Empowerment

is not
Imprisonment

Collection by:
Logan Robinson

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 TABLE OF CONTENTS
Derelict – 2-5
Surviving Downtown Detroit: Black Cat Nightclub: 6-7
The Duality of Body and Mind: 8
Coming Out: 9

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 Derelict

Aludove’s (al-loo-doe-vay) gaze met the scythe; its blade elbowed into the dirt, and the

remains of the farmer followed closely. Moving around the scythe, she realized this was a

common farmer. His brown hair parted with tendrils falling towards the ground, his face

containing enough stubble to have missed shaving for a few days. She gently pulled on her

braided hair holding a few flowers. A nasty habit. His features were tan, given his occupation.

Hers carried a lighter tone. The storm blue eyes stared into the boundless abyss of the sky, unlike

the icy blue of Alu’s. Gliding further downwards, she observed the overalls—caked in dirt after a

long day’s work on his hands and knees. It was a horrific sight but one she had grown

accustomed to during her adventuring life. Alu knelt beside the man, readjusted her longbow,

and then pulled his eyes closed. It wasn’t the first time something on this scale had happened. A

small house on the outskirts was easy to pick off. A slight mid-spring breeze broke her from her

thoughts. The field still lay unharvested, wheat visible for several ongoing meters among the

rolling hills of Endonia.

Her mind went back towards the body, weighing. She noticed the man had dried blood

upon his left upper sleeve. She lifted the soft linen. He had not washed the wound, so it had to

have been recent. Taking a small black-stained cloth from his overall pocket, she wet it. Wiping

the injury revealed a trapezoid figure with an eye carved into it, a branding of some sort, but not

one she was familiar with. She counted the arrows within her hip-quiver—twenty-three. The man

weighed about 250 pounds, meaning dragging would be challenging. She grabbed under the

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man’s arms, taking a quick breath to brace herself as strength was not a gift of hers. However,

when she held it, she noticed that its warmth had only just begun to fade.

Given that there was no decay present, yet the body heat had began fading, she assumed

that it could have only been dead for a timeframe anywhere between three to twenty-four hours.

To narrow it down further, she tried opening the hand—stiff. Rigor mortis had already set in. If

she had had to guess, she would have placed the body’s time of death around 3 hours ago. She

would have to be careful, danger could still be present.

It took several minutes before she could dispose of him in the wheat field, given that he

probably had no close relatives that would know of his death. He must have loved the field,

considering his life had revolved around it. She wiped the sweat from her brow, taking several

deep breaths to slow her heart rate. She smiled, always insistent that all nature had a distinct

beauty, the wheat reminding her of a yellowish blanket. Against her greater judgment, she

searched the body before leaving. There weren’t more than a few copper pieces in his coin

pouch. However, an odd golden chain hung from his left pocket: a pocket watch.

“He doesn’t need them anymore,” she convinced herself.

Now, she was needed elsewhere—the cabin still left untouched. Its face couldn’t be more

than 20 feet wide and 7 feet tall, only built to hold a tiny family. Accumulating less distance

between her and the shack, she examined the front exterior of the building. A few supports had

shown obvious signs of wear and had started to crack under pressure. The place was soon to turn

to uneven flooring, and she refused to be here when it did.

Knowing she had to be quick, she approached the side of the small shack, only stopping

to trace her hand alongside the darkened wood. Its treatment to endure harsh storms and rough

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winds brought by unpredictable weather the area provided. The back wall revealed scratch marks

and ax marks. Too many to be intentional within the design.

Rounding herself to the front, she took the step slowly. The creak of the step didn’t seem

to bother her. Her head turned to check the way she had come, no one. She was prepared for a

threat, with her longbow over her shoulder and her hip-quiver fully stocked.

The old wood flooring creaked as she entered. The interior was—livable, being the best

descriptor. Two beds, one that took up almost a quarter of the space within the room: the master,

and then a small one having to be aligned along the former’s baseboard. Like most things in this

shack, a wood stove in the corner had its size altered. In the final corner, she noticed some

homemade alphabet blocks made of wood, with a half-melted candle beside it. There were no

other candles out in the open or any magical lighting. They must have rarely stayed up past

sunset.

The father was in the wheat field, a child that was unaccounted for and a possible mother.

Alu needed to see if the child was hiding somewhere, considering it was what she had done when

the men came for her own father. Considering that the house’s demise would come quickly soon,

she needed to check here first. The only places they could hide were the L-corner cabinet or

underneath the bed. The bed was closer to the door, making an easy escape. However, the only

thing hidden underneath were three chests under the smaller bed and six under the larger. The

beds were out of the question if it came to hiding. So, that only left the cabinet. Its wood is

lighter than the interior walls, possibly a birch or an iradacean—hard to tell considering their

main difference was their bark .

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 She knocked softly. “Hey, is someone in there?” Her voice was gentle, careful not to

scare them. The silence that followed was uncomfortable. After a while, she slowly opened the

cabinet.

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 *** Surviving Downtown Detroit: Black Cat Nightclub ***

A violent storm. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did it have to happen now? Three interviews

in one day. A mix of rain and tears led to smeared mascara, which never made good first

impressions. Being a single mother in Detroit with no babysitter meant I had to take my 3-year-

old with me. His blonde hair and mossy green eyes to his light-up Sketchers made him seem like

a perfect kid. He was adorable, someone few could resist saying no to, which didn’t always help

his behavior. Taking him from his dull grey car seat was difficult. The cold rain occasionally

splashed against the bottom of my shirt. I looked crazy, Bent down in my backseat with a small

blue umbrella, with puppies on the top from Paw Patrol—a show that Isaiah could not stop

watching—perched on the door.

         “Come on, Isaiah; mommy’s got to go inside.”

His retaliation didn’t cease, “Paw Patrol! Paw Patrol!” However, the offering of his

favorite fruit assorted gummy snacks was enough for him to relent my phone back to me. I held

him in my left arm as I grabbed the umbrella, closing the dark blue door of my Fiat with my leg.

The traffic was high on Fifth Street, so I couldn’t let him walk around.

The looming black brick did not seem inviting; however, the sun was still out, and the fall

breeze had pushed through the air. BLACK CAT NIGHT CLUB, displayed in a neon lightbar,

flashed between green, pink, and blue. A “pretty” escaped Isaiah.

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 Two weeks until winter. I had to obtain a job before then. Stella, my apartment floor

manager, still needed proof of employment form, and I didn’t have long—and this rain was once

again coming down harder.

The plain grey doors of the nightclub opened with ease, only bolstering a few missing

posters for pets. Setting Isaiah down and hearing his tennis shoes hit the floor made me realize

how dead the place felt—the energy only suppressed by the Paw Patrol umbrella I closed. Unlike

the other nightclubs I had seen today, this one looked worse for wear. The inside of its walls

seemed close to chipping, painted a pearly tan color.

Taking Isaiah around the corner revealed an open area with a DJ booth facing us. 

“Go play,” I told him, watching him race towards the open area. I saw Marcus, the one

who invited me in for the interview, come around the corner. His demeanor changed when he

saw Isaiah playing. Then he turned to me with a look that seemed caring.

I slowly told him about my night in New York City. The reason why I was here today.

James. I explained that James was Isaiah’s father and that James had taken to the brown bottle

wrapped in a paper bag in recent months. Raising my black sleeve, I showed Marcus the various

marks that the man had left on me during our time together. I left as soon as he tried to put his

hands on Isaiah, and I didn’t stop driving for nine and a half hours. I only stopped for gas twice.

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 The Duality of Body and Mind

My body feels like a weight, an object of unbelonging that lingers there.

My body feels like a burden, its weight increasing despite my best efforts
My body feels wrong, displaying traits that often feel foreign to me.
My body is not my own; instead, feeling like someone else.
My body is something that I have harmed trying to fix it
My body is like yours, however unpleasant it makes me.
My body was perfect, the perfect slim figure, perfect flat stomach
My body was perfect, the imposter pains without residence.

My mind was perfect, ignorant of the advances the body was making.
My mind was perfect, holding myself together.
My mind is like yours, cracks becoming ever more present daily.
My mind is something I have harmed trying to fix it.
My mind is not my own; constant thoughts racing through my head, some intrusive, some other
My mind feels wrong. Doubt perseveres every decision I make.
My mind feels like a burden, its knowledge feeling for naught, having no skill to follow-through
My mind feels like a weight, carrying my head up, persevering

Nevertheless, I persist

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 Coming Out

Dad
(502-***-****)

Hey Dad, I have been trying to get enough confidence

to be able to tell you something for a while. I just
didn’t know how you or mom would react and I
was scared. I know you keep telling me that you will
always be there for me. But I see all these
stories online, and the more I read the more
anxiety I get. I have no found anything harder
to tell you. I guess I shoud go ahead and say it though.

?
Dad, I like girls. I don’t know how you feel about that.
Just know that I will always love you and moment and that
I will always be your little girl, right? I’m sorry if I am rambling.
It’s… This is emotional I guess. I didn’t expect to feel this way.

ok. C u @ home ❤ u Emme

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 Derelict is one of the stories that I am most proud of. It was also one of the short stories
that I spent the most revision time on. The first revision that I had made upon it was revising the
first page for conciseness, and attention to detail. The most notable change was me adding fixing
the placement of the scythe and adding some innocence to Alu. I wanted Alu to give a younger,
and more coming-of-age vibe, and with more time I could have accomplished that but I still do
not know how. The second revision I tried to connect the piece overall and take out details that I
did not find fitting. The most notable change was not having the kid attack and instead hide. A
third revision was also needing to tie the language tighter.
Black Cat is something that I had been thinking about for a while, and while it took me a
while to get it where I wanted it, have something that I am ultimately proud of. When I wrote
this the first time I had missed the entire point of what I wanted to do. The second time, however,
I had the story of this young first-time mother leaving an abusive relationship and getting her
child away. It had to be one of my most researched pieces. I had a third time of trying to make
the story tighter.
Duality was a piece in which I had been gripped into while writing it. I knew that its final
version would not vary too much from the original. In that regard I only made one revision on
this piece, and that was only to correct some spelling an try to cut some unneeded words.
Coming Out was something that I revised four times. It was something that I wanted to
be able to be proud of. I know it is ultimately something that I will have to do with my father one
day, and I know I am not ready so I take the time and envision the best situation possible, and so
I hope one day it turns out like Emme’s.

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