Yuki Asahina

Raj Chaklashiya

A —

Sam Becker

Sean King

Benjamin Chandler

English

I was going to change the world. My whole life I've felt like a powerless cog in this mess that passes as society. But all that changed the day I was visited by an demon. He offered me one wish, in exchange for my soul. I knew what I wanted. The power to turn water to ketchup.

"I want the ability to turn water into ketchup." I announced proudly with my hands on my hips. The demon looked at me with uncertainty in his eyes, but he fulfilled my wish with a spell. I felt power surge through my veins, even if it was an unprecedented one.

I thanked the demon for giving me the ability to turn water into ketchup as I moved from restaurant to restaurant, ruining their profits by turning their refreshments into condiments. But I was stopped by a Slurpee man at a 7/11. He shot slurpee out of his hands that trapped me.

Covered in syrup and ice and backed into the churning machines, my legs were frozen in place. My vision went red and I felt a surge of energy. The slurpee man shielded his face from my gaze as he was pelted with ketchup tears.

He begged for forgiveness, explaining he had no choice but to trap me. But as the anger boiled inside me, I realized I was capable of breaking free. Quickly, I took out the magic mustard packet I'd saved for this moment, and with one gentle squeeze, Slurpee Man was no more.

Meal Deal with the Devil

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Caz Sand

Alex Ramir

Emily J

Jason Omega

Antarctica. That’s where I’ll find love?

"Yes," said the fortune teller, thin fingers waving over a crystal ball. "I see parkas, penguins, & passion in your future." I'd paid her $20, so I had no choice but to believe her. I bought a ticket for an Antarctic cruise & wondered which of my co-passengers would be "the one".

Then in the middle of the cruise I saw him. The most gorgeous creature I’d ever laid eyes on. Dapper, cute, good swimmer, charming. There was just one thing: the love of my life was an Emperor penguin.

And I’m a Shark. How can a Hungry Shark and a beautiful emperor penguin can ever be a couple?
Maybe if I go with the Arthur Witch, I’ll be able to fulfill my wish. 
The problem is that the witch won’t give anything for free. 

Now, I’m outside her cave…

and i have the light of a deep-sea angler fish as payment. I raise my fin and tap on the door of the witch’s cave. It opens on its own. “Come in, I’ve been expecting you Shark.” I push the light out in front of me. “Ahh, it’s a love spell you desire?” The witch cackled as I

swam in clutching my locket in the icy waters. “This is the object of my affections,” I said to the sea witch. She darted toward me and opened the locket with her spindly fingers. “This cannot be!” she gasped. “Sharks and narwhals must not mix!” “But I came all this way,” I said.

“Wait! Did you say narwhals?” I exclaimed with relief. “I’m a shark in love with a penguin! Not a narwhal.” The sea witch looked at the locket again. “You definitely need a clearer picture. Anyway, I suppose a penguin might be ok.” I asked, “So, you can make a love spell for us?”

“I can’t guarantee results, Shark. I only had a one night stand with a penguin, and love was the last thing on our minds….” said the sea witch. “Here you go. I always keep one in my purse for emergencies. Once you drink it—,” she continued, handing me a vial of pink liquid.

I took a look at the pink liquid as the sea witch's words haunted my mind. I handed her a few clams and was on my way. Yes, I would see her again tonight and yes she would drink it, and I was right. She did with vigor. Margaret Howe was her name... how could I ever forget?

When I saw her at the ball, she wore a lovely black gown that seemed to come from the stars. It was easy to add the brew to her drink when she wasn't looking, but I knew that by doing so, I made a fateful choice for both of us. To this day, I still wonder if our love is real.

Love on the Rocs

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Lynsie Lucas

"40 years old and I've never eaten an Oreo!"

"Well, I'm 45 years old and I've never listened to a single song by ABBA." "Well, I'm 51 years old and I've never tasted Pepsi." "Well, I'm 60 years old and I've never seen the movie Shrek 2." Then they all looked at me, waiting to hear what I'd never done.

“I’m 9 and I never met my mother.” The one-uppers all gasp and make sad noises. “I’m clearly the queen of this pity party! Bow before me, peons.”

“Try again, I don’t even have a mother. I was cloned from crime scene DNA.” The one-uppers are quiet.

“Doesn’t have a mother.” I heard one of them repeat and chuckle. Another one whispered trying to mimic my voice, “Cloned from crime scene DNA.” Laughter permeated the air. “Right… you on drugs or something?”

Why couldn’t I accept it? I wasn’t any less than these CSI bozos. Sure, I was immaculately conceived. Parents are overrated anyway. In all likelihood they were jealous of my recent promotion. Perhaps as chief detective I could unravel a truly great mystery: my own origins.

The One Uppers Club & The CSI Kid

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Macaroni Dots

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I was prepared. I had a plan. I had practiced several times a day for the past two months. I had all my tools in my pockets, plus snacks and a tiny first aid kit. That night at 10 pm, I would finally do it.

I then walked to the school, with two small guns in my hands, deep in my pockets. I had just one time to do this, before I met God. It was breakfast time, and everyone met in the small cafeteria, some loud as a donkey, and some quiet as a bat. I had a bad feeling in my stomach..

It was probably that pickle brine my sister dared me to drink that morning. Why did I drink the whole jar of it? Ugh. I looked at the guns in my hands. They were so tiny. Lego guy guns! What was I supposed to with these? The brine was going to my head. That's when Alicia saw me.

Huge grin, bazooka slung over her shoulder. Screwed. “Alicia, w-“ a pickle burp interrupted my plea.

"Sorry, Alicia" I offered an apologetic face but in a moment it turned into a strained rictus as I let rip the most trouser-inflating fart that had ever passed my chuff-pipe. It began with quack followed by a 4-second baritone drilling sound ending with a whine two octaves higher

When I finally got up I was struck by the total calm of her face. How could she be unfazed by such a display? “Just got out of a repressive, unhealthy relationship,” she said holding her nose. “Thank you for being so free in front of me—I’m ready to start a new chapter with you.”

Pickle Vapor Love Bazooka

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Laurel stomped to the end of the pier and gazed into the murky water. He followed her. “You can’t do that! You just can’t!” A single tear cascaded down her cheek.

"I can too," she said. "Watch me. Gramma said if you cry seven tears into the sea, it will summon a selkie to be your boyfriend." Laurel counted the tears as they rolled from her cheek to chin and dripped into the dark water below the pier. "How do you think she met our grandpa?"

They waited for 5 minutes, and sat on the pier with their feet in the water. Laurel looked at her watch, 8:00 pm. It was almost dinner time, and gramma was making lasagna tonight. Sidney yawned as she stared in to the sea.

“Don’t you find the sea soporific?”, Sidney asked. “Terrific?” Asked Laurel. “No, soporific. The sea makes me sleepy.” “Then you probably shouldn’t swim in it!” Said Laurel.

Sidney’s squinted, her version of laughing, “I think I’d like a Viking funeral.” Laurel sighed, “We…

“…don’t have enough wood. Not to mention, we’re in the middle of a drought. Huge fire risk.” Laurel shook Sidney. “Sorry, you just can’t die now.” Sidney sighed. “Fine, then hurry up and finish saving me so we can get back to work.”

Saving the Selkie

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Physics of Gaming

He Held the cannon to her face, she looked into it and saw the endless void."Daniel don't do this" She protested.Daniel looked at Tanya and said "You shouldn't have killed my daughter".Tanya realizes that forgiveness it off the table and acts quick In a split second Tanya.

kicked the cannon so that its nose pointed up. BOOM! A cannonball rocketed into the sky. "Ain't it coming back down?" Tanya said. "No," Daniel said. "All part of my plan. Soon, it will hit the moon, cracking it, & your favorite heavenly body will be broken. Ha! Revenge is sweet!"

The problem is, a cracked moon doesn’t just stay in 2 pieces. It keeps breaking up, each piece hitting another and another until the planet Earth has rings.

Without the moon, astrologists (and astronomers alike) have gotten quite confused. Turns out it’s difficult to figure out birthcharts when hundreds of fragments block out the stars.

After the initial chaos settled down, NASA decided to give up on the next moon landing. It was only logical since it would be impossible to land on any of the remaining moon fragments. They discussed Mars, but in the end set their sights higher.

NASA had a trick up its sleeve—essentially the opposite of an atom bomb, something that creates micro black holes that could be used to re-fuse the moon’s core—but it had never been tested. After brief deliberation they assembled a team and committed earth to an unknown future.

In Search of a New Moon

I woke up at my own funeral—again. This is getting old.

Third time this month I woke up and saw myself lying dead in a coffin before hearing the priest pray over me at my funeral. I felt like I was a soap opera character, apparently getting killed over and over again.

I woke in a panic, then rubbed my face and sighed. Clearly these nightmares have to do with my bad habits. I declared then and there that I would clean up my act. No more

huffin' gas in the shed behind the Shell Station! I quit my job at Shell & decided to clean up my act. It wasn't easy. I found myself smelling all sorts of stuff—Sharpie markers, vents outside the hospital, expired cold cuts. I needed something else to fill the void—but what?

And then I figured it out! Isopropyl alcohol— I could keep cleaning up my act and clean my surroundings. I got a job as a sanitation worker in a lab, spraying and wiping down every surface I could reach. The fumes and the dopamine rush from cleaning worked just as well!

I cleaned until my skin cracked. Until my joints throbbed. Even the meat of my palms ached. But what did I care? I was saved. I spotted my reflection in a nearby monitor—hair in my face, sweat dripping from my brow. Clearly I was only making others clean but that was good enough.

Coming Clean

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Logan Pengelly

Eric Bonhomme

Every once in a while I Google the name of my first girlfriend, Julie Schneider, just to see what comes up. You won't believe what I saw when I searched her name last Wednesday.

Julie was piloting a chase drone that was following the billionaires capsule as it landed in the Gulf of Mexico.

She grabbed the capsule, wondering what to do. (it had no lid) then she realized! It. Was. A. Bomb. She spotted wires on it. She

threw it to Zach and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Oh come on,” he fumbled for wire cutters in his pockets. “You know I can’t tell which one is red!”
“Just guess!” She was now hiding her face with her hands, as if that would prevent her from going up with explosion.

And then boom! She decided to start eating bolognese pasta. She has a love-hate relationship with this dish. But the red colour of the sauce reminded her of mum's favourite flower.

Bite after nostalgic bite she consumed the spaghetti with increasing fervor, eventually lifting the plate to slurp the remaining sauce. She saw the world now through rose-colored glasses just as they said she would. Ecstatic, she leapt from the table and charged into her future.

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