HalloweenLiterary

Collection

2011

Compiled by

Keith LimLiterary Editor

Tableof

Contents

The LoomingKeith Lim ............................................................................................... 1

Mrs. KaySean Cua ................................................................................................ 5

PassKennard Sia .........................................................................................10

A Prolonged BlinkRaymond Lao ...................................................................................... 18

TeddyAlexander Wang ................................................................................. 22

The ParkAntonio Go...........................................................................................26

Hallows EndMark Ryan Tan ...................................................................................30

ImaginationJonathan Mendoza .............................................................................41

1THE LOOMINGby Keith Lim

He had known her and she had known him since she

came into this world crying and screaming, for his face

had been within her range of sight at that time. Their

relationship lasted for so long that no one could keep track

of its beginning and its end - except for her. She kept track of

every detail of their history.

When she was two, she would be tucked in her crib,

safe from the dangers of the world, and he would watch her

from the silhouettes, speaking with gusts of wind against

her window. The panes would rattle, and she would cry. Her

parents would go to her to comfort her, and afterwards, she

would dream.

When she was five, she would play with her Barbie dolls

in her generic pink room, pretending that the figures were

real people. Then she would be told to go to sleep with a

night light, gripping her pillow tight, sheets over her head.

He would be there with her, in her pacing heartbeat, her

2shivering hands; her open eyes, filling the room with his

presence, just as waters fill the oceans and darkness fills the

world during the night time.

At the age of thirteen, she would come home from school

tired. Every now and then she would see a horror movie, and

in those nights, he was there. He was the voice underneath

her bed, the image in her mirror, the shadow by her shower

curtain; a figment of her imagination. Just as air embraced

her body, so did his presence. He had been there all her life. It

seemed that he would never leave.

In all truth, he had given her a love of sorts. He had

brought her into a world that was more than what one could

touch, smell; see. It was a wondrous place where all things

came true in an ethereal way - a world of emotions and

reactions from stimuli that never existed.

He was her imagination; he was her fear.

Then at the age of sixteen, something changed. She had

gone home tired and sober, and went straight to bed. There,

he called out to her. He appeared as the darkness by her wall,

3the breeze rushing past the trees, the creaking beneath her

bed, the images of blood and claws and flesh and bones in her

mind. Then she thought, Its only the wind, the shadows of

the trees against the moonlight, the aged wood of this bed,

the fiction that movies feed us - nothing more.

She slept peacefully that night. As she dreamt, a soft

popping noise was heard - the sound of air rushing into a

suddenly vacant space, as though an object had suddenly

disappeared from existence.

During the days that followed, she never saw him again.

4art by Chino Andin

5MRS. KAYby Sean Cua

Mommy, have you seen Mrs. Kay? I asked. My mom just

groaned. But Mommy, she was in my arms just before I got to bed.

Check under your bed, sweetie. Maybe she fell down.

Ok! I skipped to my room to check under the bed. Fifteen

minutes and all I found were dust bunnies and some dirty socks.

Where is Mrs. Kay?

I went to my brothers room. It was a landfill - sweaty clothes

that havent been washed for about a week were dangling around.

Chip wrappers and soda cans decorated the floor like a carpet.

Skunks smelled better than this room.

My brother was drooling on his bed, lying spread out like a

chimpanzee. Pat, have you seen Mrs. Kay?

He groaned. Huh?

6Have you seen Mrs. Kay? My doll?

Yeah. He yawned. Some kids found her by the front door and

started playing with her last night.

What?! Who put her there?

You did. You were sleepwalking. He yawned, my eyes widened.

You left her behind when Mom carried you back upstairs. I dashed

downstairs. Please still be there.

The sun shined down on the body of Mrs. Kay. Just the body.

Where was the head?

What happened to you, Mrs. Kay? I sniffled. What happened?

Rea, what are you doing outside? Mom asked in her bathrobe.

Why didnt you bring her up?

Mrs. Kay.

Who?

7I didnt want to answer her. I bolted inside. What, sweetie? she

called out.

I sat by the velvet couch, my eyes glued to Mrs. Kays body.

Hours passed while I stared at Mrs. Kays body. Why? Why me?

Are you sure you dont want to go trick-or-treating? Mom

suggested. After a minute of total silence, she sighed. Ok dear.

Dont be too down over the doll. Its just a toy. How could you

understand?! Youre a mom!

She left shortly after. Several minutes passed, then a knock

came to the door. I opened it, and a big old lady who dressed up like

a witch.

Trick-or-treat!

I gave her some candy from my side dish.

She frowned upon my face. Is there something wrong my dear?

Dont mind me, I do this every year! I showed her my headless doll.

Oh is that it? Here, let me take a look at it. When I reluctantly

8gave it to her, she told me to close my eyes and count to three. I shut

it tight, hoping for a miracle.

One.

Two.

Three.

When I opened them, the old woman was gone. No trace of her

at all. And on the foot of my door lay Mrs. Kay, along with her head.

She has a head!!

Yay! Yay! I really wanted to thank the old woman but she

wasnt by the door anymore. I ran around the house looking for her.

But she wasnt anywhere. I panted and sat by the front porch. It was

then I noticed the small letter tied to Mrs. Kays hand.

Then off a distance, I heard some maniacal laughing and an

explosion of fireworks decorated the skies. Thank you, Mrs. Kay!!

Happy Halloween, Elise, Dont stay down,

Ill always be with you And youll always be okay."

-The living Mrs. Kay

9art by Raymond Tan

10

PASSby Kennard Sia

I cant sleep. Max finally said in irritation.

Its only been ten minutes since you got into bed.

The voice sounded cold and chilly, but to Max Chapplin,

it had been the only voice there for him all through last

week. Since he had awoken from his three month long coma,

the only thing that understood him was the figure of a boy,

whom only he could see. Be it a ghost or a hallucination, to

Max, it felt warm.

Oh dont start now. Max threw his pillow at the now

forming figure of a floating boy. It went right through

leaving only ripple in his stomach.

The boy had the exact same features as Max. His fair skin,

his sea green eyes and even his messy brown hair that seemed

to form a crown on his head.

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Dont just suddenly pop out in front of my face. Its kinda

annoying seeing my transparent self when I cant sleep.

Just think of it as a mirror. The boy replied cheerfully

Go ahead, Mirror, mirror on the wall, why cant I just sleep and fall?

Max slowly got up picking the pillow off the ground. Im

pretty sure I look much better than you.

Well, it isnt my fault you decided to try sleeping this

early. Its only eight you know.

Thats why Im going.

Max moved towards his door and opened it.

Where?

Max stepped out of the room and ran down the stairs.

Mom! Im going for a walk around the park! Be back

before nine! The door had slammed before his mom could

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even reply.

The boy in Maxs room gave out a loud sigh, not that

anyone could hear him, before vanishing into the dark.

The boy playfully hovered around Max as he walked

towards the park. He always did this. At times he would lean

on Maxs shoulder; other times he would walk backwards.

More often than not, he would do things to make Max laugh.

Three days ago, he had imitated every single person he could

while Max walked to school. The boy did all that for the week

Max was awake. He was always there and until now, Max

still hasnt been able to figure out if the boy was a ghost or a

simple figment of his imagination.

However, trips to the park were different. The boy knew

that trips to the park meant Max was having troubles again.

Since last week, there was only one thing troubling Max;

his memories. Other than everything his parents told him,

the rest was a blur. He could only remember up until the

accident that caused his coma and amnesia. On the contrary,

Max had actually remembered quite a bit, but it wasnt

enough.

13

The moment the two reached the park, Max quickly

hopped on to a swing and slowly swung himself back and

forth. The boy knew what this was. Now to figure out whether

he was ticked off or had gone into emo mode.

Max, are we gonna play 20 questions again? The boy

sighed. Are you real? Max quickly asked. Of course! Am

I real?

Emo mode. Definitely emo mode.Youve wasted two

questions now, bro.

There was a short pause. And yes, I am a guy and so are

you.

Max gave a soft sigh.Did Mom and Dad tell me

everything?

Another pause. Max stopped his swing and slowly looked

up at the figure now hovering above him.

Yeah.

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Have you told me everything?

Max, weve been through th-

Max shot up from his swing and threw his fist at the boy

which simply passed through him.

Youre keeping something from me. You are, arent you!

Max shouted, his voice starting to crack.

Max-

What mom and dad said about the accident, its not

entirely true is it? I can feel it. Ever since I woke up and my

memories came back, I felt like something was still missing. I

felt like something big was taken out of me.

The boy simply stared at his mirror image, his eyes

starting to tear up. There was a short, deafening pause. For a

moment, it seemed that time had stopped. For a moment, the

boys image shimmered in the moon light.

You had a brother. The boy said with a soft smile.

15

The figure slowly hovered down, his eyes stared directly

at Maxs. He placed his shadowy hand on Maxs chest. Right

where his heart was.

Max could feel his chest beating faster.

You had a brother named Clyde. The boy said softly as

he pulled his hand away from Maxs chest.

Max turned his head down as his eyes began to tear up

now as well.

During the accident, you were both heavily injured.

Your heart was almost stabbed through and doctors said you

wouldnt make it.

Max looked up into his mirror image again, tears still

flowing down.

What about Clyde?

The figure raised his hand once more and laid his palm

on Maxs chest.

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It was the only way to save you.

There was a glint of shock in Maxs face.

Im sorry. Were the first and only words he could give

out.

Skay. The boy started, slowly wiping his tears. Always

be with ya bro. By the way, youre the younger one!

Before Max could say more, he realized it was too late. He

was gone. Max pressed his hand on his chest and wiped the

tears off his face.

Seriously? That last thing he said was that?

For the rest of that night, Max was alone, but for the rest

of that night, Max had a small smile on his face.

For the rest of his life, Max would remember his twin

brother, up until he vanished.

17art by Paolo Reyes

18

A PROLONGED BLINKby Raymond Lao

They told me I could be anything. My parents, upstanding citizens of the city, said that I should try my hand at politics or business some day. They told me I could be anything, so I became an inspector of the colonys police department. I have no idea why I did it. Maybe I did it just to prove to them, as well as to myself, that I could actually save lives instead of being just another cog in this stained mechanism.

Life is funny that way.

I never knew the ceiling was so white. I feel the cold cement floor on my back as I try to figure out what time it is. I never did stop for a second to see how pure the ceiling was. I guess during the times I felt the recoil, I simply didnt have the moment to appreciate what lay above us all. Now, Id appreciate it if I could just turn my head.

It is spreading. I can see daylight fading away, and it is getting colder. I guess I really should have brought my coat, a simple long- sleeve and vest indeed does not cut it. The guys lying down next to me, whats in there minds? Are they

19

asleep already? I wouldnt blame them, the fun we had today was enough for a whole day - a whole lifetime, in fact.

I hope the kid got away from here just fine. By now, he should probably be back with his parents. Well, I did promise them that I would return with him safely by the end of the day. Looks like Ill only be fulfilling half of that promise, though. Lead is such a fearful thing. Simply get in the way of it, and you end up like me - not that Im complaining. Its comfy down here, but maybe it was not yet time for that kid to feel this sort of comfort yet. So thats what I made sure of. I made sure everyone else joined me in this gathering. Everyone needs a rest once in a while.

The viscous liquid is spreading. I can feel it on my fingertips. The ceiling fades whiter than before, and I begin to feel even more tired. Its funny. I cant even seem to close my eyes. I spent three months tracking these guys down, and the whole last night devising a plan to catch them. My coffee tasted like dirt. Hell, in the governments eyes, Im probably just part of another underground dealing gone wrong.

Dont I already deserve a chance to at least close my eyes? Even just for a little while? Just a prolonged blink? As I think these things, I realize my eyes were already long closed.

Life is funny that way.

20

art by Graham Dy

21 art by Alfred Ti

22

TEDDYby Alexander Wang

Ever since I was a little child, I had always wanted a

friend - a friend who would sleep by my side even with the

demons that lurked in my closet, a friend I could play with

and enjoy; a friend who would be there with me - and for me

- no matter what.

Lets face it, I was a lonely kid. Still am, to be honest. I

lived my life in that corner by the cobwebs, away from any

traces of humanity. I was desperate for any form of contact

whatsoever: a brush on the arm, a tap on the shoulder, a

batting of eyelids, or even just a glance, and every night,

I cried myself to sleep because there was no mischievous

foolishness; no foolish mischief to drive the sadness away.

I had gone around my school asking people if we could

be friends, but that never worked out; Id always end up

as the laughing stock of our class. I had tagged along with

my parents to their offices that had those grey walls, and I

had approached people with my innocent smile, pleading,

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begging that they would be my friend. Well, it worked if you

consider a patronizingly fake grimace a sign of acceptance. I

had whined and whined to my parents, hinting that perhaps

I was quite lonelyjust quitebut I dont think they ever

caught my drift. Then they scolded me for complaining.

I spent those following weeks hiding out in our attic,

alone with the spiders. I had rummaged around for, I dont

know, a friend who would jump out from those cardboard

boxes, but all I ever found were the shadows of lamps and

sheets. I had found old stamp collections, bottles, and photo

albums but none of them could be my friend; none would

keep me company on a cold, rainy night.

But then I found a stuffed teddy bear. The moment I saw

it, I knew then that it was meant for me.

It was made of a soft, brown fabric, and it had two

lustrous circles for its eyes that reflected the little light in

the attic. It sat with its black button eyes in its cardboard

box, and I felt that it was just like myself: yearning for a

companion. I didnt recall having seen it in that box before,

but I picked it up and I dusted it offthere was surprisingly

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little dirt on itand it was warm and comforting against my

chest.

I had brought it down with me, and I showed it to my

parents, grinning with satisfaction and fulfillment. They

dismissed me with their condescending sneers.

In the following days and weeks, I had come to treasure it;

it was, after all, my only friend. I would go to school carrying

it in my backpack, and its head would bob as I walked as if it

was nodding to the beat of my footsteps. Id leave it out on

my desk during classes, and people would chuckle at me. But

I wouldnt mind because I had a friend at last.

During our breaks, I would bring it with me to the library

or the playground, and Id just read to it or play with it until

the bell rang. Sometimes, Id stay until I was forced back into

the classroom, Id pick it up with heavy hands, but my hands

didnt seem to be the only heavy things. I blamed it on my

mental perception.

At home, I would talk to it, run around with it, play video

games with it, sing with it, and everything else that a child

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would want to do with his friends. Id have so much fun that

Id forget exactly where Id put it. Id find it in the kitchen

when I remembered it was in the living room; it would be in

the bathroom when I last left it in my room. I guess thats

just one of the consequences of having fun with your friends:

everything is blurred by joy.

And to this day, I sleep beside it, my only companion.

Sometimes, Id wake up to see that it was not by my side, and

only to find it beside my mothers. I had asked them to stop

meddling with what makes me happy, but all they ever do

is shake their heads in false bewilderment, saying that they

had nothing to do with it. I guess theyre just envious of the

fact that I had someoneor rather, something I could have

fun with. They lied to me, too, because after I asked, never

once did I wake up to an empty bedside. The most it would go

would be the other pillows, or under my blankets, but I move

around a lot in my sleep, anyway.

The sheets rustle hard at times, but then again, the fan in

my room is pretty strong. It doesnt bother me.

26

THE PARKby Antonio Go

This old man, he played one, He played knick, knack on my

drum , old man Jack was merrily singing the only song he ever

memorized in his life, as he was sweeping piles of dry brown leaves

off the pavement. He somehow managed to pick that song up from

his previous job, and, surely enough, it sends the people around

him chills down their spine whenever they hear him sing it with his

rusty, croaky voice.

Janitor in the preschool, that was what he always says with

much enthusiasm whenever someone asks him what his previous

job was. He was uneducated, and he knew neither to read nor to

write; he was dead illiterate.

Even then, he was a happy man, and he was content in his job of

sweeping and cleaning up the park. He found the park tranquil, and

he loved it. He treated it as if it were his home, tirelessly cleaning

and maintaining the place.

He lived alone. His parents and thirteen siblings all passed away

27

because of different reasons. Oddly enough, he did not grieve for

their loss. He knew they were right there with him, smiling, as they

watched him live the peaceful life he always wanted.

Hmm? Theres more people today than usual, the old man

muttered to himself, as he was dusting a big old monument in the

middle of the park.

It was a giant T-shaped structure, not bigger than a two-story

building. It used to be bright and painted white, but it gradually

became ash grey through the years of its decay. No one ever noticed

it, but they couldnt just get rid of it. They got scared just thinking of

taking it down.

He finally finished dusting the monument, and afterwards he

reverently kissed it like it was some great ancient kings relic of

sorts. He then gathered his stuff and climbed down the monument.

It was already dusk as the old man started making his way

through the dark thickly wooded area in the park as he was singing,

This old man he played nine, He played knick, knack on my

spine, With a knick, knack, paddy whack, Give the dog a bone; This

old man came rolling home

28

He finally reached an old rickety shack surrounded by the giant

gnarled roots of an ancient tree. As he entered, he saw the old torn

up calendar he picked up the other day hanging from his wall.

--TOBER 31, 2011, it read, part of the header torn out.

Adjacent to it, the date of the next day was displayed, together

with a lightly vandalized picture of a figure which was somewhat

similar to the monument he just cleaned.

Ah, no wonder a lot of people visited today. Its already that

time in the month eh? the old man snickered to himself.

He unloaded his cleaning tools from his worn-out satchel one

by one over a makeshift wooden table.

Every tool had a small engraving on it, which says, PROPERTY

OF THE MILLENNIUM PARK CEMETERY.

The old man then continued to sing merrily as he readied up

for the next day, This old man he played ten, He played knick

knack once again

29art by Antonio Go II

30

HOLLOWS ENDby Mark Ryan Tan

Today is a special day. Ive waited a year for it to come.

I can already see it from beyond my rusty ornate gate and

the rotting fence: the town, decorated grandly in shades of

orange and black, complimenting the sun in the sky. In an

hour, itll be lit by no more than hollow, carved pumpkin

lanterns, and the glorious moon. Yes, theres no other time

for me to go but now.

I open the gates, and they squeal, loud and sharp. Its

been ages since theyve been opened; we dont leave the place

much, and, trust me, we dont get a lot of visitors. Thats why

today is the most important day in the year, at least for me.

Its the only day I actually get to go around and see town.

Strolling casually in sneakers that aged together with me,

I stop by the sights I make a point to see every year. Crossing

the block I spot the K-mall. This year, they designed the

building with witches. Last year, the fad was mummies and I

wonder whats next: Frankenstein, maybe?

31

Well, Im not buying anything, so I just walk on by to

the park. The leaves are orange, too, like they chose to dress

up for the occasion, swaying in natures tune with the chilly

breeze. I dont even need to look to know what was going

on. The sound of delighted screaming, cries of excited little

kids seems to give itself away every time. Each of them

is in costume, as is custom. Like always, some were lucky

enough to get the really good ones: Ninja robes, they call them, or dusters and cowboy hats that make them look like

The Undertaker. The others, well, lets say some had to resort to wrapping themselves in tissue paper to look vaguely

Egyptian. But its all good, in the spirit of trick-or-treating.

A few cobbled blocks further is the school. A comically

ghost- shaped banner strung across the block-long faade

reads: Happy Halloween, Students! The old, gray buildings

obviously closed for the holidays, but I wonder what it would

be like to be in there otherwise. What would it be like to

have kids together in the same room, learning, having fun,

together? I guess Ill never know.

My parents warned me many times before about going

out any other day. They told me about Uncle Harris. He

32

stepped out in the middle of summer, probably because he

forgot the day- I dont know how, but then again, hes really,

really old. Anyway, he probably didnt notice anything until

everyone started screaming around him. And then the people

with guns came and blew him to pieces. It sounded horrible,

even all the way back, far away as I was. I really dont want to

be next one to join Uncle Harris.

But I did try heading out one time that wasnt Halloween.

It mustve been another festival then; the air was chillier,

and it was the dead of night. I saw trees, lots of them, not

the real kind, the ones made of plastic and all those weird

stuff. Yet what attracted me most were the stars, strung along

balconies, rooftops, signposts, doors, literally anywhere

with enough space for the nail that held them afloat. Parols, thats what my parents told me they were called, and it was

Christmas. I wouldve wanted to stay awhile, but I wasnt -and

never will be- ready to get roasted in a funeral pyre.

Moving on, I pass the place, and reach my real

destination. Its a plain, unpainted brick house, with a wood

ceiling, and a petit awning over the door. Unassuming, that

much is true. But not to me.

33

#36 De La Cruz Street.

I press the doorbell, and hear it echo through the thin,

wood door. Then I wait. Ten seconds later, a girl opens the

door. Its Stephanie.

Oh, hey, Raymond. She smiles. Her front tooths

missing now; she said it was getting loose last year. Could

you, like, wait a minute? Im not yet quite ready.

Sure. And the door slams closed once again. Its always

the same routine every year since I met her; shed wait for

me, then Id stop by, and wed go trick-or-treating together.

That time, she was seven. Now, shes nine, but apart from

that, littles changed.

The door opens once again, revealing Steph in a banshee

costume. Last year, she wore this large pumpkin suit that

looked pretty funny. I couldnt help myself from laughing at

first, seeing how hard it was for her to get around in it. She

was mad at me after that, I guess, but I suppose she learned

her lesson this year, given that her attire consists of plain

white drapes and a simple white mask above pale make-up.

34

She might not earn points for originality, but who really

cares on the night of the haunted?

Ready? She asks coyly.

Lets go. So she walks up and we head off, into the now

dark night, to seize the candy for ourselves- or rather, herself.

We start on her block. We knock on the decorated doors

one by one, taking turns announcing our intent to trick-or-

treat. After a while, we give up on the idea of taking turns,

and just shout in unison in the hopes thatll earn us more

candy.

Sometimes the homeowners prepare, like Mrs. Sanders.

Three out of three times so far, shes given us a fair share of

mints and chocolates; its a miracle she has enough for all

the little tikes running through the neighbourhood. Others

need a little more pushing, like the couple at #43 Quirino. It

takes a while to convince them, but who can really say no to

a pair of kids whove dressed up just for the sake of the night?

Stephs wily charm manages to squeeze some flat-tops out of them. And then theres the no-shows and the snobs. Knock

as hard as you want, but they wont come out. If they do, they

35

just take a peek, say something like I dont have anything for

you, and then slam it back, hard, right in your face.

Nevertheless, in an hours time, weve gotten past our goal

of the five by five street area around her house, much more

than last year. Steph says shes tired, so we stop by a bench on

the sidewalk heading back home. She peeks into my bag, and

then looks in her own.

I think I have more candy than you do. She says with

pride, sticking her tongue out. Im tempted to return the

favour, but there are things preventing me from doing that.

My partner mumbles to herself about how shes going to

pace the prizes, share a cut with her sister in exchange in

exchange for doing all the chores for the week, before she

suddenly turns to me. In a comparably weak voice, she asks,

Do you still remember how we met two years ago?

Of course. I could never forget. You were sitting,

I point across the street, by a lightpost, right over there,

crying.

I was not crying! She shouts, denying.

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Then what were you doing? I ask; she turns away.

Never mind. Keep going.

Yeah. So I walked up to you and asked what was wrong,

and you told me-

I have no one to trick-or-treat with.

It was like I heard a mental replay of that exact moment. I saw her then, a litt le girl dressed in black cloth, alone, there, with an empty paper bag, weeping.

Then I told you-

If you want me to, Ill help you do whatever that is. Then she looked up at me, all teary-eyed, but smiling.

Youd do that for me? She sniffed a bit, but it seemed that she was happy now.

Sure.

37

Lets start over there. She meant the house with the Victorian- arched door. Standing up quickly, she turned to me. Im Stephanie. Whats your name?

Raymond.

Its nice to meet you, Raymond. Lets go? I nodded, and I followed.

You really remember it to the nail, dont you? Steph

hasnt turned back to face me yet, but I can tell shes pretty

happy. She instead looks to her watch. Oh, my God; its a

quarter to eight! She gets up in a hurry, like theres no time

left in the world for her. We have to go; I promised mom Id

be back by now! And just like that moment two years ago, I

nod, and I follow her lead.

Her feet gracefully tread on the cobble beneath; mine

dont fare as well, but we make it back to her place in five

seconds flat regardless. As we near the window, she slows

and we both stop by her front porch. Were exhausted, but

satisfied nonetheless.

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Heres the candy, I say, handing her the bag.

You really dont want it? In these three years, youve

never kept them to yourself.

Youll want them more than I will.

Are you sure? She hesitates, but after looking into my

eyes, she decides to take the bag anyway. She steps back for a

moment.

Ray, do you want to... She stutters, and looks down to

the road. uh, come over to my place for dinner? Her face

gives of a flush of rose pink. Then I remember Uncle Harris.

I cant. I say, in desperation. I cant think of anything

better.

Why not?

Steph, I start, I dont think you dont know what I

really am.

39

What is that supposed to mean? She looks puzzled.

You have to promise not to tell anyone. At all. She

nods. Im a zombie.

Youre joking.

No, Im not. A cockroach that I worked to hard to hold

in my throat finally does go free when I open my mouth,

and crawls swiftly out and then down to the ground. See?

Im not lying. I thought that this would be it; Ill be caught,

hung, and paraded like a monster, but no. No shriek, no cry,

no scream.

Wow. She stares blankly at me. Just wow. I just thought

you had a really good costume. Three years in a row.

Youre not scared? She laughs a bit, and smiles.

Raymond, I dont care. She grabs my right hand, and

holds it tight. It gives me a rush Ive never felt before. Its like

a warmth that comes from inside. Youre my friend.

And for a moment, maybe my heart does beat. Thats all

that matters.

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art by Vince Floro

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IMAGINATIONby Jonathan Mendoza

The best weapon there is.

It was a simple day as I strolled the streets of Corps Lane,

Snoozeplains, England. I found such great beauty in the color

of deep red all around me, and I thought a little design and

contouring might be in order, just a little extra touch to make

it a lot brighter under the hot sun. And pop goes the weasels.

It was not enough though, I needed more artistic design,

something like a lot of murals. Then it hit me, tribal designs.

Out in the distance I could hear that cute bugle playing

signaling what seemed like a cavalry charge, and then I heard

a lot of wild calls and hooves outside town. As all of that was

happening, the street got even redder and the walls of homes

and fences started having tribal markings on them. Very

authentic I thought. And so I continued my stroll.

1950:

There have been reports about an unidentified serial

killer roaming the streets of England, please be advised and

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report anything suspicious.

1960:

A child from the orphanage has been reported as

missing. 6 year old, female, long, deep red, hair. If you find

this girl please contact

October 30, 1990:

Do you like this toy? Yes mama.

November 1, 1991:

I dont want this, I want that. But youve had that

already dear. I WANT THAT!

March 15, 1995:

Shes so cute.

But we cant keep her.

Why not?

I have a really bad feeling about this.

So just because of that youd leave a little orphan like

her alone and unprotected? Any other orphan sure, but her,

no.

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April 1, 2000:

Toys, toys, toys!!!! Yaaay!

Are you going to buy anything shes going to ask for?

Well if it keeps her happy right?

Out in the middle of the deserted road was a little child

who was too young to be walking around alone in this

desolate place. This street has been a ghost town for decades,

as I approached the girl, I noticed how bloody the walls and

fences were, how foul smelling and ancient the blood and

flesh here was. It was wrong. Then she turned her head to face

me.

And pop goes the weasel.

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art by Christian Yu

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Stallion 2011

Layout by Deondre Ng