Touchstone 2022

TOUCHSTONE

TOUCHSTONE

Literary Arts Journal 2022

Contact Us.

touchsto@stetson.edu @touchstonelitart

Touchstone Literary & Arts Journal

Stetson English Department 421 N. Woodland Blvd Unit 8300 DeLand, FL 32723

Touchstone 2022 literary and creative arts journal is a production of Hatter Network.

Hatter Network is the student media collective at Stetson University.

For more information, visit: www.hatternetwork.com

MEET THE STAFF

A. Wilson

Julexis Gonzales Logan Warren Chase Berger Noah Szegda Hayden Collins, Designer

SELECTION COMMITTEE

Morgan Hibel

EDITORS

Xanthippe Pack-Brown, Executive Editor

Vivianne Skavlem, Associate Editor

Isabel Soloranzo, Creative Director of Hatter Network

Ruby Rosenthal, Editor-in-Chief of Hatter Network

Lisa Jordan, Social Media and Marketing Editor of Touchstone

FACULTY ADVISOR

SPECIAL THANKS

Crystal Baroni

COVER

“Gatekeeper” by Mia Hawkins

@mhawkinsart

& TEAM

and lovely; having you on our team who is as eloquent and competent as you for a leader puts my heart at ease.

THE

EDITORS

Dear Reader, I am overjoyed to share with you the 42nd edition of Touchstone! This was truly a labor of love, and as we say at Uncouth, this could not happen without you.

To those who submitted pieces, whether in this book or not, thank you. Thank you for your leap of faith and courage in submitting pieces, whether of your own volition or after some begging on our end.

To our resident adult and mom, Crystal, thank you for being our advocate. You are always there for us, whether that be offering to hold my hand when I need blood work, or spending your Thursday nights in Lee’s Garage clicking through a powerpoint.

To the general Touchstone staff, thank you for joining our ranks. What started off as a staff of three grew to nine brilliant and driven people I am happy to call my friends. A, thank you for every leaf, smile, and hug you have ever given me; while I don’t think bottled water is fair payment for all you do, I am forever grateful. Chase, thank you for joining at my behest; more importantly, thanks for staying. Hayden, you have risen to the occasion time and time again with grace and kindness; for that I thank you. Julexis, thank you for every performance at Uncouth; you can capture a room’s attention with personality alone. Logan, thank you for never knowing a stranger; at your interview, I remember feeling like we were already friends, and you never fail to wave and shout hello when we cross paths. Noah, thank you for being certified in InDesign; that’s partly a joke, but thank you for choosing us; one year isn’t a lot, but I hope you have fond memories.

To Lisa, our social media coordinator, thank you for everything you do. Your work behind the scenes has not gone unnoticed. You are dependable, wonderful,

To Xanthippe, our executive editor, I am so, so proud of everything you have accomplished and created this year. Working alongside you has been one of my greatest joys at Stetson. You have helped return Uncouth to its former glory and I can only imagine how far you’ll go.

This is a bittersweet sorrow. I know that come August, I will not be here as I forge my own path towards the future. However, parts of my heart and soul will remain; in this book and with my friends.

With all my love, Vivianne Skavlem

Dear Reader,

I am thrilled to present to you the 42nd consecutive edition of Touchstone. From being essentially fully online to going fully in-person over just one summer, to growing our meager staff of three to one of nine, this year has been nothing short of unique. The academics, as they are every year, have been rigorous, there have been bumps in the road across this entire year, and yet the literary and creative communities of Stetson have still come together once again, and given us these wonderful pieces to share with you.

There are so many people that have made this possible. First and foremost, I want to thank the Touchstone staff. Fridays meetings, InDesign trainings, Uncouth Hour, every week you all showed up and showed out. I am so lucky to know you all as people, as creatives, and as staff members. I would like to thank the associate editor, Vivianne Skavlem, for her sarcasm, her wit, and her willingness and devotion to fighting for this journal. Thank you for being patient with me while I learned the ropes of being an editor. I am so glad that we got to do this thing together. I would like to thank Lisa Jordan for her tireless work on our social media presence. I would like to thank our student media coordinator, Crystal Baroni, for being the best staff mom we could ask for, for always encouraging me and reminding me to take care of myself, and for being there for us

when no one else was. I would like to thank our designers for putting up with my last minute design decisions, and for helping this dream come to life, and for being excited about it. I would like to thank all of the creative writing and creative arts professors that always allow time for Touchstone in their classes. I would like to thank our Uncouth Hour regulars, our Creative Corner attendees, and everyone that submitted to this edition of Touchstone. Thank you for continuing to hold space for us, so that we can hold space for you. We couldn’t do this without you. Thank you to my family for always being there for me and supporting me unconditionally. And finally, thank you, reader, for picking this book up, whether you know who we are or not.

Touchstone is late nights and long days. It is writing poetry in your notes app on your phone. It is spending so long in the studio, you didn’t realize the sun had gone down. It is reading three books in a week, or reading two books in a year, or playing music so loud in your car you can’t even hear your own singing. Touchstone is excitement, support, community, creativity, passion, and love. Every year, we try to encompass that in one annual publication, and I think this year is the closest one yet. I love this magazine with my whole heart, and I hope you enjoy it just as much as I do.

Happy reading, Xanthippe

Andy Denhart

TABLE OF

29 56 39

p. 11 Gardening - A. Wilson p. 12 The Ghost of Hike’s PastIsabella DeRienzo p. 13 fixated - Hayden Collins p. 14 The Next Right ThingLisa Jordan p. 15 The Dramatic Death of DayCarmen Cruz p. 16 Sleepless Nights - A. Wilson p. 16 Word for no Words*Vivianne Skavlem p. 17 Rudy’s Lakeside Drive inNadia Papin p. 18 Into the Wind - Emery McClenny p. 19 Alexa Writes Onward - RSB p. 20 Cowgirl - Zoe Boykin p. 21 A Shared Hallway*Xanthippe Pack-Brown p. 24 RAADS - Lisa Jordan p. 25 I Quarantined Before you didCarmen Cruz p. 28 Peak - Chase Berger p. 28 Book 1 - Grace McEllroy p. 29 SHES A GIRL AFTER MY OWN HEART - Zoe Boykin p. 30 Ferocity - Carmen Cruz p. 30 Juice and Jam - A. Wilson p. 37 Jokes on you - Morgan Hibel

p. 38 Potassium ProgressionSam Berman p. 39 Kids - Hayden Collins p. 40 Gatekeeper - Mia Hawkins p. 41 Death and Bo - Ling Shapiro p. 46 Gate of Truth - Mia Hawkins p. 48 I Know - Maia Robbins p. 49 Man - Ling Shapiro p. 49 Idol Worship - Katherine Orfinger p. 50 Buzzing Around A Prickly Pear (Save the Bees)- Isabella DeRienzo p. 52 Drive By - Isabella DeRienzo p. 54 Cora - Mia Hawkins p. 55 Bukowski Was RightKatherine Orfinger p. 56 into the wild - Morgan Hibel p. 58 Self Portrait - Mia Hawkins p. 59 Warhol x Winged VictoryIsabella DeRienzo p. 60 jupiter falls 8 miles - A. Wilson p. 67 My Life in DichotomiesKatherine Orfinger p. 68 The Balance of LifeGrace McEllroy p. 69 Seesaw - Ling Shapiro p. 70 stolen soul - Morgan Hibel p. 72 ampersand - interview with Touchstone’s cover artist, Mia Hawkins ‘23

Gardening

When the sun beats down on me, in that aggressively bright way no clouds, no shadows, just unrelenting light.

When it rains at exactly 3:15 every afternoon, like the heavens have opened up but only for ten minutes.

When I’m driving down that endless stretch of interstate right after you hit Punta Gorda, but before you reach Fort Myers. And there’s a perfect glimpse of clouds, looking like they were stolen from a renaissance painting.

But some days, the sun is too bright to look at. And the rain in my shoes gives me blisters. And driving home just makes my chest heavy.

Those days scare me feeling numb losing track of time forgetting

Sometimes I think of myself as a plant.

Simple necessities, water, sunlight, air. Easy.

A. WILSON

It reminds me that I’m alive.

It reminds me that I’m alive.

It reminds me that I’m alive.

But I’m a terrible gardener.

The Ghost of Hike’s Past ISABELLA DERIENZO

fixated HAYDEN COLLINS

The Next Right Thing

The Dramatic Death of Day

LISA JORDAN

CARMEN CRUZ

1. Reported missing in late July

1.1. It was unbearably hot, and the air conditioner in the car had not worked for years now

2. The first clue: a pink tupperware cup, filled with iced tea, left on the dining room table

3. The family wishes to not go public on the matter, and would prefer privacy and respect during this time

4. A breakthrough when a wallet turns up on the doorstep, along with a belt, two white sneakers, and a t-shirt

4.1. Who brought it to the door?

4.2.Where was the container from?

4.3. Where did they find these items?

5. The first concrete lead in a while: spotted on the fifth floor

6. A phone call to the wife, confirming survival and health status (finally)

7. Awakening, questioning, and testing commences in late August

8. Investigation going further than before

8.1. One step closer to being home

9. Another roadblock reached, all clues pointing to the lungs

10. Do the next right thing

I was taken to the beach one evening, and what lay before me was nothing short of miraculous. We arrived at dusk, only moments before it happened. The sun was low, an orange circle illuminating the horizon. The clouds caught and carried the light, painting the sky in shades of pink, orange, and purple.

This fabulous display danced on the waves as they glided, making the water shimmer and sparkle as if to display it’s glorious riches within. The melodic sound of the sea seemed familar, and as it drew me in, the soft white sand brought me back to reality.

I was in a trance as the whispers of the wind pursued me.

I sat there, awestruck at the dramatic death of day before me. And for the first time in a while, I regained the ability to feel, and with it, the very mechanism that connects us to each other, and to the world around us.

Here I felt peace, and I felt it strongly. Here I felt safe, I felt free, I felt things that I had believed to be unattainable. And here, something as regular and normal as a simple sunset forced into me that which I had believed to be an ignorant dream.

I sat in the pillowy sand, the gentle sea breeze brushing the hair from my face, mesmerized by the sinking sun, shipwrecked and drowning until the sea has won. And in a grand finale, it disappeared, leaving the remnants of the

glowing sky as it’s legacy. Though eventually that too, faded.

I found myself in the darkness soon after, somewhat heartbroken at what I had witnessed, that it came to an end. I closed my eyes and listened. The call of the sea intensified in my mind, I ran my fingers through the sand and pondered the glorious tragedy that fell before me. I thought about how it seemed to renew my soul, the very essence of my being was lifted.

And as if on cue, I opened my eyes and focused my gaze on the heavens once more. It was filled with stars like dancing glitter on display. Then another full circle caught my attention. It was a mass that glowed white and filled the air with its presence. I found myself at peace once more.

I took these events as a sign, a promise, for the return of the end, for a fresh start and a new tomorrow. I have found that only through pain and sacrifice can true greatness be achieved. And it is through these tales of turmoil that hope thrives, and is gifted. The disappearance of the life source of the world as we know it is a dramatic sight, to be sure. But it is an everday marvel that stands as a symbol of hope that many appear to be blind to. It is amazing what can be learned if only you stop to notice the mundane miracles of this world, and allow yourself to feel.

A. WILSON

The moon and her frag ments, keep me company— — easing my mind.

Waves run through the interstates in my lungs. Headlights splinter the darkness in my brain. Gravel ruts rest under my eyes. Are they less quiet? Is my blood more rabid?

VIVIANNE SKAVLEM

Sleepless Nights

Have these lonely roads turned my bones into wood? Sap dripping through my teeth, waiting for a spark, waiting for ash. Getting only slices of light, as the moon says “good morning.” And I’m cradled by those waves over my feet and the dawn threading through my hair.

Words for No Words*

Rudy’s Lakeside Drive-In

NADIA PAPIN

You’ll go back one day, to those rocks by the sea, the ones underneath the stars, and what you’ll find after all that time is what makes you who you are.

Your feet have stepped on many of those rocks before you picked them up in your hand. Seagulls and fish and people as well know those rocks are the best in the land.

It took years to perfect the technique you used to throw the rocks across the waterHave you even perfected it now that you’ve been gone? Would you even remember?

The sun, the stars, the moon and all will watch wherever you may be, and one day soon - maybe very soonyou’ll go back to those rocks by the sea.

EMERY MCCLENNY

into the wind, strong anarchic wind passing through the valley with every cipher of gush you don’t know which way she goes nor expect to see her arose but she kicks in when you don’t expect heaven comes crash ing in at the sight of angels racing against the backdrop of history and time many souls grieved and triumphed in the span of space we call earth it is remarkable to see how we are all alike though we come from different worlds mourning with those who mourn

rejoicing with those who rejoice it’s in our very nature and one that can save our lives i’m very thankful for the gift of wind because we have been led to loosened tounges and testimony we don’t know which way she blows but her rising is inev itable capture the day! as the wind rises let us remember the dance that we all share whether we know it or not fruitful memories of love and being loved just as water brings us to death so does it bring forth nourishment

into the wind

Alexa Writes Onward

as water soaks up the soil for the plant to grow in spite of ourselves our structures and proclivities sister love can never give up on what she creates no matter the tragedy although we suffer, it does not have the last word anymore her friends are safe and secure there is something new at hand every time the wind comes she does not seek to exclude the pain is surely sharp how else could we be human imperfect and yet beloved in memory of Alexa Koch

Like a crescent moon in repose Over your apple red striped top Against stacked bricks Your glowing smile Hugged tight in a circle Floats among bright beautiful splotches Framing “stand for justice”

You shine forward E x t e n d

Onward from your legacy Whisper wisdom through earth-kissed coffee Kindle inspiration in rivers of ink

You loved to write On page and in air Seeding vibrant gardens from love

You spoke through your life Singing in joyful constellations Found in a million memories Turning concrete into fresh linen Revolving ashes into singing stars Dancing in the center of tornadoes

With heaps of hope you grew rainbows Multicolored arcs from

teardrops

RAJINI SHANKAR-BROWN

Moving across human landscapes Reflection, refraction, dispersion of light Through harrowing funnel-shaped clouds You would branch out your arms

Far reaching as you whirled Inside of tornadoes

You still helped others to escape Providing shawls made of sunlight

Rebuilt dilapidated porches Centering human connection Your smile stretches onward Refusing to live in shadows You continue to speak through your life Golden streamers and lifeboats Lemon yellow daisies and glimmering seas E x t e n d onward from your legacy Embrace every memory Twenty years of priceless gifts That will continue giving You call on us to heal While we wander the fractures of our planet Teaching us to see each

other more fully To love each other more intentionally To stand for justice Your life and smile shine forward E x t e n d onward from your legacy Whispers wisdom through earth kissed coffee

Kindles inspiration in rivers of ink Depths of love Poured onto page and air You write onward Extending olive branches in bloom

Onward, we will honor and remember E x t e n d onward your legacy We are thankful for you; Alexa…

Written in Memory of and to honor Alexa Kaitlyn Koch

A Shared Hallway*

XANTHIPPE PACK-BROWN

At first, you don’t notice it. A house a little quieter, one less pair of footsteps. You’re not home enough to feel it. When you are home, you’re too tired. It is just a closed door at the end of a shared hall way. When it starts to become more than that, you shut your own.

When there is one less cup of coffee to make on Sunday morning, something pulls at the back of your mind, at the base of your skull. Now there is a little more pressure behind your eyes, and the coffee you made for yourself doesn’t taste quite the same as it did a cou ple seconds ago. Instead of giving in, you put the mug down, and blink it away. The moment has passed, like it was never there.

You’re up early, you get home late. You work as long as the sun is up, and you do not stop until it has been long slumbering behind the horizon. This way, you have no time to even try to notice the absence, to be reminded of what is no longer there. With this schedule, you can’t notice anything. Some would advise against this method, but it is cheaper than therapy. And you can’t see the unopened door at the end of a shared hallway if you’re not home.

This way you are unable to see the missing posters on the wall, the empty drawers. The general lack of personal items. None of these things can be seen if the door is shut, and you aren’t home. No one else will mention it either. To mention it, even in passing, is to bring something ugly, suffocating, and selfish to the surface, and no one wants to see that.

When you’re driving up, things still don’t feel amiss. You’re not excited, but then again, you’re never excited about things anymore. You have not allowed the proper passage of time for missing how things used to be, effectively numbing you to the feelings of any thing else.

You’re not sure where you’re going, you’ve never been here before. But she is here. Since you’ve never been here this is an impossible concept for you to imagine– the two of you existing, apart. You’ve always existed apart as two separate people, but before the dis

ZOE BOYKIN

tance was a shared hallway. Anything more is hard to grasp.

Signs for boiled peanuts and fresh orange juice add to this feeling of artificiality. You’re not alone, because you’ve made sure you’re never alone for very long anymore. But right now, you almost wish you were. The danger of being by yourself, and the annoy ance of never being alone is a delicate line to walk, and you walk it perfectly. To combat this, you turn the music up in the car, and hope that it stalls any conversation that you don’t feel like having. When this inevitably doesn’t work, you grit your teeth and bear it.

In a town (that is more akin to a small city) full of people you’ve never met, roads you’ve never driven, and hori zontal stop lights, you feel like even less of a person. You are full of stress, bottom lip bitten raw, and you’re run ning out of gas. But you’re here, and so is she, and that will have to be enough.

The apartment of a college student is a modest thing, although this one has warm walls and open arms. The love can be found in the cabinets and the

doors and the hands that use them. When you finally see her, she is among the last to arrive. With the dwindling heat of sum mer and the transition of rain, her forehead is dabbled in beads of sweat from the walk over. The light from the outside outlines her silhouette as your eyes adjust. When you see her, you can’t help but let a small grin crop up on your face.

Despite being in the same room again for the first time in months, the overhead light is a little too bright, and the surrounding conversation is bumped up from ambient to distracting. In a room full of people, there is far too much to focus on, far too much sleep pushing at the tops of your eyelids, to even feel any different. You are a floating vessel, more shell than person, and you put on a damn good show.

You will wonder how she is doing. You will both speak, look at one another while you talk, play catch-up, and talk about all the things that do not matter. Now is time for fun, and you have learned to compartmen talize your emotions, lock them away, and save sentimentality for later.

Neither of you will say you missed the other. There is a time and place for that. Now is a time for reunion, happiness, new beginnings. In a room full of warm lights, homemade food, laughter, and comfort, you feel estranged. You do not know where to go from here.

Despite all this, you will come to real ize that you missed being able to laugh together. On uncomfortable Facebook marketplace chairs in a breakfast nook, you will both double over with laughter at a joke that only years of living together

could make funny. No one else will get it, but that is okay because there is the simmer of the beginnings of happiness in the deepest parts of you, and that will fuel you through the rest of the night.

It is not until everyone else is put away in borrowed beds, drunk on the air of changing seasons and a long day’s drive. You are walking down the empty road together to your car. It is cooler here, less humid. The breeze reddens your cheeks and forces closed fists into pockets. Even the gravel underfoot, crunching as you walk, sounds different.

You walk together in the middle of the street. There is no one to see here. No headlights to shine through you, through your bones, project the red of your insides onto the asphalt. Only streetlamps to illuminate the surface. You walk side by side; her on the right, you on the left. The way it always has been, since forever. Her gait has always been slightly longer than yours, the earth beneath her shifts a little louder.

Reaching the car and standing by it, it weirdly feels like a goodbye. But it is really the first hello, while unloading things of the past from your trunk for her new place of rest. Not a home, more of a temporary struc ture, but you brought items to make it feel more like one.

You look at one another. You smile; the first real smile the two of you have exchanged all night now that there are no prying eyes to spy on your homecoming. Seconds pass that could be hours. You engulf one another.

Into the night air and the cold denim of a jacket is where you will unearth and acknowledge the change. With your chin hooked over her shoulder (how dare she be taller than her older sister) and the passing of cars muffled by the distance of faraway streets, is when you say

The sun sets in front of you, blue hour creeping in from behind with spindly fingers and an urgency. You imagine the door at the end of your shared hallway. The light is on, and there she stands in the door frame, backlit by the harsh overhead. Her hand is on the doorknob, and while you can’t see her face, you imagine her mouth tilted up in the corners, her cheeks rounding with the movement.

It is here when the beginning of tears spill into your bottom eyelashes, that familiar pressure behind the eye and the settling in your chest. A smile splits across your face, and with nothing but the streetlamps to bear witness, you let it.

“I’ve missed you.”

“The danger of being by yourself, and the annoyance of never being alone is a delicate line to walk, and you walk it perfectly.”

RAADS

LISA JORDAN

symptoms traits?

they protrude from my tongue doesn’tfitinmy mouth won’t move too much NOISE under my skin; so i swing my arms OH i’msosorry i didn’t mean to let it out! it just tends to happen every day for twenty years twenty people all in my family allthesame in our blood, our jeans are too tight bad blue texture nasty so cold when the fabric touches me the puzzle pieces won’t fit together because we are all DIFFERENT boxes i fit into on ADA grievances where ever i go they won’t understand how and who i’ve grown into.

(“in full bloom, to inhabit the smallest space, as if the whole world.” - Michele Parker Randall, Anticipation.)

I Quarantined Before You Did CARMEN CRUZ

It’s a funny thing, those rare moments in life, where in a single moment, everything changes. One day I was just a normal teenager. My concerns were so typical. I feel so awkward here. My God, he’s gorgeous. This class is so hard. And then, out of the depths of an unforgiving fate, I was struck with an irreversible burden. Pain prohibited me from partaking in any of my usual activities, and this included attending a brick and mortar high school. I wasn’t just home schooled, I was quite literally homebound. And thus began my five year stint in isolation.

Phase One - Denial

The first few months after being declared homebound weren’t so bad. Sure, I was in serious pain, but I trusted the doctors and my parents to find a way to fix it eventually. I had no idea how to treat my symptoms, or how to perform normal tasks like putting on shoes without experiencing a sudden shock of pain. I tried to find things that made me feel more normal so I could ride out the storm. I’d sit on my purple floral bedsheets in my pajamas and attend virtual classes, eating Cheerios and mindlessly jotting down notes on my notebook beside me. I viewed this whole experience as a funny little vacation. One day I’ll look back on all of this and laugh. I figured that my predicament was temporary, that soon things would go back to normal, so why not enjoy the reprieve while I still could? My days were filled with an unholy amount of Netflix. And for a brief moment, it was fun.

Phase Two - Bargaining

Gradually it became apparent that there was no quick fix for the pain, it wasn’t going away any time soon. If I can just stay on top of my physical therapy… if I can just find a better physical therapist… if I just stretch a little more… if I get three rounds of steroid injections… If I just get surgery on my spine… then the pain will finally go away. But even after trying all of that, nothing was working. The pain persisted, and in many ways it worsened. I was out of options, and time was a luxury that I could no longer afford. I was supposed to stick to my scholastic plan, I needed to get into a good univer sity. But homeschool didn’t offer any of the opportunities that top schools might find impressive, all it could do is help get me through. I wanted to reach for more, but my body wouldn’t work with me. One day I decided to try to exercise again; I hopped on a treadmill and attempted a light jog. My back gave out in less than five minutes and I lay in my bed, crying and staring at my popcorn ceiling for three days.

Phase Three - Depression

The reality of my situation set in, and I started tallying up all of the things that I could no longer do comfortably. Sleep, bathe, put on clothes, bend over for any reason, sit up to watch a movie, carry a gallon of milk, normal things that I took for granted now caused me enormous pain. I grieved my childhood innocence, and I craved those simpler problems. I feel so awkward here. My God, he’s gorgeous. This class is so hard. My troubles felt so vast then, so much heavier than before. I worried about how my parents would ever be able to afford my outrageous medical bills. I worried about what my future could ever amount to now that my perfect little plan was destroyed. Most of all, I worried that this pain that I felt would never leave me, and how that might affect my quality of life forever. Suddenly I had very little motivation left, there wasn’t any point in fighting a losing battle. Everything hurt and there was nothing I could do about it. The days began to blur together, and I sunk into the fruitless monotony of my new routine. Wake up. Go to online classes. Eat lunch. Watch Netflix. Go to bed and prepare my psyche to do it all over again. I could feel my life passing me by, the loss of progress felt like an irritating itch in my bones. I felt restless, but also stuck. I sunk into despair, and this evolved into numbness. If I felt nothing, then that nothing could expand to everything. My pain would be nothing. My depression would be nothing. My grief, my anxiety, my heartbreak, all magically transformed into nothing. It was quiet within the nothing, it was a bubble of protection from life’s harsh realities.

Phase Four - Anger

The unfairness of my predicament engulfed me, it consumed me asleep and awake. I was furious that this happened, I was furious at how it was being handled by those around me, and I was furious that it wasn’t showing any signs of changing. I was bitterly resigned to my fate. I’d often write journal entries petitioning God to interfere. Why me? What have I done to deserve this? There’s nothing rational about any of this, I don’t understand. My dis position was off-putting. I had a chip on my shoulder and a serious attitude. The incompetence of the human race finally occurred to me as doctor after doctor, trained medical professionals, elected to discount my pain because I was “too young” to have back issues. I lay in an MRI machine for the sixth time, ensnared in a sterile casket that’s so loud it made me wish I was dead, and I contemplated the universe and my place within it. Dinky earbuds softly played jazz into my ears as the tube of trauma poked at my anxiety for 75 minutes, deafening my introspective session. People say that everything happens for a reason, but what reason could there possibly be for all of this anguish? Jesus, it’s freezing in here. Sure they gave me socks, but they also

took my pants. I was confused at the senselessness of it all, I was going through hell for seemingly no reason in particular. If I could just find a point, if I could divine the reason this occurred, then I could find a way to live with it.

Phase Five - Acceptance

My rage eventually transmuted into stubbornness. I decided that my past would dictate my future no longer. Gone were the days of me succumbing to my “limitations.” I decided to fight back. If I couldn’t do something, then I’d just find another way to get things done. Can’t pick up the pen that I dropped? I’ll grab it with my toes. Can’t carry a heavy box? I will kick it to its new location. Can’t walk around Disney all day? I will rent a freaking wheel chair and go anyways. I had to completely re-learn how to be a person. I changed the way I dressed myself, I taught myself to sleep on my side instead of my stomach, I altered my studying habits to accommodate my inconvenient need for switching positions — the list goes on and on. The pain would persist, but so would I. Nothing and no one can stop me from pursuing my ambition, not even myself. Life would hit hard, but I would hit harder. No more excuses, no more wasting time. I learned that limitations were more like weights one had to carry around as one went. Sure it was heavy, but it felt less so as long as one kept moving forward. Kinetic energy helped me manage the pain, once I started moving it was easier to keep going. Some days were better than others, but my focus fueled me. And suddenly, my life started to improve.

I found my purpose — to learn as much as I possibly can through my life experiences and use that earned knowledge to lift others up. Anything can be a learning experience with the right attitude. I found that what I consid ered at the time to be the worst period of my life was actually exactly what I needed to become the person that I was always meant to be. It made me resilient, it made me humble, it made me fearless. My weakness became my greatest source of strength.

“People say that everything happens for a reason, but what reason could there possibly be for all of this anguish? Jesus it’s freezing in here. Sure they gave me socks, but they also took my pants. I was confused at the senselessness of it all, I was going through hell for seemingly no reason in particular. If I could just find a point, if I could divine the reason this occurred, then I could find a way to live with it.”

CHASE BERGER

Peak

Doctors told us he would be on the road to recovery after the removal of his adrenal glands, pancreas, spleen, and portions of his intestines to combat stomach cancer, causing me to foster a false sense of hope that the next time I saw him would be in the house I always had. The sense of hope I had nourished, fed for weeks, carried me into the intensive care unit weeks later, yet it soon starved as hours later the doctors told us the news and the monitors’ beeping slowed. Through bleared vision I watched as the last peak fell and the flatline ran on forever until the screen went black. Part of me is still there, the sobs of family nothing more than white noise, staring at the black screen, hoping, praying, for another peak.

Book1 GRACE MCELLROY

SHE’S A GIRL AFTER MY OWN HEART

ZOE BOYKIN

Ferocity

My friend chirped at me in thanks. I just started up the coffee pot.

CARMEN CRUZ

A. WILSON

Juice and Jam

The alarm clock woke me bright and early that morning. Not by going off, but by being knocked off the nightstand at six in the morning, dragging my phone and a few empty mugs with it. The clatter jolted me awake and I sat up in bed, eyes stinging from sleeping badly.

Glancing beside me, I made eye contact with the culprit, Juice, trading glares. He sauntered off the table and onto the pillows next to me. Asshole.

After saving my things from the floor, I stood up, stretched the aches and pains out of my limbs, and followed Juice to the kitchen.He screamed at me while I reached for the cat food, as if it would make me move faster. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” I complained, pouring a cup of dry food in a spare bowl from the drying rack.

“You’re a dick, you know that?” He didn’t respond, finding the food more interesting than my banter.

Once I had a fresh mug in my hands, I shuffled over to my desk, moving some of the empty or half empty cups to the floor to make room for this one. I’d clean tomorrow. For now, I’d work on that article that should’ve been done last week. Maybe the editor will still take it if it’s perfect. I still had a few…

My eyes trained onto the open letter on my keyboard. I hadn’t read it. She hadn’t written her name this time, so I didn’t realize until I’d ripped off the seal. I took a deep breath, shaking my jittery hands, and grabbed the letter.

Pulling open the bottom drawer beside me, I stuffed the letter inside and slammed it closed. Juice rubbed against my shins, know ing when I was feeling overwhelmed. I pulled him onto my lap and stared out the window to my right. The wind was blowing the leaves around, late October colors spread around everywhere.

A sigh escaped my lips and I turned my attention back to my work. An hour of staring at a half written document later and I finally remembered my coffee. Cold.

It was the dead of winter and Juice had a cold, otherwise I wouldn’t have come to town for another week or so. But the post office was on the way to the vet and if I checked my box today, I’d have less to grab later.

I was pulling the normal amount of letters and spam out when Roo greeted me. “Hey, darling, you have anything to send out to day?”

TOUCHSTONE

“Not today, just came in to pick up a few things before the storm gets worse.” The lady smiled at me and went back to her business. Juice squirmed in his backpack.

and heard a grainy voice.

“Hey, Jay, it’s Miles. Again. Just wanted to check in, maybe we could meet for coffee sometime. I don’t know. I want to see you, in person. It’s been too long. I know Jules would—” Click.

Deleting the message, I sighed and filled a mug with coffee. Nudg ing a few empty to-go boxes out of the way, I unloaded my meal from the Thai place down the road. Juice curled up in the chair beside me, chirping up at me.

my last piece, enough to buy into my next pitch gladly. Maybe they didn’t have enough writers on staff. Or he just enjoyed getting to see Juice whenever I came in.

I stopped by the post office, unlocking my box to find a few more letters than normal. There was a light flickering near the counter when I walked up.

“Good afternoon, Hun,” Roo sighed, the lines seeming deep er in her face.

“You guys need to replace that light,” I commented, gestur ing at the ceiling. She smiled, shaking her head absently and I passed her a handful of envelopes.

Once I’d made it home with some groceries and antibiot ics, I shoved two more letters into their home in the bottom drawer. Juice hopped onto the kitchen table, exploring the maze of plastic bags I’d set down.

A voicemail was blinking from my landline. It hadn’t been practical to get one, but I loved the aesthetic of a rotary dial and there was no one to tell me not to. Cell phones were a distraction. I clicked the button to review the message

I tried to keep my mind on things that mattered. There was an assignment I was working on for River Roads that would be due in a few weeks. I’d barely started. But I couldn’t keep the thought of Wednesday Game Nights out of my mind. Miles was the only one who could beat me in Jenga. But he was crap at trivia. Neither of us ever won though.

Juice purred in his sleep, pawing at something in his dreams. “We just need each other, right Bud?”

Lifting my mug to my lips, I gri maced. Cold.

Melted snow seeped through the soles of my shoes, burning in that too cold way. The editor had loved

“How’s your little friend today?” I shifted my backpack off of my shoulder, unzipping Juice’s compartment. He popped his head out with a trill. Roo scratched his ears, earning a purr. “Aren’t you friendly?”

“He’s the social one. I just carry him places.”

Walking out of the building, the cafe across the street caught my eye. I hadn’t thought of dinner yet and I had some research to do for my pitch. So I ordered a caramel latte and sat in the back corner. I’d only been here a few times. They burn their coffee, so it wasn’t my favorite.

My backpack rested beside me, open far enough for Juice to get out if he wanted to.

After half an hour, I’d gotten a rough outline written and leaned back in my chair. As I looked around the shop, my eyes met a pair across the room from me. A man and a woman who’d been laughing together. Miles raised his eyebrows once he recognized me, just as the woman leaned farther into him and dragged his focus back.

“Juice purred in his sleep, pawing at something in his dreams. ‘We just need each other, right Bud?’ Lifting my mug to my lips, I grimaced. Cold.”

Before he could come over here and try to make conversation, I grabbed my bag and my coffee and rushed out of the restaurant. Taking a quick sip, I sighed and chucked the rest in a bin by the door. Cold.

Flowers were blooming on the street corners when I left the post office that morning. Closing my eyes, I let the sun’s warmth and the wind’s fresh scent fill me up inside.

When I opened my eyes again, there he was. I started to turn away, but he stepped in front of me.

“Jay, can we please talk?” I kept walking and he followed. “Just for a few minutes. I just want to make sure you’re okay. You can’t disappear and expect me to just let it go.”

“I have an assignment to work on, Miles.”

“I get that and I don’t want to be a bother, but I care about you. I hate that you’re ignoring me.”

Stopping abruptly, I turned on him and let the fire seep into my words for a second. “Who was that woman in the coffee shop?”

He stepped back, obviously not expecting to be interrogated. “What? She was a friend. I’m allowed to move on, Jay. You should too.”

That’s why I wasn’t talking to him. “I’d never give up on her like that.” I spun around and walked faster down the street, leaving him behind me.

“She’s gone, Jay, you have to accept that.”

His words echoed in my mind the entire trip home. He was wrong. He had to be.

Setting my bag on the table and unzipping it, I watched Juice

stretch his legs and meow up at me. He watched as I made myself a mug of coffee.

I wasn’t talking to her because she’d chosen him over me. We were supposed to be a trio. It had been that way for years. All through university, we’d done everything together. Game nights and study sessions and take out dinners.

The whole time, I thought I knew what was going on. I thought the extra sleepovers and trips to the beach meant one thing. It was just the two of us. I thought she felt the same way.

When they sat me down in that dorm room and told me about how they felt about each other, I felt everything cracking inside me. I had to get out. I’d been planning on moving out here to the outskirts of town for months. I hid in plain sight.

And I’ve ignored them.

But she’s never stopped reaching out. Both of them have their own ways, but she knew how to get to me. The letters.

Stumbling over empty cups and trash, I dragged open the over flowing drawer and grabbed letters by the handful. Juice was paw ing at the loose papers and envelopes as I blew through them like a hurricane.

There was just one that mattered. The first one. And there it was.

“I was always the one whose voice stuck in their throat. I’ll live forever with these words I haven’t gotten out.”

Dear Jam, Hey, you

. It’s been ages. Miles and I are worried about you.

I’m sure you won’t respond, you might not even read this. This feels like a scream into the void. Don’t even know if you’ll receive this…

But I know you’re out there somewhere. Existing in some place with a library and a pen. You were always the better writer. Ink could flow for hours unless someone stopped you.

I was always the one whose voice stuck in their throat. I’ll live forever with these words I haven’t gotten out.

. Please check in soon, I love you.

Yours always, Juice

Tears dripped freely from my face. I’d read these words count less times when I first received it. But then I got the phone call. A car accident in the mountains. It was no one’s fault. It happened so quickly.

The rest of these letters had ink stains in the pattern of my hand writing. Juice bumped against my leg, looking up at me with eyes that would always be there. In his eyes, I saw her. And between us stood all those memories. Just for us. These stories, they’d die with me.

I pulled out my cell phone, only there for emergencies, and sent out an SOS to Miles. It was time to shed some light here. Taking a sip of my coffee, I smiled at the steam lifting up from it. Just right.

Jokes on You

MORGAN HIBEL

Kids

HAYDEN COLLINS

Potasium Progression

SAM BERMAN

Death and Bo

Death was tired of this. She flip pantly flips through millions of pages concerning a twenty year old girl, Bo. Another soul entering Her kingdom, another soul rejected by the world, rejected by its own body.

The girl’s life was encapsulated in anxiety and questioning. Her ability to stay present was lost when she was young, as life traumatized her again and again. She found solace in thinking about the future, planning out where she’d live, the kinds of friends she would have. A fairy tale life where she could find her happiness external ly. She lived her life with no attach ment to reality, only looking forward, never looking inward. Now, Bo is entering Hell, unknowingly to sit with the Queen of the Dead. Death patiently awaited her, however Her eyes threat ened to shut from drowsiness.

Death is tired of giving therapy sessions, helping broken minds see that Hell is for the degenerates, the outcasts of society. She musters up the strength to explain, for the infinite time, that being outcasted in a world of pain is a blessing. How many more devote followers of man made reli gions were awaiting to enter her door? Death has spent her entire existence comforting guilt-stricken souls. Explaining aggressively, how Heaven is not for the Holy: it is for the sheep.

The followers. People that never tried to grow and change. Their soul is sent back to Hell, again and again, until they can learn how to be an individual. It’s the same time and time again, a soul breaks down just by the sight of her. Crying because they believe their life was incomplete. Bawling in fear, horrified that their final destination is a world of pain and torture. Bound to suffer infinitely, in life and death.

Death’s head hurts. She can feel her heart crumbling with every failed con versation, every pair of broken eyes she looks into. The fear she can see on their faces, in their goosebumps and squinted eyes. She can understand why everyone is a little, or tremen dously, afraid when they arrive in Hell. It’s all due to the misconceptions spread by those who want the world to be stagnant. Hell is not scary because of torture, or the famed nightmare sequences (thanks Dante’s Inferno). Hell is terrifying because there is no escape from the mind, no distractions to take away the pain. Hell forces souls to look critically at their lives, to fix their mistakes before moving on to the next life.

It’s almost time, so Death compos es herself. She rubs her eyebrows out from a furrow, she smiles to brighten her face, to look more loving and less sad. For this girl, Death has created

an atmosphere of unforgiving peace. Candles lit all around, incense burning in the corners. Yoga mats to sit, so they can speak as equals. The mortal’s favorite foods laid out, a rotisserie chicken and some Coronas, a joint in case the girl is nervous. Death takes a final calming breath, and just as planned, the girl materializes in front of Death, criss-crossed on the yoga mat.

the ability to stay present, all people do is look to the future, where things will be better. They imagine a place they could be happy, instead of finding the happiness in their own situations.”

Bo, with a mouth full of chicken, nods to Death as she continues. “When people are able to stay pres ent, and to look at themselves with a critical eye as well as overwhelming forgiveness, they grow. They see the happiness in things, without the need to change or improve anything. All over the world, people struggle. They struggle, so they hide.”

draws people together?”

“It is. There are many that lead peo ple through the same stages, so in that sense, yes it is a mindset that when gained, spreads peace. However, the feelings of euphoria and depression that arise when a spiritual awakening is occurring are universal. The cause for that is more scientific, opening your mind to your mistakes and ac cepting them leads to happy feelings, and guilty feelings, everyone experi ences follows this journey similarly to some degree. It’s science. It’s magic. It’s the way of the Universe.”

“Welcome to the afterlife, my name is Death. You, Bo, died in a car accident on May 17th, 2023. You were twenty years old. Life treated you harshly, but I’m here for you now. Whatever you want to know, I can answer. Any truth, any reality, anything in the Universe. I will share anything, as now we are both within the realm of the dead, and you deserve to know anything you want to know.”

Bo’s eyes never leave Deaths. Unsure whether it’s fear or amazement, Death stares back. Her eyes catch the chicken, and the Coronas, and Bo decides it’s time to eat.

“So,” she begins through a mouth full of food, “I want to know, for one, how does everyone, no matter their story, follow the same path towards spiritual enlightenment and expanding their world view? Different religions all over the world came to the same general consensus, with no knowledge of each other.

Is there a power that brings us together if we accept it? Is it sim ply a mindset that if people choose to have, they’ll gain peace?”

Now this, Death has an answer for, “Everyone wants happiness. To feel stable and present in throughout their life. Whether they know it or not, it’s part of every living being to seek serenity. To be able to take the punches without being crushed. Humans are the only beings that allow their past to feed into their future. Without

A huge swig of a Corona to push the growing lump of chicken down, painfully passing over the intense knot balling in Bo’s throat.

“We seek euthymia. ‘Eu’ is the latin prefix for ‘good and well’, ‘thymia’ refers to the mind. When we reach a state of euthymia, we are in a state of gladness, we have found serenity. When people reach euthymia, they are overwhelmed with the desire to share their story, to help others reach the heights they have. If done correctly, by leaders such as Buddha and Jesus, people can learn to follow in their footsteps while paving their own path simultaneously. When others practice what leaders practice, and eventually their footsteps appear right alongside every other enlightened individual.”

Tears begin to fall down Bo’s face, her expression beginning to turn sorrowful, “So it is the philosophy that

Bo nods, and she wipes the tears of her face, “I knew it,” she whispers as her head drops into her hands. She sits in an upright fetal position, head buried in her hands and knees, and she begins to shake.

“You knew?”

“I did. I knew I was working in the right direction, but I never got there. I tried so hard to be present my whole life. I couldn’t. My thoughts raced, Death. I couldn’t stop them for even a second. I had voices screaming at me to kill myself, and more voices telling me I was God’s gift to the Earth. I was narcissistic, but more suicidal than I could explain.”

“That’s okay,” she does everything she can to give her a reassuring smile, despite the knot also forming in her throat, “You stayed kind through it all, didn’t you?”

“Everyone wants happiness. To feel stable and present in throughout their life. Whether they know it or not, it’s part of every living being to seek serenity. To be able to take the punches without being crushed.”

TOUCHSTONE

Bo breaks.

“No,” her cries turn to angry sobs, “I didn’t. I hurt my friends and my family. I was cruel and manipulative. I wanted enlightenment, but things never got better. I can see every pain in the world, I feel every emotion at one hundred, and it is killing me. Well, it killed me.”

Bo slowly leans on her side, dropping onto the ground, shaking and sobbing. Visibly struggling to maintain deep breaths. Death wants to cry alongside Bo, but as always, it’s her job to stay strong. Death switches yoga mats, picking Bo up and slowly laying her head onto her lap, and she runs her taloned fingers through her hair as softly as she can.

“You did your best at every point in your life, you always tried to be better, to be kinder, to be stronger. It’s time to forgive yourself for the hiccups along the way. It’s okay you made a lot of mistakes-”

Bo doesn’t listen to Deaths words, due to a staunch disbelief that she could ever forgive her past errors. Not hearing the end of Deaths explanation, Bo interrupts, “Can you explain how someone actually reaches enlighten ment? Were my books wrong?”

Death smiles, “They weren’t all wrong, but they were a bit backwards. Enlightenment is always shown as the last step, when in fact it’s one of the first. When people reach enlight

enment, they are finally able to look at themselves critically and others, but critically in a kind and helpful way.

This part if painful, and requires a lot of work to look inward and forgive, but never forget.”

Brokenly, Bo interjects, “It takes a whole lifetime to see people as people, to understand why humans treat others with hate.”

strangers just for being brown helped you as well, as much as it hurt,” Death answers.

“So after you reach enlightenment, what comes next?”

“The next step is the constant practice to connect the mind to the body, to separate the thoughts from the self. The re-wiring of your mind to be focused on presence and kindness. Learning how to stay present, how to reconnect to the Earth whenever you leave it.”

everything is different after becoming enlightened.”

“So when did I reach it?”

“A lifetime for some, a few lifetimes for others,” Death replies, “it takes focus, and a searing determination to learn how the world created these prejudices.”

Bo nods, “I did my very best,” she shares a shaky smile, “that’s one thing I can be proud of. I did everything to rid myself of false projections society put on me. I think it was easier, being gay and brown, to understand discrimination has no basis, and it’s wrong to hate others, for anything really.”

absolutely helped, the retali ation from friends and family just for being gay brought you closer to higher consciousness, the hate from

“Once you do that, it’s nothing but happiness and satisfaction from then on, right?” “That’s a common miscon ception. People believe that enlighten ment is the end, and that enlightened individuals are in a state of bliss for the rest of their life. That’s all wrong. Being enlightened is being able to see all sides, to feel all things through the lens of reality. Unlearning societal patterns that change humans mindsets from acceptance to want, relearning how to be yourself again, a self that’s hidden by cultural conditioning and other peo ple’s opinions. It’s not the end. It is not bliss. It’s the beginning of becoming human.”

Bo’s shaking has calmed, her breathing steadied. She sits up, and is back to staring Death in the eyes. “Did I reach enlightenment?”

“A few times,” she responds softly, “Enlightenment is scary. It’s over whelming. All the sudden the world becomes one hundred sizes bigger,

“You reached it when you were sixteen. When you were openly lesbian at school, dressed how you want ed, didn’t give a fuck about anyones opinions. Then you went to college, and your mind shoved itself back in it’s box. You were ready for teenager en lightenment, not adult enlightenment. The change was too drastic, and you weren’t strong enough yet. You reached enlightenment a few times in college, then shoved yourself back in again and again as your school, friends, family and everyone else chastised you for being yourself. They wanted you to be sheep just like everyone around you. Afraid of criticism from the wolves, you listened. You felt so incredibly broken, and you were. Reaching enlightenment young, then losing it, tricks your mind into thinking it was something you could only reach at that time, in that situation. When you killed yourself in that car a few minutes ago, what were you thinking about?”

“Being free,” Bo’s voice cracks.

“Being free. You knew what freedom felt like, you had no knowledge of how to return. You didn’t think it was possi ble. The despair was crushing, you felt unaccepted, and alone. So now you’re sitting with me.”

“Please, help me.”

Death smiles a broken, gangly smile, “I’m with you, always.”

“It

“You did your best at every point in your life, you always tried to be better, to be kinder, to be stronger. It’s time to forgive yourself for the hiccups along the way.

It’s okay you made a lot of mistakes-”

The Gate of Truth

MIA HAWKINS

MAIA ROBBINS

{ I Know } { 我知道 }

by Maia Robbins

你好

{Nǐ hǎo}

{ I Know }

{ I Know } { 我知道 } by Maia Robbins

你好 {Nǐ hǎo}

Hello 我知道 {Wǒ zhīdào} I know 我不太会中文 {Wǒ bù tài huì zhōngwén}

I don't know a lot of Chinese

我的中文不是 很好

{Wǒ de zhōngwén bùshì hěn hǎo} My Chinese is not very good

我不知道 {Wǒ bù zhīdào} I don't know 对不起 {Duìbùqǐ} Sorry

Idol Worship KATHERINE ORFINGER

Hello 我知道 {Wǒ zhīdào} I know 我不太会中文 {Wǒ bù tài huì zhōngwén} I don't know a lot of Chinese 我的中文不是 很好 {Wǒ de zhōngwén bùshì hěn hǎo}

My Chinese is not very good

我不知道 {Wǒ bù zhīdào}

I don't know 对 不起 {Duìbùqǐ} Sorry

Every fast was easy while I wandered aimless and distracted halfway between Jerusalem and Olympus, yet never arriving.

Belonging only to my own false idols hero worship, mirror courtship, self-idolatry and desecra tion, only cold, cruel questioning: Who am I? Not who do You want me to be?

Every fast was easy when I walked a godless path, but today’s horizon expands far beyond a mirror and I pray may I break that deceit ful glass and never have another easy fast. Man

LING SHAPIRO 6 bond 6 devil 6 beast to bestow understanding the carbonate of man, grasps the knowledge of a king.

Buzzing Around A Prickly Pear (Save the Bees)

ISABELLA DERIENZO

Bukowski Was Right KATHERINE

about that space in the heart (i drip and i wait) yawning emptiness, more ex pansive than the roiling, plum-black ocean teeming with primordial urea and spit (i drip and i wait) a half-hallucinated galaxy capricious laughter a phantom of orgasm assuring me: you’re real i’m real i’m you

Topographical opposites You: the Elgin Marbles: prancing, lively, you break my teeth. Me: the Wasteland: crossed out, sliced up, laid down (i drip and i wait) You don’t belong to anyone. You can’t picture the void (i drip and i wait) I contain a tight, metallic multitude.

ORFINGER

HAWKINS

Cora

MIA

Cora into the wild

MORGAN HIBEL

Self Portrait MIA HAWKINS

Warhol x Winged Victory ISABELLA DERIENZO

3-24-2013

Jupiter Falls 8mi.

A. WILSON

9-28-2019

Wind whipped through your hair, beating against your headphones and swaying the branches around you. You spared a glance back at your car before steeling your self and stepping onto the dirt path in front of you. The Cranberries spurred you on, spinning tales of dreams and change.

A sign was posted beside the trail holding the name and mileage of the route. Eight miles to Jupiter’s Fall. Blue blazes would mark the trees eventually, as the trail got harder. The first time you hiked this trail, you’d barely made it to the first marker. Of course, you were only ten, so no one blamed you.

The scent of pine needles filled the air and you watched the thin leaves dangle like windchimes in the early morning breeze. Soft rays of sunlight broke through the greenery, speckling your face with patches of dark and light. You were rarely awake for the sunrise. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it had been waiting for you today. Hovering just below the horizon for the thirty minute drive out here.

An orange painted lady crossed your path not too far from the entrance. Such a grace ful creature. What was it doing with its life?

“I’ll tell you what I’m not doing with it, I am not trying on that hideous dress,” she laughed, snatching the garishly orange outfit from my hands and throwing it back into the closet. A sigh escaped my lips, even as a smile spread across my face. With a shake of my head, I roamed toward the closet and picked up the dress, hanging it back in its proper place. “Orange is such an ugly color on me, it makes me look like a pumpkin.”

“I think you look rather dashing in any color,” I said, following her along as she threw countless pieces of clothing around in her haste to find the right one. The right one never seemed to exist in these moments. But I picked up after her and let her presence charge my smile even more.

“You always say that, but I know those are just words. I have to show up looking perfect tonight.” She let out a dramatic groan, flop ping onto her bed with enough force to pull one corner of the fitted sheet up. I sat next to her and pulled her hand into my lap.

“Who are you trying to impress? It’s just family.” Naomi always got herself so twisted up about what to wear and who would see her. Her mother had already had enough of the circus going on in here and had left us to our devices. But I knew we’d get an earful if she wasn’t ready before four o’clock. Her mother had the same relationship with time as she had with wardrobe. A constant source of anxiety.

“Lena said she invited her friend Kai for tonight. They’re in my grade and I just…” She wasn’t meeting my eyes anymore, but I could tell where that statement was going. A little obvious, wasn’t it?

“You know every outfit you try is going to feel wrong, right? It’s your brain’s way of trying to make you chicken out.” Nudging her leg, I pushed myself to my feet and pulled her along with me. “Come on, I know you’re braver than that. If you can handle your mom’s clambake casserole, you can handle outshining Lena for one night.”

Her smile brightened. I could see the fire behind her eyes start burning, fueled by spite. Eh, I’m sure it’s not unhealthy in small amounts, right?

TOUCHSTONE

9-28-2019

You sprayed a little more bug repellent just in case. Even if it was a bit harmful to the ecosystem, mosquitoes around these parts were aggressive. One of your last few trips here, you’d gone home with itching bites on every limb.

Twigs snapped under your boots, echoing through your ankles. You had to be careful on the left one because of a sprain that nev er healed right. The roots underfoot had most of your attention, but you didn’t miss the bright flowers sprouting up on either side of the worn path.

You couldn’t decide if they were irises or some other mountain flower. Saving one for your journal, you braided another into the laces of your right boot. Just like you used to do for her.

A smile somehow snuck onto your face and stayed for a few seconds, lighting up those fea tures like a spark to kindling. But you soon remembered caution. Not wanting to burn yourself with that flame, you stood and continued down the trail. A post to your left told you that you’d hit two miles. You were almost twelve when you made it this far without complaining.

A few more steps and your music was interrupted by a rum ble deep in your stomach.

4-3-2011

The broth made my mouth water with every turn of the ladle. Celery and carrots floated to the surface, softening quickly in the warm liquid. I hung the spoon on the edge of the pot, turning to check on the two kids.

“Ready for your part, kiddo?” I asked, nudging Naomi. She stumbled out of her chair and rushed to the refrigerator, retrieving a bowl bigger than her head piled high with matzoh balls. I grabbed the step stool from a pantry nearby and set it up in front of the stove. Her nervous energy was bouncing off the walls around us as she stepped up and breathed in the aroma.

Lena waited behind her, lifting onto her tiptoes to try and see inside the pot herself. I patted her shoulder while I whisked around her, grab bing the bamboo-handled spider strainer from its hook on the wall.

“Careful now,” I said, grabbing the bowl from Naomi and handing her the utensil. “Drop them slowly, or the broth will burn you.” She nodded, a tight-lipped smile that covered her face. She gently picked a shaped sphere of matzoh and placed it in the strainer. Following her movements with my eyes, I watched her lift up her small arm and slowly lower the ball into the boiling broth. We both watched as it sank for a few seconds before bobbing back up.

“I did it, I did it!” Her excitement shook the stool a bit and we laughed at her antics.

“Good job, darling.” I stroked her hair and smiled at the warmth in those eyes. “Now let’s get the rest of these in, huh?” That set her back to work, with the smile never faltering.

Feeling a tug on my dress, I turned towards Lena. “When do I get to drop the matzoh balls, Grandma?”

“You’ll have your turn before the new year. Then Naomi will have to watch you from the sidelines.” She giggled, rocking on the balls of her feet.

“I bet my soup will be better than yours,” Naomi said, sticking her tongue out at the younger girl.

“No, it won’t, mine will,” Lena spat back. I grabbed each of their shoulders in turn, one hand preoccupied with the bowl of matzoh balls.

“Hush now, you two. Remember, the best part of cooking for our family is doing it together.” They settled down at my words, before I added, “Besides, you both know my soup is better than either of yours would be.”

9-28-2019

That soup just wasn’t as good as it used to be. You hadn’t been able to get the recipe right for ages. Nonetheless, it did its job. Fueled you enough to be on your way. You were five miles in.

The sun had lifted itself up farther into the sky. You guessed it was creeping around noon. Sweat was building faster on your brow than you could wipe it off. It reminded you of the first time you made it all the way to the falls at the end of the trail. You’d been drenched to the bone before you hit the water, but damn were you proud of yourself. It had been the day of your sixteenth birthday. You’d begged to come here instead of having some stupid party.

If you hadn’t caught yourself, you’d laugh at the memory. Your mom had been in worse shape than you, but she made it the whole way too. It was one of the few birthdays that didn’t end in a fight between the two of you.

As leaves crunched beneath the thick soles of your shoes, you reached up and pulled the headphones off of your ears. With a deep breath, you finally listened to what these woods had to tell you.

9-19-2017

The call went to voicemail, like all the others before it. A whole year and she still didn’t want to listen to anything we had to say. I couldn’t say I blamed her. I only wish I’d had more power over everything that happened.

If I hadn’t moved in with her parents. If I’d still had my home to go back to. Then I would’ve had some way of helping her. But her mother was a force of nature, much like Naomi herself.

The dull tone rang in my ear, signaling for me to compose my next message that likely wouldn’t reach its recipient.

“Naomi, I know you don’t want to hear from us. I understand if you feel you can’t trust us anymore. I won’t go on some spiel about this being your home and whatnot. But I do want you to know that I love you.

“Your parents might not be the most reasonable folks. I know they didn’t make it easy on you. And I understand if you want to keep away from here for good. But please don’t let them douse your fire. You’re stronger than that.” I coughed into my sleeve, tak ing a raspy breath. My lungs weren’t what they used to be. “You have so much light to spread in this world. I hope you know just how special the time I got with you was.

“Keep burning bright, my love.”

9-28-2019

The sun had reached its blazing peak in the sky when you arrived at the viewing deck. The water cascaded down towards the stream below, catching the light in tiny rainbows in the middle. You didn’t need to imagine how that water felt, the memories came back easily.

Your eyes burned just at the thought of those trips. Every time you made it here was a new day to be proud of. You didn’t dwell on how much you complained about the way back. This view had gotten you through middle school and high school. It has held you through three breakups, two lost friends, and an entire family turning its back on you. Here it was, strong as ever. When you were ready, you found the small engraved metal plate that had been attached to the wooden beam closest to the falls. A memorial. For me.

Lena had hated coming up here, but she knew exactly how much it meant to two people. You’d heard the news of my pass ing from her. She threw away her own parents’ financial support just to reach out and tell you. You hadn’t spoken in years. But you let a smile grow on your face thinking about spending the holi days with her and her girlfriend.

With one last glance at the falls, you turned towards the trail, making sure your bright smile lit the entire way back.

My Life in Dichotomies

Was anyone going to tell me i/t was ok not to burn the bush? that serpent doesn’t get to decide or define just how closely i’ll toe the line, has not harmonized in tonic triads with me, no! not Hymn, why would we revere an extra bone just ‘cuz you had one to throw?

who said i was to be subservient? who said i was fated this? nobody even tried to rib it in the nip or nip it in the bud or just the tip--hey man! she’s just a little kid a generation of girlhood lies like a formerly feral beast at the foot of some callous master

KATHERINE ORFINGER

i’m trying to tell you: we’ve progressed pass’d the need for boxes, but we’ve got all these molesting labels arresting heroes in bygone fables have we learned nothing since the days of Pandora and her ever-lovin’ box?

Seesaw LING SHAPIRO

wake u p, e a t. take a p i l l.

w a k e u p. e a t ? p i l l s ? go back to sleep. wa ke up. cry. wak e up, ta ke a p ill, ple a se tak e a pil l, clean the filth. wake up. s c r e a m. go back to sleep. w a ke u p! up ! l i ve! i’m a wak e ! n o p il l s. no pills. ple as e no p i lls.

de lus i o n? o r g r and? go to s l ee p, please g o to sl eep. don’t sleep don’t sleep don’t sleep. d a y fi v e, no sl ee p, pil l s. sleep. w a k e u p, see w h o i am t o d a y. wake up, live? l i v e.

Corastolen soul MORGAN HIBEL

THE

ABOUT HER WORK &ARTIST

one on one interview with Touchstone’s cover artist, Mia Hawkins ‘23.

Art is everywhere. From the build ings we live in to the nature that sur rounds us, the world creates its own exhibition every day that we exist. This is how Stetson Univeristy junior, Mia Hawkins, looks at life.

“Everywhere around you is art, if you just look at it hard enough.”

Hawkins has been making artwork with traditional media since childhood, but her style has evolved towards digital arts since then. She was taught standard software such as InDesign and Photoshop in high school, “for publication purposes,” but wasn’t able to explore the world of digital artwork as much until she hit college.

The community of friends and pro fessors Hawkins has found at Stetson remain a vital instrument to her growth through the years. One such profes sor, Madison Creech, came up with an assignment that ended up inspiring the birth of Hawkins’ piece “Gatekeeper”

among many others. For an entire semester, Hawkins had to create at least one piece of artwork every day.

“That's kind of… why I say that my teachers really influenced my growth, because that's what helped me figure out new things and try new things out without the punish ment of a grade. It was just, make it— doesn't matter how it looks— put it out there.”

This daily process is where “Gatekeeper” was created. “I would say it really helped me develop a style: I just take one picture, in that case a picture of a vintage car, and I flip it around, I flip it around, I flip around, and I do color corrections and I invert colors and I try to make faces out of something that doesn’t have a face.”

If you look in the middle of the piece, you can make out some of the faces that Hawkins creates. These faces were influenced by those little moments everyone has at some point, of looking at the clouds or a popcorn ceiling or any

thing really and finding something in it. Something that wasn’t there before and no matter who looks at it, “someone else can look at it and see something different.”

Some other works by Hawkins include pieces that are known as fractals, which are “mathemati cal equations put into computer software that make crazy swirl patterns.” Examples of these types of digital artwork are “The Gate of Truth” and “Cora”, which are both printed in this issue of Touchtone.

If she were to describe her style, it would be “taking something and then completely making something new out of it, so that you can’t even tell what it was originally.”

After graduation, Hawkins is hop ing to pursue a career in editorial work and someday create her own publication. As a self-proclaimed journalist nerd, she’s working to wards publishing more of her work and participating in exhibitions.

“I'm just hoping to improve in the next few years.”

COLOPHON.

The 2022 editions of Touchstone Literary Arts Journal was printed by Independent Printing in Daytona Beach, Florida, with a press run of 450 copies. Student designers created the journal using Adobe InDesign and Photoshop on iMac computers.The journal consists of 80 pages, and fonts including Libre Baskerville, Roboto Black, and Roboto Light. The 4-color process cover is printed on matte paper. Touchstone features additional online content on hatternetwork. com, which is student created, managed, and produced. All submissions are reviewed, selected, and edited by the Touchstone staff and selection committee. All literary and artistic work featured in Touchstone is created by Stetson students. Special thanks to those who submit their work and to all our supporters.

Disclaimer

Touchstone exclusively features the work of Stetson University students. Each staff member and selection committee member reviewed and ranked submissions blindly, and if they knew the creator of the piece, they were not allowed input.

Touchstone Literary Arts Journal. 42nd Edition, Spring 2022. Stetson University. Copyright 2022 Touchstone Literary Arts Journal. All artwork, photography, and literature are copyright 2022 to their respective creators. The ideas and opinions expressed belong to the respective creators, and do not necessarily reflect those of the editors of the 42nd edition of the Touchstone Literary Arts Journal, or the Stetson University administrators and community. Any similarities to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. None of the contents of this edition may be reprinted without the permission of the individual creator.