Michael Stiehl

Sean King

Benjamin Chandler

Rachel Drew

Sam Becker

English

"Captain, there is something on the long range sensors you should see." Ensign Butterbrickle reported. Captain Bort Jombloski leered at the Ensign. Oh, how he hated him. His golden hair, straight teeth, symmetrical face, could he be more perfect? "Show me." Jombloski growled.

“It’s moving very quickly directly at us, captain. It is accelerating. It is the size of Amsterdam. It is shaped roughly like a banana. It will reach us in 23 minutes. It is broadcasting an Enya song over all audible frequencies.”

At that moment, everyone in the whole world heard Enya's "Orinoco Flow" over their speakers & headphones. The plucky "Sail away..." refrain wormed its way into everyone's mind. For the first time in human history, everyone was thinking the exact same thing at the exact same time.

As bewildered people around the world suddenly turned off their devices or threw headphones to the ground, they realized the song was still playing…in their ears. Animals scratched at their ears. A Boeing 737 descended at a too sharp angle as tower communication was lost.

The angels and birds and the insects wondered as they all lost the sense of their own wings in a single second. All flapping stopped. They could look behind, but it wouldn’t matter. Instead they all looked down as they fell.

The scientist looked down their clipboard glibly, oblivious to the subjective experience of a multitude of tiny beings suddenly robbed of flight, facing death. “It’s time to meet with investors,” the scientist said, addressing their nontechnical colleagues. “The device is ready.”

Log 42: The Ouroboros Effect

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Triston Dial

Emily J

Madison and Franklin was picking blackberries around their grandparents house. Madison picked the berries and Franklin held her little white bucket as she tossed them in one by one.

“Madison! Franklin! Stop throwing those blackberries around!” their grandpa yelled from the porch. “We need them to be plump and juicy, not squished, if we’re going to be able to prepare them.” Grandma came outside, too. “It’s time you learned the secret about us,” she said.

"That's right," said Grampa sauntering up to the children "we're familiars of the most frightful vegan vampire in 1,000 years. FRUITULA!" Grandma grinned and said "Yes, and our dreaded master only feasts on blackberries!"

Grandma & Grandpa yanked the berries from the children's hands. "Fruitula will transform us into tempeh if we don't provide," they said & hustled into the dark to feed their vegan lord. The kids knew then that they had to call Papa & Gammy. Only werepigs can stop a vegvampire.

The grandwerepigs were enjoying four-legged state, hunting for dark truffles by the moonlight. Their shared Jitterbug phone rang, and kept ringing. It took 5 rings for them to hear it, then 5 more to realize it was their phone, then 3 more rings to actually answer. "Hello?!"

For all their rich biological features, GWPs had decidedly mediocre hearing. "What's that?" the furriest sow said before listening intently. "We gotta go!" she suddenly squealed. The brood made a v-formation and scurried off. Shouting could be heard in the receiver as they fled.

Interview with the Hampire

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Alex Ramir

Why did you buy so many lemons? I mean, yes, we needed some, but so many? Where are we going to put all these lemons? There's only so many lemonades I can drink in a week. Where did you buy them anyway? A woman in a conversion van with a carpeted interior on the side of the road?

“You’re such a Silly Billy! I went to LemonLand, of course. Or was it Citrus World? You know, right off Route 1, next to the place that used to be the Dollar Dump? You loved going there with Gloria’s kids when you were young. What were their names again?”, said your aging Mom.

Pippin, Petunia, Polly, Penelope and Joe. Who could forget those names? And obviously it was Berry-Barn she was thinking of. What was happening here? What are the signs of early onset dementia? “Did you get me anything Ma?” I asked, trying to redirect this painful conversation.

Ma blinked at me as if trying to process the question. “Of course I got you something.” She paused, searching for the words. “Why else would I go all the way out… there?” It became obvious something was interfering with her memory. “Ma! Did anything abnormal happen to you today?”

"Well," said Ma sitting in my womb chair "At my doctor's appointment today I did find out I have a parasitic twin with perfect pitch. Apparently that's how I got that part in Sweeney Todd!"

“You see how it works is,” Ma explained. “I lean back, ever so slightly, and the pressure in my throat activates a second set of vocal chords in a different octave. I say ‘demon barber,’ the twin says ‘of Fleet Street!’ I’m what you might call a double threat.”

When Life Gives You Lemons, Harmonize

Leyre Garcia

I write this letter hoping that its confession will be apology enough. Although my fame has brought wealth & romance, it's also burdened me with guilt. You see, I never wrote a single one of my songs. Rather I stole ideas from the ghosts of Lou Reed & Burl Ives who haunt my home.

I thought I'd be found out when "Perfect Day for Goober Peas" hit number one but nope, none of you ever caught on. Lou and Burl did. Every night their ghostly faces hung over my bed, Ives saying "I'm gonna Holly Jolly kill you." and Lou noding his head and saying "For sh-ur-ah."

Somali

Goob goob goob
Goob ah peazzz
Goob goo goob goob goo goo goo
Goo goo goo goo goo
Goooooober peas!

What a classic tune.

Oh yes, oh yes, ummm I like so much this tune... Remember me to that moment that I lived years ago, that exact moment that I pass...

The totem of stacked furbies teetered back and forth beneath the trench coat. "They're on to us," the lowest furby whispered. "Um good day then," the top furby muttered. Just then two furious hands reached inside the coat and began plucking creatures out left and right.

The furbies tumbled to the ground. “Alrighty, ya little rascals,” said the man gruffly. “Enough is enough.” The furbies scrambled to hide amongst the trench coat. The man’s expression softened. “Aww, who cares if I’m not supposed to feed you after midnight. One snack can’t hurt.”

One Snack Can't Hurt

Joi Ryerson

Dabney saw the river and tightened his grip on the bottle. Water burbled in the morning sun and tall pines swayed in the breeze. In the bottle gasoline sloshed as he walked and he could smell acrid fumes escaping it's rag stuffed top. "Today those beavers will pay." he mumbled.

Sure, the beavers' dam had flooded the river & swamped his house. And yeah, they had felled the tree that crushed his GTO, but that was an accident, right? Dabney didn't even mind that the Beaver King had stolen his girlfriend & made her Beaver Queen. What really upset him was

the taunting. Day and night, any time he left the house, he heard it. The beaver king yelling oddly specific insults at him. “Hey-o, pumpkin pants! How’s the love life since I stole yer girl? Bwah ha ha ha!”

Finally, one day he’d had enough. The Beaver King hurled one insult too many: “Hey hairless loser! Your girl loves a furry pelt to snuggle against!” He grabbed his chainsaw. It was time to make that Beaver King PAY!

With wild eyes and a menacing grin, he pursued The Beaver King with all his furry. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. The Beaver King glanced back at him, perplexed. A terrible rumble began to pierce the air as the world's most magnificent toot emerged from his colon. Ahhh!

The Beaver King lived up to his name. Not only was the smell intolerable, it had the curious effect of dissolving the dam, loosing a flood onto our hero. “I came so close,” the hero said, gasping for air. “You’ll never catch me,” the beaver said, disappearing into a foggy forest.

The Once & Future Beaver King

“Young man, you need a lot of things. But what you need most right now is a cup of tea.” She gestured at the cabinet as she filled the kettle. I took the hint and grabbed a few things:

two teacups, boxes of Earl Grey & green-jasmine tea, a creamer, a sugar bowl, a teaspoon, a jar of honey, a bottle of agave syrup, napkins, a magazine of crossword puzzles, a lightning rod, Chapstick, dice, a hermit crab, & gummi coke bottles. "That should do," she said to me.

I took the picnic basket of goodies from Mother and darted up the stairs towards my room. Who is the most suitable guest? As I looked around at the crowd of button eyes staring back at me, I knew Teddy the Bear would be my guest! There would be no better company at my picnic!

I laid out the picnic on my bedroom floor. Mother had included all the best things—graham crackers, gummy bears, cookies, and apple juice. I sat Teddy the Bear in the place of honor. Little did I notice the shifting glares of jealousy from the crowd of stuffed friends in my room.

But Teddy did. He knew Digger Dog's resentment, the envy of Timmy Turtle and bitterness of Bubbles the Cat. And yet he sat, implacable and immune to their machinations. That is until Craig the Jackalope, an unfortunate gift from her Grandparents in Rhinelander, broke the silence.

“Look out!” Craig implored. Teddy turned to see Bubbles advancing with a club, fury in his feline eyes. Teddy ducked just in time for Bubbles to hit Timmy. Teddy escaped in all the commotion, grateful for Jackalope’s loyalty—sometimes, he thought, a toy has to leave the cupboard.

Tea for Teddy, Too

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Enrique Arnold

I sat, bored out of my mind, chewing my pencil. I wished to myself, silently, that it would end. It just seemed to go on forever.

Then I thought of my grandpa’s favorite saying: “life is mostly drudgery, so mentally check out whenever you can.” Grandpa was not a happy person. Still, this seemed like a good time to try his advice out.

The police, though, could not be convinced that zoning out while diving an 18-wheeler at 90mph on I-35 was what grandpa meant. I didn't think the accident was such a big deal. The truck only plowed into a giant wooden sculpture of Paul Bunyan. "It's not like anyone died," I said.

What I didn’t know: 2 things; Grandpa crashed in Paul Bunyan’s hometown, which was also home of the first logging factory. It was a State law to respect all things wood, ESPECIALLY Statues of their most famous resident. “This constitutes jail time,” said one of the park rangers.

And second, that Grandpa had crossed the lumberjack Maffia. How was he supposed to know selling off brand flannel shirts from the trunk of his car would cause so much trouble? Finding a plate of flapjacks with "You're Dead" written in maple syrup was the worse day of his life.

Grandpa collapsed into his breakfast. He thought of all the mistakes he'd made that led to this moment. As he lifted his head—syrup dripping off his face—he re-committed himself to a life of honor, deciding to personally drive to P. Bunyan's cabin, flannel in tow, to make amends.

In Honor of Paul Bunyan

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Physics of Gaming

Diana Tobey

I suddenly stared at her in disbelief, I couldn't tell if this was an illusion or if it was real, I heard no scream, only the sobs of a dead woman.I look at her, her eyes open and red with the dreaded death and my eyes light up, the sobs from her are still going, I was in his ilu

Ilu… illumination? Illustration? Illusion? Ilu, emu? The illustrated emotion? The invigorated Eno? 

What is happening to me? Is this madness?

"Hey you!" a voice cried. "You better start to move your feet to the rockinest, rock-steady beat of Madness! One! Step! Beyond!" At once, the room was filled with the sound of sassy sax, jumpy guitar & the raucous riddims of 2-tone era ska. Was this music real or only in my mind?

"Dis es no dreem. I am de Reggaeton Tyga, da keeper of de riddim," bellowed a deep, all encompassing voice "and I come to put in ya step a spring, 'til ya can hep but shake ya thing. So put way tha frown, cause it time to get down, to the funky, funky sound of de Tyga!"

I felt the medicine start to kick in as my body began to sway to the rhythm, like tremors preceding an earthquake. Tyga looked at me and said, “Dat de way mon, feel da riddim deep in ya, dat way you wun rememba wut come next!”

I locked eyes with Tyga. It was clear that he was my keeper and I his ward. It was his energies coursing through me. I could no longer control my body. It was like a rocket whose fuse was lit. I was simply the crew. The music crescendoed and I was off, not long for this world.

Slave to da Riddim

The Troll King was very pleased with himself, more so than usual. He leaned back on his throne of skulls and picked his teeth with a chicken bone. Then he softly belched and giggled like a child.

"I have an idea for the best festival ever," the Troll King announced. "It'll outdo the Orcs' Luau from last year." His toadies burbled in anticipation, "Tell us! Tell us!" The King leaned forward, the stink of his breath wafting over his ugly subjects: "2 words: Centaur Rodeo!"

The ugly sea of troll faces that radiated out from the King exploded into cheers. The King, a satisfied sneer on his face, basked in the adulation. This went on some time until Melvin, the most disliked troll, spoke up. "Uh boss," he sniveled "we have a problem."

The Troll King fixed his gaze on Melvin. “What do you mean—a problem?” he growled. Melvin gathered his courage and said, “The orcs have gotten in. They’re planning to attack.” The King thought for a moment. “All right. You’re ugly enough. Go undercover and find out their plans.”

Melvin gave a bow and backed out of the room, then chuckled. He hadn’t thought it’d be this easy to fool the Troll King. It was time to take the next step in his plan: convincing the orcs to back him in the rebellion. The time had come to crown a new king.

Melvin knew he had an epic task ahead of him. If he had any chance at being crowned king, he knew he needed to get the orcs and the ogres back on the same side of the rebellion. He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. This journey now had a sequel.

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