twoasis
Oasis - Cont'd
The Twinkling Oasis, by Divya Prakash (10)
The moon smiled at its desert from a vast milky, star-speckled sky. The wind stirred the silver dunes. Nestled below the earthy floor hid a small furry desert dweller. A sand cat in its burrow.
“Goodnight, sleep well, my friend,” whispered the moon, as the wind sang a soft lullaby.
The gusts above were cool and arid. The cat sat curled in a ball of warmth, its body gently rising and falling. Her eyes swelled, pointed ears pivoted as she listened to the wind. She soon bowed her head and fell asleep to the desert’s song.
Light peaked from the horizon as the moon slipped away. The cat perked up. Bobbing her head as she opened her eyes, she made her way outside, pupils narrowing with each step. She gazed out from her hollow home. A sand cat must awake before dawn. She sniffed the air. Her heart fluttered as she surveyed the world around her, bubbling with wonder. The cat’s ears swiveled as she heard the chorus of early birds.
What might the birds have to say? thought the cat, eyeing the sky.
“The twinkling oasis! It’s like no other!” sang the Arabian swallow swooping above.
“It glows at night’s fall!” screeched the owl from the clouds.
“A true wonder to behold! Have you seen the dazzling waves, the dancing palms, rocks touching the sky!” piped the warbler from its high perch.
A twinkling oasis? What a spectacle that would be! Her tail shivered in excitement.
“Where? Where might this wonder be?” she barked, begging the skies.
“Follow the setting sun, far beyond the dunes, and run to the horizon. This is where you shall find what it is you search!” the sky sang in response.
“I thank you for your guidance!” the cat responded, hopping gleefully from her home and promptly bounding toward the darkened sky as the last star of the night began to fade.
Day after day, the cat chased the horizon, slinking past golden dunes and waving cacti.
What a sight this will be! She thought.
The sand cat ran with a spring in her step as the sun and moon waltzed up above. She would hide from the evening’s bitter cold and the daylight’s fiery beams. She chased the horizon as it ran farther, scurrying like a mouse just out of reach.
But, a sand cat is a deadly hunter.
As days went by, the moon’s smile became a frown.
“How long will you chase the horizon?”, whispered the moon in worry.
“As long as I must!” she replied, as it readied for a nap.
“I know these lands, be wary, dear friend.”, whispered the moon as the cat drifted to sleep.
The evening’s breeze grew cooler. The daylight’s sun grew warmer. Yet the horizon seemed to change. Something appeared at the edge of the sky. Something that glowed at nightfall and stood tall in the daylight.
“I’ve found it!” the sand cat exclaimed gleefully, racing toward the horizon.
She suffered the blazing heat as she bounded with speed.
“I see it!” she exclaimed to the sun.
“Be wary my friend, how have the days grown so warm?” it replied solemnly.
As the sun sank in the sky, the sand cat reached a dazzling pool that rippled beneath the wicked winds. Palm trees fringed the water, dancing in the cool breeze. The sky was ablaze with a million colours. The darkness of the night crept into the blood-soaked air. Thin clouds streaked the sky. It was a sunset like no other; light trailed through the water, leading the way to the towering sights ahead. Looming shadows danced across the water’s edge. Above stood large rocks reaching to the skies dotted with a million lights.
The sand cat gazed in amazement, eyes reflecting the twinkling site ahead, as she barked with glee.
In an instant, a large rumbling sound broke the silence of the desert. Distant silhouettes rolled and clawed against the sand, filling the sky with unpleasant fumes. The cat’s ears flattened against her head, tail swinging warily between her back legs. She searched for the sun, but it had gone behind the jutting rocks and the moon was nowhere to be found. The sky was dark here, only a few stars to be seen up above. Had they all fallen to the horizon?
A low rumbling sound filled the air once again, the fur on the cat's back standing tall.
“What are these sounds? Where are the stars? The birds, the crickets, where have they gone?”, she begged.
All she could hear were the deep rumbles. The stench of the air stung her nose.
Could this be a beast? she worried, stepping away from the water’s edge.
Frightened, the cat's eyes grew twice in size, a deep black. She inched backward from the marvellous site, ears swiveling about in all directions.
“Run, escape the horizon! A beast approaches!” She screamed in desperation.
She followed her footsteps home, alert and fearful, warning the skies, the sun, the moon, the stars, the wind, and the crickets of the beasts which lurked at the horizon. With each passing day she began to hear a familiar sound, the twinkling oasis approaching… With each rumble she ran further and further, the desert she’d first traveled shrinking day after day.
“Goodnight, sleep well, my friend,” whispered the moon, as the wind sang a soft lullaby.
The gusts above were cool and arid. The cat sat curled in a ball of warmth, its body gently rising and falling. Her eyes swelled, pointed ears pivoted as she listened to the wind. She soon bowed her head and fell asleep to the desert’s song.
Light peaked from the horizon as the moon slipped away. The cat perked up. Bobbing her head as she opened her eyes, she made her way outside, pupils narrowing with each step. She gazed out from her hollow home. A sand cat must awake before dawn. She sniffed the air. Her heart fluttered as she surveyed the world around her, bubbling with wonder. The cat’s ears swiveled as she heard the chorus of early birds.
What might the birds have to say? thought the cat, eyeing the sky.
“The twinkling oasis! It’s like no other!” sang the Arabian swallow swooping above.
“It glows at night’s fall!” screeched the owl from the clouds.
“A true wonder to behold! Have you seen the dazzling waves, the dancing palms, rocks touching the sky!” piped the warbler from its high perch.
A twinkling oasis? What a spectacle that would be! Her tail shivered in excitement.
“Where? Where might this wonder be?” she barked, begging the skies.
“Follow the setting sun, far beyond the dunes, and run to the horizon. This is where you shall find what it is you search!” the sky sang in response.
“I thank you for your guidance!” the cat responded, hopping gleefully from her home and promptly bounding toward the darkened sky as the last star of the night began to fade.
Day after day, the cat chased the horizon, slinking past golden dunes and waving cacti.
What a sight this will be! She thought.
The sand cat ran with a spring in her step as the sun and moon waltzed up above. She would hide from the evening’s bitter cold and the daylight’s fiery beams. She chased the horizon as it ran farther, scurrying like a mouse just out of reach.
But, a sand cat is a deadly hunter.
As days went by, the moon’s smile became a frown.
“How long will you chase the horizon?”, whispered the moon in worry.
“As long as I must!” she replied, as it readied for a nap.
“I know these lands, be wary, dear friend.”, whispered the moon as the cat drifted to sleep.
The evening’s breeze grew cooler. The daylight’s sun grew warmer. Yet the horizon seemed to change. Something appeared at the edge of the sky. Something that glowed at nightfall and stood tall in the daylight.
“I’ve found it!” the sand cat exclaimed gleefully, racing toward the horizon.
She suffered the blazing heat as she bounded with speed.
“I see it!” she exclaimed to the sun.
“Be wary my friend, how have the days grown so warm?” it replied solemnly.
As the sun sank in the sky, the sand cat reached a dazzling pool that rippled beneath the wicked winds. Palm trees fringed the water, dancing in the cool breeze. The sky was ablaze with a million colours. The darkness of the night crept into the blood-soaked air. Thin clouds streaked the sky. It was a sunset like no other; light trailed through the water, leading the way to the towering sights ahead. Looming shadows danced across the water’s edge. Above stood large rocks reaching to the skies dotted with a million lights.
The sand cat gazed in amazement, eyes reflecting the twinkling site ahead, as she barked with glee.
In an instant, a large rumbling sound broke the silence of the desert. Distant silhouettes rolled and clawed against the sand, filling the sky with unpleasant fumes. The cat’s ears flattened against her head, tail swinging warily between her back legs. She searched for the sun, but it had gone behind the jutting rocks and the moon was nowhere to be found. The sky was dark here, only a few stars to be seen up above. Had they all fallen to the horizon?
A low rumbling sound filled the air once again, the fur on the cat's back standing tall.
“What are these sounds? Where are the stars? The birds, the crickets, where have they gone?”, she begged.
All she could hear were the deep rumbles. The stench of the air stung her nose.
Could this be a beast? she worried, stepping away from the water’s edge.
Frightened, the cat's eyes grew twice in size, a deep black. She inched backward from the marvellous site, ears swiveling about in all directions.
“Run, escape the horizon! A beast approaches!” She screamed in desperation.
She followed her footsteps home, alert and fearful, warning the skies, the sun, the moon, the stars, the wind, and the crickets of the beasts which lurked at the horizon. With each passing day she began to hear a familiar sound, the twinkling oasis approaching… With each rumble she ran further and further, the desert she’d first traveled shrinking day after day.
Atlantis, by Maja Kolakovic (10)
Streetlights irradiated the harsh snowfall. The glass door struggled against me as I attempted to turn its rime-encrusted lock. Stepping outside at last, I could discern a familiar, though dimming, landscape in the distance. It was quite a sight to behold. The city scintillated with the radiance of the arctic tundra, despite its somber surroundings. In solitude, I noticed things I normally didn’t: the vessels and their lithe figures, clinging to the water. The cadence of the ocean. Configurations of objects in the skies, atomic masses. Baubles of light, however meagerly they shone, stringing the cables. Hail peppered me as it did so often, riddling the city. Surely we would become submerged in this tempest; it had been months.
I wondered if I was alone in my fears. I could not be. Recently, my worries have grown. Recurring visions of yet another cataclysmic event plagued me; intuition told me the day was approaching. Shivers would envelop me, then recede, as the snow did not. It would cross my mind that we were being punished, but that could not be. As a civilization, we were among the most elite.
I had come up with many different theories as to why God had decided to spite us: firstly, of course, He might claim that we were fueled by mercenary actions. If this were the case, I could only imagine that deep down, He was envious of our advancements – all of which had come through without His aid. Though, I did not think this was a reasonable enough cause to exterminate us. He should know that we had seen economic prosperity for a while now, and this was cause to celebrate! This was cause for Him to be proud. Our turbines were installed on every corner of land, our dams dominated the waterways. What a demonstration of our ingenuity and our prominence, it was! Smoke-spewing factories worked with assiduity, as did their employees. We certainly weren’t failing industrially.
So, what else could be the cause? Some sort of human action He wasn’t content with? Perhaps it was that crime remained widespread. Vindictiveness collectively painted us in a bad light. However, it was worth mentioning that statistically, we had the lowest rates of burglary, arson, trafficking, and abuse compared to other areas. White-collar crimes occurred minimally. Clearly, we weren’t governed by deceit as other nations were. Our cells were able to keep even the most cunning of wrongdoers imprisoned – courtesy of our technological sophistication. Newly developed modules permitted us to integrate artificial intelligence into our surveillance systems and rehabilitative care. We had sharpened up judicially as well; our prosecutors and judges were astute, the keenest of the keen. No, that theory couldn’t be true either.
My last big hypothesis centered around healthcare. We resided in the digitalized age; robotics allowed us to perform operations with accuracy that human hands could never achieve. Radiation therapy had evolved, as had other substantial treatments. Telemedicine was extremely popular. Technology was able to catch disease early. Our candidates were qualified, well spoken. Many patients had confirmed the excellence of our system, and the rate of illness had decreased by 30% in the last two decades. That seemed to be pretty impressive, in my opinion.
I shivered all of a sudden. Perhaps this was God’s way of letting me know He was here, and that all of my theories were incorrect. Or were we failing in these sectors for reasons I was unaware of? I racked my brain, telling Him to be patient. I’d come up with it eventually.
We were just so advanced in every single way – industrially, judicially, medically, technologically, and agriculturally – that I couldn’t think of a reason. His voice penetrated my ears, murmuring words that punctured me. I scoffed. What was this in comparison to our grand endeavors? Maybe I was a fool to have thought so hard.
Lately, I had been in doubt, and my faith had atrophied – likely due to the prayers I’d been neglecting. It was quite difficult to retain consistency when I had no confidence in it all.
“Yes, I realize that’s the point!” I yelled up at Him, because I needed someone to hear me. The snow nipped at my face in response, probably a sign that He was discontent with me. Solely obedience satisfied Him. Not inquisition. Yet, I took my life as an opportunity to question.
“I know we are imperfect, but… we have learned to cooperate, to better each other,” I said to him. “If it weren’t for You, nothing would ever subjugate this population. We would rise above all else, I’m certain – we have. Look how You left the world to us millenia ago, and look how we have transformed it. It could have devolved into entropy, but it did not. We prevented that. And this is how You thank us? By decimating us? If there’s a moral here, it’s imperceptible!”
He did not think to answer – of course not.
“In Your words, progression circles back to the past, but… do You not realize that the only way to better things is to move forward? You are the reason we are all so divided!”
When hatred arose in me, I was told to suppress it. Repression had only ever angered me. I recoiled from crowds that had once made me feel welcome. Their smiles seemed to bore through me as I repented.
“I do not wish for these feelings to prolong,” I said, returning my attention to Him. “I desire – just like this world does – to be at peace. But You owe us this information… why is our destiny so full of hurt?”
Maybe it was that I didn’t notice. Maybe I didn’t notice the smouldering of the forests; the fumes which blanketed our skies, reaching into the ether. Maybe I’d ignored the toxins occupying the soils and waters. The accumulation of mercury in our rivers. The bonds created by electromagnetic fields. Maybe I didn’t notice the incarceration of my people, or people who were not mine, but close to me nevertheless. Maybe I didn’t notice how malignance and contempt had been transmitted through so much of the population. Hatred is a pathogen, after all. Maybe I didn’t recognize that God’s answer was emotion when I’d asked him what was wrong, and maybe I’d ignored Him. Maybe I couldn’t distinguish pride from arrogance, and that is why we were perishing. But that is not what I noticed.
The tempest engulfed our city, and I shivered. A rift of luminosity appeared in the morose atmosphere as I turned to grab the handle again.
He peered upon me. He might have whispered something to me about our decaying population, though I did not notice. Something about forgiveness. He might have spoken of love and rejuvenation. Perhaps He even tried directing my attention to a sliver of light, however minuscule, in the skies.
I wondered if I was alone in my fears. I could not be. Recently, my worries have grown. Recurring visions of yet another cataclysmic event plagued me; intuition told me the day was approaching. Shivers would envelop me, then recede, as the snow did not. It would cross my mind that we were being punished, but that could not be. As a civilization, we were among the most elite.
I had come up with many different theories as to why God had decided to spite us: firstly, of course, He might claim that we were fueled by mercenary actions. If this were the case, I could only imagine that deep down, He was envious of our advancements – all of which had come through without His aid. Though, I did not think this was a reasonable enough cause to exterminate us. He should know that we had seen economic prosperity for a while now, and this was cause to celebrate! This was cause for Him to be proud. Our turbines were installed on every corner of land, our dams dominated the waterways. What a demonstration of our ingenuity and our prominence, it was! Smoke-spewing factories worked with assiduity, as did their employees. We certainly weren’t failing industrially.
So, what else could be the cause? Some sort of human action He wasn’t content with? Perhaps it was that crime remained widespread. Vindictiveness collectively painted us in a bad light. However, it was worth mentioning that statistically, we had the lowest rates of burglary, arson, trafficking, and abuse compared to other areas. White-collar crimes occurred minimally. Clearly, we weren’t governed by deceit as other nations were. Our cells were able to keep even the most cunning of wrongdoers imprisoned – courtesy of our technological sophistication. Newly developed modules permitted us to integrate artificial intelligence into our surveillance systems and rehabilitative care. We had sharpened up judicially as well; our prosecutors and judges were astute, the keenest of the keen. No, that theory couldn’t be true either.
My last big hypothesis centered around healthcare. We resided in the digitalized age; robotics allowed us to perform operations with accuracy that human hands could never achieve. Radiation therapy had evolved, as had other substantial treatments. Telemedicine was extremely popular. Technology was able to catch disease early. Our candidates were qualified, well spoken. Many patients had confirmed the excellence of our system, and the rate of illness had decreased by 30% in the last two decades. That seemed to be pretty impressive, in my opinion.
I shivered all of a sudden. Perhaps this was God’s way of letting me know He was here, and that all of my theories were incorrect. Or were we failing in these sectors for reasons I was unaware of? I racked my brain, telling Him to be patient. I’d come up with it eventually.
We were just so advanced in every single way – industrially, judicially, medically, technologically, and agriculturally – that I couldn’t think of a reason. His voice penetrated my ears, murmuring words that punctured me. I scoffed. What was this in comparison to our grand endeavors? Maybe I was a fool to have thought so hard.
Lately, I had been in doubt, and my faith had atrophied – likely due to the prayers I’d been neglecting. It was quite difficult to retain consistency when I had no confidence in it all.
“Yes, I realize that’s the point!” I yelled up at Him, because I needed someone to hear me. The snow nipped at my face in response, probably a sign that He was discontent with me. Solely obedience satisfied Him. Not inquisition. Yet, I took my life as an opportunity to question.
“I know we are imperfect, but… we have learned to cooperate, to better each other,” I said to him. “If it weren’t for You, nothing would ever subjugate this population. We would rise above all else, I’m certain – we have. Look how You left the world to us millenia ago, and look how we have transformed it. It could have devolved into entropy, but it did not. We prevented that. And this is how You thank us? By decimating us? If there’s a moral here, it’s imperceptible!”
He did not think to answer – of course not.
“In Your words, progression circles back to the past, but… do You not realize that the only way to better things is to move forward? You are the reason we are all so divided!”
When hatred arose in me, I was told to suppress it. Repression had only ever angered me. I recoiled from crowds that had once made me feel welcome. Their smiles seemed to bore through me as I repented.
“I do not wish for these feelings to prolong,” I said, returning my attention to Him. “I desire – just like this world does – to be at peace. But You owe us this information… why is our destiny so full of hurt?”
Maybe it was that I didn’t notice. Maybe I didn’t notice the smouldering of the forests; the fumes which blanketed our skies, reaching into the ether. Maybe I’d ignored the toxins occupying the soils and waters. The accumulation of mercury in our rivers. The bonds created by electromagnetic fields. Maybe I didn’t notice the incarceration of my people, or people who were not mine, but close to me nevertheless. Maybe I didn’t notice how malignance and contempt had been transmitted through so much of the population. Hatred is a pathogen, after all. Maybe I didn’t recognize that God’s answer was emotion when I’d asked him what was wrong, and maybe I’d ignored Him. Maybe I couldn’t distinguish pride from arrogance, and that is why we were perishing. But that is not what I noticed.
The tempest engulfed our city, and I shivered. A rift of luminosity appeared in the morose atmosphere as I turned to grab the handle again.
He peered upon me. He might have whispered something to me about our decaying population, though I did not notice. Something about forgiveness. He might have spoken of love and rejuvenation. Perhaps He even tried directing my attention to a sliver of light, however minuscule, in the skies.
My God is the Sun, by Abella Vasquez (10)
I would’ve given up. I would’ve given up my title, my status, my whole domain just to stay with the sun. To feel its warm rays along my skin, the light it brought to my face – I would give everything. Whatever he wanted.
As I stole a final blinding glance my whole body grew cold. The powerful figure stood above me, towering over my shivering body. There was nothing I could do. I knew I was overpowered and so did he, and took so much pride in it, almost too much. His lips pulled up in a smirk as he stroked his bearded chin. I could tell he was so pleased with himself, pleased to keep me away from my only strength and power. “Maybe next time you’ll think before you decide to rat me out, son.”
Son. Funny. Was I ever really his son? I certainly never felt that way. I was just the other bastard he’d bore from an innocent, unwilling widow. My jaw clenched as I held back. I mustn't think of her now. I cannot relate her strength and beauty with a moment of pure weakness.
“Am I understood?” He spoke. The realization set in quick. I could feel my hands begging for warmth, shivering and trembling under the cover of darkness and piercing cool air. My skin frosted over, my chest heaved. But as he continued to watch me grovel in the black dirt I didn’t say anything. My mouth was open but my throat was dry. All I could do was think about how cold it was. So cold.
He left me there in the Underworld, allowing my body to succumb to the frigid temperatures it had never been used to.
I, the Sun God. That was my name. It was hard to remember that now, though. I looked up for a moment, a little spark in me expecting to see my old friend. But never again would I squint and see the bright chariot of perfect light storm across the sky in its endless blaze of glory. I could still feel the warmth spread across my shoulders, to my chest, legs, fingers… I bathed in the feeling for a moment. I swam in its lake of gold.
I, the Sun God.
I, Sun.
As I stole a final blinding glance my whole body grew cold. The powerful figure stood above me, towering over my shivering body. There was nothing I could do. I knew I was overpowered and so did he, and took so much pride in it, almost too much. His lips pulled up in a smirk as he stroked his bearded chin. I could tell he was so pleased with himself, pleased to keep me away from my only strength and power. “Maybe next time you’ll think before you decide to rat me out, son.”
Son. Funny. Was I ever really his son? I certainly never felt that way. I was just the other bastard he’d bore from an innocent, unwilling widow. My jaw clenched as I held back. I mustn't think of her now. I cannot relate her strength and beauty with a moment of pure weakness.
“Am I understood?” He spoke. The realization set in quick. I could feel my hands begging for warmth, shivering and trembling under the cover of darkness and piercing cool air. My skin frosted over, my chest heaved. But as he continued to watch me grovel in the black dirt I didn’t say anything. My mouth was open but my throat was dry. All I could do was think about how cold it was. So cold.
He left me there in the Underworld, allowing my body to succumb to the frigid temperatures it had never been used to.
I, the Sun God. That was my name. It was hard to remember that now, though. I looked up for a moment, a little spark in me expecting to see my old friend. But never again would I squint and see the bright chariot of perfect light storm across the sky in its endless blaze of glory. I could still feel the warmth spread across my shoulders, to my chest, legs, fingers… I bathed in the feeling for a moment. I swam in its lake of gold.
I, the Sun God.
I, Sun.
What a Wacky World, by Devin Caguioa (9)
I’ve never known peace before. Okay, that may be an exaggeration. I’ve had temporary moments of relaxation. Moments where it feels like the world stops spinning, where the wind blows through your hair at the right velocity, where you feel like you can leave all of your past behind. But, that feeling never lasts long. Sometimes, I suddenly get whipped back into the past where I’m reminded how I messed up the performance of a song in the first grade for a talent show, or the locks on my head get pushed forwards, causing strands of hair to fly into my mouth. And suddenly, you feel you’re at square one again; the land beneath your feet rattling.
I have tried everything in my power to give myself full peace, even if it’s just for a few hours — I'd be ecstatic I got a full day of calmness. I have tried to lay down on the grass in hopes to ride out the trembling ground, I’ve tried to close my eyes and breathe to forget about my surroundings, I’ve tried everything. Everything I could to calm the storm. Yet, the tremors beneath my feet never cease. They just continue on, and on, and on. Trying to find a solution to the quaking world I live in feels like dividing anything by zero: undefined, pointless.
I’ve tried to tell others about the constant shakes I live in. How nothing ever feels stable for me. But you wanna know what their response is? Do you want to know their response? “Try harder.” Right, shitty Sherlock! And the grass is green, tell me something I don’t know. Maybe if I did put in more effort to change my world, to put an end to my flaws, things would work out for me. But I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of feeling confined and feeling like I need to make a change. If the land beneath me won’t stop trembling, it’s best if I simply acknowledge it and move on. I’ll seek consolation within the catastrophe.
While every wall in my vicinity is crumbling down, I keep my grip firm on self-solace. I don’t think these temporary moments of stillness are all that bad. I just need to cherish everything, even the Earth tremors. Who am I kidding, how can you ground yourself when you’re born during an everlasting earthquake?
I have tried everything in my power to give myself full peace, even if it’s just for a few hours — I'd be ecstatic I got a full day of calmness. I have tried to lay down on the grass in hopes to ride out the trembling ground, I’ve tried to close my eyes and breathe to forget about my surroundings, I’ve tried everything. Everything I could to calm the storm. Yet, the tremors beneath my feet never cease. They just continue on, and on, and on. Trying to find a solution to the quaking world I live in feels like dividing anything by zero: undefined, pointless.
I’ve tried to tell others about the constant shakes I live in. How nothing ever feels stable for me. But you wanna know what their response is? Do you want to know their response? “Try harder.” Right, shitty Sherlock! And the grass is green, tell me something I don’t know. Maybe if I did put in more effort to change my world, to put an end to my flaws, things would work out for me. But I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of feeling confined and feeling like I need to make a change. If the land beneath me won’t stop trembling, it’s best if I simply acknowledge it and move on. I’ll seek consolation within the catastrophe.
While every wall in my vicinity is crumbling down, I keep my grip firm on self-solace. I don’t think these temporary moments of stillness are all that bad. I just need to cherish everything, even the Earth tremors. Who am I kidding, how can you ground yourself when you’re born during an everlasting earthquake?
Opposite Oasis, by Ishana Aidroos (10)
Flowers bloom around her. Sunflowers reach upwards towards the bright warm sun. Bees buzz from foxgloves to zinnias to black-eyed susans, searching for sweet nectar. Squirrels chase each other up tree trunks as butterflies — morphos and monarchs alike — fly high, displaying their brightly coloured wings for the world to see. Birds sing cheerful melodies in plump fruit trees. Frogs croak, jumping from lily pad to lily pad. The stream ripples. The grass dances in the wind.
She watches. Not from afar; she’s only a couple of steps away. But it feels like forever.
She lives here. In her Opposite Oasis. Where no flowers bloom bright. No bees buzz. No butterflies boast. No birds sing. Life grows where the grass grows. Here, there is no grass. Here, there is no life.
Here, there is sand. Dry and hot. The punishing wind blows it into her hair, mouth, eyes, ears, but she doesn’t wipe it away. She is parched, and can barely feel her sandpaper tongue. She is numb, body limp on the sand beneath her. She could pass as dead.
Except she’s not.
Her eyes are alive. Red-rimmed and broken, heavy and barely blinking. But alive. The gateway to her soul floods with all she has kept locked away for so long. Calmness replaced by fear. Modesty replaced by shame. Love replaced by hate. A silent surrender to the emotions she truly feels.
She could get up. She could walk—crawl even— towards the life that surrounds her. She could drink from the stream, eat nuts and fruit, wash, and sleep under the comfort of a hundred year old tree. She could have company. She could no longer be alone.
She could. But she won’t.
Instead she stays here. Not because she wants to. Not because she has to. She stays here because she thinks she deserves to.
She watches. Not from afar; she’s only a couple of steps away. But it feels like forever.
She lives here. In her Opposite Oasis. Where no flowers bloom bright. No bees buzz. No butterflies boast. No birds sing. Life grows where the grass grows. Here, there is no grass. Here, there is no life.
Here, there is sand. Dry and hot. The punishing wind blows it into her hair, mouth, eyes, ears, but she doesn’t wipe it away. She is parched, and can barely feel her sandpaper tongue. She is numb, body limp on the sand beneath her. She could pass as dead.
Except she’s not.
Her eyes are alive. Red-rimmed and broken, heavy and barely blinking. But alive. The gateway to her soul floods with all she has kept locked away for so long. Calmness replaced by fear. Modesty replaced by shame. Love replaced by hate. A silent surrender to the emotions she truly feels.
She could get up. She could walk—crawl even— towards the life that surrounds her. She could drink from the stream, eat nuts and fruit, wash, and sleep under the comfort of a hundred year old tree. She could have company. She could no longer be alone.
She could. But she won’t.
Instead she stays here. Not because she wants to. Not because she has to. She stays here because she thinks she deserves to.
Smokers Oasis, by Rachel Kilgour (9) & Theia Taylor (9)
Oasis is the crispness of the paper at my fingertips.
It’s the heavy feeling of smoke filling my mouth, floating into my nose. It’s the haze in my lungs and the clouds in my mind. My eyelids are tired, and my pupils blown out.
Oasis is a red velvet wallet and a lighter at my lips.
A puff of smoke in the air and the brush of someone's fingertips against my own. A breath too deep, a fit of coughs, the sight of tears in your eyes.
The calm washes over me, such a stark contrast to the wind whipping our hair around, the storm clouds hanging low in the sky.
Oasis is when I hold the smoke in my mouth for a bit too long and a little fire starts right there on my tongue.
It’s the way your hand shoots out to cover the flame as water droplets start to fall heavy from the grey above. My eyelashes flutter open at the breeze hitting my face, and I look up.
As your eyes flutter open to meet mine, I swear my breath stalls in my lungs, and that smoke is back in my mouth and muddling my thoughts. Oasis is the look in your eye that beats any high the cigarette could give me.
Oasis is my other hand reaching out to grasp your chin as I take the roll from your lips and set it on mine.
It’s your hand warm against my skin, it’s the smoke swirling between us, it’s the small smirk across your lips. It’s the way your gaze makes my skin burn hot despite the water soaking me to the bone. It’s the way my hands go to your waist on instinct, bunching up the soft cotton of your t-shirt.
Oasis is the way your lips only curl up more at the touch, the way your eyebrows raise up ever so slightly, the way I notice it all even through the haze.
I shake my head with a huffed laugh, shaking your hands off and turning slightly away to take another puff and watch the smoke twirl through the air. It’s the way I smoke the rest of it, and you let me. Your shirt is see through now, as I stub it out under my shoe. I peel my sweater up and off my head to instead pull onto you. I set another one on your lips and cover it as I set it aflame.
Oasis is the fire that gleams in your eyes and the shiver in your torso. I stand from the spot on the curb to walk over to the fence and shake the water from my locs, the gold ornaments clicking together. The liquid clings anyway and the chain link rattles under my forearms.
It’s the way your hands tap a drumbeat on the metal of the fence, the way your eyes drag up and down my body. It’s the way you watch me, eyes following every movement, as I take slow drags of the dart, warmed by the fire and the soft fabric of your sweater. It’s the way we stay at this standstill, air charged between us, until I toss the butt to a puddle.
Oasis is when I stand up, taking long strides towards you. It’s when I throw my hands around your neck and rest my forehead against yours, revelling in your silk smooth skin and the freckles scattered across your nose.
And when I catch your waist in my hands, and your lips finally meet mine, tasting faintly of smoke and tobacco, I realize that I was wrong. That oasis was never crisp paper or red velvet wallets. It wasn’t the feeling of choking on smoke, or the fire in your eyes. Because those were all so insignificant compared to this, and how stupid was I to have forgotten.
My Oasis is the feeling of your lips against mine.
It’s the heavy feeling of smoke filling my mouth, floating into my nose. It’s the haze in my lungs and the clouds in my mind. My eyelids are tired, and my pupils blown out.
Oasis is a red velvet wallet and a lighter at my lips.
A puff of smoke in the air and the brush of someone's fingertips against my own. A breath too deep, a fit of coughs, the sight of tears in your eyes.
The calm washes over me, such a stark contrast to the wind whipping our hair around, the storm clouds hanging low in the sky.
Oasis is when I hold the smoke in my mouth for a bit too long and a little fire starts right there on my tongue.
It’s the way your hand shoots out to cover the flame as water droplets start to fall heavy from the grey above. My eyelashes flutter open at the breeze hitting my face, and I look up.
As your eyes flutter open to meet mine, I swear my breath stalls in my lungs, and that smoke is back in my mouth and muddling my thoughts. Oasis is the look in your eye that beats any high the cigarette could give me.
Oasis is my other hand reaching out to grasp your chin as I take the roll from your lips and set it on mine.
It’s your hand warm against my skin, it’s the smoke swirling between us, it’s the small smirk across your lips. It’s the way your gaze makes my skin burn hot despite the water soaking me to the bone. It’s the way my hands go to your waist on instinct, bunching up the soft cotton of your t-shirt.
Oasis is the way your lips only curl up more at the touch, the way your eyebrows raise up ever so slightly, the way I notice it all even through the haze.
I shake my head with a huffed laugh, shaking your hands off and turning slightly away to take another puff and watch the smoke twirl through the air. It’s the way I smoke the rest of it, and you let me. Your shirt is see through now, as I stub it out under my shoe. I peel my sweater up and off my head to instead pull onto you. I set another one on your lips and cover it as I set it aflame.
Oasis is the fire that gleams in your eyes and the shiver in your torso. I stand from the spot on the curb to walk over to the fence and shake the water from my locs, the gold ornaments clicking together. The liquid clings anyway and the chain link rattles under my forearms.
It’s the way your hands tap a drumbeat on the metal of the fence, the way your eyes drag up and down my body. It’s the way you watch me, eyes following every movement, as I take slow drags of the dart, warmed by the fire and the soft fabric of your sweater. It’s the way we stay at this standstill, air charged between us, until I toss the butt to a puddle.
Oasis is when I stand up, taking long strides towards you. It’s when I throw my hands around your neck and rest my forehead against yours, revelling in your silk smooth skin and the freckles scattered across your nose.
And when I catch your waist in my hands, and your lips finally meet mine, tasting faintly of smoke and tobacco, I realize that I was wrong. That oasis was never crisp paper or red velvet wallets. It wasn’t the feeling of choking on smoke, or the fire in your eyes. Because those were all so insignificant compared to this, and how stupid was I to have forgotten.
My Oasis is the feeling of your lips against mine.
Do You Copy? by Milana Wheeler (10)
Six people run into a massive cavern with stalactites dripping water. The path where they came from is blocked by the rocks and debris. There is a large river, ebbing out into a wide, slow moving channel, before narrowing back down into a tunnel that isn’t even big enough to reach the smallest member’s thigh at the end of the cavern. There is a smattering of rocks near the entrance to the cave that one could theoretically use to cross said river, requiring they had a surplus of skill or stupidity. Bugs that seem just divorced of fireflies keep a consistent light of the cavern. Thick stalks of some kind of bracken glowed with luminescent bulbs at the end. Pale mice with bloody pink eyes nibbled on the low hanging fruit. The group of newcomers, six people in identical orange hazmat suits of various height and build, had gray gas masks covering their faces. They all take out their walkie talkies from their pockets and fiddle with the dial on the side, tuning in to Channel Six.
MIC#1: (beep) …Well, that happened. Everyone, come in. Over.
MIC#2: Copy that. Thank god for this place. How’d we even find it between all the running and screaming? Over.
MIC#4: Copy. Four calls to Two, it was in the ‘Don’t Bother’ section of the topography files. Over.
MIC#2: Two calls to Four, I take back what I said about this place, we’re doomed. Over.
MIC#3: 10-4. Three calls to Four. Of course you’d bother reading the ‘Don’t Bother’ section. Over.
MIC#4: Four calls to Three. In my defense, I was bored and we aren’t allowed cellular devices. Four calls to Two. It’s either be doomed alive in a cave that’s actually very pleasant, if I do say so myself, or be doomed dead in a pile of rocks. Over.
MIC#5: 10-4. Thank you, Four. I like not being dead. How long do you think we’ll be stuck here? Over.
MIC#2: Two to Five. Might be forever. Over.
MIC#1: Record amount of time to make me regret calling everyone in, great job. One calls to Two, please stop being dramatic, it’s freaking me out. One calls to Four, good thinking with the cave, I also like not being dead. One call to Six, do you copy? Over.
MIC#6: Loud and Clear. I was just getting the potability test done on the water while the children were squabbling. Do you think we could start a fire in here without finishing the job the rockslide started? Over.
MIC#1: Copy that, good thinking. Will need you to come in when I ask in the future, though. I’d like not to worry that you hit your head on a rock on the way in. Over.
MIC#5: I would just like to say that I have not been squabbling. Over.
MIC#2: Everyone, do you copy? Five needs everyone to know just how good of a boy he is, all the time! Over.
MIC#3: 10-1. No one has paid attention to Two in half a minute, might want to check their vitals. Over.
MIC#4: Four to Three, vitals show increasing signs of pettiness and the beginnings of a tantrum. Over.
MIC#2: Two to Four, maybe zip it since you’re the one who got us stuck here? Over.
MIC#3: Temper tantrum imminent, roger that. Over.
MIC#6: Six calls to One, fix this. Over.
MIC#1: Everyone stop picking fights, I’ve paged headquarters on the situation and am waiting for the reply. In the meantime, Two, see if you can light a spark in a contained environment. Three, test to see if there are any contaminants in the flora and fauna, they might be our dinner for the next few days. Six, keep doing what you're doing. Everyone meet back here at 23:00, this place is big and I don’t want to lose anyone. Do you copy that? Over.
MIC#2: On it. Over.
MIC#3: Affirmative. Over.
MIC#6: Affirmative. Over.
MIC#5: I can’t help but notice you haven’t given me anything to do. Over.
MIC#4: My feelings exactly. Over.
MIC#6: You aren’t robots who ran out of code, find something to do! Over.
MIC#1: I said to stop with the fighting. Four, Five, help me lay out some bedding and sort our rations. Over and Out.
The channel cuts out as everyone performs their respective tasks. MIC#4 tunes back in at exactly 23:00, standing on the left side of the river, near the entrance to the cave. Next to MIC#4 was MIC#5 and six rather impressive military grade beds, given they were 80% moss at various stages of dryness. MIC#6 is standing on the other side of the river, having successfully hopped over the rocks flimsily bridging it, with a collection of glass test tubes.
MIC#1 is sitting about 20 metres away from the bedding, crouching on stone with a makeshift satellite and pager strewn about next to them. MIC#2 is sitting 50 metres from all of them, positioned at the shore of the river, clicking flintstones together and giving off an air of boredom. MIC#3 has just emerged from the forest of stalks and mice with several sealed plastic bags and a swagger in their step.
MIC#4: Bedding has been laid, over.
MIC#6: Took you long enough. Over.
MIC#4: Maybe we would have been faster if you helped instead of staring at a tube of water for two hours. Over.
MIC#6: I was making sure the water didn’t react poorly to the sterilized air in the tube. I also don’t think playing with moss is a good use of our time. Over.
MIC#5: You guys do know this is a public channel, right? Over.
MIC#2: Two calls to Five. If you could let people forget you exist for a couple of minutes, we could have listened to a very entertaining argument. Over.
MIC#5: Five calls to Two, maybe I don’t want to see us tear each other apart before help gets here, over.
MIC#3: Flora and fauna show zero harmful contaminants and several proteins and electrolytes that are beneficial to human consumption. Over.
MIC#2: I guess we're all here now, over.
MIC#1: Copy that, thank you. This is what this channel should be used for. One calls to Six, what’s the status of the water? One call to Two, could we light a fire to cook some of the mice here? Over.
MIC#6: Water is potable, over.
MIC#2: Fire remains fire and has not magically changed state in this cave, over.
MIC#1: Valued members of the team, the lot of you. This might not be so bad after all, over.
MIC#4: You’re welcome. Four calls to Six, what the hell are you doing. Over.
MIC#6: If you must know, I’m setting up some traps for dinner. I don't want to blow through our rations. Over.
MIC#1: One call to Six, we absolutely need to know if you are doing something dangerous. Over.
MIC#6: Six calls to one, I hardly classify catching food as dangerous, over.
MIC#4: There are many dangers to cooking, over.
MIC#1: One call to Six. I need to know what the members of my team are doing at all times. I am responsible for you, so yes I need to know if you are running off to test the water without checking with anyone else. Over.
MIC#6: Six calls to One. I’ve been working here longer than anyone else here, I don’t need babysitting. Over.
MIC#1: One calls to Six. I don’t care. Over.
MIC#2: Two calls to One, might want to do something about that, over.
MIC#1: One calls to Two, please be more specific – ohh what the fuck – One calls to Five! What. Are. You. Doing.
MIC#1: Over.
MIC#5: Five calls to One! Don't worry! I'm just checking to see if the rocks cleared out. Over.
MIC#6: I was just wondering if the massive pile of boulders that trapped us in here had magically disappeared. Good call, over.
MIC#1: One calls to Six, could you please stop being awful for five minutes. One calls to Five, next time talk to me when you're going to do something that could potentially put us in danger. Over.
MIC#2: Oh wow! Five almost gets us killed because we weren't paying attention to him? Who could have predicted this? Over.
MIC#4: I know right! It's almost as unbelievable as Two punching someone while they're down and making everything worse for no reason! Over.
MIC#2: Don't you start, you're still on my shit list. Over.
MIC#3: Three calls to Two. Who isn't on your hit list? Genuinely? Over.
MIC#2: Two calls to Three, please check your earpieces, as I clearly said shit-
MIC#6: Six calls to One. You're the leader, apparently. Lead. Over.
MIC#1: One calls to Six. I would have already been doing that if I didn't have to remind you of basic protocol. One calls to Five, go check on the dinner Three is setting out. One calls to Two, please don't use the channel to pick fights with your ex. Or anyone else. Over.
MIC#2: That's not what is going on here! He's picking on me! I'm picking on everybody! When they deserve it! Over.
MIC#1: One calls to Two. I know you're capable of being more professional than this. Over.
MIC#2: Two calls to One. Respectfully, we are stuck in a cavern in the middle of nowhere, specifically in a place so deserted we had to be sent down here to see if it wasn’t some kind of illegal nuclear power plant! Professionalism has been dead for a while and you are spitting on its corpse! ...Ahem, over.
MIC#3: …Dinner is ready, if we're still doing that. Over.
MIC#1: Yes, let's all eat and return to this later, when we aren't starving, over.
The channel cuts out. MIC#5 turns it back on not thirty minutes later, at 23:43. MIC#5 is sitting to the left of MIC#1, and the right of MIC#6, effectively separating them. MIC#2 is to the left of MIC#6, feeding the fire pit in the middle with some mice cooking over a spit. MIC#3 is on the other side of MIC#2, sitting an arms length away and slowly turning the spit. MIC#4 completes the circle, digging in MIC#3's pockets for something, pulling out some crystalline powder, and sprinkling it on top of the mice.
MIC#5: What did you do to those mice? They're delicious! Over.
MIC#3: Just some stuff from around the cave! Those rocks over there are actually geodes, so I broke them to see if there was something interesting inside, and it turns out there is a purple compound nearly identical to salt! Over.
MIC#1: And you tested this how? Over.
MIC#3: Six said something about figuring out what to do on our own, so I just. Did that. Over.
MIC#1: One to Three. Anything Six says has to be taken with a grain of salt, as she assumes everyone she talks to has basic common sense! Do not go around testing unknown purple crystals without letting me know first! Over.
MIC#6: Oh I know they don't, I'm using the process of elimination, over.
MIC#1: Why are you using the process of elimination on our colleagues? Over.
MIC#6: I'll have you know my methods have gotten us potable water, curable meat, and usable salt, while yours seem to involve sitting and staring at the pager all day. Over.
MIC#5: Huh, that's more than I have at home most nights. Over.
MIC#4: It is our cross to bear as underfunded scientists. The abandoned cave in the middle of nowhere has better food than us. Hey, Four calls to One, what are you looking at? Over.
MIC#1: The pager. Headquarters says we're going to be here for upwards of a week. Over.
MIC#2: A week? Well isn't that just perfect! Over.
MIC#4: You say that, but we're actually put up very nicely here. Over
MIC#5: Yeah! We've got food, we've got water, we've got bedding. That's pretty good all things considered. Over.
MIC#4: I always did like the feel of soggy moss on my back for hours on end. You're welcome, everyone. Over.
MIC#1: I guess paradise is what you make of it, or however that quote goes. Over.
MIC#6: I guess so. Over.
MIC#3: Well, now that that's settled, who wants seconds?
MIC#1: (beep) …Well, that happened. Everyone, come in. Over.
MIC#2: Copy that. Thank god for this place. How’d we even find it between all the running and screaming? Over.
MIC#4: Copy. Four calls to Two, it was in the ‘Don’t Bother’ section of the topography files. Over.
MIC#2: Two calls to Four, I take back what I said about this place, we’re doomed. Over.
MIC#3: 10-4. Three calls to Four. Of course you’d bother reading the ‘Don’t Bother’ section. Over.
MIC#4: Four calls to Three. In my defense, I was bored and we aren’t allowed cellular devices. Four calls to Two. It’s either be doomed alive in a cave that’s actually very pleasant, if I do say so myself, or be doomed dead in a pile of rocks. Over.
MIC#5: 10-4. Thank you, Four. I like not being dead. How long do you think we’ll be stuck here? Over.
MIC#2: Two to Five. Might be forever. Over.
MIC#1: Record amount of time to make me regret calling everyone in, great job. One calls to Two, please stop being dramatic, it’s freaking me out. One calls to Four, good thinking with the cave, I also like not being dead. One call to Six, do you copy? Over.
MIC#6: Loud and Clear. I was just getting the potability test done on the water while the children were squabbling. Do you think we could start a fire in here without finishing the job the rockslide started? Over.
MIC#1: Copy that, good thinking. Will need you to come in when I ask in the future, though. I’d like not to worry that you hit your head on a rock on the way in. Over.
MIC#5: I would just like to say that I have not been squabbling. Over.
MIC#2: Everyone, do you copy? Five needs everyone to know just how good of a boy he is, all the time! Over.
MIC#3: 10-1. No one has paid attention to Two in half a minute, might want to check their vitals. Over.
MIC#4: Four to Three, vitals show increasing signs of pettiness and the beginnings of a tantrum. Over.
MIC#2: Two to Four, maybe zip it since you’re the one who got us stuck here? Over.
MIC#3: Temper tantrum imminent, roger that. Over.
MIC#6: Six calls to One, fix this. Over.
MIC#1: Everyone stop picking fights, I’ve paged headquarters on the situation and am waiting for the reply. In the meantime, Two, see if you can light a spark in a contained environment. Three, test to see if there are any contaminants in the flora and fauna, they might be our dinner for the next few days. Six, keep doing what you're doing. Everyone meet back here at 23:00, this place is big and I don’t want to lose anyone. Do you copy that? Over.
MIC#2: On it. Over.
MIC#3: Affirmative. Over.
MIC#6: Affirmative. Over.
MIC#5: I can’t help but notice you haven’t given me anything to do. Over.
MIC#4: My feelings exactly. Over.
MIC#6: You aren’t robots who ran out of code, find something to do! Over.
MIC#1: I said to stop with the fighting. Four, Five, help me lay out some bedding and sort our rations. Over and Out.
The channel cuts out as everyone performs their respective tasks. MIC#4 tunes back in at exactly 23:00, standing on the left side of the river, near the entrance to the cave. Next to MIC#4 was MIC#5 and six rather impressive military grade beds, given they were 80% moss at various stages of dryness. MIC#6 is standing on the other side of the river, having successfully hopped over the rocks flimsily bridging it, with a collection of glass test tubes.
MIC#1 is sitting about 20 metres away from the bedding, crouching on stone with a makeshift satellite and pager strewn about next to them. MIC#2 is sitting 50 metres from all of them, positioned at the shore of the river, clicking flintstones together and giving off an air of boredom. MIC#3 has just emerged from the forest of stalks and mice with several sealed plastic bags and a swagger in their step.
MIC#4: Bedding has been laid, over.
MIC#6: Took you long enough. Over.
MIC#4: Maybe we would have been faster if you helped instead of staring at a tube of water for two hours. Over.
MIC#6: I was making sure the water didn’t react poorly to the sterilized air in the tube. I also don’t think playing with moss is a good use of our time. Over.
MIC#5: You guys do know this is a public channel, right? Over.
MIC#2: Two calls to Five. If you could let people forget you exist for a couple of minutes, we could have listened to a very entertaining argument. Over.
MIC#5: Five calls to Two, maybe I don’t want to see us tear each other apart before help gets here, over.
MIC#3: Flora and fauna show zero harmful contaminants and several proteins and electrolytes that are beneficial to human consumption. Over.
MIC#2: I guess we're all here now, over.
MIC#1: Copy that, thank you. This is what this channel should be used for. One calls to Six, what’s the status of the water? One call to Two, could we light a fire to cook some of the mice here? Over.
MIC#6: Water is potable, over.
MIC#2: Fire remains fire and has not magically changed state in this cave, over.
MIC#1: Valued members of the team, the lot of you. This might not be so bad after all, over.
MIC#4: You’re welcome. Four calls to Six, what the hell are you doing. Over.
MIC#6: If you must know, I’m setting up some traps for dinner. I don't want to blow through our rations. Over.
MIC#1: One call to Six, we absolutely need to know if you are doing something dangerous. Over.
MIC#6: Six calls to one, I hardly classify catching food as dangerous, over.
MIC#4: There are many dangers to cooking, over.
MIC#1: One call to Six. I need to know what the members of my team are doing at all times. I am responsible for you, so yes I need to know if you are running off to test the water without checking with anyone else. Over.
MIC#6: Six calls to One. I’ve been working here longer than anyone else here, I don’t need babysitting. Over.
MIC#1: One calls to Six. I don’t care. Over.
MIC#2: Two calls to One, might want to do something about that, over.
MIC#1: One calls to Two, please be more specific – ohh what the fuck – One calls to Five! What. Are. You. Doing.
MIC#1: Over.
MIC#5: Five calls to One! Don't worry! I'm just checking to see if the rocks cleared out. Over.
MIC#6: I was just wondering if the massive pile of boulders that trapped us in here had magically disappeared. Good call, over.
MIC#1: One calls to Six, could you please stop being awful for five minutes. One calls to Five, next time talk to me when you're going to do something that could potentially put us in danger. Over.
MIC#2: Oh wow! Five almost gets us killed because we weren't paying attention to him? Who could have predicted this? Over.
MIC#4: I know right! It's almost as unbelievable as Two punching someone while they're down and making everything worse for no reason! Over.
MIC#2: Don't you start, you're still on my shit list. Over.
MIC#3: Three calls to Two. Who isn't on your hit list? Genuinely? Over.
MIC#2: Two calls to Three, please check your earpieces, as I clearly said shit-
MIC#6: Six calls to One. You're the leader, apparently. Lead. Over.
MIC#1: One calls to Six. I would have already been doing that if I didn't have to remind you of basic protocol. One calls to Five, go check on the dinner Three is setting out. One calls to Two, please don't use the channel to pick fights with your ex. Or anyone else. Over.
MIC#2: That's not what is going on here! He's picking on me! I'm picking on everybody! When they deserve it! Over.
MIC#1: One calls to Two. I know you're capable of being more professional than this. Over.
MIC#2: Two calls to One. Respectfully, we are stuck in a cavern in the middle of nowhere, specifically in a place so deserted we had to be sent down here to see if it wasn’t some kind of illegal nuclear power plant! Professionalism has been dead for a while and you are spitting on its corpse! ...Ahem, over.
MIC#3: …Dinner is ready, if we're still doing that. Over.
MIC#1: Yes, let's all eat and return to this later, when we aren't starving, over.
The channel cuts out. MIC#5 turns it back on not thirty minutes later, at 23:43. MIC#5 is sitting to the left of MIC#1, and the right of MIC#6, effectively separating them. MIC#2 is to the left of MIC#6, feeding the fire pit in the middle with some mice cooking over a spit. MIC#3 is on the other side of MIC#2, sitting an arms length away and slowly turning the spit. MIC#4 completes the circle, digging in MIC#3's pockets for something, pulling out some crystalline powder, and sprinkling it on top of the mice.
MIC#5: What did you do to those mice? They're delicious! Over.
MIC#3: Just some stuff from around the cave! Those rocks over there are actually geodes, so I broke them to see if there was something interesting inside, and it turns out there is a purple compound nearly identical to salt! Over.
MIC#1: And you tested this how? Over.
MIC#3: Six said something about figuring out what to do on our own, so I just. Did that. Over.
MIC#1: One to Three. Anything Six says has to be taken with a grain of salt, as she assumes everyone she talks to has basic common sense! Do not go around testing unknown purple crystals without letting me know first! Over.
MIC#6: Oh I know they don't, I'm using the process of elimination, over.
MIC#1: Why are you using the process of elimination on our colleagues? Over.
MIC#6: I'll have you know my methods have gotten us potable water, curable meat, and usable salt, while yours seem to involve sitting and staring at the pager all day. Over.
MIC#5: Huh, that's more than I have at home most nights. Over.
MIC#4: It is our cross to bear as underfunded scientists. The abandoned cave in the middle of nowhere has better food than us. Hey, Four calls to One, what are you looking at? Over.
MIC#1: The pager. Headquarters says we're going to be here for upwards of a week. Over.
MIC#2: A week? Well isn't that just perfect! Over.
MIC#4: You say that, but we're actually put up very nicely here. Over
MIC#5: Yeah! We've got food, we've got water, we've got bedding. That's pretty good all things considered. Over.
MIC#4: I always did like the feel of soggy moss on my back for hours on end. You're welcome, everyone. Over.
MIC#1: I guess paradise is what you make of it, or however that quote goes. Over.
MIC#6: I guess so. Over.
MIC#3: Well, now that that's settled, who wants seconds?
The Watering Hole, by Milana Wheeler (10)
The carcasses were kept warm by the sunlit rocks on the overhang, overlooking the light running off the ripples of the only fresh water for miles with cold, dead eyes.
They were scrappy little things; a couple of hyenas who wanted to beat the others to a drink and then stalk back into the tall grass and kill whatever dopey, bleary-eyed desert mice had just drank their fill. Unfortunately, the lionesses in charge of guarding the spring had just seen a new litter: small bundles of fur that could only eat the same doomed desert mice. So, the hyenas lay dead, displayed at the top plateau of rock to ward off anyone else who might go after the drinking mice, for they were already spoken for.
The lionesses had the first sips, water dripping from their bloody snouts into the clear pool. It would be refilled by rainwater as the dirt and filth from animals sunk into the clay insulation of the spring, but whoever drank after the lionesses still had to pray that the hyenas were relatively clean.
The vultures–these bald, scaling creatures of the sky who knew they would get first pick of anyone who disobeyed the lionesses–started snapping at the hyenas, violently tearing off their fur with sharp beaks and swallowing their eyes whole. They descended upon the pool, screeching at the poor animals who were just trying to get a drink. They taunted and they pecked, begging the scuttling mice and the unseeing snakes to step out of line. They had already eaten their fill, but vultures didn't earn their reputations by being easily satisfied.
The grass just watched the procession, swaying in the sweltering wind, knowing they'd get to drink no matter what. That is, until a desert mouse broke off a stalk and started chewing.
Now, this was all pretty standard for a morning at the watering hole: the lioness that ate the hyena that ate the mouse that ate grass that drank the water. But there was something different in the air today; the vultures felt it first, circling the pool.The wind currents dragged them more forcefully than the day before, the flying grains of sand blurring the line between earth and sky.
The dust flew in their eyes, and they screeched, their voices piercing the sky, useless against the onslaught of the ground. The lionesses heard and started patrolling the pool, snapping at creatures to leave, to find shelter, and return to eat and be eaten another day. As everyone started dashing about, hiding under stones or in holes or behind jagged outcroppings of rock, a burro spoke up.
Burros were generally not trusted in the watering hole. They were newcomers. They had only been in this desert for two hundred years, and in that time had managed to trample the cattle’s grass, bully the bighorn sheep across the desert and back again, and completely overrun two watering holes farther south. The only reason the lionesses tolerated these ones was because they ate all the pesky cattails that hogged all of their water. The fish the lionesses had a taste for were also quite delicious when fed with burro feces.
The burro was originally a travelling animal, one used by the human to travel from place to place. A human from up north took a burro from down south, and left them here to rot. The burro said that the sands would keep coming, each wave more ferocious than the last, and they would all be dead. It was something the humans used to say: that if they burned enough oil, the air would starve, and resort to eating the sand, shoveling it up into the great gaping maw of the sky. That all that would be left was the dirty bedrock plate.
The lionesses scoffed. The air had birds and bugs and errant runoff from trees, why trade that bounty for sand? Sand was inanimate at best and inconvenient at worst. Then the vultures started choking.
It was a horrible, screeching sound, as their necks flailed and their spittle flew. They no longer cut through the air like sentries. They plummet like rats.
The sand starts to clog the lionesses' eyes, and the smaller creatures–the mice, the crickets, the snakes–find home under the burro. The burro said to move, to leave, to survive. The lioness had less legs to stand on, what with the sand creeping ever closer. She watched as the vultures crawl, the mice hung on to keep from flying. She watched the careful ecosystem of the watering hole fall apart at the ever growing cloud of sand. The seed of doubt had been sown, and more and more animals were flocking to the burro's side. The lionesses–suddenly without much choice in the matter, as their support was leaving and the cloud was nearing–growled with the full force of their throats as they followed the burro. They were going, but they wanted everyone there to know that they were unhappy about it.
The burro led them to a cave to wait out the storm, then promised they'd go north once it cleared. The protest of the lionesses, about food, about water, went unheard in the excited uproar of expiration. The lionesses ate some of the mice out of pettiness.
Of course, when the dust cleared, only the burro had survived the weeks in the cave. The carcasses of the lionesses lay at the entrance, an ‘I told you so’ on their gnarled lips.
They were scrappy little things; a couple of hyenas who wanted to beat the others to a drink and then stalk back into the tall grass and kill whatever dopey, bleary-eyed desert mice had just drank their fill. Unfortunately, the lionesses in charge of guarding the spring had just seen a new litter: small bundles of fur that could only eat the same doomed desert mice. So, the hyenas lay dead, displayed at the top plateau of rock to ward off anyone else who might go after the drinking mice, for they were already spoken for.
The lionesses had the first sips, water dripping from their bloody snouts into the clear pool. It would be refilled by rainwater as the dirt and filth from animals sunk into the clay insulation of the spring, but whoever drank after the lionesses still had to pray that the hyenas were relatively clean.
The vultures–these bald, scaling creatures of the sky who knew they would get first pick of anyone who disobeyed the lionesses–started snapping at the hyenas, violently tearing off their fur with sharp beaks and swallowing their eyes whole. They descended upon the pool, screeching at the poor animals who were just trying to get a drink. They taunted and they pecked, begging the scuttling mice and the unseeing snakes to step out of line. They had already eaten their fill, but vultures didn't earn their reputations by being easily satisfied.
The grass just watched the procession, swaying in the sweltering wind, knowing they'd get to drink no matter what. That is, until a desert mouse broke off a stalk and started chewing.
Now, this was all pretty standard for a morning at the watering hole: the lioness that ate the hyena that ate the mouse that ate grass that drank the water. But there was something different in the air today; the vultures felt it first, circling the pool.The wind currents dragged them more forcefully than the day before, the flying grains of sand blurring the line between earth and sky.
The dust flew in their eyes, and they screeched, their voices piercing the sky, useless against the onslaught of the ground. The lionesses heard and started patrolling the pool, snapping at creatures to leave, to find shelter, and return to eat and be eaten another day. As everyone started dashing about, hiding under stones or in holes or behind jagged outcroppings of rock, a burro spoke up.
Burros were generally not trusted in the watering hole. They were newcomers. They had only been in this desert for two hundred years, and in that time had managed to trample the cattle’s grass, bully the bighorn sheep across the desert and back again, and completely overrun two watering holes farther south. The only reason the lionesses tolerated these ones was because they ate all the pesky cattails that hogged all of their water. The fish the lionesses had a taste for were also quite delicious when fed with burro feces.
The burro was originally a travelling animal, one used by the human to travel from place to place. A human from up north took a burro from down south, and left them here to rot. The burro said that the sands would keep coming, each wave more ferocious than the last, and they would all be dead. It was something the humans used to say: that if they burned enough oil, the air would starve, and resort to eating the sand, shoveling it up into the great gaping maw of the sky. That all that would be left was the dirty bedrock plate.
The lionesses scoffed. The air had birds and bugs and errant runoff from trees, why trade that bounty for sand? Sand was inanimate at best and inconvenient at worst. Then the vultures started choking.
It was a horrible, screeching sound, as their necks flailed and their spittle flew. They no longer cut through the air like sentries. They plummet like rats.
The sand starts to clog the lionesses' eyes, and the smaller creatures–the mice, the crickets, the snakes–find home under the burro. The burro said to move, to leave, to survive. The lioness had less legs to stand on, what with the sand creeping ever closer. She watched as the vultures crawl, the mice hung on to keep from flying. She watched the careful ecosystem of the watering hole fall apart at the ever growing cloud of sand. The seed of doubt had been sown, and more and more animals were flocking to the burro's side. The lionesses–suddenly without much choice in the matter, as their support was leaving and the cloud was nearing–growled with the full force of their throats as they followed the burro. They were going, but they wanted everyone there to know that they were unhappy about it.
The burro led them to a cave to wait out the storm, then promised they'd go north once it cleared. The protest of the lionesses, about food, about water, went unheard in the excited uproar of expiration. The lionesses ate some of the mice out of pettiness.
Of course, when the dust cleared, only the burro had survived the weeks in the cave. The carcasses of the lionesses lay at the entrance, an ‘I told you so’ on their gnarled lips.
The War Against The Desert, by Amira Omer (10)
The war against the desert raged on for countless weeks
At this point, resisting is useless
I have tried over and over again
With unwavering resolve
Marching towards my final destination
Where water and life can be found
I need to reach it
The oasis
Then, I’ll finally achieve freedom
The perfect place of refuge
A safe space, shelter, a sanctuary
That I’ve been yearning for so long
I tread along
Against the harsh winds
Against the scorching, smoldering sun
Against the cold, freezing moon
Trying to flee this battlefield
With the haunting sounds of the whistling winds
And the howls of the coyotes echoing
Keeping me awake at night
It’s like being stuck in the trenches
My feet planted constantly stuck in sand
I’ve cried out for help
Made desperate pleas
Though I’ve never made any progress
I still haven’t achieved freedom
Where is the oasis?
Isn’t it nearby?
I tread along
How long have I been bound to this desert
Chained and restrained
I’m like a caged bird
Trapped within the walls of an infinite prison
There was never once the tiniest spark of hope
As dusk befalls the desert
The emptiness becomes an ocean of stars
shining ever so brightly in the midnight sky
It gave a beautiful and ethereal glow
I curl myself into a ball
With no sheet to cover myself
I’m cold
I feel tears rolling down my cheek
So suddenly
They feel warm and comforting
I look above to see first light of the day
The cloak of midnight is making way for the blush of dawn
It’s so delicate
So fragile
This is what I’ve longed for
This paradise
It’s so beautiful and alluring
Like the paradise I’ve wished for
I never was able to reach it
As I close my eyes
I can feel my soul stripping away from my body
Drifting into eternal slumber
In the end
I lost the war against the desert
I never managed to escape
Never reaching my final destination
At this point, resisting is useless
I have tried over and over again
With unwavering resolve
Marching towards my final destination
Where water and life can be found
I need to reach it
The oasis
Then, I’ll finally achieve freedom
The perfect place of refuge
A safe space, shelter, a sanctuary
That I’ve been yearning for so long
I tread along
Against the harsh winds
Against the scorching, smoldering sun
Against the cold, freezing moon
Trying to flee this battlefield
With the haunting sounds of the whistling winds
And the howls of the coyotes echoing
Keeping me awake at night
It’s like being stuck in the trenches
My feet planted constantly stuck in sand
I’ve cried out for help
Made desperate pleas
Though I’ve never made any progress
I still haven’t achieved freedom
Where is the oasis?
Isn’t it nearby?
I tread along
How long have I been bound to this desert
Chained and restrained
I’m like a caged bird
Trapped within the walls of an infinite prison
There was never once the tiniest spark of hope
As dusk befalls the desert
The emptiness becomes an ocean of stars
shining ever so brightly in the midnight sky
It gave a beautiful and ethereal glow
I curl myself into a ball
With no sheet to cover myself
I’m cold
I feel tears rolling down my cheek
So suddenly
They feel warm and comforting
I look above to see first light of the day
The cloak of midnight is making way for the blush of dawn
It’s so delicate
So fragile
This is what I’ve longed for
This paradise
It’s so beautiful and alluring
Like the paradise I’ve wished for
I never was able to reach it
As I close my eyes
I can feel my soul stripping away from my body
Drifting into eternal slumber
In the end
I lost the war against the desert
I never managed to escape
Never reaching my final destination