“As for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts.”
― Herman Melville, Moby-Dick
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Cigarettes
Sage Spicer he sits alone in the auditorium hands sticky with sweat, every part of him aquiver his breath coming quicker than the nine o’clock train all because on that sweet spring morning instead of cigarette smoke on his lips, they found another pair a boy’s mouth, a boy’s hands, curled around the tense muscles of his back. of course, they wouldn’t have cared if he had been kissing a girl, they would have cheered, they would have jeered high fives all around. but because his affections lie within his own sex, somehow, it’s sick, it’s wrong, it’s taboo and he knows his friends are jerks, he knows, he knows, HE KNOWS! they’re the ones who kick over garbage cans, the ones who throw around slurs like it’s out of style. but ever since he was small, all he’s ever wanted was to fit in and since he found his father’s cigarettes taped to the bottom of the desk. he’s only ever known the wrong ways. The Most Treacherous of Treacherous Explorations
Nimar Dhaliwal Me and my companions were seated. Contemplating, like one does. We had come out to have a good time. Of course, we had essentials to grab. That all turned to hell way too quick. We wanted nothing more than to get out, now. We had been here for what felt like days. Isn't that the saddest thing? Wanting nothing more than escape? Feeling caged. Who decided to create such a place. I was religious, this was about the first time I doubted God, really. If I was blessed, how could I be here? Me, of all people. Had I done something wrong in the past life? I really don't know. I just wanted out. Getting anxious, that was the only thought in my head: let me out, let me out, let me out! But I knew we wouldn't find our way out. That was inevitable. Our guide didn't even know the way out properly. It wasn't supposed to be like this, was it? Was it deliberate? I don't know. Do I still care? At this point, really, I can only think of one thing: Why is Ikea so damn big? |
BY CASEY DUDDING (2014)
The Sea is Calling Erin Vandenberg The sea is calling me, Do you hear it? Foam beckons as it froths against the shoreline Waves crashing against jagged rock cry out in pain The wind is harsher; It swirls and tumbles like a ballerina who has lost their grace, And it almost pushes me off the cliff; For a moment I knew I was made to fly, For a moment I wanted to try. The sea is calling me, Do you see it? The abyss below mimicks my churning heart Unsure, unknown, infinitely disconcerting. The secrets it hides under the sand will never be found, And yet I want to dive and seek them, Take my chances with the dangers For a moment I wanted to fall, For a moment I felt much too small. The sea is calling me, Do you taste it? Salt spray reaches my lips like a misleading reward, To refresh, not to drain me of everything I have Reduce me to a thing void of love and feeling My mouth can sense the betrayal before it reaches my tongue Something so chilling I’ll never forget it For a moment I trusted, For a moment the sea was what I lusted. The sea is calling me, Do you fear it? |
BY
CASEY DUDDING (2015)
Archaic Recall
Brennan Massey Something lies hidden here. The moist jungle floor gives way to stone set into the overgrown remnant of what may once have been a courtyard. Now, its hewed bricks are planters for the abundant foliage, barely recognizable as parts of an ancient whole. The protective fingers of the lush jungle recede further in, leaving the job of obscuring the ruins to the warm, humid mist. A dry, dusty aroma lies low over the jungle, mixing the usual blend of natural scents with something decidedly antique. A steep staircase of ornately carved stone blocks ascends toward the concealing canopy that protects against even time itself. All who once remembered this place have joined the dust that lines its stonework floors. The exhausting climb reveals a large, sculptured archway, a peephole through which to peer into the lives of the lost. It provides the rite of passage into a dark, twisting maze of somber corridors. No one will ever know again what each of the unique rooms that branch throughout the complex were used for. Their cryptic contents give few hints; an altar, a chiseled brazier, a roughcast throne, things that provide interest but little evidence or sense of purpose. Such rooms make many appearances throughout the ruins, their constituents becoming more in number but somehow even more vague as they draw closer to the centre. Perhaps that is where the final piece of this ancient, arcane puzzle lies, something that will connect the many ambiguous findings so far. The centrepiece to the ruin is a large room, resemblant of a temple, with entrances guarded by baroque arches styled as mythic beasts cutting through each of the four walls. At the heart of this ceremonious locale is a large stone tablet covered in faded, illegible markings. A clean-cut border around the slab reveals it to be a trapdoor, another entryway, to another place absent from the knowledge of current generations. Many such places must exist in the forgotten corners of this world. However, this place is different from the others. We have a chance to remember it. I Wish
Casey Dudding I wish that I wasn’t fifteen years old because, let me tell you, leaving school for months on end and travelling the world is highly frowned upon. I wish that I had an endless bank account. They say money can't buy happiness, but it can buy you a plane ticket to anywhere you want to go and that counts for something. I wish that I lived in some old castle with lots of secrets, but on second thought, probably not. I'd be scared to be home alone and would drive myself crazy thinking that there was someone hiding in some far away room. Also, that's how every horror movie ever starts. I wish that my backyard was a giant forest. This one would be cool. Think of all the campfires you could have, and all the trees you could climb; until you fall out of one of course. I wish that I could drive, except I would get to Toronto and then be too nauseous to continue. Teleportation would solve this issue. I wish that I could skip school with no consequences, because as I mentioned before, in today's society education is everything. I mean, come on, talk about unrealistic expectations. I wish that I lived closer to all the places I want to go to. Or the world was still one giant continent. Either way would be cool with me. I wish that I had parents like Dora’s because that girl went everywhere with absolutely no parental supervision. I wish that there wasn’t giant oceans separating everything. Do you know how much pollution, time, and money it takes to cross an ocean? A lot. I wish that I could explore, but who am I kidding? I would stay at home and lay in all the money I saved from not travelling. I would become a greedy dragon recluse, whom everyone talks about, but no one has ever seen. That sounds like a pretty sweet deal actually. I think I'll give it a shot. |
A Hallway of Thoughts
Oriana Vizcainodelgaty never ending corridors so long I couldn't see the end doors on each side I roamed for days searching for an exit but I was trapped in my own mind August 2nd
Emily Udle It was nearing four a.m. We were watching the night drain away and the city fade farther behind our tail lights. Exhaust swirled like ink into the new dawn. The radio quietly hummed a local song about dancing a St. John's waltz. By six a.m. we were sitting on cliffs, huddled calmly as atlantic waves leapt for us. The wind was so strong, I was sure if I let it, a simple gust would have carried me out to sea. Pried me off Amherst rock and submerged me in the deep. Around 8:45 we were strolling downtown. Her eyes matched the murky blue water, that lay beyond these foggy streets. My wind kissed cheeks matched our red coffee cups, clutched in numb hands. She hummed the song from earlier, her voice paced with the rhythm of our footsteps. Twelve hours later, 8:45 on the dot, we were hiding from the cold. Sleep clawed at her eyes and spoke along with her words, as we talked about our day in quiet verses. We sat on the windowsill, gazing at the city lights that danced upon the water of the harbour. Where ships lazily swayed, and seagulls flew low, gliding quietly above the shore. At ten that night, I was driving, she gazed out her passenger side window. This part of town never slept, you could hear it as we drove, past bar after bar of open mics. A snippet of that same song, was playing in one. She looked over at me quickly, mouthing the lyrics. With wide eyes, she said "why go home so soon?" I knew what she had in mind. So we rolled the windows down and turned the car, driving back to the heart of the city. We listened once more to the array of music as we drove past; in search of the quaint pub where her song was playing, and people were dancing the St. John's waltz. Vehicle Exploration
Lily Inskip-Shesnicky Daniel slid into the car, the upholstered seats had a slightly ethereal quality as the lights reflected off of them. The steering wheel was just the right texture and width for his relaxed grip, and the neon lit dials were tiny pricks of alien blood in the otherwise pitch black. The asphalt stretched out in front of them; Daniel and his Mercedes, the headlights displaying the matte road. The keys jingled in the ignition and the new car smell had already begun mixing with the smoke of Daniel's cigarette; which Daniel found both sexy and unnerving at the same time. The steady bass added to the euphoria of his new wheels, and the music seemed to be reverberating not only throughout the car, but his entire being. The interior of the car was illuminated in a brief angelic moment by another car, just as lonely and beautiful as his own, as he drove non-stop through the night. |
BY NINA BABIC (2015)
Lost in You
Sophia Chu I'm lost in you. Your endless seas. Are you lost in me? Were we meant to be? Your heart, my love, Is a map to explore. But when I find the treasure how can I not want more? It's my soul that guides me, My compass to show, My head's not in it, Doubt all it knows. But I'll keep on hoping, Together we'll find the way For your love is my goal At the end of the day. So hold my hand, Let's find an adventure, Walk into the sunset, Of the world, you're my centre. |
Desert
Alex Dolansky-Overland Sky shade of burning rust, Flames mimic the sea of endless dust, The sandy hills I fail to climb, And the heat punishing my unknown crime. What did I do to succumb this way? Alone, no friends to share the pain of day. To know my only hopeful salvation, Is the sun’s original hallucination. Forgot how I got here, no way to escape, To perish weak, my mouth agape. Sweat leaving my skin too fast, For me to remember the water I had last To not know whether I am sane or mad, Nor will I know, and I guess I’m glad. One thing to do, and that’s to try To beat the world before I die. 
Exploring Metaphors
Archana Raguparan |
BY NINA BABIC (2015)
Reach the Stars
Chloe Wilson I remember the nights When we watched the sky From falling dusk 'Til dawn We dreamed of galaxies so far away And alien life on Mars We would talk of the adventures we would have Lost among the stars They say we'll never make it But that's what they believe I promise you we'll reach the stars We'll reach them you and me But the stars we love Aren't really here They appear only as lights up in the sky Flickering where we cannot reach them They're a thousand million miles away Across nebulas and endless sky You only get one chance to see them Before they die These days I never see the stars For the stars refuse to shine The nights turn cold and bleak And darkness consumes all They say we'll never make it But that's what they believe I promise you we'll reach the stars We'll reach them you and me They tell me to move on in life But I won't give up this dream They'll never understand what it's like The stars burn bright in me Sometimes I wonder if they're right And it's time to finally move on Who wants to look back on the years and wonder Where the years have gone? They say we'll never make it But that's what they believe I promise you we'll reach the stars We'll reach them you and me I have waited for eternity To dance among the stars They are my heart, my soul, my wishes Yet they still shine too far They say there's a myth That all we know is all there is Soon I will know the touch of starlight The universe will be the only thing to exist And we dreamed of seeing A world we've never known A world untouched by humans A world of shimmering star stuff They said we'd never make it But that's what they believed I promised you we'd reach the stars Today we live that dream Today we live that dream Explorer's Cupid
Sophia Chu 
BY SOPHIA CHU (2015)
Lost in love.
Rylie McDowell Find me My mind is a maze Drowning in the sea Yet trapped in your gaze The sea made of tears shed by broken hearts mindful of turning gears yet the logic never start my heart the trays my mind betrayed by feeling stop being so kind You see I'm having trouble dealing symptoms of love hurt my Heart and soul How can something so innocent like a dove Leave me in a maze with no goal I'm stuck in water my head just above Forever i'll wander Lost and amiss Until you come find me Guide me with your kiss White Cliffed Headache
Nina Babic Our rendez-vous by the Sea, ambushed by Welsh winds which wheeze for the East. Coastal sailors, too ragged to be rendered blushing by skirts, or high tides. Only I, landlocked, scorned by sea pirates, could scoff at the shore. Dover was two-parts myth, White Cliffed Headache with a cozy underbrush. They didn’t call for flatland. Each chalky wall was God. Our legs, hitting limestone. Whites Cliffs of Nothing, or to Sea Gods, Everything. My windburned discovery. Why we left
Livia Mann-Burnett We began space exploration when everyone realized the Earth was going to die. It wasn’t necessarily just the environment. The coats had flooded, the north had melted, most animal species were gone, and large scale natural disasters were a weekly occurrence, but it wasn’t just that. There were wars, everyone was on a side no matter where you were from. There were no safe havens anymore, no neutral ground, nowhere that propaganda didn’t consume the media. So, on top of the fact that the Earth itself was forcing us to either stop or reverse our ways, the leaders of the world decided that Mars would be the next home of the human race. “A fresh start,” they had said. “A chance to begin again and learn from our mistakes.” They sounded like they were talking about a relationship, not our entire world and each of the lives of its 9 billion residents. The small group of 100 people who were already on Mars began to prepare. They built houses as we built spaceships. They had been preparing for this moment for years. By the time my family left for the spaceships, hardly any residents of our neighbourhood was left. I had lived in war my whole life, a war that started before I was born. We were some of the last to leave. It was just me and my very pregnant mother left (no dad, he had died fighting). We weren’t considered a priority, given where we lived; we may had been a threat, a danger to the “perfect new world”. My name is Amira Nazari. I was born in Syria in the year 2015 and today I leave to explore and colonize Mars. |
Beyond The Yellow Line
Gabby Calugay-Casuga The yellow line at the front of the bus is the divide between comfort and the merciless unknown I cross it, my feet leap from black floor to grey pavement my heart turns to stone, plummeting into my stomach; I realize I’m lost. My eyes stay on the ground, my comfort, the only constant in a crowd of variables the grey cement ever trustworthy, unchanging there for those who depend on it. Nameless strangers wait in single file under the bloodred transit station their faces hardened by frowns and exhaustion my rapid breathing sets me apart. I walk down the sun-filled staircase and plunge into the underground tunnel the unreliable white walls promise brightness instead they extinguish even the faintest glow. The yellow line at the front of the bus is the divide between comfort and the merciless unknown I cross it, my feet leap from black floor to grey pavement my heart turns to stone, plummeting into my stomach; I realize I’m lost. The Explorer’s Inevitability
Dylan Harrington Taking the risk was the first step in embarking on the incredulous adventure. I had always been seeking a thrill, something which would make me feel more important than I actually am. So when the offer came my way, I took it without giving it a second thought. I wanted my eyes to see something they couldn’t believe. Something which would make my brain incapable of processing thoughts. Something that would make my opinionated mouth, which always had something to say, speechless. I was an explorer, exploring parts of the world with beauty which couldn’t be captured in any form of art. I lived for it. I only wanted to have fun, letting my heart decide the way instead of my brain. I think there was always a part of me which knew this would be inevitable. Discovering temples, and ancient cities couldn’t last forever. 
BY DYLAN HARRINGTON (2015)
Explorers of the Night
Jackson Hunter There was always four of us. We called ourselves the explorers of the night. Every evening, after the sun dipped beneath the horizon and cast long shadows down our suburban streets, we would sneak through our back doors and out of bedroom windows to hit the asphalt, the roads lit by midnight streetlamps. --- We had a tradition to climb things, Schools, houses, stores. Our greatest feat was when we went to the top of a construction crane. We held hands and watched the lights of the city beneath our feet outshine the stars overhead. A cool breeze ripped through our hair, and We laughed with joy, having escaped one more night of sleep. --- Usually, we simply find the most isolated place we can, something like a roof, a forest or an empty parking lot. We sit down and talk and talk and talk and talk about God knows what, loving every single moment where we can be together instead of locked inside our rooms, waiting for the hands of Sleep to grip up by the throats and bring us to his world. --- Insomnia creeps into my subconscious like drugs, whispering into my ears, pulling at my heart, making sure I watch the sunrise before I can fall dead onto my pillow. I know the sounds of him crawling down the hallways of my mind. He knows all my hiding places, all flaws, my insecurities. So every night becomes a one on one date with the creature I hate the most. I’ve learned that the only way to keep him away is to run far and to run fast. Run away, and explore and don’t you dare look back. May a Path Always Guide You
Anna Monsreal Footsteps. Pathways. Doors closed. Windows open. Lost keys. Found courage. Open palms and life, Sliding through your fingers like crushed blackberries firm. A trip to nowhere in particular. Newly opened eyes embracing the world with wonder. Legs in all their hardened glory stopping only to find love. In the form of old parchment, unknown languages, rickshaws and spices. In the form of rain, muddy ground, howler monkeys and pounding drums. An escape from boredom. Embraced by adventure with open arms. The first signs of disappointment hidden by flashing lights and amazement. Old life forgotten. The days too short to soak in every story. Culture shock a custom. Smiling eyes greeting Your pilgrimage. Helping hands aiding Your gypsy way. Feet only going As far as your boots Will let them. A friend met In every continent On your journey Through life. A friend kept In every country On your inner Exploration. Would it be so bad To stay Under the streetlights And stars Another day? |
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Worlds
Krista Hum My cousin wanted to explore the world. She wanted to reach out and brush her fingers against mountains and feel new ground beneath her feet. She wanted to explore outside of her world but she hadn’t yet discovered what was in it. She ended up leaving for South America on July 3rd, 2014 and she hasn’t come back since. She’s somewhere in Europe right now, apparently having forgotten about her world back in Canada. She had whispered “farewell” and “see you soon” as she passed through customs. My cousin returned to Canada the day she turned twenty-three, two years after she left. She discovered that while she was exploring outside of her world, her own had crumbled apart and collapsed. Her friends in Canada were only acquaintances and her friends in other countries were too far to help. She ended up living in a shitty apartment without anyone to keep her warm at night or during the day. She attends classes to catch up and earns money by selling burgers to pay off her debt. She whispers “hello” and “haven’t seen you in a while” into the phone hoping to find one person who wasn’t offended by the fact that she left. A Really “Deep” Story
Amy Li Here in the deep sea, sunlight is just a faint memory and darkness engulfs me. The rocks are nothing but jagged silhouettes below. Finally, I am alone, in this vast ocean of blue. There is nothing here to disturb me: just me, my thoughts and the brine that caresses my skin. Finally, I am free; released from the hold of gravity, I can move however I want, wherever I want, or I can simply let myself be carried by the current. I wonder if this what it feels like to be a bird flying in the infinite sky. But as I swim deeper and deeper, the cold begins to seep in, freezing my heart with panic. I try to kick upwards towards the surface that I can no longer discern, but the very thing that once gave me that sensation of freedom, the water, is now thick like soup, trapping me. My head is pounding, my lungs are screaming for air... Just kidding. I’m a fish. A Simple Painting
Katherine Gibson She was a distant masterpiece, Hanging on a blank white wall, crooked, tilting slightly to the left, and though he stalked every angle he still couldn’t find the picture. He looked at her like poetry, a beautiful exterior but he couldn’t find the meaning. When he saw her, his whole world screamed out in worship of the ground she walked on, but he couldn’t see the blood and callouses under her white socks and red shoes. She walked with a white picketed fence surrounding her, but he could never realize why it was there. She was never dainty, never quiet or soft, but nevertheless, she was a rose. He never got close enough to check, but he imagined her hair smelled like the sea. Waves of blond tangled like open cuts, salt sprinkled through it. Under her skin was the entire universe, each of her freckles were the stars that shone so brightly they punched through leaving subtle scars spread out over her gray arms. Her dry laugh crept into his ear and sang throughout his body. It would crawl into his throat at night, whistling a sickly sweet tune to the melody of a song she had never heard. He studied her every feature, memorized each sound, until he forgot that she was a person all together. All he saw was a distant masterpiece, hanging on a blank white wall, crooked, tilting to the left. Swedish Buses and Lazy Afternoons
Lamiya Rahman Swedish buses have always amused my sister and I; mainly because of the operator that reads out the station names in a sing-song, as typical of the Swedish language. Therefore, “Uppsala” becomes “Up-saaa-laa” and so forth. Incidentally, this story takes place on a bus, when my family and I decided misguidedly to “go anywhere” using the bus system. This was misguided because:
It was about three o’clock when we set out, because it had taken two hours of discussion to finally convince my mother and I to be “spontaneous and free”. My father and sister are big on that. So I heaved a sigh and pulled on a pair of jeans and my ratty hoodie and we were off. We boarded the bus drenched and sat down scattered apart. I was seated next to my sister while my parents sat two rows ahead and to the left. I had the window seat and watched as the rain slid down the glass, obscuring the not-so-spectacular view of Uppsala’s suburbs. We reached a stop and the operator’s voice came on in a somber sing-song. I giggled along with my sister. A middle-aged woman shot us a look, which I returned despite my family’s glares. I sighed and looked out the window again, the very picture of teenage angst. _______________________________________________________ Eventually, we became bored of people watching. After trying out numerous outrageous scenarios on random people we saw on the bus, (“What if that girl with the red hair is an alien pretending to be Irish?”) we realized we were actually running out people to mock quietly, because the bus was virtually empty. “Uh, where are we?” my sister asked. My parents looked at each other. “I don’t know.” my mother admitted. This is something no kid ever wants to hear from their parents when they’re alone in a foreign country. Morbid thoughts started flying through my mind. Saw, the Human Centipede, IT… “Shut up.” hissed my sister. “I didn’t say anything.” “I can feel your pessimism.” “Screw you.” We were at the last stop when we realized that we didn’t actually want to get off. There was nowhere to go, after all. The suburbs looked sketchy. It turned out to be a nice afternoon, actually. Un-spontaneous. Not much of a story, really, but an important memory. The bus driver gave us an odd look when we made no move to get off, but turned around and headed back again, the bus filling with more people all at once. In the end we sat and rode on, watching the sun fade. Sometimes, exploration means not moving a muscle. It was then that I had a startling thought. It was entirely too dark to climb the rope pyramid now. The Night of the Sky
Marija Bolic The tree’s many hands Stretching out to the sky Fingers crossing many lands While the wind is strolling by A lonely brick church Towering in the endless sky His only company is a birch Crumpling ready to die The leaves hang trembling In this charcoal sky As the crow sits muttering Getting ready to fly The girl looks up Exploring the sky It’s perennial beauty set up For all wondering eyes Footprints
Mahalia Smith I spend my days Mapping your thoughts, wishes Tiptoeing through your daydreams Do you ever think of me? Compass needle swings Back and forth Following the pattern Of footprints in your mind I wish I could follow them too. 
BY AMY LI (2015)
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BY CASEY DUDDING (2014)
SUBURBAN PARADISE
Mab Speelman i. in the cookie-cut streets we danced, under the orange spotlights and we ran through the miniature woods, feet muddy and eyes wild. ii. in the woods lived a man, crouched under a duct tape tent, he waved a stick and shouted, and we walked away and laughed. iii. in the dark we made maps, blue pens on lined paper of the miniature woods near our cookie-cut streets. Journey's End
Haley Spenst When the lights fade and you can take it no more in peace will you reach the shore When the road halts and there’s nowhere to go you will ascend through the winds that blow When the adventure dies and you're left with internal cries When you’re frozen by heartbreak and every muscle aches The pain will cease and you’ll be released For one final mission of thrill and ignition And yes, some pain but so much to gain This time I vow one last bow Tighten your grip for the final trip To Journey’s End. Adulthood
Taylor Taniguchi Urgency. Absurdity. Strange how it passed so quickly. Eighteen years have passed with ease. Now, the world is lying ahead of me. A journey. A flurry. of unlived stories. They’re scared, I see. Their eyes wide with complete uncertainty. I’m afraid too, but differently. I don’t want this adventure to change me. People who go on explorations like these seem to come back changed, slightly. The eyes become tired, the smiles go weak, their voice seems calmer when they speak. This unknown time, this future, is bleak. I don’t want it to break me. I don’t want it to label me a freak. Scolding me for creativity. Will I be strong enough to rise against their plot to turn me into something I am not. Or will they change me put me in an office chair to detain me. Working for something that won’t let me be free. Free, is the feeling I get inside me when I write. A flame awakens within me. It’s strong, powerful, burning bright. I’ll be damned before they take my will to write. These unlived stories that we’ll enter on this journey. Will fuel me. This exploration will give me desperation to continue to write lives no one has ever seen. This adventure will give me experience of a life I never thought I’d lead. This future will change me into a self of my dreams. An Adventure Against Segregation
Anonymous “Cut it all off.” “Are you sure, Miss Vanderholt? Wouldn’t ya rather go to one of them professional salons in the downtown your mamma always takes you to?” “No, Henry, I want it all gone now. I don’t care if I don’t look pretty. I don’t want it anymore.” “I can call one of ‘em right now--” “I don’t have time for that, Henry. Here, take these scissors, I’ll tie up my hair so it doesn’t take as long.” “I could even drive ya, Miss--” “Henry.” “I don’t think your daddy would approve of this kinda behaviour.” “Well he can go shove a cotton plant up his ass.” … “Does this look alright, Miss Vanderholt? Here, you can look in this here mirror.” “My hair is at my shoulders.” “And?” “I want it shorter. To my ears.” “Miss Vanderholt, your daddy gon’ kill me--” “He won’t know. How would he know? He won’t find out you cut it. I’ll say I did it.” “Okay, Miss Vanderholt.” … “Is this what you meant by short?” “Yes. Thank you, Henry. ” “You look mighty nice, if I may say, Miss Vanderholt.” “Thank you, Henry. Now take me downtown.” “Downtown? Right now? You know what be happening down there, Miss Vanderholt, the rally--” “It’s a protest, Henry. And I’m going.” “But you might get hurt--” “I don’t care. This is my city, my state, and I want to fight for what’s right.” “Miss Vanderholt, I hope you pardon my saying this, but-- are you out of your goddamn mind? This ain’t one of your little adventures in the backyard--.” “You’re right, but I’m going regardless.” “This ain’t no game, Miss Vanderholt!” “I never said it was.” “...I’ll go, but only because I don’t want to ya to be gettin’ yaself hurt.” “Thank you, Henry.” … “Can I ask you somethin’ before you get out, Miss Vanderholt?” “Yes?” “Why’d you ask me to cut your hair? Why didn’t ya just do it yaself, like ya said you wouldda?” “Because I didn’t want to do this alone.” “...” “Thank you, Henry.” “You’s very welcome, Miss Vanderholt.” “...” “...” “Would you like to come with me, Henry?” “I-- I think I would, yes. Th- thank you, Miss Vanderholt.” 
Untitled
Grey Little boy blue Dressed in pink Don't ever tell them What you truly think Little girl pink Dressed in blue If you could lie About the things you already knew Little boy blue Hold yourself down Good little girls Keep their feet on the ground Little girl pink Hold your own hand No one will love you For they'll never understand Little boy, little girl Hold your head high There's no mercy in this world There's no brave way to die Little boy blue Give us a wave We'll bury you in pink 'Til you go to the grave Little girl pink We cry for you now Your mother and father Both want to know "how?" Little boy, little girl There's no safe way to escape But here's to hoping You've finally found your place |