Monochromes and Metronomes

Wrote my first Villanelle for AP Literature. Here it is!

I see the world in monochrome.

I feel the world in devotion.

I hear the world in metronome.

One color put to use in and out of home

to keep the norm and cause no commotion.

I see the world in monochrome.

A metrical tick tick, unfree to roam

from the synchronized, fixed pulse and motion.

I hear the world in metronome.

Varying the hues, unafraid of the single color home

base; each tint, tone, and shade is a brand new notion.

I see the world in monochrome.

Staccatos and legatos played - resonating within the dome

with crescendo and diminuendo - orderly, yet filled with emotion.

I hear the world in metronome.

In one, continuous, permanent sight and sound tomb,

are variations unknown and new found depth set in motion.

And I still see the world in monochrome.

And I still hear the world in metronome.

Smile For the Camera

A snapshot perfect memory
So-called candid imagery
Stopped mid-way, poses set
Sometimes real, sometimes fake
But always forever kept
In times, for the camera, we make

Beetlemania

This is my Original Oratory (OO)/Persuasive speech for Speech and Debate in 2009-2010.

            Stepping into a young girl’s room, you see walls plastered in posters of cuddly polar bears, playfully pawing at one another in the icy snow. Scattered across the floor and bed - stuffed animals. A single one catches your eye – a huggable panda bear lazily chewing on a leafy bamboo spout. The covers on the bed depict a scene of penguins, swiftly sliding down snowy hills on their round stomachs into the freezing waters below. These adorable animals seem so sweet and lovable. Walking into her big brother’s room, you look around and take in the details. His computer desktop – fierce Siberian tigers, clawing at one another. Several posters – a pack of African wild dogs, foaming at the mouth ready to pounce upon their prey and Javan rhinoceros, charging at one another with their horns, engaged in a full on battle. And sitting upon his desk, a ceramic figurine of a Komodo dragon, whose stare causes a shiver to go through your body.  But… what’s that… in the corner? Dung beetles?!... scurrying around in a putrid pile of poo? Some respect goes to the tough predators, but the image of the dung beetles creeping and crawling around in the filthy feces plain out disgusts the viewer.

            Walking away from these rooms, you realize that these all share the status of endangered animal species. While we are all familiar with the cuddly polar bear as an endangered animal species or the fierce yet beautiful Siberian tiger, when was the last time you saw a young child blissfully embracing a stuffed dung beetle? The adorable animals fill the media, with countless stories and ads calling for prompt protection, yet not a single story goes to the seemingly less significant animal species. People don’t want to acknowledge that there are important creatures to our environment that aren’t too cute or even heroic. The miniscule dung beetles’ population, along with the other not so “cute” animals, swiftly dwindles and soon they may become extinct, resulting in a loss of important environmental assets.

            WARNING: The following information may not be appropriate for people of all ages. … But… the truth must be told; hopefully it doesn’t bug you. The rapid extinction of the dung beetles would have an enormous impact as these insects are found all around the world, except the Polar Regions. They consume Steaming Heaps of Intestinal Throughput… more commonly known as S.H.I.T. Imagine a world without dung beetles; everywhere you step, piles of dung, also known as S.H.I.T. -step- Eww! -step- Gross! -step- Again?! Dung beetles benefit agriculture in a variety of ways. They bury and consume livestock feces and, according to Bioscience Press Releases, billions of dollars of economic losses were averted annually as a result of livestock feces buried by dung beetles (Losey and Vaughan, 2). It also reports that the complete lack of the dung beetles would result in forage fouling, an excess amount of dung left in the open, by the unburied dung causing about 7.63 kg of beef per cattle to go to waste every year (Losey and Vaughan, 3). This is unhealthy for the cattle and results in poor quality beef that cannot be used, sold, or eaten. This decrease in the abundance of beef increases its cost. Imagine walking into a McDonalds and ordering a cheeseburger. -click- -click- -click- That will be $39.65 for your cheeseburger, please. And you think our economy is bad now! Also, had the dung been left out in the open, it would provide a home for flies and other pests (Losey and Vaughan, 4).

            As people hear about these possible and likely losses, they are aware of the drastic damage that can occur, yet the injustice continues. This is mainly due to the politics behind media advertisement. The public wants to see the cuter animals, thus the media covers animals such as pandas and penguins rather than those like beetles. A majority of the public does not even realize that some of these species are endangered. They do not receive enough notification on these topics and base their perspective off of what they do know; bugs multiply rapidly, so beetles must be abundant, right? This mentality is false, however, as these beetles originally have a short lifespan, which is even shorter due to frequent logging, forest fires, predators, as well as humans’ tendency to squish bugs they see. Eww! A bug! Squish it! Hurry! … You know who you are. This results in not enough time for the adults to reproduce as well as diminishing the adult population itself. Still, not much is done about keeping these animal species safe or nursing back their population, for nobody hears of their decline and near extinction as no one informs them about it. The media continuously portrays those adorable animals and their cry for help while the cries of the more important animal species are drowned out as nothing but an insignificant, muffled whimper. Consequently, public donors often donate to organizations to help publicized animals such as the polar bears, while the unheard voices of those like the beetles continue praying for help to no avail. A single organization, the 2009 Rochester Polar Plunge, alone has raised over $12,000 for polar bears, with the top contribution of over $4500 from a single donor, while organizations such as this one are rarely found for animals like the dung beetle (2009 Polar Plunge, 1). What’s wrong with the Society of Poo-eating Dung Beetles?

            In order to put an end to this ignorance, additional media on the more important animals is required to make the public aware of their tragic situations. More news articles and other media coverage will help educate the naïve society and thus plant a seed of awareness, starting a chain reaction toward keeping these vital assets to our environment alive so that no one will poo-poo the importance of the dung beetles. The second step is to establish services to protect these animals. In order to do so, we need to further develop additional government funding for animal preserves and sanctuaries, specifying on animals such as the dung beetles. This is not an unachievable goal since several of these preserves are already available for those like the polar bears. Why not for the dung beetles? … unless you want Steaming Heaps of Intestinal Throughput everywhere… but personally… no thanks. This would make the public more aware of these vital endangered species, causing people to be more willing to vote for additional funding to take care of these animals. This would solve the dilemma of unequal media coverage and government funding would follow suit. In a safe, controlled environment, these endangered species could thrive and begin to breed. Their offspring could be released into the wild and their legacy would thus continue… hopefully not to the point of world domination.  After a while, animals like the dung beetles could be taken off the endangered species list. Our environmental assets would not be lost and nature and the economy could be maintained and even flourish further.

            The government must step in to fund additional publicity on endangered animals that are crucial for the ecosystem as well as animal preserves and sanctuaries to shelter them. As Henry David Thoreau wisely noted, “Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain” (Quotes on Nature, 1). We, as citizens, need to take action and care for the environment that makes up our world. Though we do not always take the time to think about these animals or their interaction with our own lives, their daily routines affect our ecosystems’ health and prosperity as well as our economy. Taking a closer look at what these animals truly do for our society, as well as the danger that their species is in, will result in a greater number of people ready be proactive to reform the ways of the media and their own perspectives. It is much harder to find information about issues unless the media brings it to our attention. But once people are finally aware of what is happening to these beetles and the drastic outcomes that could occur to not only nature, but people as well, they will be willing to make a difference. So the next time you are about to step on a beetle, stop … pick it up … bring it home … and let it clean up that present Scruffy just left behind.

Never-ending Calendar

When the heart stops beating
And the mouth stops breathing
When the soul and body part
Forget them not, not the end but a start

Can never truly die when remembered
Lived life worthy of being honored
Carried on infinitely
By word of mouth and memory

Reveled and embraced by those that have been touched
When then most needed a friend, a companion, a crutch
Grateful still and love past the brim
Knows no limits, every look, plan, and whim

A guardian sent to generations unofficially met
Fireflies from the sun, uncapturable by any net
Sprinklers are rain falling upward as we start again
Birds chirp their laugh as we remember when

The Murmuring Crow

The murmuring crow gets little respect

And much fending off and neglect

Along with their raven brothers

Counted as bad omens and bothers

Their black shining coats found too dark

Would much prefer colorful plume or even white stark

The murmuring crow chased away - never kept -

With words, sticks, stones, and rampant steps

Met with such apprehension, disgust, and sorrow

The murmuring crow thought to tell of bad tomorrows

Found in dreams of disappointment, death, and loss

From the shadows and underworld they cross

Slaughter-greedy, dirty, and brooding they’re said to be

Even worse, they mask the skies in masses ceaselessly

Noisy and cacophonous from their perches surrounding

The murmuring crow far from murmurs in its proud cawing

The murmuring crow thrives still – but how?

Naught from a curse demons and witches endow -

The murmuring crow, mysterious, defensive, and ingenious,

Safe in a team protective, adventurous, and curious

Lion Dreamers

Lion dreamers dream lion dreams
What a mouse typically cannot find
And fears -
Scared of the possibility
But once the dreams claw free
We'll at last hear the mouse roar

We, the Pretenders

Hidden in the open Shadows only within In the light, darkness stays shrouded Posed as flesh – a mask too realistic Until morphed into truth Forgotten secrets and infinite creation

Feather of a Rainbird

Pitter patter comes the sound of the rainbird

Landing upon your porch and roof and sidewalk

Splish splash their wings taking off heard

Only to perch a few seconds away to taunt and mock

What is this contradictory creature

Untamed by any intruder?

No tangible scales, hair, or fur

These feather light touches are even falser

This bird come here and again

Migrates with the wind and breeze

Clouds are their homes at every bend

Shifting and morphing with such ease

Why do they carry such sounds of sorrow?

I cannot answer because I know not the trill

I only hear the cheery pitter patter and chilly blow

Of wind that brought them near my windowsill

Why do they come during the gloomiest of grays?

I would not be certain as I watch only their flight and descent

Accompanied with a splish splash and feathered spray

That never seems to get neither damaged nor bent

In my hand, I try to lift a gentle feather

But with me it cannot seem to stay

Out of my hand, it continues to flutter

To meet with its companions til the arrival of rays

So adaptive to the minds and ambiances

Environments, habitats, and realities it creates

Real is only what it is and becomes as it dances

And the swirls of color and lack of it baits

The symphony and silky feather touch lure

But run your hands through and it’ll keep steady path

Trickle, drip, drop, flood – always part pure

So light and trance fulfilling, yet pounding full of wrath

A feather of a rainbird like any feather

Tickles soft and lands with an unmatchable flow

But is a pound of feathers to a pound of rocks any lighter?

Time to meet your rainbird and let your pattern show

Your Soul's Sole

This is my Original Prose and Poetry (OPP) piece from the last school year (2010-11) for Speech and Debate... Now that I'm done competing with it, I've decided to post it up for you all to read. Of course it's not quite the same as me performing it, but it should be an interesting read anyway. Enjoy!

I.                   Teaser:

Schelly: HEELS!

Mattie: HEELS!

Karcyn: HEELS!

Damon: HEELS!

Fiona: HEELS!

II.                Intro:

Shoes, Shoes, Shoes

Aisles filled with way too many to use

Occupying department stores

Then there are those dedicated to even more!

Sneakers, Sandals, Slip ons

But we all know HEELS are the greatest turn-ons

Or possibly for some,

An omen of doom to come

Heels with their endless appeal

For your problems they are sure to heal

Or are those simply lies

Evil and death in disguise?

Soon we’ll all discover

A use for such and another

In “Your Soul’s Sole”

A Vanessa Wu Original

III.             Body:

Schelly: I was always bullied throughout my childhood – teased for being the shortest of my class. I could easily blend in with the younger kids – those who were 9, 8, even 7 years old – when I was in junior high. As we got older it just got worse and worse. Shorty Schelly had gained herself a reputation as the miny munchkin. I got called names, shoved inside lockers, into trash cans, and tossed around. But nothing was ever as bad as today. All of the above. PLUS now… I am cornered in this dark alley with a ton of scary jock girls. A sweet looking girl steps to the front and, for a second, I let myself hope that she’d try to help … but she turned to them and said in a sickly sweet voice, “Leave the shrimp to me, I’ll take care of EVERYTHING.” She turned on me then with an evil smile upon her angelic doll-like face and assaulted me with her high heels. They dug into my flesh, tearing me apart, and all I could feel was pain. And then… Nothing.

Mattie: When I was younger, I loved to play with dolls and everyone still thinks I AM a doll… well… I’m SICK of it. I found a way to vent this tension by having my dolls attack each other –dolls talking: “Hello there, little girl. Well, don’t you look like a doll?” “I’m not a doll!” “Aww, what a cute voice to go with your cute face! Such a doll-like girl MUST be sweet.” “I am NOT! I’ll show you! DIEDIEDIEDIEDIE!”-… but soon, it wasn’t satisfying enough anymore. So when I saw all the jock girls pushing around this midget of a girl, I came up with my master plan. Everyone thought I was innocent anyway… so I would get away with anything! I took advantage of that little black alley and pulled off my heel to use as a knife so I could finally fulfill my nightly dreams of slashing across skin and gouging out eyes, but sirens rang and a cop pulled up, followed by an ambulance to take her to the hospital. The officer’s deep green eyes darted between me and the girl unconscious on the floor. He hesitated a moment, not believing such a sweet looking girl could have done something like this. But with her being so puny and passed out and me grasping a bloody heel, my self defense excuse didn’t pass so well… I should’ve thought this through some more…

Karcyn: Heeeeey! Looking good! They see me rollin’ and they hatin’ and they’re trying to catch me ridin’ dirty and they’re trying to catch me ridin’ dirty and they’re trying to catch me ridin’ dirty and they’re trying to catch me ridin’ dirty (Chamillionaire)… Ah! That party was like so HOT! Mm.. and those guys were like smokin’! and they like totally couldn’t like keep their eyes… and their hands… off me… SO totally lovin’ these new stilettos! Aww shiz! The cops are like on my tail! Better pull over and put these sexy stilettos to use! He walks up to me and tells me to step out of the car to walk in a straight line. No way am I like gonna get like written up for a stupid DUI! I totally didn’t walk straight but his deep green eyes were like on my swaying hips and sexy legs. Thank god for my hot bod! I bent over to pick up my purse and I was like totally off the hook!

Damon: God! My big sister is amazing. You would not believe what that girl can do with a pair of heels. Never underestimate the power of heels OR Karcyn! Her hot bod and her hot clothes combined can get any guy to do anything. She’s the one who showed me the power of clothes. She’s the reason I dress the way I do now. She was, is, my inspiration for my fashion masterpieces. Speaking of which, I need some new heels! I pull Fiona, my totally feminist BFF, off the couch and to the shoe store we go! Even though she despises heels, we go way back, so she won’t mind coming with me!

Fiona: I was just flipping through channels spread out on Damon’s couch like I do practically every day. And then, Damon decided he just HAD to get some new heels. Why did Karcyn HAVE to show up with her latest shameful scandal?! She is a disgrace for caving into conformity. I remember when Damon and I used to play in the mud and wrestle. Then one day, he insisted on dress up instead. Now he just asked for his shoe size for some hideous excuse of shoes and the salesperson handed it to ME! Can you imagine?! What is her problem? Do I seem like the type of person who would wear heels?! These things are an oppression of women, so she can’t run from man! At least Damon is breaking down stereotypes…

Schelly: I’m out of the hospital! Time to go buy some heels to fix my whole height issue… oh look! Damon’s here! He’s so cute… and he’s even accompanying his best friend shoe shopping! Oh right! My height remedy!

Mattie: Ugh! Mental rehabilitation is such a waste of my time… They should have realized it wouldn’t have any impact on me anyway… Ah well, time for a new pair of weapons of mass destruction!

Karcyn: I like really can’t let my lil bro get like all the fun… shopping and shoes WERE like MY expertise first, yaknow? Even sexier me like totally coming up!

Damon: These are perfect! They’ll make my newest outfit mind-blowing! I’ll look fantastic… maybe even as good as Karcyn!

Fiona: Ugh… those are death traps… Why must he insist on heels? Out of the millions of shoe choices he could’ve gone with… -sigh- I’ll never understand boys…

Midnight Fever

At the soft darkness outside cast a simple glance

Just one look for your mood you enhance

Still awake and busy or more like starting

Because all day you walk around sleeping

But now in the depth of the night

Where almost every soul is tucked in, out of sight

Your music turns back up from its earlier silencing

Your mind now reels and is racing

Who says the night is dead?

Who prefers the bright morning instead?

Who fears its endless jaws?

Who takes apart its beauty and finds flaws?

They are at loss because they have not lived

They expect each aspect to give, give, give

They have yet to be awakened by their own drive

They have yet to catch midnight fever or catch alive

Dread Omen

The dropping feeling in your gut

People may say it is cliché

But have you ever experienced it

Then you too will say

That horrid silence of no breath

Mixed with the dreadful emptiness

Of the stomach filled with anticipation

Sprinkled with the endless heartbeat

Racing time in reverse

Slow motion seems endless

Right on cue as if you would rehearse

But who wants this practice?

Wishing it wasn’t so familiar

Wanting to flee from this dread omen

The draw to go run, hide, die, disappear

All to avoid that look, disappointment

Anger, rage, silence, d-day

Something and everything

It shall happen either way

Let the dread omen sing

Only time will truly tell

But past and premonition foretells

Fallen into trap and spell

Stomach knotted, bottomless wells

Don’t deny it now, I’m already sold

It’s sure to come soon

The future has been told

It happened already last sun and moon

Plants (Short Story by Vanessa Wu and Jeffrey Hsu)

This was a short story I co-wrote with one of my best friends/big brother, Jeffrey Hsu [: We submitted it to our school's literary magazine, but it didn't make it. So here it is for anybody who wants to read it! [: WARNING: This is not for the faint of heart.

Oxford Academy

Wednesday May 4^th, 2011

22:14

Dormancy is vicious; it’s ceaselessly waiting, always teetering on the sky-scraping edge of the world, eternally heralding life, and infinitely craving the painfully tranquil sleep. Dormancy is overpowering, undeserving, and a relentless murderer.

And thus, the night laid forever dormant, breathlessly escaping the sun and worshipping the crystalline structure of night. And on this night, that night itself plunged into a drowning dormancy, leaving the world unwatched and uninhibited; the world was free. As a chill, just a gentle silken chill, glided across the surface, the school was sleeping. It had shut down for the evening — but, this was fleeting, a brief encounter with rest. Startled into consciousness, the school howled salaciously, seething in earsplitting pain, as a pulse tiptoed on its unsuspecting spine. And here, on this night when everything was dormant, evil rose into freedom. Unlatched and released, its power is, ironically, finite — how long can it last before being ferociously quelled into dormancy? For that brief nanosecond, the evil crawled on its stomach and slithered into the school.

And, seeking a devilish medium to cultivate its venom, the chill cracked the northern windows of Room 206, leaving the southern hemisphere untouched. Blistered with glass residue, the wind took over the plants. Suddenly, the night flung out of its dormancy, and the evil was sealed again for immeasurable time, furrowed into the depths of its new hosts.

Oxford Academy – Outside Room 206

Thursday May 5^th, 2011

07:37

Spring sunshine slithers in through the slashed shards, but nobody has discovered it yet. The clock cries out for help – TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK. Tiring of the pointless protest that ultimately drones on beneath the clamor and chaos on the other side of the remnants, it stops resisting, falling into its routine, melancholy step.

More steps join in, breaking away from the cacophony so familiar, into what used to be familiar. She hears the yelp of the clock, but it is cut off by the screeching of the PA system. She shakes off the foreboding feeling and goes to spritz some water on the house plants decorating her room. Finally she notices the jagged pieces of glittering glass dispersed sporadically across the floor. Not wanting to be blamed unjustly yet again, she quickly sweeps up the hazard and dumps it in the designated gray bucket before she trudged downstairs into the main office to report the unusual happenings.

“My windows are broken,” she bluntly informs.

“WHAT!? How did that happen?” they question furiously.

“I don’t know. They were like that when I walked into my room this morning.”

“The ones on the doors? Maybe somebody was trying to get in…”

“No, ALL of the ones except the ones on the doors…” she trails off pondering for the first time how the f**k all of the second story windows, which practically touch the ceiling, had managed to detrimentally implode into a supernova of glass specks.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the shrill cry of the bell, oddly similar to the yelp she heard from her classroom clock earlier. She turns her attention back to them and pushes the déjà vu away. They are regarding her with the same disapproving looks they always bestowed on her: the eccentric pariah and mischievous hassle in their eyes.

“Why the f**k did I even bother?” she thought to herself, “They never believe me anyway; screw it, I’ll be out of here in a year anyway. I have to get to my class. They’re probably crowding in the hallway.”

And waiting they were, completely oblivious to the situation, completely accustomed to waiting. The sinister aural energy lurking behind the door was waiting itself, stockpiling a massive pool of dark power. For now, safety abounds. Later, however, is indeterminate.

Oxford Academy – Room 206

Wednesday, May 11^th 2011

23:51

As the wind bared its razor fangs and howled, room 206 was quiet. The students had all cheerily departed, she left the room at the appropriate time, and the night janitors systematically cleaned the rooms and returned home. It was night once again. The voluptuous curls of the brisk night swept the county, relieving the air of daytime tension. It was, admittedly, peaceful. That peace, however, aggravated the poisonous evil, pushing it to escalate faster and faster.

An eerie blush of purple-tinged evil subtly bordered the string of recently repaired windows in room 206, spilling through the glass and mystifying the peace.

And its power grew; at this point, it’s time is approaching. Like a drop of Russian Roulette, the tension sifts into the room as the gun lays dormant, waiting to strike. And strike it will, with the veracity of a gun to the head, loaded with a bullet.

Oxford Academy – The Science Building

Thursday, May 26^th 2011

11:04

“Finally! The announcements are done,” praised Jeffrey in Mr. Steven’s cluster class, jeering at the fundamentally tireless quality of the video announcements.

Barely paying mind to the announcements, Vanessa cheerfully chatters with her peers in the light of room 206 and its newly furnished windows: “Ohmahgod. My birthday is actually tomorrow! Wow. I can’t believe I’m already going to be seventeen…”

The utility of the evil is massive. Now, dreadfully close to the climax of evil, the sunlight dances in the room and, though translucent, layers a transparent sensation over the room. It’s a sign of happiness that is, with asserted surety, going to fade soon.

The plants radiated a masked darkness. It was threatening, a slicing chill. At 11:15, the bell shrieked its customary cry and the students laughingly filed out of the classrooms. In room 206, she was sitting at her desk while Vanessa quietly collected her array of paintings and art supplies.

“How am I going to carry these? Okay, let’s see, I can hold this in one hand, this in another, that I can pile on top… I’ll stick this into my backpack, and…wow, this is heavy,” thought Vanessa. Unknowingly, she dropped a prime piece of her artwork. Sadly, the due date was today for the statewide competition, and this piece was her competition submission.

She, watching Vanessa scurry out of the room with her multitude of bundles, stared dazedly into the light. Sauntering to the back of the classroom to recover the forgotten painting, she placed it carefully on a neighboring table. As she walked back to her desk, the afternoon delirium set in and she continued munching on her lunch, slightly bitter.

Sooner than later, the bell that ended sixth period chimed with an oddly peaceful reverberation. The shriek had died.

As Jeffrey exited sixth period Viramontes, Vanessa arrived frantically crazed. She had lost the painting and it was due right then. Urgently pulling on his messily draped jacket, she dragged Jeffrey around. The bell suddenly rang, signaling the introduction of eighth period. There was a cadence to its twinge that was sinister, frightening.

The two climbed the stairs in a chipper mood. Entering room 206, they spotted the forlorn painting and visibly calmed down, collectively unaware. Vanessa ran towards it.

But, she never made it. The plants, overtaken by the mysterious wind, the evil force of darkness, had sprouted monstrous vines, veins of toned muscle. Tripping Vanessa, they silently, but with precise dexterity, captured the three.

Worried phone calls were exchanged between families, but by the next morning it was obvious that the tremor and uneasiness of the three’s disappearance would take a back seat to the impending events.

Oxford Academy – Room 404

Thursday, May 26^th 2011

23:58

The three are trapped in this room. The vines had dug sneakily into the underground of the school and surfaced here. In the biting cold of the vortex night, the three have a solemn future, surely. The evil is festering and its peak has nearly arrived. As the shrill clock walks to midnight—TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK—an odd wail fills the bowels of the school. The unscheduled shriek was a foreboding symbol. Watch out.

Oxford Academy – Room 404

Friday, May 27^th 2011

00:01

Happy birthday. But there’s not much to be happy about. Time is persistent yet, with its TICK.TOCK.TICK.TOCK. But for how much longer will time run before there is no longer any place to hide?

Oxford Academy – Just at school, in general

Friday, May 27^th 2011

07:23

The atmosphere is tense as car doors swing open and backpack straps pad heavy shoulders. The students aimlessly step out and towards the school campus. Silence seems to engulf every millimeter of their numb bodies, but there seems to be chatter coming from within. They question how people could continue on like nothing happened when three were so unexpectedly missing.

As soon as they reach the edge of the threshold between the anguish and the anonymous, they come face to face with the cause of the clamor. The entire quad is flooded in flora – vines dangling from the trees, stairs, and roofs of buildings; leaves sprouting every which way with their faces gargantuan and moments from slapping bystanders in the face; eerily blooming buds that beckoned others closer without a single thought.

The inexplicable moment passes though and they shake their heads, trying to make sense of the new décor that seemed to bathe the school in an endless net of green. Could it be the senior prank? But how in the world could they have pulled off something so wild, so untamable – almost beastly? Where could they have gotten the time?

Time? It’s 7:50. And right on cue the shrill shriek of the bell bellows across the campus. The figures in the quad stir. It’s time for yet another tedious day. Less than five minutes to another lecture and mass of notes. Less than five minutes to an hour and a half to catch up on the sleep missed because of that late-night webcam session. Daytime: where all seems absolutely safe. The perfect time to get some sleep – but is it a sleep that nobody will awaken from?

Let the nightmare begin. The second shout of the bell echoes ominously as the second hand of the clock tremors and reluctantly hits 7:55 with its last murmured TICK TOCK-SMASH. All the windows across campus shattered, punched through by the greenery that had adorned and bordered the panes. The embroidered foliage gains speed, feeding off of the horror, shock, and confusion so dense that the air is choking with it.

The reaction catalyzes exponentially and the vines gain more rigidity, popping like veins of overworked arms on steroids. The razor-edged shards explode through the air. They launch themselves into students’ eyes, gauging them out, leaving endless, gaping wormholes of blood. They slice the flesh and skin with piercing gashes deep to the bone and stinging surface cuts, grazing and nipping to expose yelps of pain. The scent from the buds drug and daze the daydreamers, drawing them in while reducing awareness like anesthesia. Once within grasp, the evil takes hold. One vine entwines itself to a leg while another snakes around the other. With a single flip and a pull, the victim dangles upside-down from the ceiling, blood rushing to his face, reddening then purpling. The opposite sides tug and yank, pulling his legs further apart in excruciating splits. They drag and twist further and harder until there is a rip, tear, and pop – the legs unevenly dismantled and torso colliding to the floor, writhing in pain. His eyes begin to glaze over, catching his life’s last sight: the sly vines have slithered themselves into a loop of a lasso, knotted and ready for the toss, danced in the air with a soft hum, and tightened around the bare throat exposed over the cut of the polo as a noose with utmost precision. She gasps and sputters for breath as she is lifted higher up until the back of her skull clashes violently into the ceiling. Before she can react at all, the chord drops reconfiguring the bone and cartilage of her face. Suspended midway again, her face turns an icy blue and white. With her last gasps of breath, she tries to warn the only living person in sight. Her head hangs loose, limp and crashed at an angle as if snapped across the bony slate. From the depths of the underground trail emerges the drilling vines which burrow from the lower back through the abdomen, spilling intestinal fluids and organs, before swerving back to plunge into the chest, spurting blood from the beating heart across the room in a ruby red shower. It worms its way up the esophagus before skewering the eyeballs and squirming out the cavities like parasitic medusa. Within the esophagus’ passage the vine is branching rapidly and working its way past the uvula, pounding the miniscule punching bag before erupting as split tongues from the dragon-like mouth. She gags on her newfound tongues slithering as the twisting turns cause the body to convulse prior to sliding as a corpse across the tiles. The final BADUM-badum of the body’s internal clock hurtles to a complete halt, screeching a scream of silence that matches its sister once upon the wall, now face flat upon the floor shattered. The monstrosity falls dormant again, finished with its sadistic task, satiating its blood-thirsty hunger. And amongst the school strewn with guttural overspill, life-size doll fragments, and silenced cries, dormancy creeps inexorably.

Salted Apples

A single apple, rounded and red

Bright as blood newly bled

Sliced into pieces, juicy and fresh

Soft and succulent as flesh

Too beauteous to consume

But it can’t forever loom

Why not try to defy time?

At least for a while pantomime

Create an illusion for yourself

To shelter the pain and loss in stealth

Sprinkle salt like magic, sleight of hand

Shed reality momentarily, find new land

Cheated the due process for a bit

But when will the inevitable hit?

The slices remain preserved, like new

But hours passed, it’s sat to stew

Take a bite now, as life shan’t wait

No matter mind in any state

The sweetness lingering but tainted

By the wish to keep restricted

The taste of salt now lingers along

With the intended sweet; did it belong?

Cannot tell if it was right or wrong done

But regret can’t rewind, only momentarily stun

Ultimate moment like the original one

Evades intention like a magician

Salt cheating the browning of loss

But eventually eaten or left for moss

Butterfly Wings

Go home and write

a page tonight.

And let that page come out of you-

Then, it will be true.

My name, Greek meaning butterfly

My childhood interest, butterflies

My name, simply an overlying umbrella sly

My childhood interest, spread much wider before my eyes

The allure of the butterfly wings enchanting

Its vivid colors vibrant and alluring

The complexity and simplicity so intriguing

Its frail frame and delicate grace flitting

Much like them, I’ve come to realize our selves follow

In complexity yet simplicity, vibrant yet delicate still

I grow observing the nature of nature unfold from depths and shallows

And know that I, like many more, make of myself what I will

I flutter through the crowds of people, watching, listening, and being

From all the experience, observation, emotion, and secret

Told in confidence and kept in confidence can truth and reality ring

For us to learn as I have, to learn from mistakes, but neither fret nor regret

From my position as a butterfly on the wall and amongst the fields

Of people with their gossip, drama, and troubles

Of nature with its placid differences, yet a parallel which it wields

Of silence with myself, reflecting in the serenity and anxiety that doubles

From all that I see, hear, learn, and am told, I intake

All the vivid colors spread through the skies and before my eyes

Sheltered under my sly umbrella, these are what I shall undertake

Reacting with delight, horror, expectance, and surprise

In the form of all that I do, speak, and create, I partake

Through my actions, art, and words – spoken and written

I build up, create, lose, and find myself for mine and others’ sake

Showing who, where, what, when, and how I was, am, and will have been

The butterfly wings drew me in and hold me there still

But that is only in my mentality and heart for otherwise I wander

Through my mind and body walking and searching for lives to fill

Much like the vivid black upon white butterfly wings of this page yonder