guess those last two are the same things-
but my latest venture was being a
congressman, and I really hadnt worked
for a government job like this one before,
so it was a totally new experience. I had
advertised myself to get into congress and
become a senior congressman,
butevents, hosted parties,
travelingmy whole job was to network,
get information, and then talk about how
good the country was. I was a walking
advertisement.
So how did that affect what you did
on the 16
th
?
Honestly I threw it all away on
the 16
th
. Hell, all my training went out the
window and I went to bare instincts. The
most difficult thing was the shock. No one
thought that it would happen. No one
thought they would happen. Our political
reaction to other countries I should
clarify was certainly hostile, no matter
which way you spin it. Our situation was
so unique, the reality of the situation
shattered the mindset of many. The day
was ruined; it was taken up with constant
work. I gave answers to people andand
the answers were made up, no facts
behind them. I knew as much as them,
but my title made people feel as though I
knew. Truth is, I was just as scared -
startled, awed, shocked, fascinated,
whatever you want to call it as everyone
else.

Former President of the United States of
America, Dwayne Sadthaway, on events
occurring outside of the states.
How did they affect you?
10
SHORT STORY
Ha, they simply made things
difficult. You know, the government had
this idea fordecades, wed had signs of
it before. No one wanted to acknowledge
it. It wasnt a plague, it wasnt a political
or social threat it wasnewa several
decade old new problem. I didnt know
how to deal with it, everyone always just
brushed it under the rugthats what the
president before me did, thats what the
president before him didthats what I
did.
At some point or another, every
government had gotten a hint of it, but felt
people would be too scared. Luckily
social media helped indoctrinate the
people a bit; most conspiracists believe it
was a government plot all along, ha.
Anyway, most other governments acted as
though we were insane at first. We had
always spearheaded the operation to keep
it a secret. I mean, how do you think
people would react?

Former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff,
General Steve Smith (Ret), on the US military
response.
Itsits tedious. Everyone loves
to portray the military as a bunch of idiots
who just love to pull triggers and sit
around as a horde or morons but, were
really just good people who have agreed
to defend US interests. I mean, movie
after movie after game after game puts us
in the seat of making situations spiral out
of control with aggressive action, but, we
were the ones who sought a peaceful
solution. I dont think we could have
done anything anyway, but we still didnt
want to send ourselves into an
uncontrolled situation. It was annoying
thoughwe wanted planes guarding our
skies, flying as symbols of safety, but
people misconstrued our attempts for
safety as attempts to peer into their private
lives. I mean, for fucks sake, youre
concerned about how much we know
about you but put pictures and videos
onto the internet for the whole world to
see containing detailed information about
everything youre doing? Stupid.
Well what was your immediate
response?
Umdefenseat a certain point
when it boils down to it you have to
ignore what everyone says and just do
your job. We, for a few weeks, put planes
everywhere. I mean everywhere. I was
shocked to hear the news, as much as
anyone was. We had never established a
plan of action for what happened. We had
plans of actions for lots of things but
nevernever something like it. I think a
lot of the countries had the same reaction
when they realized how scared we were. I
mean, we had fighters up, we had all
defense stations manned, we even had our
anti-missile defense systems up in D.C. I
mean you could see them scanning as you
walked around. I actually took a picture
with my niece in front of the Mall with the
missiles pointing every which way.

Former Speaker of the House, Grey
Christiansen, on the political reaction of the
US.
I was told to calm the public.
Grey, get them relaxed, make them fall
back to a daily routine.
Did you feel confident about that?
No, not at all. I had been a leader
my whole life, and led much differently
than the US government did. I felt
annoyed. I was capable of so much more
than trying simply to calm the sheep that
are the American populace. I basically
began giving speeches daily about new
information we found. I mean, I was on
national television every morning in a
clean suit, looking like I wasnt scared,
saying this is a challenge, but one that we
accept. One that will make us better.
Did you disagree with that? Do you
disagree with that?
Are you kidding me? Its all a lie.
Either youre prepared for something, or
11
SHORT STORY
you arent. Either you are capable or
youre not. All this encouraging to
engorge those who cant actually do
anything and cant protect themselves, it
was just to make them feel better about
being leeches on a once-great-country.

Former President of the United States of
America, Dwayne Sadthaway, on events
occurring outside of the states.
The day makes me laugh, haha. It
honestly makes me laugh. I mean,
elections were around the corner and the
biggest thing in history just happened, yet
I still cared more about elections. I had a
literal army of 23-year-old, fresh-out-of-
college, partying-reaction-monkey interns
working round the clock to make me look
fantastic to them, my demographic. But I
had to hide all that, the other countries
took long enough to catch the clue that we
were acknowledging the events that, had I
been trying to focus on elections, we
would have received holy Hell.
So other countries werent your first
priority?
No, they were, thats why I hated
it so much. I cared most about elections,
but they couldnt be my first priority.
What had happened was so catastrophic,
so cataclysmic to Human history thatit
was just unimaginable. I had to throw
everything aside to deal with the problem.
I had our speaker of the house,
umGeorgeJayGrey? Grey, yeahI
had him speaking every day to both
national and international audiences
trying to calm people.
He said he only spoke to national
audiences.
No, he was on international TV.
He persuaded international audiences, as
he probably mentioned, he fooled national
ones. Hes too good a guy to admit to
himself the fact thatwell, hes probably
the only person on Earth who has literally
lied to the entire world, ha. He didnt
want to acknowledge going onto national
and international TV spouting
propaganda about how well we America
handled everything, haha. In my
opinion, I couldnt care less about lying to
foreigners and would care much more
about lying to fellow Americans, but his
opinion of the American populace
ismuch lower than mine. Either way, he
was there to make us seem calm, even
though our actions seemed the opposite.
We first got with the UK, Germany, China,
Russia, the important countries at the
time, and talked this over. China was
reluctant, but they had allowed their
people enough world-access that they
couldnt fool the populace into believing
what had happened was fake. I mean the
whole world thought we were insane. We
were the most powerful country in the
world on the fall, and here we
werehumiliating ourselves in public to
the world. We trembled. It was like the
whole country just saw a ghost; everyone
stunned into one emotion.

Former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff,
General Steve Smith (Ret), on the US military
response.
We had the only imaginable
response. I mean, what else could you do?
You have to defend yourself someway,
whether that is against physical, mental or
cyber assaults is a separate topic. We just
pulled our entire military back into our
country, zero troops in any country
besides ours, and we enjoyed having
something to do. We had some purpose
again.
Was the purpose your main
motivation?
No, I said it earlier and Ill say it
again, were not trigger-happy
individuals, were a strong team bonded
together to fight for the US. And thats
what we were doingdefending our
homeland in the one way we had at the
time. We did start some over-border
operations again, a few of the embassies
12
SHORT STORY
were reopenedthe one in the UK, China,
GermanyRussia wouldnt let us. We
simply encouraged other militaries to
follow suit. I mean, I know weve made
some mistakes, but, at some point in time
we knew what we were doing and did it
wellmilitaristically at least.
How were your suggestions
interpreted?
We were given the finger. You
know, you help a country and youd
expect gratitude from them, but instead
you get disrespect, and when you then
stop helping them because of the negative
effect, you get hate. The Germans mocked
us, they reopened our embassy expecting
us to come in with a new mindset, aid and
support, pushing for demilitarization I
have no idea why instead we went in
demanding they increase their military
power. It didnt boil over well.
How did that event end?
Do we have an embassy in
Germany now?

Former Speaker of the House, Grey
Christiansen, on the political reaction of the
US.
What was it like for you?
What do you mean? The political
push?
No, what was the day likeJune
16
th
?
Like I said, at the beginning, it
was hectic. My jobs duties still weighed
on me a bit. But that day started normally.
I saw it happen no lessthrown off my
feet on my walk to work. Anyway, I got
in the office after sprinting there and met
Jack. We worked a lot over, he told me of
my one hour deadline before my first
international speech addressing the world
regarding the utter insanity.
What was your reaction?
I was going to be the first insane
person to be endorsed by the government
on televisionI didnt think about that
though. D.C. was in a pit of chaos at the
time. Our civil servants were trying their
hardest to put the city back into a
functional state. I mean, what does a
police officer do for that? Stand in the city
with a gun drawn, waiting for action?
Whats your opinion on how other
countries responded?
My opinion? Bull crap. The only
country that didnt change how they were
was North Korea. General Tong Tsu kept
that dictatorship locked tight. China had
no control over such a large population;
they were forced to manage. The African,
southern European, and South West Asian
countries really didnt change. They
stayed in their confused stew. They
wanted to make the incident seem hurtful
to them, but none of the previously first
world countries had the ability to assist. I
think it made international relations a lot
worse. Europe was already dead,
Germany stopped helping the other
countries in an effort to stay afloatI
dont know if it was because of what
happened or because of fear of the
Europeans, but the whole country got
walled upthousands of Kilometers of
steel and concrete.
Knowing how the world currently is,
and how it reacted, what do you think will
happen if they return?

Mr. Christiansen, what do you think
will happen if they return?
What if they dont?

End.
Further specifics regarding
response to the incident are classified
codeword. Forward inquiries to your relevant
security officer.


13
SHORT STORY
2125
Sydney Evans
Illustrations: Bailey Davis

IT WAS THE year 2125, and our time was
done. The land, air and sea were
contaminated, and our planet could no
longer sustain our destructive existence.
The only ones to blame, who were truly
guilty, were ourselves. We had one
responsibility and we did nothing. We lost
our chance, our home. And now, there is
nothing left but regret in our hearts.
I still remember that day, the day I
almost lost hope.
The heavy grey clouds hung low
on the horizon, depriving the empty
landscape of the golden sun. It had looked
like that for as long as I could remember.
Id heard tales of a shining star that lit a
deep blue sky, and a silver moon that
shone in the night. Those clouds were
unnatural, they were not meant to be
there. My grandmother used to tell me
that it was us who tainted the sky,
blackened the ocean, and ruined the soil. I
had come to believe that what she said
was the truth.


The ships had arrived early that
morning, and almost everyone had
boarded, including the majority of my
extended family. They were huge, the
ships, they could hold five-hundred
thousand people at the maximum.
Normally ships like that would cost a
fortune to even look at, but officers
declared that conditions were worsening
and everyone was to board as soon as
possible.
Sage, we havent got all day! My
parents took turns warning me, over the
loud whirring of their oxygen tanks. The
air was dense with toxins, and one breath
could make one deadly ill. Even the
oxygen masks were starting to fail, the
supply of clean air running short, and the
plague of our blunders commenced to kill
us off with the very essence associated
with life. Breathing. Thats why the
smartest option was to pack up and leave,
turn away and move on. The future, the
media promised us. Discovery of the
cosmos. They tried to make it into a good
thing, to ease the affliction we all felt
gnawing at our hearts.
Let me take one last look around,
alright? I replied to my mother in a dull
voice, sulking out of the house. They were
so eager to depart, like they were tired of
this planet. I wasnt. I loved the Earth.
Even in all its artificial defection, I had a
burning hope deep inside of me. I wasnt
sure where it came from, but I couldnt
abandon my home. Not like this.
I left our house and walked down
the paved sidewalk of the neighborhood
complex, which was littered with garbage.
Trash cans overflowed and streets were
abandoned. I wrinkled my nose in
discontent.The human race was fleeing
their own wasteland.
I scoffed, stuffing my hands in my
jacket pockets and sauntering out of the
neighborhood and towards the park. Well,
at least, it used to be a park. The trees
were all cut down and the grass was dead,
14
SHORT STORY
pretty much everything in that park was
dead. It now served as the town dump.
How people could have had the audacity
to ruin the good name of the only patch of
green this city had ever hadby littering
it with their garbage I had no idea. I sat
down on one of the weather-worn wooden
benches, sighing aloud. There wasnt
another soul in sight. Not even a squirrel.
I started to think. Was I going to
leave with my ignorant family? That
would be preposterous. I couldnt stand to
look at this horrible place any longer, but I
couldnt just leave the mess for someone
or no oneelse to clean up. Then again,
staying would be a burden, and I was
itching to take the easy way out.
As I scanned the dismal scenery,
my eyes found a soggy package nestled at
the stump of an old, gnarly tree. I could
just barely make out the labelit was hair
dye. Mine. Before all of this had gotten so
bad, Id been keen on changing my hair
color every two weeks. I tried to use only
recyclable boxes and vegan formulas, but
it seemed that did no good. Now it was
polluting the Earths crust like every other
product wed ever used.
My stomach sank as I realized,
what had I personally done to stop this
terrible age? My mind flicked to several
excuses and lazy put-offs. I hadnt done
anything in specific, though I had a
multitude of opportunities. My shoulders
hunched in shame. Who was I to be upset
about this, when part of it had been my
own doing? I felt nagging guilt forming in
my nerves, and started to tap my foot
nervously on the dry ground. I had never
thought to turn the blame on myself.
All of those recycling programs we
used to have in school, tips on how to save
electricity and water, carpooling and
hand-me-downs. I had never taken them
seriously, always relying on someone else
to take action. Who exactly, I wasnt sure,
since everyone around me was doing the
same as I was. We had consumed and
destroyed this world, and then looked up
innocently like it wasnt our fault. I did
this. I was a part of it. I took no stand; I
cared not which bin my soda can went in.
The irresponsible side of me told
me that I could leave it; I could forget all
about it, with time the Earth would restore
itself somehow. That I didnt have to be so
hard on myself.
I gritted my teeth as I stood up, to stare at
the hideousness around me one last time.
It used to be beautiful, Id heard. One of
the most extravagant parks in the nation. I
took careful steps in the silence,
pretending I was surrounded by gorgeous
green hedges and towering lush trees
like all the fairytales. I passed a jumble of
barbed wire that strangled the marred
branches of a dead bush, cluttered beside
old furniture that someone had dumped
there. I exhaled and prepared to turn
away.
And then something caught my
eye.
Amongst the rusty metal and dried
thorns, something bright stood out against
the dullness. I frowned and kneeled down,
carefully putting my hand between the
sharp twigs. I pulled out something Id
never seen before, at least not in person. It
was barely alive, crumpled but beautiful,
petals missing and stem tarnished. It was a
flower, a real onenot made of plastic or
cloth. I cradled it in my hands. This was all
that was left, one thing that survived the
environmental blight, and it was still
fighting. I stood, staring at the velvety
white treasure.
I looked back up, seeing my
reflection in the cracked mirror of an old
and ruined vanity. But I did not see my
own cloudy gray eyes and grimy blonde
hairI saw a human being who was
faithless and lost, standing in the middle
of so much death and abandonment,
dreams crushed by her own mistakes. This
is what we all looked like lately, even if we
acted like we didnt care. This was our
15
SHORT STORY
world and we had killed it. Who couldnt
be hurt by that?
I thought of the pink-tipped white
rose in my hands, how it was a ray of pure
hope in so much darkness; a symbol of
spring blossoming in the ice of never-
ending winter. I knew what I had to do. It
was in my nature to run from my faults,
but I couldnt do that. Not anymore. I had
to be brave, and face them. Like the small
organism I held, I had to carry on. It
wasnt too late to take a stand, and make
up for my indolence. It was time to
There was a small sound behind
me, and I flinched, whipping around in
fright. My thoughts had been shattered.
There, in the rubble, stood a boy who
looked in his late teens, about my age. His
demeanor seemed calm, his tan face
sincere.
I didnt think anyone else came
here anymore, He said, raising an
eyebrow, as he took a careful step toward
me. The ships are scheduled to leave
soon. Do you plan to go with them? He
crossed his arms.
IIm not sure. If I can find
something else here, its possible I might
stay, but I frowned, unsure if I should
trust him. He didnt seem to be from my
neighborhood.
Interesting. Its not that hard a
choice for most people. His inquisitive
expression remained.
Wellmaybe Im not most
people, I countered.
Hmm As if he were
considering something, he strolled
closer, and stuck his arm out. Im
Jonah Weatherhill.
Sage Wilson, I replied, shaking
his hand hesitantly.
Is that a real flower? He tilted his
head in disbelief. I noticed he was wearing
a uniform of some sort, from an
organization I didnt recognize. He didnt
have an oxygen mask like most others,
including myselfhe wore a fancy glass
dome over his head, like an astronaut.
Yes. I found it by the vanity. I
held it closer, having the sudden feeling
that he might take it from me. I frowned
still, though he proved more and more
reliable by the minute. What does that
symbol mean? I asked, pointing to the
green sphere on his chest, connected by
intricate details of leaves, flowers, and
other symbols of nature.
This? It is the representation of
the company I work for. It is actually why
I have approached you herethough I did
not expect to find anyone. He was
smiling at me now, as if hopeful.
What do you mean? I put a hand
on my hip, thoroughly confused and quite
annoyed. Who was this arbitrary
trespasser? I had been in the middle of an
important realization, and he had
interrupted me. What I really needed to do
was go home and talk to my parents, and
my time was running out.
I mean, we are looking for young
recruits like yourself.
Recruits? Is this battle? I scoffed,
prepared to walk away.
You could put it that way. A war
against our own doing, Id say. Anyway,
we need people like you to help us with
our campaign. Young people who are
willing to stay on the planet to rebuild the
Earth make up our movement, those who
wanted to make a difference but never
could. This is your chance.
And you want me to join you? I
faltered. I had only just made the partial
choice to stay, and I still wasnt completely
sure. The hurried thought that I would
have to make such a choice scared me.
You do not need to if you do not wish
to. He shrugged slightly, but by the look
in his eyes, I saw how disappointed he
was, the same disappointment I felt for my
own people. It is a risk you must be
willing to take. Your survival cannot be
guaranteed, he admitted, a small sigh
escaping his mouth and clouding the glass
16
SHORT STORY
of his helmet. The business he was trying
to promote was clearly not an apple-pie
life, and as he said, most would see the
cowardly path as the wiser one.
Iwill consider it, I said after a
few long moments of quiet contemplation.
Dont expect anything for sure, I
warned, grasping the flower tighter in my
hands. If you change your mind, look for
me, He said with a nod of his head,
taking a card out of his pocket with his
gloved hand, and scribbling something on
the back of it before giving it to me. That
is, before the ships leave.
I glanced at the small green
lettering on the dirty, obviously-recycled
paper, and gently put it in my back pocket
along with the pale flower. Thank you.
He waved at me as I left, and I
waved back in a much more half-hearted
way. I wasnt so eager to dedicate my
future to his cause, but when I admitted
that to myself, my recently made-up mind
went crazy with objection. Staying would
be the right thing, the brave thing.
Taking a deep breath, I ambled
back to my house and creaked open the
door. My family was running around,
packing, and glancing at me impatiently.
Are you ready to leave yet? My little
brother, Timothy, complained as he ran to
my side and tugged on my arm before I
had even closed the door behind me. I felt
a twinge of irritation at his tone, but then I
remembered how nave he was. It wasnt
like he understood the cruel reality of the
situation. I hoped he would never have to.
I looked at him with pity and fondness,
my hand running through his short brown
hair. I dunno, Timmy.
Well. Its about time you got back,
we were about to leave you behind, My
father commented distastefully from the
small kitchen, where he was shoving food
parcels into a cooler. He sounded
particularly annoyed with me, as he had
been since I first started showing my
thoughts of staying behind.
Calm the temper, James, My
mother scolded him, as she scurried over
to me and dumped a pile of blankets in
my arms. Dear, please take these to the
storage bunker in the backyard, the
officials will be here to get it in the next
few minutes and were nearly done
packing, She said frantically.
I frowned. Mo
Oh, and could you get your
things packed? Youve had weeks now,
Sage. We sent Lenny to get it started, since
you werent home
Out of the corner of my eye I saw
my older brother, in my room, stuffing my
clothes into a duffel bag carelessly.
Though his expression seemed to taunt
me, I couldnt have cared less in that
moment. I started to get more and more
exasperated as my mother babbled on.
deal with those pillows we
cant find space for? Oh, and where is that
cat! He needs to be put in his travelling
case
Mom!
She whipped around, and stared at
me in confusion. I dropped the blankets
on the ground and crossed my arms. Im
thinking about not going.
Her expression went from blank to
appalled, and silence suddenly filled the
room.
What? She asked in a hushed
voice.
Excuse me? My dads voice
thundered from the kitchen.
Though their obvious disapproval
made an effort to change my mind, I stood
tall. Yes. I found out about a company,
SitAmet. Theyre looking for volunteers to
stay behind and get us out of the situation
weve put ourselves in. They need as
many as they can get, and I cant just
leave I looked down, biting my lip. I
hoped theyd understand that I wasnt
being foolish about this.
They, with disgruntled frowns,
listened to my argument. With a shaky
17
SHORT STORY
breath, I continued. The Earth has always
been this way, for as long as I can
remember, but I know that a thousand
years ago it was flourishing with life and
everything was green and breathing. We
didnt need these ridiculous things, I
tugged on my mask. Dont tell me you
dont feel that too.
My mothers arms were crossed,
and she looked like she was going to cry.
Honey, those were better times. Theres
nothing we can do about it now.
You cant expect us to just leave
you behind. My father said, his angry
voice veiled with sorrow as he put his arm
around my mom. Its impossible to stay.
Everyone is leaving, its not an option.
I almost groaned in frustration. Of
course they didnt understand. I know
its hard, but you cant just say that like
there isnt a future for this planet! I
reached behind me to pull the rose out of
my back pocket.
I quickly moved my hand back
when I was interrupted by a brisk knock
on the door. It signaled the arrival of the
officials, here to collect us and get us
boardedbut more like shove us onto the
ship so the government couldnt be held
accountable if we died staying. I felt my
stomach drop, and wondered how Jonah
and his team would manage to stay, or
even if theyd actually be able to. I didnt
even know if there were enough resources
for such a campaign.
Get your things. Were leaving,
right now.
N
Now, Sage! My father yelled,
and Lenny grabbed me and dragged me to
my room. Shamed, I felt a jab of anger and
defeat run through me as I tried to smack
my brother off of my arm. With my teeth
clenched and the sick feeling of rage in my
stomach, I hauled the bag over my
shoulder. There were so many things I
couldve done in that moment to rebel
against their blind ways, but they were my
parents. I couldnt fight them off, no
matter how outlandish the situation.
My mom found space for the
remaining items and soon the officials
were stacking our storage bunker onto a
lifter, and taking it to the loading bay.
They led us out to the ramp that headed to
a huge open archway, the entrance to the
Starship Alioth. It towered over our
heads, grazing the murky sky and
clashing with the filthy ground. Such a
thing didnt look possible in the scenery
that surrounded it. It was big and white,
trimmed with silver, like a shining beacon.
Though I gaped at its enormity and
magnificence, I was thoroughly furious.
The last thing I wanted to do was
to get on that blasted thing.
My opinion didnt seem to matter to the
officers. They ushered me forward
anyway, along behind my excited family. I
protested, pushed their hands away, but
they carried on directing me up the shiny
ramp. My parents sighed and went on
ahead. They didnt want to deal with me.
Concerned about how I could
manoeuvre an escape from this, I reached
behind me and clasped the flower in my
hand, the dull thorns digging into my
palm. I looked up. I was at the massive
arch. Inside, I could see blinking blue
lights and sleek opaque structures, better
known as my doom. The officials, with
their black helmets and tinted visors,
seemed to glare at me, and I was given a
helpful forward shove through the tall
doorway. I snarled in fury and looked
around, enclosed by the advanced
cleanliness of the futuristic technology. It
was any person of our times dream;
except mine.
I thought of something then, while
I was stumbling around in the blinding
fluorescent lights. I wasnt sure if it would
work, but it was my last chance. I felt in
my pocket for the SitAmet card, and
pulled it out, examining what it said. The
writing consisted of the companys
18
SHORT STORY
mission statement, contact information
which was useless now, phone lines had
stopped working years ago, not to
mention the dysfunctional internet and
the signatures of the president and CEO.
On the back, Jonah had pencilled in his
signature, along with a statement that
declared I was a possible applicant for
Operation 406: Clean-Up.
Timmy looked back at me with
eyes wide as he held our cat, Chester, in
his carrying case. They were at the front
desk, submitting our paperwork and
getting our bags checked for boarding.
People moved this way and that around
the cabin, almost enough to get lost in, and
I was standing between the reception desk
and the archway. My parents werent
paying attention, but it wouldnt be long
before they called me to put my bag on the
belt. Time was slipping like sand through
bare fingers. Heart pounding, I made my
choice and turned back to the archway,
filing through the passers-by and towards
the official who stood there.
Excuse me, I said, and he looked
down at me, a perplexed expression
visible through his plastic eyeshade.
Sorry, Miss, what do you need?
We will be departing soon.
I hesitated for a moment, and then
showed him the back of the card, and
pointed to Jonahs signature. There was
only one way out of this, and it was to see
if this movement of teenagers was
legitimate.
Im eligible for Operation 406 and
Ive made up my mind to take part in it, I
said boldly, balancing the bags weight on
my shoulder and glancing at my parents.
They hadnt noticed yet.
Operation 406? Well, what are you doing
on here then? Its a government-supported
program. Right this way please. He
stepped out of his post and started to lead
me past the desk and through an aisle of
seats. He paused and looked back at me
for a second. You are aware of the
consequences that may come by choosing
this?
I nodded solemnly, gesturing for
him to continue on. Before I could take
another step, I heard my dad calling me.
Sage? I felt a pang of guilt.
Where are you?
The official turned and looked
from me to him. She is the appropriate
age for our clean-up program, and she has
proclaimed she wishes to participate, she
even has a company employees signature.
Im sure shes aware of the terms and
conditions.
Im her father! He retorted.
Sage, get back over here! Right now!
Sir, she is eighteen, is she not? She
is free to choose her own destination.
I turned on my heel and faced my
father, and all of them. Im sorry. I have
to, I said apologetically, the sadness of it
starting to get to me. I felt my hands
shaking. I looked at their confused and
shocked faces, and wondered how to
explain why I was parting ways with them
after living with them my whole life. Wed
just had an argument, but this was the
point of no return. I knew they wouldnt
shove me into my seat if I would only find
another way out. In addition, the official
had a point: I was old enough now to
decide for myself. But that didnt make it
any easier.
Its whats best. I wouldnt be
able to live with myself if I left, even if it
means leaving you. Tears were welling in
my eyes. I was about to leave the ones I
loved for the greater cause, to assist in the
saving of the Earth, and I was so torn but I
had to do what was right. I wasnt angry
at them anymore; I saw why they forbade
it so.
Mrs. Wilson, The officer
muttered impatiently. There is limited
time. The receptionist behind the desk
glared at the back of my dads head for
holding up the line, but he was completely
oblivious. He looked lost for words, like
19
SHORT STORY
he was unsure how to counter the officers
argument without sounding selfish.
Keep this, I said, setting my
precious find in my mothers hands, as her
heartbroken expression made the tears
spill over. Its real. Keep it alive as long
as you can, and remember me.
No, Sage She held the rose
gently, and reached out and gave me a
tearful hug, smiling forlornly as she fixed
my hair one last time. How could I
forget?
I turned to Lenny. Even he looked
cheerless, and hed always been a pain.
Jerk, I said with a sad smirk, punching
his arm lightly. Ill miss you. Take care of
Timmy. He stared at me, serious instead
of his usual mocking sneer, and then
yanked me into a hug. Goodbye. He
whispered.
I nodded, and before I could even
turn to him, my father engulfed me in a
bear hug. His fury was replaced with
understanding and grief. Youre right.
You should do what you think is best.
Youve grown up a hero, He mumbled,
and pulled back to look at me, my face in
his hands. Go save the world. Then he
smiled at me for the first time in months.
At last, I looked down at Timmy.
He was frowning, evidently confused,
eyes shining with inexperience as they
always did. Where are you going?
I felt a lump in my throat as I said
nothing, but only lifted him up and
hugged him close. Goodbye, Timmy. I
pressed the plastic of my mask to his small
forehead, as if to kiss it, and set him down
again, though he clung to my leg, pouting.
I heard a low rumble beneath my
feet, and a crackling from the loudspeaker.
All passengers take your seats. The
Starship Alioth is in launch.
Youd better go, My mom said
softly.
I looked at them one last time,
wiping my tears, breathing heavily.
Hesitantly, I turned my back to follow the
officer, my heart heavy in my chest and
already the feeling of loss upon me.
You are very brave, The officer
muttered, as he led me down a
passageway with incredibly pallid walls. I
didnt have the heart to reply.
Finally, we came to a heavy hatch
door, and he turned the large metal wheel
and pushed it upwards. Immediately, the
clean air that filtered to my mouth and
nose was replaced with smoke and dust.
My eyes re-adjusted to the dim light of the
outside.
I wish you much luck, The
official said, and pushed his visor back
down, giving me a small wave. I stepped
out, and he started to close the door
behind me.
Wait- I said all of a sudden, and
held it open. Whats your name?
He paused. Erik.
I attempted a smile, truly grateful
for his assistance. Thank you, Erik. Have
a wonderful trip.
He smiled back. Of course. And
the same to you, Sage Wilson.
The hatch closed with click, and
my fate was sealed.
I started to make my way down
the ramp, peering around through the
thick air. It seemed to be a special plot of
land, with small wooden cabins in neat
rows and strange machinery looming
nearby. So there were enough resources!
Well, look who it is, A kind voice
chuckled, and I turned to see Jonah seated
beside multiple large wooden crates, a few
others from SitAmet and some volunteers
standing near him.
Jonah! I exclaimed, and ran
towards him, overjoyed to see him in the
situation where everything worked out.
Hello, Sage. You chose wisely.
I gave him a high-five, matching
his grin with my own. I felt the urge to
hug him, but I held back, turning to greet
my new fellow comrades. There were
only about a dozen, and all of them looked
20
SHORT STORY
slightly down in the dumps, which I
completely understood. I was trying not to
feel that way at that very moment.
A tall man stepped out from
behind the tower of crates, with a
tarnished company suit and a stressed yet
welcoming expression. Hello, new
volunteers of Operation 406: Clean-up. My
name is Carter Davis, and Im the founder
of this program. You are all the
courageous volunteers of this state, and
for that I thank you. It is a noble choice to
stay behind when everyone else chooses to
go. I assume you are all aware of the
dangers that come with this job, and that
you have considered them before joining
us, He eyed the crowd for uneasy
expressions before continuing.
As you can see, this is camp,
where you will be staying while in our
program. Here are your uniforms, His
voice was quick like he was in a hurry. He
gave the green folded suits to one of his
employees, and she began passing them
out, along with circular helmets. Are you
ready to take your oaths? It sounded like
he was half-joking, but everyone nodded
anyway.
I took my suit with care, and put it
gently into my duffel bag. Do you think
theyre serious about the oaths? The girl
next to me whispered. She didnt look too
let down; maybe she had it easier than the
rest of us.
I shrugged. I dunno. Im just glad
to be here.
She gave me a half-smile, and
stuck her hand out. Im Harper Blythe.
I took it, surprised to be making
friends this easily. Sage Wilson.
She gestured at the boy standing
next to her, who looked to be the most
depressed of the group. This is my
friend, Sebastian May.
He looked up shyly from behind
his long black hair, and half-waved.
Hes quite sad, Harper said. He
had to leave his family behind.
I nodded in response. I did too.
He met my eyes again, and we
shared a moment of mutual consideration.
Glad to see youre all getting to
know each other, Mr. Davis interrupted,
re-catching all of our attention. But Ive
got to get to the next state over fairly soon,
so Ill leave you to it. Jonah, will you do
the honors?
Jonah nodded proudly and
climbed up on a crate, so he could see all
of us. He shot me a wink before raising his
right hand. Repeat after me, He waited a
moment before continuing. I, Jonah
Weatherhill, vow to do all in my effort to
rebuild the once-green Earth, to repay
nature with my services, and to make a
difference in our world.
I smiled at Harper and Sebastian,
and then locked my eyes on Jonah. I took
a deep breath and raised my hand. This is
what I had been waiting for, what I fought
for and sacrificed for. I was going to
finally do my duty, and every word of the
oath would ring true in my name. The
hope Id always felt was rising, becoming
not a distant daydream but the real-time
present.
I, Sage Wilson, vow to do all in
my effort to rebuild the once-green Earth,
to repay nature with my services, and to
make a difference in our world.
As I recited the last words of the
promise, I looked up just in time to see the
starship taking off, the fire from the
engines propelling warmth in all
directions. It was hard to see through the
thick white smoke, but I was sure I saw
my family waving at me from one of the
massive windows.
And so, after that life-changing
day, I began my journey. Working with
SitAmet, we removed the waste from the
land and properly disposed of it, we
filtered the air and planted trees, drained
lakes and rivers and refilled them with
uncontaminated water, restoring
ecosystems that should have never been
21
SHORT STORY
abolished in the first place. For the first
time in my life I saw green coming from
the ground, I felt rays of sunlight on my
skin.
The people on the volunteer team,
we became as close as family. We didnt
just survive the difficult situation we were
put in, we lived. Though it wasnt the best
life to be living, and we often thought of
the luxury the rest of the population must
be experiencing up in space, we had fun
while we did our job. We bonded and
shared experiences helped each other out.
We were a fully-fledged green-squad, with
the goal to bring springtime back to the
Earth.
My favorite time was when, in my
town, we had cleared the air enough that
it was safe to remove our helmets and
breathe deeply the air we were born to
breathe. We felt the wind on our cheeks,
and lay in the grass we had planted,
counting how many stars we had
managed to free from the clouded
atmosphere. That was the first time, out of
pure intention and in the moment of joy,
Jonah kissed me.
Five years later, I married the man
who showed me courage and the path of
the wise, my friends by my sides, the key
to freedom and opportunity in my hand. It
was the happiest Id ever been, the
happiest Id ever be. Such a righteous job I
was given, each day a new success in the
rebirth of our planet.
But that was so long ago. The year
2125 ended in rejoicing, and so did several
years after that. But now, not all is as well
as it was back then. For ten years Ive
remained here, my vast and rewarding
task set before me. We have returned the
environment in and around my town to its
purest state, and for two months weve
been working on the park.
Our job is as difficult and
dangerous as we were warned. We work
with machinery and toxic chemicals every
day, risking illness and injury and often
death. Much to our dismay, weve lost
several of our original party including
Harper and Sebastian both. They are
buried under a newly-planted maple
sapling in the center of Central Park, as
Ive come to know it is called. We will
continue to rebuild it, but we will never
touch the graves of those who fell in
fighting for the Earths revival, our friends
and dear companions through the years.
Someday, I will lie beside them
someday all too soon. I myself have been
infected with an illness of environmental
corruption, from inhaling and handling
the toxins involved in neutralizing the air
and the water. My only wish is that upon
my grave, white roses with pink tips be
planted, in memory of my family and of
the resilience of the participants of
Operation 406.
I have done my part as much as I
was able to, for now I am bed-ridden and
unable to breathe properly even in fresh
air. I still have hope even on my deathbed,
as I believe in the others and of how far
they may go. I believe in Jonah. He will
lead them as long as he draws breath. I am
not upset about my leaving of this world,
because I have fulfilled what I was meant
to do, I achieved my dreams way back on
that cloudy day in 2125. I dont need to be
remembered, because the only thing that
will matter to me as the light leaves my
eyes is that my name is Sage Wilson, and I
did make a difference.


22
SHORT STORY
Burping with Royalty
Carl Wedell-Wedellsborg

BUUUUUUUURRRP
All the members of the cabinet stared at
the queen, some with incredulity, others
simply because the length and volume of
the burp had been quite impressive. No
one knew what to say. One would
normally have expected the queen to say
excuse me or pardon or sorry or
shit, but she had chosen to remain silent.
She had also locked eyes with the Lord
Chancellor, who felt thoroughly
emasculated by the queens impressive
display. He was also shocked to discover
that Prime Minister had chosen to follow
her example as he leaned over the table
and stared directly at the queen.
BUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRP,
the Prime Minister finished and sat down
once again, looking strangely satisfied for
a man who had just burped in front of
some the most elite men in the country.
What a strange afternoon this has been,
thought the Lord Chancellor. First my
jacket was missing a button and now the
entirety of the cabinet appears to be
burping rather loudly. Wonderful!
Indeed, almost all the members had begun
burping, some even going so far as to
stand on the table and bang their chest to
attract attention. The Paymaster General
was currently in the process of strangling
the President of the Board of Trade with
his tie, whilst the Secretary of State for
Health began gnawing at his foot. The
Queen had produced a shiv from
underneath her hat and subsequently
began using it on the Chancellor of the
Exchequer. It was roughly at this point in
time that the Secretary of State for Energy
and Climate Change leaned over to the
Lord Chancellor and began speaking to
him.
Do you have any idea why they
might have started burping?
I do not. However, it would seem they
are still capable of understanding one
another.
So they still understand each
other then?
It would appear so.
But theyre still fighting,
regardless?
Yes, well you can take the animal
out of the jungle, but you cant take the
jungle out of the animal!
Whats that supposed to mean?
That theyre all a bunch of twats.
Ah. The Secretary pondered for a
moment before speaking again.
So if they still understand each
other, but we dont understand them, do
you suppose they dont understand us?
Id say thats a reasonable
assumption to make.
Huh. Do you want to, uh, score
some coke, then. The Lord Chancellor
considered this for a moment.
Yeah, alright.

Nishita Ramrakhyani
23
SHORT STORY
Human Compassion
Sydney Evans

IT WAS SATURDAY evening, and Teagan
Thatch had never been so bored in her life.
She lay on her bed with her head hanging
off the edge, letting the blood rush to her
skull. There was absolutely nothing that
she was interested in doing, except maybe
seeing how long she could hang upside
down before passing out. Everyone in her
family was busy, so she was completely
alone. Her younger brother, Matt, was
upstairs screaming at the television,
probably because he was still losing his
video games. Teagans sisters, Abigail and
Kristi, were off at another sleepover, and
her oldest brother, Sam, was at a sports
game with her dad. Her mother was
almost unheard of, hidden in her home-
office, waist deep in paperwork.
Teagan had already finished her
chores and homework, nothing good was
on TV, and worst of all, the internet was
down, as it had been for the past three
days. That, and the fact that she was
grounded from using her phone, made it
difficult to contact and meet up with her
friends.
Her neck had started to ache from
being bent over the edge of the mattress,
and she began to feel dizzy. She closed her
eyes anyway, feeling too lazy to sit up.
Outside the window just beside
Teagans bed, the last rays of sunlight
were passing through the trees in her
spacious backyard. And, just as the sky
grew darker and the stars became visible,
something like a comet could be seen
sailing through the atmosphere.
Approximately fifteen minutes
later, Teagan had surprisingly fallen
asleep in the uncomfortable position she
was in. A loud crunching noise from
outside woke her, followed by the slight
smell of smoke. She immediately shot into
a sitting position, and groaned from the
pain in her head. Squinting in the
lamplight of her room, she glanced out the
window.
Through the glare on the glass, she
could just barely make out the outline of a
person, and a large object that was
lopsided and smoking. The person
stumbled, and landed hard in the grass.
Teagan rubbed her eyes, and her
vision confirmed that what she saw was
really there.
She shakily stood up from her bed, and
shoved on some slippers. Mom, She
called, theres someone in the backyard!
After a few minutes of silence, she
finally got a half-hearted reply. Oh, yes
honey-- its probably your father at the
back door, go let him in, Mrs. Thatch
said. She was apparently too busy to give
the situation a second thought.
Teagan shook her head, knowing
her father would come in through the
front door, as the driveway was in front of
the house. It would make no sense if he
came around the back, because that would
require hopping a fence. She guessed Matt
was probably asleep, so she decided shed
have to go and check it out by herself.
She walked through the living
room and approached the back door,
grabbing a flashlight and a jacket as she
went. Then, she slowly crept out onto the
back porch.
From where she was, she couldnt
see anything, not even the large object she
had seen from her window. She was about
to turn on the flashlight, when the moon
slid out from the navy clouds, revealing
the entire scene.
Teagan didnt believe what she
saw.
The object was an oval-shaped
machine of some sort, and it was horribly
beat up and broken. Cords hung out of the
cracks and dents in the metal-like material,
and small electric shocks zapped around
the structure.
24
SHORT STORY
Beside the machine was the
silhouette she had seen from the window.
Except, it wasnt at all what she had
assumed.
The humanoid thing was
whimpering in agony, its glossy tar-like
skin shimmering in the moonlight. It was
laying face down on the grass, and its
body was trembling. On its head, were
strands of silvery hair, and not too far
from where the forehead would be, were
two long, bug-like antennas.
Teagan tried to make a sound, but nothing
came from her mouth. She was frozen as
she watched the creature try to stand up.
Before she could move closer, the
clouds once again covered her light
source. The flashlight had long since fallen
out of her hand, and rolled away into the
yard.
She waited several minutes in the
darkness, immobilized by fear and shock,
until the moon shone again. What she saw
now, she might be able to accept. In the
place of the strange creature, there was a
boy; a human boy. He was shaking and
twitching just as the creature had been,
and there was dark liquid smeared on his
clothes and arms. Teagan could tell he was
obviously injured, but she didnt know if
she should go near him or not. He could
be dangerous. She stayed where she was,
and spoke to him instead.
Wh-Who are you? She asked in a
shrill voice.
The boy huffed, and rolled himself
over with his foot, lifting his head slightly
to fix his eyes on the girl.
I come in peace. He said
smoothly and calmly, despite his stricken
condition.
I-I asked who you were, and
youd better tell me right now! Teagan
said, more boldly this time, as she made a
mental note of the shovel that leaned on
the nearby storage shed.
That is quite a polite way to
welcome me to your realm. I would
thoroughly enjoy to be hit with a sharp,
heavy object. He replied sarcastically.
Teagans eyes widened with even more
fear than before. It was like he had read
her mind.
She watched as he let his head
drop back to the ground, his body grew
limp, and his breathing slowed. Seeing as
he was too weak to even stand up, she
didnt feel too intimidated to approach
him now. She walked off the porch and
through the tall grass, to where he lay.
She knelt beside him. He was
covered in sweat from the strain, and his
eyes were closing. In a few seconds, he
was out cold.
The puzzled girl stared at him, a
million questions running through her
head. She thought for a second, going over
the details of the situation.
The creature she had seen before,
the things this boy was saying, the
destroyed machine, it made no sense to
her. It was like he was some other-worldly
creature.
After taking quite a while to get
over her shock, Teagan checked her watch.
Her dad and brother would be home in
the next twenty minutes at the most, and
she had to somehow hide the evidence
that a strange boy had nearly set fire to the
entire backyard.
She lifted herself from her kneeling
position and rubbed her sore knees. She
glanced at the unnamed person on her
lawn, who was still completely
unconscious. Carefully, she walked
around him through the grass, towards
the machine that towered over her. She
circled it, inspecting the surface and how
much damage it had actually done.
The grass that poked out from
under the machine was burnt to a crisp.
That must mean that now, there was a
huge black circle in the middle of the
backyard that Teagans dad would notice
for sure.
25
SHORT STORY
She couldnt explain what really
happened. Theyd think she was crazy. At
this point, she was still contemplating if
that was the case or not. She just had a
feeling that helping him was the right
thing to do.
Ill think of something, She
mumbled aloud, before returning to the
boy. Not to panic
She paced in front of the scene,
crossing her arms nervously. She didnt
want to admit it, but the only option she
had was to push the machine into the
bushes and haul the boy into her room
and hide him until she came up with
another solution.
She had to talk to him and figure
out if her assumption was true. She still
had a lingering fear of him; he could be
baneful. Especially if he really was some
sort of inhuman and unearthly being.
She walked hesitantly back to the
machine, and attempted to push it. It was
extremely heavy, and the electrical sparks
shocked her fingers. She let out a
frustrated grumble and shoved it one
more time, and it surprisingly fell over
with a loud thud.
She sighed in relief, and started to roll it
into the hedge by the pool.
What are you--!
Teagan jumped and whipped around. The
boy was sitting up, his face twisted in
annoyance and pain.
Be quiet! Teagan squealed, freezing in
alarm.
There was the sound of a car
parking in the driveway, and the distant
chattering of Mr. Thatch and his son.
Teagan nearly screamed in anxiety.
She gave the machine one last shove and it
disappeared into the bushes, before
sprinting back to the boy and yanking him
up by his arm.
I demand to know what you are-
She ignored his protests and
dragged his flailing form onto the porch
and through the back door, just as she
heard the jingling keys at the front of the
house.
She made it to her room with her hand
clamped over the boys mouth, and
pushed him into her closet.
Stay put and dont make noise!
She then flopped on her bed and
grabbed a book from her nightstand and
pretended to be reading it.
Hey, Teag. Mr. Thatch said,
poking his head in the doorframe.
Oh, hi dad, Teagan said,
attempting to look relaxed and very
interested in her book. How was the
game?
Eh. We lost. Sam was pretty
bummed. But it was still fun, He replied
with a smile. Im off to bed. You should
consider not reading upside down, its
pretty hard to read that way.
Teagan blinked and frowned at
him, glancing down at the book. She was
about to give an excuse, but he was
already headed up the stairs, still
chuckling.
Once he was gone, she closed and
locked her door, standing awkwardly
outside the closet.
H-Hello..? She murmured at the
white-painted door.
Yes, hello, I am still here and I
cannot breathe! The boy said.
Oh! Teagan exclaimed, and
pulled on the handle.
The boy fell into a heap on the
carpet, groaning and huffing. She shrieked
and dove onto her bed, grabbing an
umbrella from her nightstand drawer and
holding it in front of herself defensively.
Youre lucky I didnt tell anyone
that I found you! Now tell me who you
are. She said firmly, locking her eyes with
his.
He sighed and winced as he
touched the cut on his back. If I tell you,
you must heal me.
26
SHORT STORY
Fine, Teagan agreed, after a long pause
of trying to understand what he meant by
heal.
You must be silent while I speak.
Do not interrupt.
I wont, She frowned at this.
He took a deep breath. I am Atto,
of Korga, and I have come across your
world from afar. I know not how, but my
true form was disguised and I now appear
like you. Please, put down the rain-catcher
and assist me as I would you if your kind
were to crash on my planet
Teagan gaped. Youre joking, she
let out a half-chuckle. Thats impossible.
You interrupted.
Well I
Atto crawled weakly to her
bedside and grabbed her ankle before she
scrambled away.
I sense thoughts, and I can see the
future. If you do not help me return home,
danger may descend on your people. I
know you are called Teagan Thatch, and
my coming across your dwelling was not
without reason.
His eyes were wide and pleading,
and there was a warning in his voice.
Teagan was breathing hard, and
having a mental meltdown. She so badly
wanted to speak but was afraid of the
consequence.
Yes, you may now respond, Atto
said, smiling faintly at her reaction.
Youre an extraterrestrial?! She
blurted out, flinching her foot away from
him.
Well that is what you think of me,
but I assure you, it is how I see you as
well. Now if you dont mind, my back is
bleeding profusely and I would like some
help, please.
Umuhokay, Teagan
muttered, rubbing her temples as she tried
to think. So he wasnt a human. He was an
alien. An alien was in her room. On the
floor. Dying.
She jumped up from her bed and
scrambled frantically to the cupboard in
the hall, grabbing a first aid kit and a
towel.
You are being awfully loud, Atto
remarked, from where he was sprawled at
the foot of the bed.
S-Shut up! Its a lot to handle!
She scurried back into the room and
crouched next to him, her eyes wild with
unease.
He lifted off his bloodstained shirt,
revealing a huge scrape between his
shoulder blades.
You humans are so frail! In my
own form I would have healed by now,
he remarked, rolling his eyes.
With shaky hands, Teagan cleaned
his wound. She was surprised of how
tolerant he was to antiseptic.
So... She said, attempting to make
conversation. She was obviously curious
about how this alien had come to earth,
and what his abilities were. She was still
panicking, and slightly afraid that all of
this was her imagination acting up. How
did you change into a human? I..I saw
your other form, but I didnt believe it at
first.
Atto laughed softly.
What? She asked, frowning.
That, I do not know. It seems I
have a new talent, or there was a
mechanism inside my pod that
transformed me to look like the natives of
any planet I landed on. Ah yes, I do
remember, my companion Metari was
researching that idea.
I... see. Whats your home like?
Teagan began to bandage the bleeding
scrape, wrapping gauze around Attos
back.
You have many questions. I
promise to answer all of them, but at the
moment I am quite tired.
I can tell. Sorry. She said, fastening the
bandage and giving him her brothers old
shirt to wear.
27
SHORT STORY
What now will you do with me?
Atto asked, looking up at Teagan
innocently.
Teagan sighed and finished cleaning up
the first aid mess, proceeding to pace in
front of her dresser. Although she had
started to accept the situation she had
gotten herself into, she still had no plan.
She stopped and looked at him.
Youre going to have to stay with me,
arent you?
He nodded. You took me in. As I
said, since you discovered me, you must
help me get home. But you must not
inform the other humans of my presence.
There could be talk!
Yes, yes, I know. She grumbled,
hanging her head.
I would much like the bed in the
closet. As long as the door is open this
time.
Teagan scoffed. He had read her mind
again.
Ill make you a bed there. You
have to be quiet. We can figure this out in
the morning, she said anxiously.
And so Teagan rushed about and
made a makeshift bed for Atto on the floor
of the walk-in closet, and though she tried
to ignore her worries, they returned often.
Eventually she had gotten the creature to
settle down and rest, and she too turned
off the lights and tried to sleep. It will all
make sense in the morning, she thought to
herself. Hopefully.
What a traumatic day.
Teagan,
Attos whisper broke the silence and
shattered the girls thoughts.
What? She said, almost in
annoyance. It was the third time he had
done that, he was like an over-excited
child.
Thank you for helping me.
There was a short pause as Teagan was
taken aback that it wasnt a strange
question about her species.
Oh... youre... um, welcome.
Such compassion humans are
capable of showing. I do believe you are
one of the special ones. I am glad it was
you that found me.
Teagan sighed contently and said
nothing, and neither did Atto. She stared
at the ceiling and thought, Im glad I did
too, but why did I actually help him? He
was a stranger.
An answer never came. It was
comfortable silence as they both drifted off
to sleep, their dreams predicting what
adventures they would have. It was clear
now to both of them that they would go
through a lot together, and though their
meeting was quite odd, from it would
form an intergalactic friendship.


Yan Poinssot
28
SHORT STORY

ARSENIC GFAJ-1
(The Opening)
Le Dung

MONDAY, 23RD OF May. As usual,
another sunny day in Los Angeles. Dr.
Jeremy Hopper, head bacteriologist of the
Anti Bio-warfare and contamination
Department, was packing up his suitcase
for a vacation.
Unfortunately, his plan was
cancelled.
The whole city, probably the whole
of California, the whole United States, or
even the whole world, heeded a red-alert
warning.
During the previous hour, a huge
number of arsenicosis cases happening
around the world had been reported. In
particular, in Los Angeles, nearly five
hundred were hospitalized with severe
symptoms of arsenic poisoning, and
among them, fifty fatalities.
Currently, the number of cases had
tripled, increasing to fifteen hundreds, and
all hospitals within the city were already
crowded. The fatality rate of the outbreak
tended to be increasing every minute.
Dr. Hopper arrived at his office as
demanded by the government, who put
him in charge of research to find a solution
to the ongoing problem. Meanwhile, the
outbreak was on its route of spreading
and progressing to become more virulent,
although those terminologies were more
appropriate to be used for a biological
warfare. In this case, it was rather acute
poisoning over a large population. It
remained an unanswered mysterious
puzzle.
"Dr. Hopper, can you please
explain what is going on?" asked
Kimberly, one of the interviewers from the
Los Angeles Times. She was the earliest
person who knew that Hopper was
commissioned to solve this problem
involving national, and perhaps even
international, security, and as a result, she
was the first one to arrive at the
Department, she was finally allowed by
Hopper to interview him in his office.
"I would say that I don't have
much to say right now!" said Hopper
tiredly. "The outbreak of poisoning has
never been a similar issue, since it's a
combination of poisoning, but which
spreads quickly like an infectious disease.
These complications arise and I have so far
not a single hint about what is happening
right now!"
"We see your point, but can you
give a theory?" asked Kimberly. She might
have acknowledged the fact that Hopper,
losing his opportunity to get a nice
vacation, plus the heat that was
overwhelming L.A right now, plus the fact
that she had been asking Hopper
questions for nearly half-an-hour, was
becoming angry and that anger seemed to
be reviving Hopper's original
stubbornness that terminated their
relationship three years ago.
And, as guessed, Hopper
completely lost control of his temper. He
stood up from the table and gave a terrible
remark.
"I said I have nothing in my head
about this right now, so do you mind
stopping your non-sense and get out of
here?" It seemed he didn't notice his
impolite, even rude behavior.
Feeling helpless, and a bit shocked
as well, Kim waved her hand toward the
cameraman, and they both left Hopper's
office.
Hopper didn't cool down, even
twenty minutes after he shouted at his ex-
love-interest, when he came into his
laboratory.
"Is there something you have
found?" he asked him Billy, a member of
his staff.
29
SHORT STORY
"Nothing yet, sir. You and I, we
both haven't seen this sort of phenomenon
before!" replied Billy.
"Must be some sort of terrorist act.
This can't be anywhere close to natural
causes!" stated Hopper. Unknown to any
of his staff, Hopper had been and was still
in the process of interrogating a group of
Iranians, who were previously captured
for their possession of some chemicals that
were feared by the U.S to have been
materials for a chemical warfare.
It turned out that those chemicals
weren't harmful and they were part of
Iranian industrial development to treat
petroleum in mechanical manufacturing.
However, Hopper, being commissioned to
research those chemicals possessed by
interrogated suspects, developed an
explicable hostility toward that Iranian
group.
For that matter, he repeatedly
referred to those Iranians, who were
released after that time, as terrorists who
were spreading the plague over the United
States as chemical warfare. And although
the group of Iranians strongly denied any
involvement with this strange outbreak
the U.S government lacked evidence to
accuse or arrest them and Hopper still
considered them the threat.
Focusing too heavily on a terrorist
act, Hopper's mind became closed and
literally unstable. That was the cause of
the ruckus in the lab as soon as Hopper
was about to leave.
As soon as Hopper walked away
from Billy's corner, Billy dropped one of
the sampling plates of the body fluid
collected from the dead bodies, as the
government had permitted the
Department to access any possible and
relevant resource to give a definite
solution.
The sample was spilled all over the
place, and Billy, in haste to catch the plate,
accidentally knocked down a ethanoic
acid container, which then broke and
spilled on top of the already-spilled
sample.
"What the hell did you just do,
Billy?" an enraged Hopper returned to the
corner. "You spoiled one of our samples
that supposed to be very important to our
research!"
"I'm so sorry, sir! It was an
accident!" Billy apologized and quickly
leaned down to pick up the glass pieces,
during which he suddenly noticed
something solid and shiny among the
transparent beads of glass. "Sir, take a look
at this!"
"I don't have time for more of your
childish nonsense!" yelled Hopper. "Clean
it up and get out of here!"
"But sir, this is urgent!" exclaimed
Billy, trying to get Hopper's attention to
his discovery, but it was eventually
wasted. Hopper remained ignorant.
"Talk less, hurry up and clean this
up! What urgent is that you'll lose your job
if you don't finish this in a minute!"
That ended the morning. Helpless
and noisy.
In the afternoon, Hopper worked
alone. He was simply obsessed with the
idea of terrorism; he sent letter convincing
the higher governmental headquarter to
keep an eye on the group of Iranians.
Afterward, he spent five hours
working without any sign of a positive
result. All of his attempts at trying to find
evidence of a terrorist attack using arsenic
poisoning failed.
On top of all this, his lighter was
unable to light up his cigarette. Hopper
angrily threw it into the bin. At that
moment, he suddenly noticed an annoying
smell around in the lab. It smelled like
rotten garlic, which drove an already
angry Hopper even crazier.
He picked up the bin and headed
out to empty it.
As he flipped it over, he saw
something shiny falling out of the bin,
which strongly refracted the bright light in
30
SHORT STORY
the afternoon. He focused his eyes onto
those beads, and combining with their
smell when burnt by the lighter he had
previously tossed into the bin, he quickly
identified these beads as arsenic trioxide
solid.
He suddenly realized something
that he might have missed. He rushed
back into the lab and opened up the
fridge, picking up the plates that
contained the body fluid samples. His
biologist's intuition suddenly gave him a
hint of what was going on.
On the plates, at first, under
microscopic view, he saw nothing like
arsenic beads that could possibly cause the
poisoning, but instead he realized there
was a strange bacterium. He introduced
some ethanoic acid, as Billy inadvertently
had done in the morning. Secondary
observation revealed that the bacterium
was susceptible to the acid's anti-bacterial
chemistry. As soon as they died out, now
Hopper saw tiny beads, and chemical
analysis further confirmed that those
beads were really arsenic.
This was, conclusively, a mutated
strain of bacteria that carried arsenic
compounds inside their cellular structure,
and when they were killed by any anti-
bacterial activity, their cells disintegrated
and released arsenic, causing acute
poisoning and death within minutes.
Initially, Hopper tried to find a connection
to attribute this to a terrorist act of using
artificially modified pathogenic
organisms. However, considering the
fragility of these bacteria, how easily and
susceptible they were to any slight
changes in environmental conditions,
Hopper discarded this idea.
He finally came to conclude that
the cause should be from water sources,
which released this potentially deadly
bacteria into the water network.
At that time, a report on Los
Angeles Times was broadcast on TV, with
Kimberly as the reporter. "The outbreak
had now spread throughout the entire
continent. During the previous six hours,
hundreds of thousands of new cases had
been reported, and 30% of those had
died..."
Hopper listened to the broadcast in
shock and dismay. Six hours was the
amount of time he could have listened to
Billy, abandoned the idea of terrorism, and
searched for a cure and the problem could
have been solved just on time so that the
outbreak wouldn't have proceeded this
far.
He sat there, silent and
motionless...

Oona Tiirakari
31
SHORT STORY
Perception
Victoria Sosnovtseva

THE HUMAN EYE cannot see. It is
anatomically impossible for the human species
to see, due to an anomaly in the evolution of
the eye. Please repeat after me, the human eye
cannot see...
A row of mouths moved to
produce the right combination of sounds,
to make that appear the truth. I mouthed
too, but I couldn't bring myself to say it
out loud. I couldn't lie. I knew the teacher
was lying, because I could see. I could see
so many beautiful things; ladybugs on
green grass, clouds formed as enigmas on
a blue background and eye lids, unique
peach colored eyelids. Yet here he was
telling me that I couldn't see, and that was
the truth? The absolute indisputable truth?
The first time I opened my eyes I
screamed and screamed and screamed
until it started bothering them, so they
took me to the counselor. By them, I mean
the community. They never did ask me
why I was screaming. I ran my arm up the
leather chair he made me sit in and felt its
coolness on the sweaty palm of my hand,
wondering why it felt so impersonal, like
it secretly pretended I wasn't there.
What seems to be the problem
Alanna?
A: I can see
No you can't
A: Everyone tells me that I can't
Then you can't
A: Can you see?
Yes
A: Do you see?
No
A: If you can see why do you not
open your eyes?
Because I can't see. It's been an
hour, I'll see you next week
A: You'll see me?
No
As I walked back from his office
down the cold metal railway, I wandered
if it had always been like this; such cold
impersonality like the chair in the
counselor's office. You are stuck sitting in
it so you have to accept it, but you always
feel like something could be different,
better, stronger. Perhaps when people saw
each other it wasn't like this. Perhaps
when we could glimpse each other's eyes
we couldn't hate each other so much. I
tripped on a stone.
I shuffled it around with my foot
for a while sitting there, alone and empty,
on the railway that extended to infinity. I
decided to take off my shoes so that I
could feel the stone's rough edges against
my skin, to feel its realness and solidity.
We weren't allowed to own things in the
community, because they told us that if
we did, we would become attached to a
world that wasn't ours. They told us over
and over again, the dry voice of the
professor crackling in our ears like
firecrackers on New Year's Eve, so that we
would never forget, never slip up.
After a while I picked up the rock
and slid it into my pocket. I put on my
shoes and followed the railroad to the
community home. Who would ever
suspect I was the type who stopped.
My brother.
We lay in the tree house side by
side, looking up at the light rushing into
our eyes through the gentle green leaves. I
knew it would be the last time I would
hear his uneven breathing in beat with
mine, yet somehow all I could focus on
was the rough texture of the wood under
my hand. Slowly closed my eyes and ran
my hand over the tiny bumps that so often
go unnoticed, and wandered for the
millionth time what my life would be like
without my brother.
He watched me run my hand over
the wood.
32
SHORT STORY
You aways had a thing for touch
My hand flinched away. I looked
into the clear eyes I was so used to seeing
in the mirror. I didn't smile even though it
felt like the right thing to do.
Time to go
A. A little longer
No Alanna, we have to go
A. It won't feel the same without
you
He took my hand and guided it
against a crooked crack in the cold wood.
Sure it will
He jumped up with a certain
clumsy elegance and stood staring at me
with a smirk on his face that suddenly
made me feel silly, lying like some small
child splattered on the dirty floor of the
tree house. Our tree house. He reached out
his hand and without hesitation I took it.
His hand felt smooth against my rough
one. He hauled me up so fast that the
wind rushed through my ears, cleared my
head.
Take me
A: Why risk everything, just to
draw wrinkles on some old fart's face?
Gives me an excuse to stare at
people all day;who could wish for more?
A: Are you serious?
Are you?
I closed my eyes and gently ran my
hand over the cold metal casing of the
sword and felt an excitement rush through
me, as if I were touching a nerve in my
own body. It is such a satisfaction to feel
an object before you can see it. It enters
your imagination as something unique; it
becomes yours, shaped to your own
image.
I cherished the darkness before my
eyes, because I knew that when they
opened them there would be nothing
around me but a green summer emptiness.
All he wanted was to draw people;
especially the eyes. I always looked at his
when he drew, and there was a light in
them, like he wanted to portray a beauty
that would stand beyond the railway of
eternity.
My hand closed around the sword
in a gentle grip and I opened my eyes, no
longer searching for him in every corner,
no longer remembering him, because he
never existed. I never had a brother. I
marched across the creaking wood no
longer wandering what every inch felt like
and jumped onto the grass below,
beginning to gallop as soon as my feet felt
the spongy strength of the earth.
I had no reason to run, but I ran
anyway, even though the sword felt
awkward and misplaced in my hand. It
made me feel like I was beginning
something new, something new and
important. I would do something yet....
Something hit me from the side;
Bucker! What the hell!
Well damn Alanna you were
running so fast I had to! I was worried
about you ok I mean I see you ditch class
you don't tell me where you are going, I
see you with some strange guy Bucker
got worried ok! I mean I know you got
your own life but I worry about your
safety. What if you got attacked? And they
asked me to testify and....
Bucker
Yeah?
Shut up.
I stood up brushing myself down,
annoyed that I had let Bucker of all people
ambush me, not letting him see how
scared I had been when I had thought it
was them.
My verdict was clear:
LEAVE ME ALONE
I picked up the sword, made a
menacing gesture in his general direction
and started walking away.

What were you doing? Who was
that guy? Aren't you scared you'll get in
trouble?
I stopped. I looked at him again,
lying on the ground looking like a tiny
33
SHORT STORY
adventurous kitten that had fallen out of a
tree. I softened.
I saw something
Bucker shut up for a while after
that, though he didn't stop following me.
He kinda reminded me of my brother.
Except he doesn't exist anymore, so I guess
he doesn't remind me of anyone anymore.
We walked for a while. I wandered
if he ever opened his eyes in secret like I
did, and peaked at the sky. It was so blue,
but sometimes it was gray, and sometimes
it wasn't even a color but a feeling, a
beautiful passionate feeling above me. I
wandered if he had ever opened his eyes
lying on the grass and for a few seconds
seen the unfocused image of thin green
blades waving in the wind. I had done
that once, and there was a ladybug. It was
red and had three black spots on its back. I
could never tell anyone about that.
Bucker do you ever...
Yeah?
Nothing
We walked on. Alone.
That was before the counselor.
I reached the community home
three hours late, marched dutifully back
by the cold metal hand of the railway.
Bucker opened the door for me, quietly
tiptoeing me through the labyrinth of beds
in a single room the size of a football field.
I knew we couldn't talk till we were in bed
under the covers. Safe.
Where were you Alanna?
I was walking down the railway
You stopped didn't you?
Of course he would know.
Yes
You can't stop. You can never
stop. You know what happens to those
who waver from the path
I didn't waver
Yes you did
Ok so I did, so what?
You'll be killed
I''ll kill them back
Why?
I hate them, but I want to love
them. That's why
He was quiet for a while, and I had
almost fallen asleep when I felt salty tears
run down my arm. I realized with a tinge
of surprise that my eyes were dry.
That was a year ago. Bucker
doesn't exist anymore. And neither do I.

Isabelle Houle
34
SHORT STORY

The Connection
Adelaide Powell

EVERYDAY ANGELA CASEY caught the
morning train, going into the third car and
sitting facing the rest of the compartment.
Angelas station was the first on the line so
she was always able to get the same spot,
the first window seat. Over the past few
years it had appeared to Angela that other
people also followed their own routine.
Along with Angela, a bookish
middle-aged woman with horn-rimmed
glasses came into compartment number
three and sat at the opposite end. Angela
had named her The Librarian for her
varied and numerous reading materials
and matronly looks. Today Salingers
Nine Stories was on the menu, and
Angela assumed that Strangers on a
Train must have been finished over the
weekend.
Angela shifted her focus to the
other member of the compartment, elderly
Mrs. Stich. As usual the woman was
pawing through her tattered, brown
canvas tote bag. Right on the dot Mrs.
Stichs knitting equipment broke free from
the entangled mess and she continued
making progress on what appeared to be
yellow childrens booties.
Angela turned to look out the
window. The train left the station and
scooted along towards the city. The rain
pitter-pattered against her view of the
outside world, streaking the blur of trees
and sky. Except for the fat drops sliding
across the windows, the ride could have
taken place on any other day, it seemed.
The predictable and monotonous
journey had begun to wear on Angela.
Same people, same actions, and same
scenery she thought. Reading and doing
homework was out of the question for
Angela who easily succumbed to motion
sickness. Listening to music became
tiresome and Angela was not a girl whose
cellphone was like the extension of her
arm. Observing was something Angela
had enjoyed since she was little, but
feeling like she had become so familiar
with her surroundings, she had grown
bored. There was, however, one passenger
who continued to mystify Angela.
The train slowed to the next
station and Angela knew, just like she
knew that she spit after brushing her teeth,
who would be joining her company. Yes,
this was the stop of the Terrible Two and
the unfortunate Nanny. Every morning
the twin girls, a few years younger than
Angela, stumbled into compartment three
followed by a plump caretaker hauling
enormous matching monogrammed pink
duffel bags, overflowing with toys, books,
and gossip magazines. The girls sat across
from Angela with Nanny in the row
beside them.
The quiet of the car quickly
vanished and was replaced by the familiar
sound of the twins arguing relentlessly
about nothing. This time the debate
centered on who could hold the new
stuffed animal. Nanny had closed her eyes
for a moment of respite until Thing 1,
victorious in the battle, hit her over the
head with the furry, purple
hippopotamus.
The chaos quelled just as the next
station pulled into view and as per usual
the group gathered themselves to get off.
Angela had always wondered why they
only went one stop; perhaps they caught
another connecting train.
Nevertheless her question went
unanswered as the troop exited. Angela
glanced up and down the platform as the
train slowed to envelop more commuters.
No sign yet, maybe at the next station,
Angela concluded.
Angela peered back at the doors,
awaiting the prompt arrival of Mr. and
Mrs. Always Professional. A black
35
SHORT STORY
briefcase swung through the sliding doors,
proceeding Mr. Always Professionals
entrance. Today he was dressed in a black
pinstriped suit with a crisp white buttoned
down shirt and Mrs. Always Professional
followed in an ensemble just as tailored
and slick. Angela noticed The Librarian
glance at the Mrs. high-heeled black boots
and turn back to her book.
The Always Professionals sat
across from each other in the seats
opposite Angela. Mr. A.P. seized the
newspaper left in the seat pocket next to
him and buried himself in the current
affairs of the world. Mrs. A.P. pulled out
her Blackberry and thumbed some quick
messages.
Angela turned to watch the other
travelers from the rain-striped windows
reflection and momentarily left the train
thinking about what the rest of her day
was going to hold. The voice of the
conductor brought her back and informed
her that the next stop was seconds away.
Scanning the advertisements and
safety warnings in the car, Angela did not
notice The Librarian leave, although she
had known this was her stop. Angela also
failed to spot The Girl until she was seated
diagonally across from her.
So it was going to be this stop
today, Angela thought. Over the past year
Angela had witnessed The Girl get on and
off at just about every station. The Girl
never did anything besides gaze out the
window or at the others in the train and
she never seemed to sit in the same seat.
Angela realized she had not named The
Girl, nor had she ever spoken to her.
Angela did not speak with the other
passengers, not purposefully but because
it did not occur to her to strike up
conversation.
Angela was contemplating this
when the next station pulled into sight.
Muscle Man would soon appear on the
platform, barging into car three with his
sporty backpack and sack of soccer balls.
College Boy would be anxiously awaiting
the train with his back hunched from the
weight of the textbooks in his bag. At the
next stop Mr. and Mrs. Always
Professional would depart for their work,
and one stop later Mrs. Stich and Angela
would be on their way. Where would The
Girl be going today, Angela wondered. As
the train decelerated to stop, Angelas
question was answered.
Angelas eyes followed The Girl as
she rose and moved to the door. Angela
felt herself leaving her seat and going
towards the exit. Noticing the eyes of the
compartment three members on her,
Angela smiled.
The doors clicked open and Angela
followed The Girl onto the platform.
Angela realized it had stopped raining.
After speeding up to catch her, Angela
tapped The Girl on her shoulder.
Hi, Im Angela. Whats your
name?




Adam Riis

36
SHORT STORY
After Weeks of Travelling
Tosia Tamborska

NOVEMBER 19TH, 1526
After weeks of travelling, Piloto
Mayor finally arrived and docked in the port of
Tumbes. The numbers of ill on the ship reached
12, making everyone around feel ill in
sympathy. From far away the mariners saw the
rich and fertile soils of the Peruvian land,
which all gave a great impression after the
impoverished Panama their point of
departure. Hit with the equatorial glimmers of
sunlight, the crew desperately searched for
shade where then we all then devoured the
sweetest in its sweetness water in just a few
gulps.
Miguel, one of the youngsters
worked as deck crew on the majestic ship
of the conquistadors. He hated the ocean,
he hated sailing, and he suffered terribly
from seasickness even when his thoughts
stumbled upon a boat. His father, Juan
Miguel, a poor tradesman from Cartagena
whose responsibility was to support the
family of five children, was the one who
pushed for Miguel to join the excursion of
Pizarro. He wanted his 15 year old to take
an apprenticeship, as well as have one less
mouth to feed.
As much as Miguel hated anything
to do with water, he was cheerful to
discover the new land, where the
landscapes were so delightful. He missed
his family, the father for whom his
children were the largest treasures, as well
as the four gorgeous and petite sisters
whose olive skin gleamed with the barest
strokes of the sunrays. In the time of the
excursion he longed for the small,
cobblestone streets of the coastal
Cartagena. Yet, he was thrilled by the
view of ripe coconuts falling off the palm
trees and other delightful surprises of the
region.
The aim of our expedition is to take as
much gold and other goods as the ship can hold
and safely go back to the land of Spain while
attempting to prevent any fatalities during our
excursion. is what Miguel constantly
heard, and felt as if he were indoctrinated
by the words by the time the ship docked
in the port of Tumbes. He didnt believe
this was right, but as the future man of the
family, he could not have brought shame
on his relatives and the family name.
Get out there and bring as much back
as you ca; you have until dawn to find your
direction back to the port. was what Miguel
and the other youngsters were urged to
do.
The anger in Miguel kept
accumulating and strengthening; he knew
this wasnt right. He got off the ship
wanting to discover what the rich
Peruvian soils had to offer. He walked
through the streets of the little settlement,
he saw the marvelous, colourful, woven
fabrics, the markets with tables almost
breaking from the weight of the ripe fruits
and other goods, and the farmers
collecting maize of all colours which
would then be sent over to the Inca in
lead. He knew he was far away from
home, weeks of dreadful sailing, but he
didnt think hed end up in such a distinct,
unfamiliar and exotic world.
As he strolled the crescents, he fell
into contemplation and reflection and
utterly lost track of time. The saunter
delighted and entertained him so much,
he didnt mind.
You look lost he heard, and
fearfully turned around as if the words
burst the bubble of felicity he was in. This
little lady, wrapped in those gorgeous
woven fabrics from head to toe, who
barely reached the height of his shoulder,
was standing outside the front gate to her
house.
She invited him over for a cup of
coffee, the beans of course collected from a
local farm. She explained that she was
taught Spanish by another sailor, many
years ago, just so someone in the village
37
SHORT STORY
could communicate if the conquistadors
arrived on Peruvian grounds. He met the
whole family, none of them able to
communicate in any other language than
Quechua, but so warm hearted and
welcoming that Miguel felt at home, even
on the other side of the globe, where his
beloved Cartagena was.
He wanted to warn Illpay and her
family of the plans made by the
conquistadors, but she already knew it all.
This isnt the first time, this wont be the
last time either. We are strong enough to
live without all the goods, but we dont
know for how long she said with her
squeaky Quechua accent. He heard the
fear and misery in her voice.
As he looked out of the primitive
window, which in fact was just a hole in
one of the walls, he realized that the sun
must have been long gone. Joder!, he
thought. The ship must be all packed already;
it leaves tomorrow before the sunrise and Im
not able to make it back now! he screamed.
He saw the sorrow on Illpays face and
thought that he didnt want to be a part of
the Spanish conquistador world. He asked
Illpay if she knew of any ways of getting
to Europe; he was willing to trek down
half of the continent to find another ship
to take back home.
Illpay offered him a place to stay
until the next ship docks in Tumbes, It
really wont take long, she said, still quite
upset.

July 28
th
1540
After years of living in Tumbes, I
finally realized Im in the place where I belong.
Illpay passed away, leaving her Inca heritage
with her children and me. Their reality is so
simple, yet so gorgeous and astonishing. I
spend my days learning Quechua, with the
boys, now men, laughing at me when saying
Napaykuykin why cant it be as easy as
Hola? I see the sorrow in their faces when
they hear other news on continuous executions
or new treasures of the conquistadors.
Im afraid It really wont take that
long.




Nicolai Verbaarschot
38
SHORT STORY
Alices Cat Day
Adelaide Powell

ALICE HAD PACKED her things. In her
pink and yellow backpack she had
compiled an assortment of items that she
presumed would hold her over for the
conceivable future. Stuffed at the bottom
was Bunny to be kept safest, some crayons
were pushed into the crevices, her favorite
mug was in there somewhere, a juice box
could be found, and a map was in the side
pocket, of course.
Good-bye, try to not miss me too
much. We might see each other again
someday, Alice said to her pile of stuffed
animals. She took one last look around her
room, scanning the movie posters, books,
bed and desk. The girl paused at the
window and looked out at the New York
City skyline she had become so familiar
with and adored. The June sun beamed
down on the concrete jungle bursting with
busy people of all kinds. Alice imagined
herself soon walking down the sidewalk
below on the path that she had planned
out.
Alice left her room after stuffing a
few pillows under her blankets, just in
case, she thought. Parading around the
apartment one last time, Alice said a
heartfelt adieu to Earl, the family
watchdog, gave him a biscuit and grabbed
a treat for herself- cookies. At the last
minute Alice remembered that she must
indeed write a note and carefully crafted
an explanation-in cursive, of course- and
placed it under one of her pillows. He
would at least have to hunt a little, she
thought.
Good-bye house, Alice said and
walked out the door. With her backpack
strapped on tight, Alice hopped on the
elevator and went down to the lobby.
Ding, ding, ding and Alice was in the lush
Victorian apartment lobby that always
smelled of books and flowers.
Just who Im looking for Alice
thought after she spotted Norman the
desk clerk. Alice strolled over to the man
typing away at the computer, with his
back hunched over and glasses about to
fall off his nose. Good old Norman, the
most dedicated worker she knew.
And what are you still doing here,
missy? questioned a still bent-over
Norman.
I needed to talk to you, Norm,
replied Alice.
I think school is a little more
important than talking to dear old me.
Todays national hug your cat
day, didnt you hear? We got the whole
day off, plus it happens to fall on a teacher
workday. Anyway, I wanted to ask you if
you remembered where my favorite place
in Central Park was, because its by that
bench across from the big rock by the lake.
Just FYI in case it comes up in any future
conversations.
Okay, Ill be sure to keep that
information stored. You just remember to
be safe roaming around the big city out
there, cautioned Norman.
Yes Sir, you have a nice day you
hear. Its only once a year that showing cat
affection is celebrated worldwide, said
Alice. She turned and headed out the
door, followed by Normans puzzled
stare.
Now to the park, Alice thought.
The girl left the building and walked
across the street, glancing up to spot her
window. Definitely one of the best parts
about the apartment was its location; Fifth
Avenue across from Central Park wasnt
too shabby. Crossing into the park was
like stepping into an oasis in the middle of
a jungle. Alice could smell the roasted
peanuts and watched as families of
tourists equipped with running shoes and
baseball caps stopped to take pictures of
every change in scenery. She saw a man
and young girl ride past on a horse and
carriage and spotted a painter with a
39
SHORT STORY
blank canvas situated over by the big rock
who tipped his hat at her.
Alice sat on the bench and pulled
out her mug she had gotten from the
Magnolia Bakery on 49
th
and laid it under
the seat. She paused to watch the painter
expertly mix some colors and then
supposed that it was time to get moving.
The girl left the park and headed towards
Rockefeller Center. It was about time for
something sweet, Alice concluded. The
city was alive with the sounds of
construction, music, and people scurrying
to and fro. Alice was engulfed in a sea of
people but still felt a bit alone. Finally
arriving at the bakeshop, Alice entered a
world of splendid smells and dazzling
colors. The treats looked extra delectable
today, but Alice was on a mission.
Hi, Elaine, Alice said after
locating her favorite pastry chef. Could
you make me my special with a little book
design on it and save it for someone?
Sure, sweet cakes, whatever you
want, replied Elaine. Alice was a happy
customer and decided that she would
need refreshment for herself, but then
remembered that she had already packed
some cookies for such an occurrence.
And to the final stop, Alice
thought. Heading across town would take
a little while but Alice had time. After
about an hour walking, the girl arrived at
the bookstore she felt was a second home
and took some time to browse the
different sections. When her perusing had
concluded, Alice sat in the classic fantasy
fiction section, pulled out her favorite
book and relaxed in the conveniently
stationed albeit weathered and stained
beanbag chair.
Alice had read almost the entire
book by the time a familiar voice pulled
her from the story.
I got your note.

Hi dad, I will not be here when you
get back. I am tired of being at home by myself
without any supervision and care. Im ten
years old for goodness sakes! I consider myself
a worldly child but even movie stars kids need
a little love and attention. If you were really
good at your job you would at least act like a
good father.
If you were to miraculously come after
me I would definitely not talk to Norman, he
wouldnt know anything. And there will most
likely not be anything under my favorite bench
in Central Park-as if youd remember where
that was. If youre feeling hungry dont stop
by a certain eatery near Rockefeller Center for
a whoopee pie. And lastly whatever you do, if
you happen to be in need of a book I wouldnt
go to The Strand. So, there you have it. If I see
you, Ill see you. Alice






Hannah Sturesson

40
SHORT STORY
The City
Gergana Gyuleva

IT WAS A Thursday afternoon in mid-
October. Subtle chatter filled the caf with
a continuous melody of voices. Daniel was
looking across the table. He had been
doing so for a while now. He was looking
at Jennifer.
Apple cake with cream?
Daniels view was blocked for a moment
by a waitress leaning over the table. She
smiled and the tips of her thick woolen
scarf came dangerously close to the cream
on the plate.
The low autumn sun was blinding him, so
he could only see the contours of Jennifers
face. It was as if she had a halo of sunlight.
The sun tickled the skin on his face. He
was listening to the noises of the city: the
clickety-click of bicycles, the scratching of
the leaves against the pavement as gusts
of wind made them twirl in a dance. It was
one of those days where the wind didnt
feel cold, but just passed through your
hair, stroking it, caressing it.
It was a Thursday afternoon in
mid-October. People constantly pushed
their way between the chairs and tables in
and out of the crowded caf. As if they
could never just stand still for a moment.
A young mother was yelling at her son for
spilling his hot chocolate over the table.
Jennifer was sitting still, not doing
anything. She was sitting in one of the
chairs, with her back to the sun.
Apple cake with cream?
A waitress leant over the table and almost
dropped the plate. There was a sharp
noise as it hit the table. The voices around
Jennifer seemed to be constantly rising in
pitch and volume. The wind made the
noise even louder. She was struggling to
eat the cake because the strong gusts
continuously blew her hair in her face. The
cake was cold and damp, probably not
baked enough.
Jennifer, its been a wonderful
year. Dont you think?
Yes.
Today is such a beautiful day.
Yes.
Hows the cake?
Its alright.
Jen, listen. Yesterday I went for a
walk. And as I was walking, I found this
place. Its just so special. I want to show it
to you.
Now?
Yes, why not?
I dont know, Im a little tired.
Oh, come on.
Really Daniel, I just want to relax
today. The city is so loud.
Whats wrong with the city? Its
warm, and big, and full of stuff.
Its too big, too full of stuff and I
lose myself in it.
Oh, come on. Its a fantastic place.
Youll understand once you see it. Im
sure. Let me show you.
Those two, they come here almost
every day, after they are done with their
lectures. I noticed them already the first time,
but I dont think they noticed me. People
usually dont notice me. She is Jennifer, he is
Daniel. The beginnings were beautiful. They
used to talk and look at each other, sometimes
for hours. They talked in the beginning, but
later it got less and less. Just small talk. How
was your day? Good, how was yours?.
Tea with lemon? The waitress
left the tea on the table in front of the old
man without waiting for an answer and
hurried away.
So now instead of talking they just
look at each other. She is beautiful, he is
handsome. Thats them, walking away down
the street. I can see them, I dont think they see
me.
Are we there yet?, Jennifer asked.
Almost.
What type of place is it?
Youll see. Its magnificent. When I
went there yesterday, I regret not having
41
SHORT STORY
found it earlier. It just filled me with
energy. Youll see.
Well, I am looking forward to
seeing your amazing discovery.
They walked down five streets, three
alleys, crossed six roads and bumped into
strangers twice. Daniel was walking faster
and faster. Jennifer was hurrying behind
him.
Can we please walk a little
slower?
I cant hear you. What did you
say?
Can we please walk slower?
Why?
Im tired.
Alright.
At the end of an alley there were two
godforsaken buildings, each four floors
high, with a tiny staircase between them.
They hurried up the stairs, Jennifer
completely out of breath. There was a door
at the end of the staircase. Daniel opened
it, they went inside a dark corridor with
old posters on the walls. At the end of the
corridor there was a small window and
next to it another door. The door opened
onto a platform. Jennifer realized the
platform was the roof of one of the two
buildings. On three of the four sides it was
surrounded by higher buildings, so it
looked like a room without ceiling. Only
on one of the sides was there an open
space, looking over the street they had just
walked on. The rooftop was empty.
Jennifer looked down over the street and
saw people like ants walking and pushing
each other, everybody going their own
way.
Is that it?
Yes, this is the place. Its like some
sort of refuge in the middle of the city.
Isnt it amazing?
Jennifer looked down again. The height
made her dizzy.
Yeah..
I knew youd like it.
Its just what I dont like about the
city, though.
So youre saying you dont like it?
No, I just dont see why its so
special.
What do you mean?
Its just part of the dirty, spoiled,
loud, miserable city. You stand here and
you pretend to be part of something big, a
city, and you pretend to be full of life, and
surrounded by people, and you pretend to
feel the pulsating rhythm of the city. But
what are you in the end? You are lonely,
you are the loneliest person in the world.
You know why? Because if youre in a
forest, you are lonely because there is
nobody else there. So you are actually not
lonely, you are just alone. You dont need
anybody. You are at peace. But if you are
in the city, you are in the city because you
want to feel close to people. You are
surrounded by a community you pretend
to be part of, but actually nobody cares
who you are, what you do. None of those
people down there on the street knows or
cares who you are. You might just as well
not exist, it wouldnt make a difference in
the city. You are among people, but you
dont acknowledge their presence, they
dont acknowledge yours. Because you are
among all those people. And because
youll never get the chance to know who
they are. You are the loneliest person in
the world.
What on earth is wrong with you?
Nothing, Im just saying what I
think.
Yeah, but you never say such
things.
Thats because until now I never
said what I think.
But what is it that you have
against me suddenly? How can you not
like this place, when it is so special for me?
This only proves it.
Proves what?
42
SHORT STORY
Proves that you are lonely and
you dont care about anybody else but
yourself.
What the hell are you talking
about?
It was an experiment, Daniel. I
wanted to see what would happen if I say
what I actually think.
But youre not saying what you
think, you are making me look like a fool.
Whenever I ask you for a favor,
whenever I have a concern, you ignore it. I
pretend its fine. You are happy that
Jennifer agrees with what you think.
Whenever we talk about politics, Jennifer
will silently agree with you. Of course,
because you two are made for one
another. Sometimes I try and say what I
think, Daniel, but already in the very
beginning I saw what happens. This
happens. Whenever I have different view
than you, this is what happens.
Jennifer, youre out of your mind.
I am, Daniel, I am.





Iris ten Have
43
SHORT STORY
The Smiling Man
Rebecca Flowers

I PULLED BACK my knotted hair and
plopped it at the very top of my head. The
slight layer of moist sweat on my neck had
left my pillow with an oval of
discoloration. With an agitated move I
tossed my freshly changed sheets down to
the end of the bed. A feeling of relief
swept over my lower body as a cool wind
hit my stubbly skin. I glanced over at the
window only to realize that someone had
shut the wooden frame back to the wall. It
seemed that the heat of our bodies had
covered the glass with a layer of steam. All
I could see was a blurred light from the
black lamppost that was flickering due to
an old nearly-broken bulb. The clammy
sweat that had managed to get in between
my toes disgusted me. I lay one hand on
my cheek in hope of relieving the
unpleasant sensation of overheating.
There was no difference in temperature.
I glimpsed at my wooden
nightstand that stood about two meters in
front of me. The red block numbers read
2:45 A.M. I reached for my water bottle
and started to unscrew the lid. The motion
was slow, almost dreamy, as if I were still
asleep. My throat clenched as the tepid
water sank through my body. My mind
had been prepared for a refreshing yet
soothing sip. Instead I was disgusted by
the lukewarm water and found it hard to
keep down. I remember the clear
constraint of trying to prevent a cough so
that I wouldnt wake Jacob. His face was
turned away and I could see a line of
sweat that had formed down his back. I
knew he was sound asleep from the soft
exhales that were on the borderline of
becoming snores. I was never very
bothered by his breathing problem; it was
actually quite the contrary. It was calming
to fall asleep next to his air gulping
remedy.
I carefully lifted my legs over the
side of my bed. The smooth stone floor
was soothing against the palms of my feet.
It was like trying to be a feather even
though my inside felt heavy as a rock. The
slightest sound would always wake Jacob
and put him in an irritated state. I hated
when we fought, it would always ruin a
cozy night that we would otherwise have
spent laughing at each other. I had been
lucky finding Jacob as a roommate. We
always managed to swim along side each
other from waking up late to enjoying the
same late night TV shows. Conflict was
rare apart from the usual smelly socks and
lifted toilet seat arguments.
I felt strangled by the heat and my
lungs desperately needed fresh air. I
couldnt open the window as Jacob had
managed to break the hinges when he had
once drunkenly tried to open it. I started
towards the door with my hands in front
to guide me through the dark room. I
fumbled to find the doorknob but the
smooth metal assured me that I had
gripped it. I gently twisted it sideways
and put my hand on the door to keep it
from tweaking. I could see the light in the
hallway was on so I squeezed through a
narrow gap to keep the brightness from
entering the room. There had been no
change in temperature by stepping into
the hallway. Alicia from next door was on
the way to the common bathroom. Her
baby blue eyes looked larger than ever as
the sharp light had made her pupils
contract into a tiny black dot. I used all the
energy I had to let out a small smile. I
didnt want to open my mouth as I always
had a really bad sleeping breath.
It took me about 5 minutes to
actually get out the building as the
complicated hallways were even more
difficult to navigate with a brain that was
only half awake. The streets were pitch
black apart from the occasional flickering
lampposts. The area wasnt exactly fancy
as it was difficult to find cheap housing in
44
SHORT STORY
a somewhat decent part of town. My
natural instinct was to walk towards my
daily stop at the bagel shop. The warm
everything bagel with a thick layer of
cream cheese was the only reason I had
the slightest urge to get out of bed in the
mornings. Remsen St. was unrecognizable
without the thousands of busy New
Yorkers that were rushing to work with a
coffee in one hand and a black brief case in
the other. The peaceful atmosphere was
different but came with a certain comfort.
The cool air started to awaken my mind
and the energy was slowly starting to flow
through my body. Though there still
wasnt quite that spring freshness you
would get up in the countryside. The city
pollution made the night more humid
than anything else.
I came to the end of the street and
took the quick decision to head towards
the park. I turned the corner and that
evening comfort was gone. I couldnt
shake the feeling that someone was
watching me. The shivers attacked my
body and lifted my feet off the ground for
a split second. I was always an
exaggerator so I told my mind that I
needed to get over being such a wuss and
kept waking. I had actually walked this
route quite a few times as my
uncontrollable hormones gave me heat
flashes at least once a week. Never had I
been given a reason to feel afraid but as I
turned the corner, at the far end of the
street, on my side, was the silhouette of a
man, dancing. I laughed feeling sorry for
that man as he was by himself drunk on a
Wednesday evening. His movements were
unusual. A waltz like dance that finished
each box with an odd forward stride. I
stopped laughing when I realized the man
was heading right for me.
I assured myself that he was most
likely intoxicated and stepped across to
the opposite sidewalk. There was a black
fence on my right hand side that reflected
the light from the lamppost. Behind was a
newly built park that had grass that was
greener than sugar snap peas, which gave
it a very unnatural atmosphere. My
thoughts returned to the man who was
slowly getting closer. I realized how
gracefully he was moving. His long lanky
limbs were flowing through the air even
though he was suited up, as my favorite
character from How I Met Your Mother
would have said. My body was frozen as
the silhouette crept closer yet. I could start
making out his face that had a weird
blankness to it. His eyes were wide open
with a wild glare; head tilted back as if
looking up into the sky. His mouth was
formed in a painfully wide cartoon of a
smile. It reminded me of the stripped cat
from Alice in Wonderland. From his
dancing to unusual expression, I decided
to step up my pace a bit.
I took my eyes off the man to make
sure that I wouldnt engage in eye contact.
I looked down towards the pavement as a
gesture to show that I wanted no trouble.
After a couple of seconds I glanced back
I stopped dead in my tracks. The
waltzing man was now standing on one
leg, perfectly balanced and perfectly
parallel to me. I couldnt keep myself from
looking at him as he was facing me but
still looking up towards the sky. Lips wide
on his face. For some reason, I wasnt
frightened. My heart rate had not jumped
one bit as they always describe in the
thriller novels. My palms werent sweaty
and I was actually completely and utterly
unnerved by this. I kept walking, keeping
an eye on the dark silhouette. There was
about a block between us and the man
hadnt moved. I started to turn my glance
towards the sidewalk again making my
way back to the dormitories. My thoughts
wondered off to the black spots on the
concrete underneath my feet. Thousands
of people tread these streets everyday and
each spot marked a moment in time. These
kinds of details always fascinated me.
45
SHORT STORY
Still unnerved, I looked back to
where the man had been standing to find
him gone. A wave of relief entered my
body for a brief moment. That was until I
noticed a shadow out of the right corner of
my eye. This time the man was crouched
down on the street. A thought of concern
filled my mind but was quickly replaced
with uncertainty. He was like a leopard,
ready to pounce on its prey. The distance
made it unclear if he was still smiling but
his position made it clear that he was
facing me. This time I stared at him
making sure he knew that he was not
going to hurt me. That was until he started
walking towards me. He took giant,
exaggerated tip toed steps, as if he were a
cartoon character sneaking up on
someone. Except he was moving very,
very quickly. This would typically be the
time when I pulled out a pepper spray or
dialed any number available on my cell
phone but I just stood there. I stood there
trying to find my voice. Something about
him intrigued me but at the same time
managed to scare the crap out of me.
Words stumbled out of my mouth as if I
had no control over my lips. The theory of
humans being able to smell fear is still
arguable but there is no doubt in the fact
that they are able to hear it. I heard it in
my own voice and the man stopped again.
He just stood there, smiling, head towards
the sky. Then he started running. I ran as
well.
This time there was nothing
stopping me. I reached the stoplight that
stood in front of the large brick building
aka the most hopeless dormitory ever. I
glanced back to make sure that I wasnt
giving away my daily location. There was
nothing to be seen. The man was nowhere
in my sight but that didnt keep me from
glancing over my shoulders as I took the
last couple of steps across the road. I was
always half expecting that his wide-eyed
smile would appear behind me, but the
night was empty.






Yan Poinssot
46
SHORT STORY
Prostitutes in Pink
Luisa Dickson

Bent over leaning into the car her skirt
pushed upwards ass out. Bright pink
plastic pleated mini skirt. You could
barely even call it a skirt, at most it was a
rag. A rag that barely covered any part of
her. How was she not freezing, it had to be
getting close to the negative degrees by
now. The first car in front of me pulled up,
one man, dark shades, window wide
open. She leaned in again asking if he
wanted a good time. Something clicked,
you see her turn around, plastic leather
from her jacket falls down. She whistles
and says something incoherent to the
group of girls in the back. Slowly steps
into the car, left leg first. It stretches up
until the further front most part of the car
and he puts his hand on her leg. The doors
close and the car speedily drives away.



She Would Cross the Road
Saga Sjstedt

SHE WOULD CROSS the road, looking
right first, and then left. Nothing in sight,
only her and the wet streetlamps
overshadowing the empty road. She
would take the minty gum out of her
mouth and roll it through her fingertips.
Immediately she will think of him again,
intuitively. His broad shoulders, his chest
full of tiny thick dark curls. She would
think about his big gentle hands moving
up and down her spine. Finally she will
release her breath and give off a small
smile. Shell feel happy, until her head
whipped to the right and the lights
blinded her. Before she could understand
what was going on, the car hit her.
But now she was relaxing on her
stomach as to not expose her childish
belly. His dark skin rested against hers.
She lifted her head to look at him again.
What was that? A car? Shit she
whispered.
For fucks sake, out! He yelled.
Her hands shook as she rushed to pick up
her clothes lying on the floor. He hopped
around on one leg trying to get his pants
back on. His arms tensed as he was jerking
at the bed sheets, she couldnt help but to
stare at him with those big admirable eyes
of hers.
Well shit, get out. He hissed at
her. Oh right, where the hell is that bra?
Whatever, let the bitch find it. Maybe then
hell leave her. Maybe then they could be
together. Maybe then they could move
somewhere else. Door, door, door. She
slipped out quietly through the garden
exit, covering herself only with her mini
dress and ballerinas. She didnt get a
proper good-bye, they didnt get to share
that last look they always do before she
leaves. It was too late now, she moved
behind the shed and dressed, body still
shaky and her mind racing, yet she
couldnt help smiling. Was she crying? Yes
she was, had she been crying this whole
time? She peeked back at the house. Are
they hugging? Since when do they hug?
Now the tears were uncontrollable, her
thoughts determined. She knew what she
had gotten herself into, shes a big girl,
almost about to graduate.



She Was Insane
Luisa Dickson

HER CATS WERE all a different color, but
whatever the color was it was bright.
Neon pink sitting in the shower, a
florescent green hiding behind the sofa,
47
SHORT STORY
red as fresh blood napping under the bed.
She tested a new color out each week
and each time a different victim was
chosen for the extremely long process of
covering the fur from the roots to the tip
with the indescribably bright dyes. The
horror came on Sundays; the second
Sunday of every other month. How
people had just realized now and never
questioned the ongoing adoption of
animals yet never saw that the number in
her household remained constant still
confuses me. For a year and two months,
that makes seven of these occurrences, the
cats were used as lab rats. Placed into a
washer, in a desperate attempt for her to
clean out the electrifying colors from their
fur. And each time the same process was
made. Brights normal cycle cold water
cold rinse, 1.5 hours, spinning set on
medium.



Emma Jepsen
Everyday Dystopia
Sophie Achiam

He smiled. Put his leather shoes in away
in the corner before entering the room and
giving her a hug. Told her his day was
fine. Becker had messed up the Royal
Copenhagen order, what a mess he'd
made. Why, she had made casserole and
potatoes and dinner, how lovely. Had her
books come in the mail yet? No? Huh,
usually it just took two days before orders
arrive. Well, maybe tomorrow. Yes, he
would love to have some coffee and some
pastry while he watches the sports. How
nice of her.
Bolton had won. Was it
badminton? Or pingpong? Whatever. "Are
you sleeping Mark?" she asked. Why no,
of course he wasn't sleeping. No, no he
wasn't tired; he just had a hard day. "I'm
fine." Sharapova had won the semifinals.
Great.
Dinner already? It smelled nice.
"Excellent taste Marjorie, quite excellent. A
bit salty, but quite good." "Huh, I thought
you liked it salty Mark," she said, "I
thought you liked it salty."
He arranged his slippers
symmetrically by the bed. Then he lied
down, first with his arms behind his head,
while he talked to Marjorie about
something meaningless. Then he told her
to have a good night, turned around and
switched off the lights. She snored.
He untied the laces of his black
leather shoes and put them in the corner of
the corridor. Hello darling. Fine, and you?
That's great darling. Oh that's great.
Lasagna? My favorite. Yes, I would love
some coffee and carrot cake, why thank
you.
Chin Meng was the favorite to win
the badminton tournament. "No, I'm not
sleeping, I'm fine." The Australia Open
was to begin next week.
48
SHORT STORY
"How is Stacy doing in college?
That's great. Yes, very nice lasagna, I'm
enjoying it."
"Goodnight Marjorie, we should go
to sleep." "Goodnight."
"Why, did you get your shoes
polished Mark?" "Yes I did." His day had
been fine. Hers too.
Williams got the point. "Are you
sleeping, Mark? I brought you your coffee
and biscuits."
The stew was delicious, a bit salty,
but otherwise great. She thought he liked
it salty. "Huh," he said.
Goodnight.

Shoes. Fine, you? Great.

Coffee and pastry. No, not sleeping.

Kendrick is winning. One more point.

Mac 'n' Cheese. Salty.

Sleep.

Damn knot. Good, fine.

Sport. Coffee. Not sleeping.

Salt.

.

BHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM.







Mieke Faeste
49
SHORT STORY
Perfect
Brage Haavik

EVERYTHING WAS PERFECT.
The whole country of Europe was
now a perfection sculpted by God himself.
Every edge of a building was carved with
care. Every street appeared as though it
was paved the night before smooth and
beautiful. Even the people of this perfect
society were also perfect. All fair skinned
and had a perfect body complexion.
Everyone that populated the country was
perfect, because if you werent, you were
killed and used as the foundation for new
structures.
The population was reduced from
ten billion to a good seven billion during
the past two years, and that is, only after
clearing Europe.
Rebellions began to occur from the
people that did not fall under the perfect
image. I mean, who can blame them? One
day you follow your daily routine
consisting of a cup of coffee and maybe a
cookie, the news air and youre running in
fear of being shot.
Its stupid. Everything is stupid. I
thought to myself as I reloaded my pistol
and crouched under a nearby table. I dont
understand why we have to deal with this
government bullshit.
A pair of footsteps swept in with
the passing wind, I took that as a signal to
run. I dashed from under the table, across
the room, and out the window. Landing
softly on both feet, I looked around for
anyone from my group.
Jesse, over here!
A loud whisper came from behind
me. I turned around and stared through
barbed wires at my friend, Carlos. Carlos
waved his hands in a signal to come
around the building and through a back
door. I did as I was told.
The metallic floor beneath me
screeched and squeaked as I ran to rejoin
my friends.
Man, I thought they got you! A
dark skin boy, about my age, welcomed
me with a nice pat on the back.
Get me? They are not allowed,
Im perfect. I answered James.
I took out the pistol, which I had
found earlier, from my pocket and handed
it over to Carlos, who took it with care. We
were inside a small underground
basement of the towns local library. Why
would a library need a basement? I
debated with myself as I sat on a wooden
crate not far away from James. I took one
more look at the empty basement which
contained nothing but us, a few wooden
crates, and a pair of mattresses. This was
our home for a night, maybe two, three at
the most.
I glanced at the floor noticing a
folded newspaper. I reached down and
picked it up, opening to the front page.
Year 2067, it read.
The government successfully raided
the city of San Francisco and elicited a
hundred perfect citizens, eliminating the world
of all others.
I tell you man, its the segregation
era all over again. James commented on
the headline.
I lowered the newspaper, How
would you know? Lived a few centuries?
Ma mammas great great great
grandma, or so, was there. We have her
diaries from the times. James thought for
a moment before correcting himself. Had
her diaries. All burned to ash now,
governments orders. James lit a cigarette
that he had pulled out of his pocket
earlier.
Can you not? Carlos retorted at
the sound of a lighter igniting. This space
is small enough for air to even exist, and
here you go polluting the whole god damn
place!
50
SHORT STORY
Shut up! This may be the last day
of my life, let me at least have a smoke.
You dont know that. I stated.
James gave me a cold look in
response, Well, neither do you.
I took that as the cue for me to
leave. Allrighty then, Im gonna take a
walk. I grabbed my newly found pistol
from Carlos and exited through the door.
Well assume youre dead if you
dont return by sundown! a soft shout
came from Carlos as I closed the door.
I waved my hand, Im perfect,
they wont kill me. I said to the already
closed door. Because Im perfect. The words
were foreign to me now; unlike they were
in my childhood. My thoughts trailed off
into the past, but I shook them away. I
focused myself on the reality.
Everything around me was
burning. There are two types of burning 1)
the type that spreads like a wildfire
engulfing everything, and 2) the type that
slowly and unnoticeably devourers the
surroundings. This was the second type of
burning. Fallen tree branches crunched
under my feet as I walked by crackling
houses.
Widened eyes looked out from
basement windows, not daring to come
out.
There was a sudden sound of fast
moving footsteps coming from a distance.
I looked up to see a petite girl. She was
running.
She ran straight at me, at first I was
confused to why, but then noticed a group
of perfect ones not far behind her.
The girl, seeing that I was no threat
to her, made an attempt to stop before me,
but instead collided with my body. The
red haired girl was breathing hard and
mouthing out words in between each
breath.
Helpme please. Shelter. I
need shelter.
I took one glance behind her at the
nearing perfect police men, and nodded in
response. Come, I know a place where
we can hide. I grabbed her hand and ran.
We lost the police men after we
made a detour around the store center,
which was just in front of the library at
which my friends were. As I was about to
make another sprint through the clearing
and to the library, the girl pulled at my
hand and sobbed.
I cant run anymore. And my
whole family is dead and I dont know
what to do and
She was clearly in hysterics.
Shh. I moved her small body
closer to the wall of the store center in
hopes of somehow covering her existence.
Were almost there.
You dont understand! Youre
perfect! They wont ever go after you. But
I, a few inches too short, will never make
it. Thanks for trying though. The red
haired girl pushed me aside.
Shut up and quit crying. Ill get
you out of here, okay? Theres a ship
coming tomorrows. Its destination is
Australia. I tried to explain. I opened my
mouth to say more, but she said it before
me.
The safe country.
Yeah.
Names Layla by the way. She
said whilst wiping a tear from her cheek.
Jesse. I responded as I looked
around for the police men.
Seeing no threat, I exchanged
glances with Layla before taking off to the
library. I yanked at the back door, which
opened easily, easier than the last time. I
shook the thoughts off and continued
running down the dark corridor, with
Layla closely behind me.
I stopped short before the door that
led to the small basement where Carlos
and James were, Dont worry, they are
nice. I answered Laylas thoughts, and
pulled at the door handle.
Hey guys, I brought
51
SHORT STORY
Blood. I saw my two friends blood
slowly interloping in the rooms center,
creating a perfect shade of red.
Layla I wanted to tell the red
haired girl to run, to run as far away as
she could and wait for me, but was
interrupted by a gun shot. I didnt flinch
nor speak because I knew what had
happened.
Your name is Jesse, right? The
voice of a perfect policeman echoed
through the corridor walls.
I did not answer or turn to face my
speaker.
You are no longer perfect for that
your mind has been dirtied. His cold
voice rang out again.
The sound of a trigger being pulled
added color to the dark corridor.






Catharina Behrens
52
Labyrinth 2014
Black & White Photography

First Prize
Kristhy Bartels







53
B&W PHOTOGRAPHY


Second Prize
Yan Poinssot



Third Prize
Kristhy Bartels
54
B&W PHOTOGRAPHY

Honourable Mention:
Tanja Jensen



Honourable Mention:
Julie Woldbye-Lyng



55
Labyrinth 2014
Poetry


In his introduction to his radio lecture for children on poetry writing (Poetry in the Making
for the BBC schools series Listening and Writing) Ted Hughes says in a way , I suppose, I
think of poems as having their own life, like animalsand nothing can be added to them or
taken away without maiming and perhaps even killing them. And they have a certain
wisdom. They know something special The fine poems in this section seem be full of life
arising from intensity, close observation, strong feeling, sensitive use of form and other
kinds of truthfulness - and to achieve a certain wisdom about a world of heartfelt subjects
- youth (Youth), heart-break (Missing Someone, Cries of a Lonely Heart the
heartbreaking They Said they will never lose.. and the lovely haiku Pretty Puckered
Lips), insomnia and over-thoughtfulness (Sometimes I find myself drifting), matters
of death (Requiem), minutely observed objects (Eraser/Drumsticks), a sense of
dismay at the state of the world/humanity (To my Sisters); Messages of great, impossible
hope (Infant Stars), magical poems (Faery), money and its corruptive power (Mob
Money); loneliness (The Crowd), motherhood (the moving Fragrance), addiction
(Addiction) and much more. There are also experiments in light verse (Rango the Mango,
Money) and poems that (arguably) are in a league of their own - and we are, of course,
talking the inimitable super mega awesome flying laser awesomeness shooting
Skycow. A cornucopia of wonderful poems, much to be celebrated.


Isabelle Kallan
56
POETRY

First Prize
This writer offered a suite of poems for publication and we were hard-pressed to select a winner from
them. Each has something powerful to say, but works sidelong through imagery and sustained metaphor
to create its strong impact. Denim Days picks out details about the subjects appearance now and
then which bespeak her lost innocence. Tiredness, artificiality and rapacity are all captured in the first
stanza and offset against youth and naturalness glimpsed in the second. The whole is brought
together hauntingly in last three lines where we sigh at the trees and cigarette butts that bespeak
the past and present so poignantly. The rhythms and metre at the end give a dying fall. We felt that this
simple, vivid poem had depth and music and deserved first prize.




Denim days
a tide of rich black kohl
washed up under tired eyelids
fake fur draped over her shoulders
pointing her chin, strolling like a vulture
on the lookout for prey

sometimes
you'll catch a glimpse
of scraped knees
a pretty faded photograph of
a girl with a fair complexion
and a secondhand floral dress
and you'll sigh,
just like the trees she litters with cigarette butts
now, in the denim days

Kinga Wjcikowska

57
POETRY

Second Prize
The wonderful imagery in this poem seems to
have an elusive life (or lives) of its own. The
tensions between submerged or waterbound and
the earth, desert and mountains, between the
dead, rotting or sunken and the warm,
colourful, living and rising are strongly felt and
powerfully expressed. The idea of the sunken
church is beautifully caught in the great rotten
doors/reveal tinted glass and sunken pews and
the rhythms and syntax of the end of the poem
are haunting.


Sunken Lake

Ancient, mossy stone
piercing
glassy waters as
church bells toll,
a solemn song surging through
the silence
of the lake
awakening great grandmothers
preserved forever
in virginal white.
Open the great rotten doors,
reveal tinted glass
and sunken pews,
watery whips that sit in silence
listening to the Lords good words,
waiting to ascend towards the sun
that reflects off their soggy prison.
As the sun paints
the snow capped mountains
in rich crimson
the briny dead disperse from the chapel,
sinking into
their shoddy shacks
while whispering secrets
to the scuttling crabs
and krill.
The next day warmth will rise
and embrace the earth
but as the daylight rots away
and flakes into dessert dunes,
with every chime of the hour
the hopes of the dead
will not.

Daria Drenker
58
POETRY

Third Prize
A short yet powerful piece, proving simplicity can pack as much of a punch as any other lengthy poem.
Cleverly disguised by its use of loving imagery, this pieces strength comes with the delivery of the last
two lines I can hear the unending ringing in my brain/The sound of all of its wrongs, leaving the
reader with chills.








Sleep Over

Manners and polite nods
Smiles and twinkling eyes
Hugs before bedtime
Its all so civilized
Mom loves dad
Dad loves mom
Brother and sister get along
Its so quiet
Its too quiet
I can hear that unending ringing in my brain
I can hear it screaming all of its wrongs.

Lara Jakobsen


59
POETRY

Honourable Mention







Skycow

Is it a bird
Is it a plane
No....
Its SKYCOW

The super mega awesome cow
it can fly
its better than you
it shoots laser and awesomeness everywhere

Its like the seacow, but it flies
who doesnt like flying cows?
Like the cow that jumped over the moon
but it doesnt jump over it,
it flies, extreme awesomeness everywhere

Its still not a bird
Its still not a plane
Its still the super mega awesome bauss flying laser awesomeness shooting skycow.

Lorenzo Courir

60
POETRY

Honourable Mention






Tumbleweed

street lights, they call:
enter the sprawl!
blinding with their neon hues
cracked, sticky pavements, muffled blues
illuminating giants
with a million square eyes

the dazed rookies linger
wrapped around their fingers
with heartbeats quick and shallow
that tap like candy wrappers
dancing with the wind

they offer the youth
a soul an empty room
and the everlasting, yet faint
dizzying smell of paint
batting their eyelashes
at the round ones
and serenading
the broken ones

Kinga Wjcikowska

61
POETRY

Honourable Mention




Mob Money

Lets just for fun say the world
rots.
You get old
and tired
and make jokes, sure,
but you wont find
me laughing.
Ive got a dead man in the trunk.
And thats not all.
This morning I heard
the swish of invisible people.
I walked into the parlor
and found that dame Carols finger
wrapped up neat in a bow,
fresh and pink
like a rose,
the tip of her nail
painted a dark crimson like the girls
in your porno mags.
It was beneath the needle
of that broken
record player you got
at a garage sale and refused
to throw out.
Piece of shit, that thing is.
Never thought Id hate it more
Carol, though.
I still cant quite picture how
she would have screamed,
and every time I do I cant
get the taste of salt out
of my mouth.
Maybe its her tears.
Or maybe thats just what guilt tastes like.
Shut up.
Trust me to stay awake.
You know damn well
that the stench
of drink suits me
finer than any perfume
and that theres no surer cause
for a crook in the back
than digging graves.
Oh, we hated those night shifts.
The cold bit like a dog
and shook us like dolls.
Not even the souvenirs we snatched
from the bedside tables
of deceased dignitaries
could make up for the ache
in our spines.
You always said
better to be a bad man
than a mediocre one,
well,
mission accomplished.
The water on this rosary is
withering in my hands
and Death opens his arms in
my rearview mirror.
I keep telling him the guy he wants is in
the back
but he wont listen.
Hes chatty, like you.
Keeps telling me how he hates his job,
how people like me make it hard for him.
I tell him to cry me a river.
He shuts up.
I drive.
I think about breakfast and how I skipped
it.
I think about sleep and how I miss it.
62
POETRY
I think about you and I stop the car.
The house lights are off
but I know youre in.
I look back
and Death is gone.
Hes petty like that.
I get out and pace to the door,
knocking twice.
No answer.
I figure youre screwing with me
and knock again.
The streetlamp flickers
a car passes
a dog barks
but you still dont open the fucking door.
So I kick it down.
Youre on the floor.
Youre still.
Youre pale.
Youre a couple hours old,
and youre a corpse.
I find the notes
in the letterbox
big, pink and brutal.
Im on the floor holding your hand.
Its cold, but Im colder.
I realize that Death wasnt in my
backseat for the bloke
in my trunk
nor for me.
He just wanted a ride
and you were his destination.

Daria Drenker





Julie Woldbye-Lyng
63
POETRY

Honourable Mention









drain me of what i am
and listen to what i am not
tell me what i think
i wont tell you what ive thought

Ill try to be him
and we can forget about me
you act like its a secret,
when we both know im not free

my salt-stained pillows,
we throw them away
and little by little
ill withdraw from the fray

sorry for the trouble
i wont thank you for the pain
but somehow im sure
youre the ones who kept me sane

Isabella Furber

64
POETRY


Why black is black.

If black were called yellow would the sun still shine?

If the sun were black would color exist?

If black were called green would grass be black?

If grass were black would our world overheat?

If black were called white would black be white?

If black were white would we be in heaven?

If black were colorless would this poem even exist?


Soffia Mangal



Yan Poinssot


65
POETRY
Youth

Ill take your unending sympathy
Feed me
Feed off of me
Till I run dry
And you just run
Enjoy me while you can
Reap me of my benefits while they still exist
Im only going to taste sweet for so long
I demand you enjoy it
I demand it!
I wont lie here unsucked and swollen
There is nothing sweeter than the taste of naivety.

Lara Jakobsen

66
POETRY

Netto

Take my hand
And show me the right path
But then that kid
This kid
With large jacket pockets
Where stolen things are hid
Is caught mid thievery
And the lady at the till starts to scream
And the shoppers start to scream
And the police sirens start to scream
And everyones screaming
Bur no one can hear over all that screaming
And my hand slips from yours in all the commotion
And there I go running back
Along my misguided route.

Lara Jakobsen




Nandini Verma
67
POETRY
Cries of a Lonely Heart

Covered with roses,
You look like a porcelain doll.
Motionless with a shattered heart, I watch as the casket closes
And your dainty pale hands are folded on your shawl.

Youre gone, so my fate is sealed.
All around, I see you smiling at me.
The void in my heart cannot be filled,
Until you return back into my arms, I will plea.

Worried looks from strangers who dont understand,
I shut them out to be with you.
We shall reunite and all worries will be banned,
Life with you was all I ever knew.

Sorrow and loneliness fill my dark days.
Counting the seconds till we can restore our love,
I recall when you were my sunshine rays.
Going through my own personal hell, you sit above.

Walking down the street and shut it all out,
I look up at the pale morning sky,
Thinking you were the rain to my drought
My damaged heart clenches and I sigh.

After an eternity of drowning,
you taught me how to breathe.
No attempt at swimming, I give in to the sinking
Its time to leave.

Sometimes at night I hear my heart whisper your name
And tonight you will whisper my name in return.

Sophie Smedegaard

68
POETRY
Sometimes, I find myself drifting
Away from my endless slumber
The early hour of two in the morning
And I wonder where Ill be in five, ten, maybe even fifteen years

And sometimes I lie there for hours,
Thinking about all the could bes
And all of the what ifs
All of the possible possibilities

I think about how my life is now
And how I have to change my ways
In order to not be a failure,
Not disappoint all those around me

But sometimes,
I find myself drifting
Away from my endless slumber
That repetitive quotidian of two in the morning
And I wonder if Ill be here by then.

Luisa Dickson

69
POETRY



Observers

They are fascinated by us,
And we are fascinated by them.
They use characters,
We dont understand.
They observe from afar,
With black suits and hats.
They appear at substantial moments,
And more frequently in the present.
It seems like theyre reporting their findings,
To a higher force or command.
They will infiltrate our world,
Slowly, forcefully,
But densely.
And promptly,
The whole world will be ruled by a greater,
More advanced,
More mystical species.

We call them Observers.

Maik Martiniak

70
POETRY
Requiem

It was like a funeral,
A house of concern,
A nightmare which,
Ive been running from.
I walked in.
The mood of the people,
was pure regret.
I was shocked.
In the back of my head,
I developed a mixture,
Of fear and anger.
Its time.
My face consisted of tears,
Whilst others were smiling.
It was his death,
That was beneficial,
Not to me,
But to his murderers.

Maik Martiniak


71
POETRY
Eraser I

An eraser
The grey piece of rubber
Found in every pencil case
The clammy feeling of scraping my finger over it
During the test
It calms me
Makes me focus

Reread the page long essay
There! A mistake
Wiping it out
Not completely gone, itll have to do
Chewing the eraser on my pencil
It calms me
Makes me focus

Erase a past mistake
Have to write something new
Not enough space for it
A clock rings
Test is over
I am calm
I am focused.

William Hansen

72
POETRY
Eraser II

An eraser
The grey piece of rubber
Found in every pencil case
Commonplace
Boring, clammy, dead
Helps wipe out mistakes

But do the mistakes ever truly disappear?
The faint grey pencil trace, that
Always stays, never fades
Try wiping it out again,
It stays.
Try to write over it,
Makes the mess
A jumble of old and new pencil lines
Try making the new lines more defined
Ends up ruining the whole page
Because of that one mistake.

William Hansen

73
POETRY






Pretty Puckered Lips
Blowing Kisses in the air
As he falls forever.

Mats Brokvam









Oona Tiirakari

74
POETRY
A cool winter Breeze
Meets the winds of warm summer
Youre not in Kansas.

Mats Brokvam



Footstep by footstep treading along
Making the beat of a soft spoken song
Deep in the night with nobody awake
A trail of destruction does lie in his wake.

Mats Brokvam








Sophie Smedegaard

75
POETRY


With a push from a paw
down falls a vase
into the jaws
of the cold hard ground.

Mats Brokvam





A mighty crash does wake the house
The Son, The Daughter, And the Spouse
Down the stairs they run to find
Their little red angel lying snug on the mat
Though little they know of the trouble hes caused with their bat
With the vase in the hall, it is one of a kind.

Mats Brokvam

76
POETRY
To my sisters

To the warriors clutching pregnancy tests
Like pistols in their pockets
The enraged goddesses
United by the same sky
And NOT our organs
The dotted line they cut along,
Chanting smile and behave,
Then printing the hetero template onto our skin

To the warriors who tried to escape but couldnt run
In their sleek and elegant armor called "company dress code"
Simmering down, they turned their stilettos into knives
Played as mothers, played as wives
Nursed the opposition they gave life
Now, here's a wage gap; I love you, mother

They may have bought our bodies,
Brushed over our spots, faded freckles, scars
Uncertain ones, beginners, let us open your eyes
Come now, march loudly, help the warriors decide
Which shade of blood red lipstick makes the patriarchs cry

Kinga Wjcikowska

77
POETRY
Conversations with the aliens in my head

They didn't clap when we landed on their planet
Beadyeyed, small, bodies speckled like granite
I patted the ground, but their earth was deaf
A gangly one blinked, we held our breath
They left

The stars like dust in the sunlight, the air stiff and heavy
A choked wreck of a space shuttle dumped upon a levee
My mind a void, my heart a shell of an egg
It approached; thump, grumble, shuffle, blank as a peg
Didn't dare ask for resources, we just sat together
But it mumbled some words I'll remember forever:

"The bodies of salt drooling down
From your observatory organs
Human girl,
It is essential
It is a token of growth
Experience it
Live it
Make it your own
It is as dear
As the wax in our ears
Your spaceship, it will fly
As will you"

Kinga Wjcikowska

78
POETRY
Infant stars
there I stood
and above me
God's canvas
speckled with
infant stars
a garden of glittering ghosts
a sea of sparkling spirits
silenced, shimmering,
and singing

gazing longingly
and breath one with the evening's air
I couldn't help but gasp
we are all but a puny speck
under a celestial blanket

infant
infinite

Kinga Wjcikowska




Sophie Smedegaard
79
POETRY
Money

Money, money, money
Brighter than sunshine, sweeter than honey.

It glows and glimmers
Flickers and flares

Causes smiles and frowns,
Depending on whom its near.

Sparkly and twinkly,
Makes dreams come true
How can I encapsulate you?

Work hard all day,
Just for low pay

I dont understand,
Its just not fair

How can some be so rich?
While others itch n twitch

Well lifes a bitch
A mean old witch

One day Ill make it,
Except I wont fake it,

Breaking and aching

Is the only real way
To feel the zeal
Of a satisfying meal

Money, money, money
I love you
Wish you loved me too.

Brad Furber















Rebecca Chivers





80
POETRY
They said they will never lose,
But they have lost.
They said they would be here forever,
But they are gone
They said I was safe
But I am in danger.
They will say what they can,
To make you feel secure.
But in the end,
Its our own truth that matters.

Olivia Jensen.





Alexa Forsyth
81
POETRY
Just for Fun

Jimmy the mouse,
Lived in a large house.
He like to wear a blouse,
While he cleaned his pet louse.
He had a friend named Jeanine,
Who was a bean,
And was very lean and green.
He was very jealous,
When she fell in a crevice,
And met another named Elis,
So he flew to Venice.
He met a cat named Briar,
Who was really a liar,
Because he said he was in a choir,
But he was really a friar.
But the boats were really pretty,
And so was the city,
But when he met the committee,
He left.
c
82
POETRY
Faery

A massive courtyard,
Stretching before me.
Ivory statues,
Marble pillars,
Flowering trees.
Fountains hurling geysers of water
In the air.
Flowers of the rainbow,
Blooming everywhere.
Strands of music,
Reaching pointed ears,
A combination of
Harps and drums,
Strings and flutes,
Bells and whistles.
Strange but wonderful
At the same time.
Slender hounds,
Of moss green fur,
Mill about
Searching for crumbs.
Beautiful eleven knights,
Hold up the walls,
Carrying hawks,
Or small dragons.
A bare chested man,
With hooved feet,
Winks from the bushes.
A small figure,
A girl with gossamer wings
And opal eyes,
Serves strange concoctions,
Bubbling and hissing.
Boys with squirrel tails,
Chase each other
Up a tree.
Two thrones
Grow out of the ground,
Vines strangling the shape.
Perched on one,
Oberon.
The Summer Regent, the Erlking.
Tall and slender
Hair long and silver,
Falling to his waist.
Eyes, flints of green ice,
A thorny crown
Resting above his arched brow.
Power radiating in waves,
As subtle as a lightning storm.
Tatiana.
A royal woman of otherworldly beauty,
Long hair shifting colors.
Black, brown, silver, red, golden.
Glittering blue eyes,
And the temper to match.

This is all I see
As I enter the room,
And I know that with such beauty,
Death is close at hand.

Olivia Jensen.




Rose Andersen
83
POETRY
Drum Sticks

Their glossed surface catches the eye when reflecting the sunlight
Given their light and versatile build they provide many different options of usage
Slender and fine-fitting in the hand they glide through the air
Effective in creating organized sound yet wholly dependent upon their user
Helpless to those who abuse them, those who pollute the air
Nonetheless exuberant when utilised for the creation of colourful sound
They are servants.

On the contrary they remain rebellious to their commanders
After each stroke they rebel against the stiff arm that controls them
They revolt against their leader wishing to rule themselves independently
Nevertheless the stiff arm is able to submit them producing what sound it wishes
In frustration they beat the objects that give them their glory
The objects yell, creating beautiful ordered rhythm that accompanies the distant cries
from other lands.

Ryan Pointing


Andy Ringheim

84
POETRY
Space

Long in the distance, far beyond my capacity to see
You await the human race, waiting patiently
You lie on an ocean of nothingness, just above the sea
We try to behold your magnitude, seemingly audaciously
Yet no one is able to behold your majesty

You contain clouds of galaxies
Yet you remain a mystery
We are given merely a taste of your realities
You are finite in terms of your history
Yet still far beyond our visual sea

Terrestrial life may be illusive to our eyes
However you encounter most things in being
To you all things are like specs of lice
And though you may not be seeing
You are closer to us than we feel.

Ryan Pointing

85
POETRY
Spring

The bright blue skies shine light into the early morning hours
Walking out into the deceptive cold air the sun centres on the earth
Anticipating warm weather, yet met with grim reality
Lunch signifies transformation of the indecisive skies
Outwitted yet again by the spring whether
Cloudy morning succeeded by hot sunny days and vice versa
Trapped legs inside heated trousers; bare legs exposed to the elements
Predicting the weather resembles pathing the direction of wind
Only One is able to forecast the spring weather
Outwitted yet again.

Ryan Pointing







Baloon

86
POETRY
Rango the Mango

I have a mango
And his name is Rango

Rango loves to tango
And has a pet named Django

His father is an apple
And his mother a chapel

They do tango
Just like Rango

After tango they get hungry
So off they go to find something crunchy

They all buy Thai
But think it is a little dry

They give it to their dog
Who throws it to a frog

Froggie sits on a log
Where he goes on his blog

It is late and they are all tired
They soon drift off to wherever they desire.

Emma Jarlbk

87
POETRY
This is where the lions meet

The predators of the urban jungle
come out of their office cages,
to hunt for prey, while their employees,
serve it up on silver plates.

And while they feast on meat and money,
served with the sauce of coins and gold,
the poor must feast on the dust of sorrow,
with broken knives and broken forks.

Have these rich men by now forgotten
the humble ones they swore to serve?
Or did they turn a blind eye towards them,
distracted by the shine of gold?

Has Wall Street found new, shiny playthings
while the markets rose and fell?
Do bankers lie and say they help us,
while their pockets overflow?

So this is the world of the corporate jungle,
where they all win and we all lose.
Here plays the game of think deceit,
for this is where the lions meet.

Sophia Greenblat
Mieke Faeste
88
POETRY

Cloud of Streams

Imagine a society in the clouds
No one ever worries about rain
or about parades
to be stomped on
or dreams
to be dreamt.

Imagine taking the streams of clouds
No one ever asking questions about it
and playing music
to be danced to
and singing
to be heard.

Imagine the angels coming to watch
no one ever noticing them
nor ask them
to be human again
nor weep
to be felt.

Maria Jarlbk

89
POETRY
En stjerne jeg p himlen s

En stjerne jeg p himlen s,
mit nske var der op at n.
Et stjerneskud p himlens bue,
gled og lod mit je skue.
.
Stjerneskud kom denne vej,
og drys lidt stjernestv p mig.
Der oppe fra vor mlkevej,
mske du kan fortlle mig.
.
Om andre stjerner rummer sjle,
der ligesom mig lar' sig bevge.
Af nattens sknhed og magi,
der letter ensomhedens sti.
.
Den giver varme til mit hjerte,
og letter sjlens tunge smerte.
S evig taknemlig jeg vil vre,
og tnker p om mine kre.
.
Kan se din glans dybt i mit je,
og derved lade sig fornje.
Oh stjerne du som nu er dd,
skal vide at jeg ej fortrd.
.
Den lange nat p kolde sten,
jeg ved nu det er ej for sent.
At prise liv og dd med gld,
mens stvet daler i mit skd.
.

Maria Jarlbk

90
POETRY
Manhattan Minds

A city,
One angry intersection.
The shouts, fists, the honk of horns
It aught to drive you mad

Not I.
New York is a great opera,
I listen, I watch, I hear,
I see

Your beautiful buildings,
Skyscrapers,
smoothly grabbing the silky clouds.
An empire state of mind

The
busy, bustling, buzzing
of chattering tourists, residents
climbing through the streets

Manhattan, the
gossip, glamour and glares.
The crowds of people continuously walking,
through the endless streets of Manhattan.

New York,
flattered by thousands of lights
that never leave your view.
A city that never sleeps.

I am your audience,
your fan, your poet.
New York, I love you. New York,
Do you love me?

Katrine Jensen

91
POETRY
The Crowd

So much hustle, the streets of every city
Define the busy lives of every person on this planet.
Despite the heaps of people on the street,
Each and every one of them is a companionless outcast.

Whether the idea of loneliness is acknowledged or not
Every creature experiences it one day or another,
And the realisation of being completely alone among
The crowd is not common, but when its obvious its
terrifying.

No matter the size or the number of people in the crowd,
The isolation and emptiness from the rest of the world,
Is impossible to ignore.
One day or another One day or another.

Sonja Krynetskaya




Rose Andersen
92
POETRY
Fragrance

The fragrance of a mother
Unique and Unspoiled
by the time spent giving
love, not always returned
but precious just the same

Your loving daughter

Victoria Sosnovtseva






Mieke Faeste
Crystal
93
POETRY

Walking step in step behind
a single flickering moment
imagined in a room full
of blowing tulips and swinging
roses doing splits on trapeziums

It never existed the moment
that had passed inside
the mind of a silver coated
optimist who believed
in fairies, fancies

the only walk worth taking was
the cynical avenue to love not
cemetery, where lay buried
all the clich fancies
that could have been a crystal
precious and untouchable
to her, old and wrinkled
and out of fresh beginnings.

Victoria Sosnovtseva

94
POETRY
Missing Someone


Missing someone
never there, never touched
never seen, never been
part of me

Missing someone
piece of a puzzle
tears shed, over someone
never cared, never saw

Missing someone
who left
me.

Victoria Sosnovtseva






Julie Reynolds

95
POETRY
Summer Day

Tenderness in a rocky
hard coldness of a world
like sunlit leaves and fancies
wrapped in golden tulips
on a moonlit night.

Tears dripping down
like icicles reflecting gray, uneven
surfaces of faces hiding purple
feelings of warmth, for
someone else.

Smiles made up of thimbles
filled with kisses that once
belonged to someone else,
little hands and blades of grass swinging
on that stormy summer day.

Victoria Sosnovtseva

96
POETRY
World of Forced Smiles


A crack o light
trying with all my might
to shine through
the darkness, please do.
Breaths flickering
a thousand lights mimicking
a feeling of total
tender and immortal.

Reaching from the water
like the sun but hotter,
for a rope
a single strand of hope,
in a world
trampled stomped hurled
reflections in a thousand mirrors
throwing me back into my immortal fears.

Victoria Sosnovtseva

97
POETRY
Addiction

No matter what,
No matter when,
No matter why,
It's the same,

That you're consuming lethal products,
That you're playing video games,
You're the only one to blame.
You create yourself a distorted reality.

The small rebellion inside yourself falls to ashes,
The smallest glimpse of hope dissolves into smoke,
As you let the beast annex your mind and your body,
You fall deeper and deeper in the hole you dug.

It's starts small but ends up big,
So big that in some situations it destroys you,
The flow of time betrays you,
Years seem like minutes

As the last petal of your life flies away,
You stare at the sky for hope,
Realising you were blindfolded,
You are too late,

Time has won the fight as it always does.

Yan Poinssot

98
POETRY
Chilled

Like the layers of the ocean, but within her
the chill is dark, as if it had settled
for years, slowly creeping onto her shoes
and seeping to the bone.

Above is bright, warm and transparent,
but travel down to the floor and the cold seeps.

Much like the dewy morning grass after a cool night,
the top gleams with sunshine of the new day.
Slide below the grass into its bitterly cold shadows, plummet
into the dirt not yet thawed, and the glittering warmed tips of grass
only become a mask to the piercing cold beneath.

The top hit by the light is weightless. A balloon ready for flight.
But the cold is a burdening mass which takes its freedom, tying it to the ground.

Millicent Roach



Oona Tiirakari
99
POETRY
Reflection in a Mirror

It copies every move you make
It shadows every step you take
Looking back at you with the same expression
It is indeed your honest reflection.

See the impeccable and see the flawless
See the damaged and see the mess
Remember the past, predict the future too
It is indeed all part of you.

You cannot hide and you cannot fool
No matter who you are; the trash or the jewel
Accept the truth and be content;
For it is indeed you, the mirror attempts to represent.

Search your soul, search your inner,
Find it in your reflection in the mirror

Pratya Arora
100
POETRY

Thoughts
Thoughts have always crossed my mind,
But what are thoughts in relation to us?
Are they intruders or are they friends?
Do they have feelings or do they give feelings?
Do they even weep at our presence?
Or are they shadows with no trace?
Thoughts are what you will.

Alex Benes







Emma Jepsen
101
POETRY
Youre a Mess Kid

You're a mess kid
I think you know
You feel stupid
But dont let it show
Just laugh it off and make a joke
Another drink another smoke.

Youre a mess kid!
And youre so plain to see ,
Do you regret it so painfully?
Just laugh it off and make a joke another
drink another smoke.

Youre a mess kid and youre drowning
fast in an ocean of whats in the past.
Move along don't apologize eventually
they'll will dry their eyes.
Youre a mess kid to the other ones who
finally thought they've had enough.
Move along don't apologize eventually
they'll dry their eyes.

Yah, I know wrong place, wrong time
Yah, I know after this youll be fine.

Youre a mess kid and its getting sad, is
this a lifestyle
This is not a fad - laugh it off and make a
joke,
Another drink another smoke.
Youre a mess kid dont try to justify the
things you do every night
Laugh it off and make a joke, another
drink another smoke

Youre a mess kid and I just don't get
what you were thinking - are you
thinking yet?
Move along don't apologize , eventually
they'll dry their eyes
Youre a mess kid, time to face the facts
those you depend on aren't coming
back.
Move along don't apologize eventually
they'll dry their eyes.

Yah, I know wrong place, wrong time
Yah, I know after this youll be fine

Youre a mess kid dont throw your life
away -
Yesterdays mistakes wont be there
today.
Pick yourself up and get off the ground
Put down the pipe and take a look
around
Open your eyes there is more to life
Dont drink away your sorrows or
smoke away your stride
Just take one more chance, see how far
you can advance.

Yah, I know wrong place, (another
drink) wrong time (another smoke)
Yah, I know after this (another drink!!
another smoke!!) you'll be fine
Fine (another drink) fine (another
smoke!!)

Tom Woodhour

102
POETRY
If You Can

If you can say it to me
Than I can say it back
If you wont put past me all the things I lack
Then I can show a smile and know that i'll be fine
At least for a while , no more cheap ass wine!

Now i know, I don't know what I thought i knew before
This is different. This is different
And I find myself wanting more.

If you can think Im funny
Then ill try to make you laugh
If you can take my stupid jokes
Then i wont take them back
If you can find it in you
To put your hand in mine
Then i know something is certain
I will be fine.

Now I know, I dont know what I thought I knew before
This is different. This is different
And I find myself wanting more.

Now I know that ,
I know all too well I could lose It all
I have to stay inside myself
But not this time because i'm going to try
Dont tell me I cant have the sky
Its my turn
Ill take what I please
I could stand in an airplane where I can see
Now its her eyes
Even her pacing glance
Just one look
And im in interest

Tom Woodhour
103
104
Labyrinth 2014
Colour Photography

First Prize
Nishita Ramrakhyani




105
COLOUR PHOTOGRAPHY

Second Prize
Iris ten Have






Third Prize
Yan Poinssot




106
COLOUR PHOTOGRAPHY


Honourable Mention: Julie Woldbye-Lyng





Honourable Mention: Kristhy Bartels
107
COLOUR PHOTOGRAPHY GALLERY
Yuki Nielsen, Yan Poinssot, Andy Ringheim, Iris ten Have






108
COLOUR PHOTOGRAPHY GALLERY
Saga Sjstedt, Rebecca Chivers





109
COLOUR PHOTOGRAPHY GALLERY
Nishita Ramrakhyani, Julie Reynolds, Junaid Zaheer, Rebecca Chivers, Julie Woldbye-Lyng






110
COLOUR PHOTOGRAPHY GALLERY
Julie Woldbye-Lyng






111
Labyrinth 2014
Colour Art

First Prize
Julie Woldbye-Lyng




112
COLOUR ART



Second Prize
Yuki Nielsen














Third Prize
Freya Lindoos

113
COLOUR ART


Honourable Mention: Isabel Pontoppidan





Honourable Mention: Isabelle Kallan



Honourable Mention: Mariam Hawath


114
COLOUR ART GALLERY
Yuki Nielsen, Rebecca Chivers, Oona Tiirakari, Tanya Jensen






115
COLOUR ART GALLERY
Nishita Ramrakhyani, Agathe Helle, Nicolai Verbaarschot, Natsumi Hirao, Mariam Hawath






116
COLOUR ART GALLERY
Natsumi Hirao, Mariam Hawath, Julie Reynolds, Isabel Pontoppidan







117
COLOUR ART GALLERY
Isabel Pontoppidan, Isabelle Kallan, Iris ten Have






118
COLOUR ART GALLERY
Iris ten Have, Isabelle Kallan, Ingrid Bergendahl Yuki Nielsen, Freya Lindroos






119
COLOUR ART GALLERY
Freya Lindroos, Elesse Petty






120
COLOUR ART GALLERY
Ellese Petty, Andy Ringheim






121
COLOUR ART GALLERY
Adam Riis, Kristhy Bartels






122
Labyrinth 2014
3D Art

First Prize
Nicolai Verbaarschot






123
3D ART



Second Prize
Mariam Hawath





Third Prize
Natsumi Hirao
124
3D ART

Honourable Mention: Emma Jarlbk




Honourable Mention: Laura Brown


Honourable Mention: Agathe Helle

125
3D ART GALLERY
Rebecca Chivers, Mariam Hawath. Nicola Richards, Alex Barholm-Hansen, Isabelle Kallan






126
3D ART GALLERY
Maria Jarlbaek, Julie Reynolds, Isabelle Kallan






127
3D ART GALLERY
Isabel Pontoppidan, Isabelle Kallan, Andy Ringheim








128
Labyrinth 2014
Digital Art

First Prize
Chris Nielsen







129
DIGITAL ART


Second Prize
Nishita Ramrakhyani



Third Prize
Nicolai Verbaarschot
130
DIGITAL ART

Honourable Mention:
Nicolai Verbaarschot



Honourable Mention:
Julie Woldbye-Lyng



Honourable Mention:
Andy Ringheim


131
DIGITAL ART GALLERY
Chris Nielsen, Ellese Petty







132
DIGITAL ART GALLERY
Rebecca Chivers, Julie Woldbye-Lyng, Junaid Zaheer, Kristhy Bartels, Holm and Sophie







133
DIGITAL ART GALLERY
Natsumi Hirao, Nicolai Verbaarschot












134
DIGITAL ART GALLERY
Rebecca Chivers, Nishita Ramrakhyani, Saga Sjstedt. Rose and Adam








135
DIGITAL ART GALLERY
Saga Sjstedt. Yan Poinssot








136
DIGITAL ART GALLERY
Yan Poinssot. Yuki Nielsen






137
Labyrinth 2014
One Act Play


Alan Ayckbourn in his book The Crafty Art of Playmaking gives a number of obvious rules to
the would-be playwright. Obvious Rule No.14 is At least fifty percent of your play is going to
be visual. A reason that our One Act playwrights succeed here is because they write for the
theatre. In their scripts, they give attention to elements such as staging, lighting, blocking
(positioning and movement), costume, scene changes and acting to reinforce their narratives
and messages. Here we have three short plays which seem, variously, to deal with existential
unease in relationships between couples (Contemplations), between child and adult (Cousins)
and in the fine parody of Becketts quintessential expression of the absurdity of existence in
Waiting for Godot where the writer sends up many of the verbal and theatrical conventions of the
original to hilarious effect.


First Prize
A brilliant parody of Becketts Waiting for Godot.
The writer captures many elements of the
original to hilarious effect. An audience familiar
with the Beckett would laugh at the way this
burlesques Becketts setting, characterization and
language. Particular comic delights are the
recasting of Estragon and Vladimir of the
original as fish (and Vladimir as female), the all -
important boots as flippers, the enigmatic Godot
(God?) as a woman - and the line were fish, we
cant hang ourselves is a triumph. Also in the
spirit of mockery, the author catches at subtler
elements of the original absurdism and the
existentialist idea of nothing to be done;
narrative and extra-textual allusion as ways of
passing the time and the sense of indeterminate
time and place. A wonderful, subtle send-up..



Waiting for Dory
Elizabeth Lam

CHARACTERS

VLADIKA
ESTORINO

Inside a fish tank, evening. Theres a volcano,
and a few purple and green seaweed stalks on
the backdrop. Theres one large green
seaweed stalk on stage. The ground is gravel.
Theres a treasure chest to serve as a seat.
Lights are a blue wash.

When the CURTAIN rises, ESTORINO is seated
on the treasure chest with flippers on. Hes
struggling to remove the left flipper.
VLADIKA enters with short, clumsy strides
138
ONE ACT PLAY
also wearing flippers. ESTORINO gives up
trying to remove his flipper.

ESTORINO: Nothing to be done.
VLADIKA: (moving around the stage) Im
beginning to come round to that
opinion. (She stops, back turned to
ESTORINO.) All my life Ive tried to put
it from me, saying Vladika, be
reasonable, you havent tried
everything. And I resumed the
struggle. (Turns to ESTORINO.) So, here
we are.
ESTORINO: Yep.
VLADIKA: Its just us then.
ESTORINO: Looks like it (Pause.) What
do we do now?
VLADIKA: I dont know.
ESTORINO: Lets go.
VLADIKA: We cant. (They both look up at
the ceiling.)
ESTORINO: How did Dory manage to get
that clown fish out?
VLADIKA: I dont know... She said to just
wait. (Pause.)
ESTORINO: (looks around the tank
mindlessly) Ive been reading this book
by Newtschaw.
VLADIKA: Who?
ESTORINO: Friedrich Newtschaw. Hes a
philosopher.
VLADIKA: I think thats pronounced
Nietzsche.
ESTORINO: (Sarcastically.) Wunderbar
VLADIKA: (Pause.) What about him
though?
ESTORINO: (At the same time) Youre sure it
was this evening?
VLADIKA: What?
ESTORINO: That we were to wait here.
VLADIKA: She said Saturday. (Pause.) I
think.
ESTORINO: You think.
VLADIKA: I must have made a note of it.
(She fumbles in her pockets, bursting with
miscellaneous rubbish.)
ESTORINO: But what Saturday? And is it
Saturday? Is it not rather Sunday?
(Pause.) Or Monday? (Pause.) Or
Friday?
VLADIKA: (Looking wildly about her, as
though the date was inscribed in the
landscape.) Its not possible!
ESTORINO: Or Thursday?
VLADIKA: Whatll we do?
ESTORINO: Lets go.
VLADIKA: We cant.
ESTORINO: Why not?
VLADIKA: Were waiting for Dory.
ESTORINO: Ah. (Stands up slowly)

Silence.

VLADIKA: The Knight of Faith!
ESTORINO: Pardon?
VLADIKA: In the church garden. Are you
familiar with the story?
139
ONE ACT PLAY
ESTORINO: No Ive never heard of it.
VLADIKA: Shall I tell it to you?
ESTORINO: No. (Sits down again.)
VLADIKA: Well I dont remember all the
details, but basically theres a princess
whom three knights are in love with.
For a reason that escapes me, all three
cannot realise his love for her in this
world. So the first declares the chase
foolish and settles for the rich
brewers widow. The second resigns
to the fact that they cant be together
in this life, but hopes that in another
life or spirit they can. Are you even
listening?
ESTORINO: Its not like I have a choice in
the matter.
VLADIKA: (disregards ESTORINO) Anyway,
the third knight, the knight of faith,
believes that in this world and this life
they can be together.
ESTORINO: What has this got to do with a
church garden?
VLADIKA: Thats where it all takes place?
ESTORINO: So did the Knight of Faith
get the princess in the end?
VLADIKA: I dont remember.
ESTORINO: That was a terrible story.

Silence. ESTORINO gets up and
walks around a little.

VLADIKA: What do we do now?
ESTORINO: Wait.
VLADIKA: Yes, but while waiting.
ESTORINO: (looks towards the seaweed on
stage) What about hanging ourselves?
VLADIKA: Were fish, we cant hang
ourselves.
ESTORINO: Right

Silence. They walk around a little.

ESTORINO: Boredom is the root of all evil
the despairing refusal to be
oneself
VLADIKA: Listen!

They listen, grotesquely rigid.

ESTORINO: I hear nothing.
VLADIKA: Hsst! (They listen. ESTORINO loses
his balance, almost falls. He clutches the
arm of VLADIKA, who totters. They listen,
huddled together.) Nor I.

Sighs of relief. They relax and
separate.

ESTORINO: You gave me a fright.
VLADIKA: I thought it was her.
ESTORINO: Who?
VLADIKA: Dory.
ESTORINO: Pah! It was just the filter.
VLADIKA: I could have sworn I heard
shouts.
ESTORINO: And why would she shout?

Silence. ESTORINO walks back to
the treasure chest and sits down.
VLADIKA paces agitatedly to and
140
ONE ACT PLAY
fro, halting from time to time to
gaze into distance off. ESTORINO
falls asleep. VLADIKA halts before
ESTORINO.

VLADIKA: Nio! Nio! NIO!
ESTORINO: (Restored to the horror of his
situation.) I was asleep! (Despairingly.)
Why will you never let me sleep?
VLADIKA: I felt lonely.
ESTORINO: Which is more difficult, to
awaken one who sleeps or to awaken
one who, awake, dreams that he is
awake?
VLADIKA: What are you saying?
ESTORINO: Im saying Im not living!
Were trapped in a glass prison and I
havent done half the things I wanted
to in my lifetime. If I have ventured
wrongly, very well, life then helps me
with its penalty. But if I haven't
ventured at all, who helps me then?
VLADIKA: I told you, were waiting for
Dory.

Silence.

ESTORINO: Why dont we try to get out of
here?
VLADIKA: How?
ESTORINO: I dont know, but instead of
this waiting business, we could take
our lives into our own hands.
VLADIKA: Sure but I dont know how
wed get out.

Both think hard. Exhausted, they
both give up.

ESTORINO: Didi.
VLADIKA: Yes.
ESTORINO: I cant go on like this.
VLADIKA: Thats what you think.
ESTORINO: We could go to the top of the
tank. (Looks up at the ceiling.)
VLADIKA: Well do it tomorrow. Unless
Dory comes.
ESTORINO: And if she comes?
VLADIKA: Well be saved.
Silence.
VLADIKA: Well? Shall we go?
ESTORINO: Yes, lets go.

They do not move.

CURTAIN




141
ONE ACT PLAY


Honourable Mention
A moving monologue - a childs perspective in a
hostile adult world. Thoughtfully written,
intriguingly enigmatic and (through the stage-
directions) sensitive in its performance ideas.
You just need to find the right performer!



Cousins
Lara Jakobsen

CHARACTERS

LITTLE GIRL
THREE SCARY GUYS
A WOMAN

The soft pattering of rain can be heard in the
background. A bench is located center stage.
It is painted black, but the paint is peeling
and the bench looks like it is in desperate
need of renewing. A LITTLE GIRL, about five
years old, enters stage right, wearing a bright
red, plastic raincoat and boots to match walks
up to the bench in a determined fashion,
hands shoved deep in her pockets, and sits
down right in the middle of the bench. She
looks around the space, searching, continuing
to do so for about 30 seconds.

LITTLE GIRL: Im here to find a new
cousin. (Nods, as if agreeing with
herself. She continues to look around
searchingly for a few seconds.) The
other day in school, I was wearing
braids for the first time ever!
Mommy had made my hair really
pretty and I had red, sparkly things
at the bottom of them! They matched
my coat and my boats. (Pauses.) But
then when we got to play, Jakob
pulled them and it really hurt. I told
the teacher, but he didnt stop and
then one of the sparkly things fell out
and then my braid fell out. Then I
had to pull out the other sparkly
thing myself because I cant only
have one braid. Thats stupid.(Leans
back and crosses arms. Her face twisted
into a scowl. Arms still crossed.) I was
really mad at him because I really
liked my braids. He didnt even say
sorry. I dont like him. Hes so mean.
He always hurts my feelings!
(Uncrosses arms and sits up, excited.)
Thats why I need a new cousin! I
heard mommy and daddy talking
with their friends the other day. I
was supposed to be sleeping, but I
wanted to listen because sometimes
grown ups say fancy words that
sound funny and I like that. They
tickle my tongue when I try to say
them. (Pauses for a few seconds while
smiling.) But yeah! I heard mommy
and daddy and their friends and
they were talking about people and
their cousins! They said that boys in
(Speaks cautiously, stumbling a little
over the word ghetto.) the ghetto (I
still dont know what that is) have
cousins. And that they call their
cousins whenever someone tries to
hurt them! And that the cousins
sometimes hurt the people that are
being mean! (Pauses thoughtfully.) I
dont want to hurt Jakob, because
then Ill be mean and thats not very
good, but I want to make him stop!
So maybe I can get a new cousin that
will tell him to stop because he
doesnt listen to me. (Pauses to look
142
ONE ACT PLAY
around the area.) I wanted to go find a
new cousin right after I had heard
about them, but I was supposed to
be sleeping and mommy and daddy
would get mad if I did. It was also
dark outside and Im not allowed to
go outside when its dark because
mommy says its scary. (Puffs chest
out in a prideful manner.) But I dont
think its scary! So I decided to go
today because I have no school
today! Mommy is working at home
and dad is at work, so I was bored.
And then I remembered I needed to
find a new cousin, so then I came
here. (Smiles while looking
accomplished.) I didnt know where to
go first because mommy said that the
cousins live in a place called (Speaks
cautiously, stumbling a little over the
word ghetto.) the ghetto but I
dont what the ghetto is. And I also
didnt know where the ghetto is. I
had to ask three people! I know
mommy says I shouldnt talk to
strangers but two of them (Holds up
two fingers.) were ladies with babies
and one (Holds up one finger.) was a
nice, old lady. They looked at me
kind of funny when I askedI
wonder way. (Pauses to think.)
Then they told me that (Speaks
cautiously, stumbling a little over the
word ghetto.) the ghetto was that
way (Points arm straight out to the
left) right at the end of my street! My
street is long though, so I had to
walk for a (Lots of emphasis on
REALLY.) REALLY long time.
Then the lady said that (Speaks
cautiously, stumbling a little over the
word ghetto.) the ghetto starts
when I can see a bunch of big, gray
houses. They look like cement
blocks! So then now I am sitting on a
bench by one of the big, gray cement
blocks in (Speaks cautiously, stumbling
a little over the word ghetto.) the
ghetto! And I found it almost all by
myself! I didnt even need mommy
or daddys help! (Smiles triumphantly
while puffing chest out.) So now Ill
just wait for a cousin to pass by!
(Swings her legs back and forth while
she sits and looks around for about 30
seconds.) There arent a lot of people
out here today. (Continues swinging
her legs back and forth while looking
around for another 30 seconds. TWO
MEN enter from stage left, walking
towards the bench, wearing hoodies with
the hood up, covering their faces. She
stops swinging her legs immediately.)
Do you think they will be my
cousins?! Leans towards them, but
when she sees their faces, she leans into
the bench, cowering away from them.)
They look kind of scary. (The TWO
MEN pass by her, existing stage right.)
They were way too scary looking! I
cant be scared of my own cousin! He
has to scare Jakob, not me! Maybe
the next person who passes by will
be my cousin! (WOMAN enters stage
left and walks towards LITTLE GIRL.
LITTLE GIRL leans forward, excitement
on her face, but then leans back looking
disappointed when she sees its a
WOMAN.) Mommy and daddy and
their friends said it was only boys
that were the cousins and not girls.
Maybe she knows someone who
could be my cousin! (WOMAN exists
stage right before girl can say anything.
LITTLE GIRL frowns.) Now its too late.
(Her shoulders slump and she frowns.
143
ONE ACT PLAY
She sits like this for a few seconds before
suddenly perking up.) Mommy also
said that sometime they wear
matching outfits to show that they
are cousins, so maybe he can wear
raincoat and boots like mine! And
then everyone will know were
cousins! I hope he likes red.
(Pauses thoughtfully for a few seconds.
Looks around for a few seconds. A MAN
enters stage left and walks towards the
bench. She looks excited but then
frightened when she sees his face.) He is
also kind of scary looking. Maybe
theyre all scary looking! What if
they are all so scary looking that I
cant find one that doesnt scare me
and then Ill never get a new cousin?!
I sure hope I can find a new cousin. I
really want someone who will tell
Jakob to stop being mean. (She sits
and looks around the area a little bit
more, she has a slight expression of
frustration.) Its really cold outside
today. (Pauses.) My fingers are really
cold. And I dont see anyone else out
here. Maybe there no more cousins
left today? Maybe someone took all
of them? (Pauses.) Im also really
hungry. And mommy said shed
make me hot chocolate when she is
done working. (Pauses and looks
around a little bit more.) I think Im
gonna go home now. I cant see any
more cousins and Im really cold and
hungry. (Gets off the bench and starts to
walk towards stage right.) Ill come
back tomorrow, unless they have
Mickey Mouses Club House on.
Maybe my cousin will like Mickey
Mouses Club House? (Exits stage
right.)



Honourable Mention
This is a play that could be exciting in
performance. There is lots of scope for
characterization and the whole is emotionally
charged and potentially pacey. The way the
conversations are interleaved is effective
theatrically. A dark play about relationship-
discord, cleverly structured.



Contemplations
Camilla Nicolaisen

CHARACTERS:

JOSEPHINE
TIMMY
MINDY
MATT

Scene 1

The scene starts right after TIMMY has said
something that seems to have upset
JOSEPHINE. The audience doesnt know what
he said. (In media res).

JOSEPHINE: How could you!? I dont even,
what, no. No!

She slams her hands hard on the table.
She starts walking around the table,
slaps TIMMY, sits down and starts
mumbling swearwords to herself.

BLACK OUT
144
ONE ACT PLAY

Scene 2
MATT: Have you ever wondered what we
are all doing here?
MINDY: No, not really. There's no point in
doing so.
MATT: Why?
MINDY: It won't bring you anywhere.
MATT: That's not the point.
MINDY: Why would you wonder then?
MATT: Id feel like I understand the world
a little better.
MINDY: You won't ever understand the
world. It's not understandable.
MATT: I know.
MINDY: And that's what makes it so
interesting.
MATT: I guess.
MINDY: So just take it as it is, and stop
wondering.
MATT: I need to understand.

Scene 3
JOSEPHINE: It keeps going back into my
mind.
TIMMY: I'm sorry.
JOSEPHINE: Make it stop.
TIMMY: I wouldn't know how to.
JOSEPHINE: Just get it out of here.
TIMMY: I'm not sure what you're talking
about.
JOSEPHINE: Help me.
TIMMY: There's no way I could ever help
you.
JOSEPHINE: Get the pain to calm down.
TIMMY: No. There's no way.
JOSEPHINE: I can't do this anymore.
TIMMY: I understand.

Scene 4
MATT: What's wrong with you
MINDY: Nothing.
MATT: You've changed.
MINDY: That doesn't mean there's
something wrong with me Change
can be good you know
MATT: But it isn't in this case.
MINDY: Well I'm sorry. Change needs to
happen. You can't stop change.
MATT: I wish I could
MINDY: Why?
MATT: Because then everything would
always be the way I want it to be.
MINDY: You'd get bored.
MATT: You don't know that.
MINDY: I know you.
MATT: Im not sure you do anymore.
MINDY: Oh.
MATT: You've changed too much.

Scene 5
Two people sitting opposite each other at
what seems to be a dinner table. The woman
145
ONE ACT PLAY
is reading while the man is typing on his
computer. The lights go on, and after a short
moment, the man closes his laptop and starts
looking at the woman.

JOSEPHINE (small smile appears on her lips
when she notices TIMMY.): Dont look at
me.
TIMMY: Why? Is it a crime to look at
something as beautiful as you my
darling?
JOSEPHINE: Oh come on Timmy, cut the
cheesiness for just one day wont you?
TIMMY: You used to love it
JOSEPHINE (her smile disappears): Things
change
TIMMY: They dont have to, you know?
JOSEPHINE: Just leave it. Can we please
just not talk to each other for a little
while? I cant handle it right now.
TIMMY: But Josephine
JOSEPHINE (cutting him off): Cut it alright!
TIMMY (touches he hand softly and talks
quietly): Ill be in my office if you feel
like spending some time with me
JOSEPHINE Cool. (As TIMMY slowly stands
up she stops him): Actually! Wait
Tim.
TIMMY (a bit of annoyance can be heard in
his voice): What now?
JOSEPHINE (hesitating): I love you okay?
TIMMY (softens his voice): I love you too
Josephine
JOSEPHINE: I mean I cant forget. I can
forgive but never forget you know?
Itll always be there, somewhere in my
head. its scaring me. I dont know
what to do about it
TIMMY: Aw Josi its
JOSEPHINE (cutting him off): Let me finish.
Its just always there. Waiting to come
out and remind me at any point of the
day. Just waiting for me to almost
forget.
TIMMY: Its okay dear, I dont need you to
forget. Actually you shouldnt even
try to. Things like this are meant to be
remembered I guess.
JOSEPHINE: What do you want me to do
then?
TIMMY: Try and ignore it? I want our
marriage to be happy again

JOSEPHINE nods and walks out of the
room. TIMMY sits down, looking
confused for a short moment. He
hears loud steps coming towards him.

JOSEPHINE (looking shocked and full of anger.
She is screaming): You cant just expect
me to be in a good mood all the time!
And you certainly cant expect me to
just try and ignore it! I have my
own problems you know, and I cant
be all lovely and cute around you all
day, every day!
TIMMY (apologetic voice): I dont expect
you to do anything Josi, calm down
JOSEPHINE: It feels like all you want from
me is perfection. And I cant deliver
that. Im sorry!
TIMMY (trying to reach her): Oh come on
sweetie, youre being stupid now.
JOSEPHINE: Dont.
146
ONE ACT PLAY
TIMMY: Fine.
TIMMY sits down again while
JOSEPHINE storms out. BLACKOUT.
Lights on again, a bit darker than
earlier. JOSEPHINE walks in quietly.

JOSEPHINE (sounding rather embarrassed):
Hey, dinners ready darling.
TIMMY: Alright, Ill be right there.

JOSEPHINE nods and walks out.
TIMMY remains sitting in complete
silence. Closes his laptop and stares
towards the door while the lights
fade down.

BLACKOUT

Camilla Nicolaisen


147
Labyrinth 2014
Black & White Art

First Prize
Iris ten Have





148
B&W ART

Second Prize
Yuki Nielsen





Third Prize
Kristhy Bartels
149
B&W ART


Honourable Mention:
Ellese Petty

Honourable Mention:
Saga Sjstedt



Honourable Mention:
Mieke Faeste
150
Labyrinth 2014
Non-Fiction


This section which was opened as Non-fiction has, in the main, attracted writers of personal
essays - surely one of the most flexible and above all intimate of all literary genres. Philip
Lopate in his delightful introduction to The Art of the Personal Essay (Anchor Books June
1995)describes the writer of the personal essay as seem[ing] to be speaking directly into your
ear, confiding everything from gossip to wisdom. Through sharing thoughts, memories,
desires, complaints and whimsies, the personal essayist sets up a relationship with the reader,
a dialogue- a friendship if you will, based on identification, understanding, testiness and
companionship. Our writers here seem, variously, to be doing many of these things so well.
They conjure up situations and feelings with which we can identify or which touch us - that
gut-churning, almost shameful moment when we lose our mobile phone, a poignant,
confiding insight into marital breakdown from the speakers perspective as daughter, the
hellish complications of being in love; a mind-shifting insight into a visit to a poverty-stricken
Peruvian home from two points of view and, in a slightly different vein, a clever pastiche of
Salingers Catcher in the Rye - a fine and varied crop of writings in this great, sometimes
neglected form.


First Prize
The diary entry captures the colossal contrast
between the beauty and otherworldly atmosphere
of Southern Peru (the dusky kiosks, grand
churches and serene town centres), with the
hell of the lives of the extremely poor ( the snarl
of the malnourished dog, the floorhardened
mud...the ceiling low..not a single window).
The writer ends on a note of frustration as she
evokes her own white.. hygienic kitchen
relative to the filth and squalor she encounters
here. Through minutely observed detail and the
calling up of her own feelings, the writer brings
the whole experience to life and the sense of
injustice is palpable.


Diary Entry on the Outreach
Program
Ingrid Bergendahl

16th of April, 2014

Today I was able to stand in the shoes of
a poverty stricken child, living in the
South of Peru. From external views, it
would seem that the town of Urubamba
is a place of pure beauty. With tall
mountains reaching the skies, they are
covered in full and vibrant grass. They
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tower over the delicate valleys that flow
in between them, gurgling natures
water. This breath taking view
surrounds the quiet, and non-touristy
town, with the name Urubamba. It is
brimming with joyful and blissful
Peruvians, dusty kiosks, grand
churches, and serene town centers filled
with benches and parks. However, there
is a dark and devastating side to this
quaint area, as there is in any and every
other town in this South American
country.
Poverty is flooding the town, and
its drowning the future generations.
Hundreds of families live in shanti
houses, many times with all too many
children and parents that arent able to
provide. Alcoholism has stripped
thousands of parents of their money,
which leads to children who go to bed
on the firm ground, without dinner in
their stomachs that night. It sounds
difficult enough as it is; so it was painful
to even imagine what it would be like to
step inside an actual house of a child
living in these conditions. Kiya
Survivors is the charity I am working
with. They are in charge of something
called the Outreach Program. This
program allows the Kiya Survivors team
to take action upon themselves to visit
in-need families and attempt to help
them and improve their living
conditions. Today, the charity took half
of the travelling team to visit a boy
called Thomas house. He is a child of
three the youngest, and attends the
Rainbow Center, which I am currently
working at for another day. He has a
single mother. She chooses to work over
caring about hygiene, and trusts her
sons to go to school whilst she is at
work, therefore there is no certainty as
to if that happens. Thomas alcoholic
father visits once in a while. Sadly, it is
only to strip the mother of any recent
money she has made, in order to supply
his drinking addiction.
Driving through a grand
meadow down a road, it was
surrounded by green and blue valleys
where fluffy clouds rested on top. The
field seemed never ending, and the
grass was green yet dry from the
infrequent rainfall. The car pulled up to
a small shack, surrounded by a weak
fence and door. Without having to put
effort into a push, the unlocked door
creaked open, revealing a stone
entrance. On the left, there were two
small shacks, the one furthest away had
two floors, and the closest one appeared
to be sinking into the ground. As we
approached the detachment furthest
away from us, we heard the snarl of
their malnourished dog, as its piercing
eyes stared up to us in hatred. The shed
had corn growing on the roof, and there
was a rusty and unstable ladder leading
up to the window (which was simply a
hole in the wall), since there was no
other way up to the second floor. Wasnt
I just told that Thomas had severe leg
problems, meaning he has difficulty
walking? We learnt that this was where
the children slept, a recent bedroom,
since their old bedroom had insidious
fumes seeping into it as they rested,
from cement building projects nearby. I
stepped along the rough cobblestone in
my scuffed trainers up to the back
garden which was in fact the great
field I had been previously driving
down. Suddenly my somber attitude
from the dark environment of the house
had transformed into awe, as I gazed at
the beautiful hypnotic view. Its
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astounding to think these two places are
in such close proximity to one another.
How lucky one must be to live in such a
beautiful area. However this amazement
was short lived, as I realized that this
field meant that the house had no
protection, and that anyone could enter
the house how we later exited by
walking right out of the house, through
the field, back to the road. I also caught
site of a trickling stream, which held
only a few centimeters of glistening
water. This was the water the family
used to wash with, cook with and drink.
However, this is also the animals
source of water. Imagine sharing your
drinking water with a cows drinking water.
It was getting close to the end of our
visit, but the social worker wanted to
show us their kitchen. Our coordinator
explained to us that she had attempted
to teach the mother how to improve
hygiene, so now was her first chance in
several months to see if those tips had
been taken into practice.
I followed the social worker back
to the first shack, and had to bend down
to fit my fascinated body through the
doorframe without hitting the top of my
head. Should someone perhaps turn the
light on? I peered up and saw two
plastic bottles sticking down inside the
kitchen from the roof. They were
slightly lit up from the sunlight, but the
room was nearly pitch black. The floor
was hardened mud, the ceiling was low,
there wasnt a single window or
opening and the room was over half the
size of my average sized bedroom back
in Copenhagen. There was a rustic
wooden table placed in the middle of
the room, which had stacked plates and
cutlery lying around. There was a pile of
firewood in the corner, used for cooking
since the gas burner didnt work any
longer, meaning that the room would
fill up with smoke within minutes of
using it again, with no window to
clear it out. There were two rusty pots
sitting on top of the broken burner, still
crusted with old food inside, attracting
bugs. I had to breathe through my nose
as an attempt to not inhale the rotten
stench, and kept my hand up to my face
in order to push away the myriad of
flies that were present. To think that
someone actually lives here is shocking.
I reflected back to my own
kitchen. It is white, clean, hygienic and
breathable. I feel safe and healthy in
there. To compare it to this kitchen I am
standing in, and knowing that this
family has to live here, eat here every
day, is astounding. I am simply here for
several minutesthey have to stay here
their whole life. It feels unreal to me to
understand the difference in how
people live, and how for granted we
take our privileged lives. I have left this
small visit during the Outreach Program
with a newfound appreciation for what
we have, shock and fascination at the
difference between how people live, and
most importantly, even more inspiration
and motivation to help try and
minimize the gap between the less lucky
and the lucky, because everyone
deserves to live a healthy, happy life.



153
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Second Prize
This was felt to be a winner for the sheer weight
of feeling so honestly expressed. The speaker
recalls the agony and disorientation of a moment
of rejection, when his world fell to pieces. His
physical reaction obliterates his mental control
and his sense of his whereabouts distorts and
shifts. I sit here in this malarian warm
room.I see all my friends and classmates in
their true fragile selves. A gripping piece of
writing.


Here I stand
Oliver Jensen

Here I stand. I'm panicking, while at the
same time feeling like doing nothing.
All I want to do is rip out my hair and
scream, but also run after her and tell
her what I can do to change. I just want
to feel happy again. Feel happy again.
Why can't I get closer to her? I'm simply
trapped. Trapped in this prison of light.
Sitting here on this warm, used chair
waiting for the teacher to give me my
math exam. It's hurting, spinning and
drowning my head. I feel as if I'm going
to faint, yet I can't lie down. I'm praying
from the inner core of my broken heart
that this aching will vanish within
seconds. I'm praying softly, then harder,
then softly and then harder again. I pray
as spiritually as I can, but I know it
won't go away, this aching is going to
stay inside of me for weeks to come.
Right now, I feel like a mother losing
her daughter slowly in her arms. I try to
save her, but I know it won't help.
The sweat is pouring down my
upper back, down my inner thighs and
into my eyes. The sweat has been
mingling with my hidden tears, and
now it's stinging through my eyelids.
No one knows that she and I have
broken up yet, so there's still a chance to
change this - to lift my heart up and put
it back together. But right now, that
feels only like a distant dream. Like a
teenage girl dreaming about becoming
the next Madonna. As I sit here in this
malaria-warm room, and look around
myself, for the first time ever, I see all
my friends and classmates in their true
fragile selves. It's unbelievable what
education and the expectations of
society can do to a person. Sitting here
in this room with all these people in
rows, on individual chairs with
individual desks really ironically makes
me feel just like anyone else. All looking
like a herd of sheep. I can't stop over-
thinking, yet at the same time I feel
brainless. The sun is flashing into my
eyes through one of the bigger
windows. It helps me calm down a little,
yet this feeling is not dying out quick
enough. A drop of sweat falling onto
paper makes my heart start beating
quicker again. The teacher's now
passing out the papers, and my mind's
blanking out. I'm not going to make this.
I have to go, I can't do this right now,
I'm tearing up inside like a toy tugged
between two wild dogs. I can't. I can't.

Oliver Jensen

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Third Prize
This is another highly evocative piece. The
writer calls up for us in close detail, the
devastating poverty of this young womans
existence and his staggered response: slowly we
moved out of the room, almost in a trance. A
highly charged, pungent, almost filmic piece of
writing.


Poverty in Per
Nick Insua

The house smelled like a mixture of dirt,
sweat, mold, and shit, maybe also a bit
of trash and old food, but definitely shit.
That smell was singularly identifying. I
ducked into the low building, my head
almost hitting the shoddily built
doorway anyway.
Hola? I called in; I wasnt sure
if anyone was home. I stepped into what
was their main living room, which also
could have been called a kitchen, a
bedroom, and a washing area. I looked
up, noticing the tin roof supported by
long pieces of bamboo stretched across
the top of the room. The walls were half
see-through, little chinks of the wood
having been removed through the years
and the weather. Its not like there was
much to begin with, the wall was made
of different sized pieces of wood nailed
to posts in the ground. The planks were
like puzzle pieces that didnt fit
together.
Hola! Cmo ests? A small
woman, maybe 18, walked out from
around a corner carrying a small child
in her arms. Luisa she said her name
was and her sons name was Marco. He
had only a diaper on and snot was
dribbling down his nose.
Luisa put the child down on the
floor, directly next to a puddle of
muddy water that had accumulated
presumably through one of the myriad
holes in the roof. I told her why we were
there, my four companions and myself.
We were on an outreach trip to
experience what life was like in a
shantytown and what poverty really
looked like in Peru. She welcomed us
farther into her one room and had us sit
on the edge of the bed. To be honest, I
didnt really want to. Flies were flitting
across the room and the bed seemed to
have some sort of bed bug. But, to be
polite, we all sat anyway. She offered us
some tea or water but we declined,
again politely, due to the lack of
cleanliness and the bacteria that the
Peruvian water threatened.
She turned and started to give us
a tour of the room. Luisa showed us
their two top ovens,; one of the heaters
wasnt working so she had to save some
money and get that fixed. She also
showed us the 3 beds where she, her 6
younger siblings, her mother, and her
kid slept and she showed us their little
corner dedicated to Jess Christo and
La Religin Catlica. For what they
lacked in money, the family made up
for in devotion. The stubs of about a
hundred candles littered the floor
around their altar and the frayed poster
of Jesus showed years of wear and tear,
but otherwise, it was one of the most
maintained places in their house.
After she was done showing us
this room, she moved on to the next one,
the only other room in the house.
Walking through a doorway covered by
an old sheet, we stepped into the
washing/bathroom area. The first thing
that hit me was the smell, where the first
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room smelled bad, this one smelled
worse. I resisted the urge to put my
hand to my nose and stop breathing, but
it was hard. Luisa indicated to the two
trashcans that she used as her washing
machines, both filled to the brim in
cloudy, brown water. I could just see
what looked to be baby mosquitos
floating around in there. I asked her
about that and she said that the water
was too precious to dump out and
replace. I then asked her about the water
she used for cooking and drinking and
she told me that she bought it from the
neighbors because she didnt have
running water yet.
The worst part of this visit was
yet to come. Luisa told us that wed now
be seeing the bathroom. We turned a
little corner into a small alcove that was
covered by nothing but a small curtain.
The floor was churned dirt and 2 ducks
were walking around covered in mud.
This was the toilet, she told us, and it
was the best they could do with the
money that they had. We sat there
stunned, my classmates and I, trying to
process what we were seeing.
Slowly, we moved out of the
room, if you could call it that (this part
of the house didnt have a ceiling),
almost in a trance. We thanked Luisa for
her time and hospitality and said
Adios to little Marco who was still
rolling around on the mud floor, nearly
naked. We exited the house, swatting at
flies, and on our way home, reflected,
not for the last time, on what wed just
witnessed.

My Case
Anna Liokouras

Its kind of funny. A glance at it can
either bring about the most striking
panic or relieve the deepest distress.
When I drop it, case-side-up, my eyes
are glued to it as my body paralyzes, too
terrified to pick it up, hoping to god it
isnt broken. The fact that the case is
facing up, shielding me from
information concerning its state is quite
obnoxious, really. It likes to torture me
with its charm, knowing that I have to
stare at it every time before finding out
if it is broken.
This anxiety, though, is
contrasted by the terror it replaces when
I am frantically searching for it. The
second I spot it from afar it feels as
though the headlock I am in has been
released and I can breathe again. Its a
mischievous little thing, my telephone-
case, playing with my emotions.
It probably says more about me
than one would think. The case that
hugs the one object I cling to most. It
knows me best; and I trust it with the
things most important to me. It carries
my music, my photos, my friends, my
family and has been with me almost
every second of every day in the past
few years. It holds all my memories,
reminds me of my appointments, keeps
me conscious of the world around me. I
cant go long without it; it is literally my
life.
Not that I'm proud of it, and I'm
sure I can live without it. I mean, Ive
done it before, and theres always the
odd one in the bunch without one. But
this generation, this modern lifestyle
and all the addictions that come with it
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leave me feeling naked without it.
Everyone has one and most of them
look the same, but mine is special. It is
enclosed in the perfect little box which
makes mine, mine. I can identify it from
anywhere and it gives me a certain
comfort when I see it.
What a sad excuse for a love.

Dear Dad
Yulia Davey

I decided to write you a letter because in
all honesty - I dont feel like you
understand the severity and gravity of
living in a dysfunctional household with
mum. The following, is a series of short
stories of my time here in Denmark and
Tibilisi with my mother, and the effect it
has had on my academic career, life
style, and relationships.


Tibilisi, Georgia

First and foremost, when I was
nine years old I lived in a big house in a
small village called Tskeneti which was
located in the suburbs of Tibilisi,
Georgia. I went to an American school,
and though the academic level was very
low, I enjoyed my time there very much.
Despite, the fun I had in school, and the
activities and sports I attended after
school hours, living at home was hell.
Every day, when I got home from
school. I finished all of my homework,
and proceeded to watch T.V, play on
one of my many electronic devices, or
read in the library. Between 6oclock
and 7oclock, we had a family dinner.
Mum began to cook at 5oclock and dad
came home more or less at 6oclock.
Mum loved to cook, and for that reason,
I spent most of my time sitting at the
dinner table talking about my day.
When dinner was ready, as we all
sat down and began to eat, mum began
to fish for compliments. Im not sure
whether that was because she put her
heart and soul into her food, or she felt
that Dad didnt show her and tell her
how much he really loved her.. on the
other hand, maybe thats because he
really didnt or had lost love for my
mother a long time ago.
This was made apparent to me,
during my Easter break in 2008. For the
rest of my stay in Georgia, mum began
to communicate with my father only in
what I remember as a series of fights.
When mum began to scream and call
dad a fucking asshole ordickhead, it
hurt me a lot. Dad was my role-model,
my idol and yet of course my father
whom I truly loved and cherished. She
told him on a daily basis that he did not
set aside enough time for family affairs.
Dad, obviously was hurt by this, as he
loved his little girl more than anything
and always tried to come home just
before dinner, so he was able to share at
least one meal a day with his family.
Not long after he put up with my
mothers comments and judgements,
dad began to scream and yell and burn
with anger. Every day at 6oclock. You
could just hear it in his voice roaring
across the room as we sat and ate
dinner. After he could no longer fight
with my mother who began to wipe her
tears with a handkerchief, he went
outside to smoke a fag and calm down.
I never understood why dad smoked so
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much, whether it was the pressure from
directing five different countries for the
development bank he worked for (or)
whether it was his dysfunctional
marriage and frustration over current
affars. Nonethless, dad smoked a lot,
and not long after, mum begin to have
two to three, sometimes four glasses of
wine a day, early signs of alchoholic
behaviour, I later learned.
The fights during dinner, began
to become regular occurrences and it
became too much. Mum would send me
to my room with my dinner in one
hand, and knife and fork in the other.
When I turned ten years old I
asked for a TV in my room, and after
much discussion my father helped me to
set it up and place it on top of my
cupboard in my room, across from my
bed. My joy at watching Saturday
morning cartoons, or late night
documentaries blinded me from my
parents dysfunctional marriage. Until
one day, it became too much. I was
scared, terrified of my parents yelling
and being downright rude. The only
communication between then was filled
with swear words, and horrible
comments about one another. So I ran
up to my room with my dinner, and
turned on the telly. For the rest of the
school year, I would come home from
school, put my ready-made dinner on
my plate, and watch tv. During this
time, I was by myself a lot but I didnt
mind I thought that if I removed myself
from the dinner table, dad and mum
could work on their relationship as
well as notice that there was a problem.
And as I look back now, out of
all of my dreadful memories in the big
house in the small village in Tskeneti-
Tibilisi, Georgia, there is one last
memory, I remember as if it was
yesterday.

Mum and I were on our way to
school and between two conversations
mum asked me how I felt about dad
moving out of our big house and
moving into a little apartment in the
middle of the city. At that moment, my
heart filled with joy and I thought that
was a great idea. Dad and mum
wouldnt fight, and I could have dad all
too myself when I came to visit.
However the conversation didnt stop
there. Mum further on began to ask,
what if mum and I moved to another
country, back to Russia or perhaps
Denmark. I was ecstatic, and thought it
was a joyous idea. I had always wanted
to move to Denmark as it was a
developed country, where I could
practically do whatever I wanted and
talk to whomever I wanted to converse
with. Not something that was second
nature, living in developing countries
which were previously part of the
Soviet union. There were invisible laws
that every little Russian girl went by
and knew. So after much emotional
exchange, mum and dad separated
and mum and I began our new journey
in Copenhagen, Denmark and that is
where all the problems began.

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NON-FICTION
"

Taken from the Catcher In The Rye. Re-authoring
the beginning.

From Leaving to Staying
Maria Jarlbk


While I was walking out of the rehab
centre (rehabilitation centre), I honestly
looked like a moron. My hair was
pointing out from every corner and I
couldnt find my green hunting hat. I
think Id lost it when I was cleaning out
my room. I hadnt been myself lately,
but still they were releasing me from
this hellhole. In a way I was happy to
walk out of there a free man. I was
standing there in the middle of the road
waiting for D.B to come pick me up. As
he had promised, but I had guessed he
wouldnt show. I get very pissed when a
phony like him doesnt show up. I had
hated the fact that he had abused his
power to be a great writer, and now he
writes movies what a joy. Maybe
thats why he didnt show, because Im
mad at him. I just hope he doesnt
know.
Well, as I was saying. While I was
standing there I saw a ponytail, waving
back and forth, it was a very familiar
hairstyle, but still blurry. It wasnt until
later that I saw it was Jane; she looked
confused, almost like she was looking
for something or someone. Wait JANE!
She looked amazing, but I wasnt going
to say it out loud. Still, what the hell
would she be doing here? I wasnt just
going to go over there and be like, Hey
Jane, what are you doing here? So I
waited like a little love struck monkey.
This is not me talking!
She looked up and I dug my head
down, but apparently I dug it down too
slow. She glanced my way and smiled.
She then came running towards me.
What a girl. It was like my face was
glued to a screen, or something, felt like
such a moron though. Forchrissake I
said a little too loud. She came faster
and faster, and her smile was getting
bigger and bigger. Im not going to lie,
but I felt kind of good about this
moment and I didnt want it to end.
Even though nothing was really
happening.
She runs like a moron, I said to
myself quietly. I came to think of one of
the nurses who had been taking care of
me every morning, and how much she
had looked like Jane. Boy, was I glad to
see her here. I didnt know how I ended
up here. Hello, you She said. I didnt
want to answer, because I was so
confused. All I could get out was
Why? Why would I say why, out of
all the things I could say I said why? She
ignored it and played cold. Why are
you here I managed to get out. It was
like everything around me had gone
soft, and all I could see was, her.
Your mother, she told me you
were up here. She looked at me funny.
You do not want to know what I was
thinking right there and then. She said
you hadnt been yourself lately. She
looked so snobby, the minute she said
that. If she only came here to rub it in,
she could leave now. What you doing
standing out here? She asked. Im
waiting for D.B, to come and pick me
up, he had promised me that he would
drive up here in his new Jaguar. I
wanted to feel proud that he owned a
159
NON-FICTION
#$
cool car, so I said it a couple of times.
Why are you here? I threw back in her
face, but was cut off when a guy came
up behind Jane, and placed his hand on
her shoulder. That ticked me off
instantly.
I was very close to starting a
fight. He looked much older than her,
and I couldnt really make out whom he
was. So I jumped to the conclusion that
he was her brother. Im going for a
bitter with Stradlater. She said politely.
SAY WHAT I screamed in my head.
Youre going out with that phony piece
of S***. I yelled so loud that even the
deaf people could hear me. I wanted to
be tough so I asked if it was serious, and
I looked strangely calm. I couldnt
control it, next thing I know Im on top
of him laying a few punches here and
there. But it was like I was watching my
own body doing it; I had no control of
what I was doing. I was insane. Next
moment Im being hauled back inside
the Rehab centre, but really dragged like
trash. All I can think about is the kiss I
shared with Jane, as it will be our last,
because Im probably not leaving this
place for a while.

160
Labyrinth 2014
Doodles

First Prize
Freya Lindroos





161
DOODLES


Second Prize
Mariam Hawath





Third Prize
Oona Tiirakari


162