Untitled

by Phoebe Bayer

“She’s so pure, isn’t she? Exactly one month since we brought her home, Dave,” Lauren said as they watched Natalia dawdle around the kitchen, navigating her way through the entire house, noting every crevice.  

As Dave watched their adopted two-year-old prance around, his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed. “Yup…”  

Auburn locks framed Natalia’s face, and her winsome smile never seemed to disappear.  Little things always made her giggle, and that was all the couple had really ever wanted––a happy child.  

“What is it?” Lauren whispered, knowing something was off.  Right then, with her back turned, Natalia stiffened and paused in total stillness.  She tilted her head upward as if trying to overhear the conversation. Dave grabbed the remote on the side table and pressed play. Do you remember the 21st night of September…

“This will keep her occupied,” he said, turning his attention toward Lauren again.  “You ever have a thought, one that lingers, and...and eats away at you?”

“Of course I do, I just prefer to keep those things to myself. Save you the drama,” she said lightheartedly.  As we danced in the night, remember.  Dave turned to look at Natalia, who was still in the same position with her nose in the air.

He dismissed Lauren’s attempt to make him laugh. “Natalia is just, so…mature. For her age. I mean even the way she looks at you, it’s like she knows more than she’s letting on, Lauren.”  Ba de ya, dancing in September.

“So? She’s wise beyond her years,” Lauren said, shaking her head.

Dave bit his lip. “I guess.”  He grabbed the remote to turn off the music, ending their conversation.  He couldn’t shake the fact that the adoption agency could never confirm Natalia’s date of birth, and though Lauren also thought that was strange, she never questioned it.  

Just then, a soft voice echoed through the room. “Mother.”  The couple immediately diverted their attention to Natalia, who had turned around.  When Natalia noticed their reaction, she quickly resorted to “Ma--ma.”

Lauren sighed with relief, “Yes, Sweetie?” she asked.  

Natalia pointed to the remote. “More music please,” she said.

“No more, Natalia, it’s annoying,” Dave said sternly.  Natalia smiled and moved away with her back hunched toward her playroom.  

“I do think we should ask the doctor about that thing she does when she walks,” Lauren said.  “She bends her back a bit and limps a little.”

Dave just stared out the window, his gaze fixed on the willow trees blowing in the wind in their front yard.  “Let’s take her in soon. Maybe find out more info about the day she was born, why her mom gave her up, you know?”

“Fine, we’ll take her tomorrow. But just because the agency didn’t tell us the day that she was born doesn’t mean they’re hiding anything,” Lauren mumbled. The sound of something being continually picked up and put down echoed through the house walls.  The couple exchanged confused glances, got up, and followed the sound until they reached the playroom.  There Natalia sat with her legs crossed next to a table displaying a game of chess.  She didn’t look up from the board; she just kept moving the knights and bishops automatically. She moved both the white and black pieces.  In a state of terrified awe, the couple stared. She was too wise beyond her years.

by Devin Derian 

A piercing noise causes my eyes to shoot open. My retinas burn from the blinding white lights, and there’s a sharp pain around my ribs. The middle of my back aches, and there’s a vein in my throat that beats in unison with my heart. I slowly raise my left arm, but as I do, a shooting pain spirals down my elbow. My eyes finally adjust to the lights, and reveal a completely white hospital room. To my right are multiple monitors, and a transparent tube that’s connected to my right forearm.   

Turning my neck to my left, I see my Aunt’s hazel eyes glaring at me. There’s a pounding against my temples, and my sinuses feel like somebody’s pressing their thumbs against the ridge of my nose. She opens her mouth, but the blue door at the other side of the room swings open. An Ash officer appears in his crimson suit, black pants, and black shoes. His eyes are dark purple and his black hair is slicked back.

“I need to speak to Liam,” says the officer.  

“While I’m here, of course,” Aunt Vickie responds, squeezing the edges of her tablet.

“I just need Liam,”

“I’m his guardian—” says my aunt, walking up to him, her black heels clicking against the white floor. The guard backhands my Aunt across the face. Her head jolts to the left, and her hand instantly grasps her lip.

“Remember your place, Doctor,” says the Ash Officer in a deep monotone. A stream of blood oozes through my aunt’s fingers. My stomach jitters and my fingers press against my damp palms.

“Of course,” says my Aunt, her finger wiping across her lip. She looks at me. The noise from the heart rate monitor slows. Vickie puts her hand gently against the door, and a green light illuminates underneath her fingers. The door slides open and she leaves.

My chest feels compressed. The heart monitor spikes, and the breeze from the air conditioning cools my wet forehead. The Ash Officer walks to the foot of my bed.

“Are you aware of the number of people that survived the accident?” asks the Officer, circling his fingers around a silver bar.

“No, sir,” I say, my tongue pressed against the roof of my dry mouth.

“Six,” he says, “and of those six, you appear to be the least injured.”

“I got lucky,” I say, a sharp pain prickling hurts my temples.

“It’s quite a miracle that you noticed the bomb.”

My eyes widen. “How do you know—”

Before I can finish, the Officer lets go of the bar and walks to my left. He pulls up his sleeve, and touches his temple. His irises change from dark purple to light pink. His chip illuminates on his forearm, and a holographic screen rises. 

On the screen, I see myself walk towards the metro’s door, and as the explosion happens in the video, a sharp pain radiates from my ribs. 

“Is that not you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

A pounding sensation slams against my temples. “Are you suggesting that I somehow knew that the bomb was going to be there? If that’s the case, it was just a coincidence,” I say through my teeth.

“I was not trained to believe in coincidence.” 

The drumming in my temples intensifies.

“Is that not you approaching the door?”

“Yes, but—”

“Are you aware of the town square bombing that occurred three weeks ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know who set the bomb?”

“No sir.”

The image on the pink screen shifts to a dark hooded figure placing a bomb next to a fountain and scattering away. People walk by in their white outfits, and then the image goes black. He places his fingers near the hologram and turns it counter clockwise to rewind the footage. He stops at a pixelated image of the figure. 

My eyes widen when I see the pixelated image, and Jax’s face appears. 

“Do you know Jax Jacobs?”

“Yes, sir. We are good friends.”

“Interesting, isn’t it? Two friends who happen to be involved in two terrorist attacks?”

“Once again, coincidence,”  I say, my head continuing to throb. The Ash Officer places his pale hand on my shoulder; it’s cold.

by Tess Riordan

ANGELA is a 50-year-old woman who owns her own PR firm. She has soft, pretty features but a strong personality. She is a cool mom who is well-liked by the parents and kids at her son’s school. She doesn’t really care how she looks, but somehow always has good style. 

DAN, 53, is Angela’s husband. His hobbies include guitar, photography, and writing. He is a respected book critic but doesn’t work full time. He has a good sense of humor and is easy to get along with. He often wears flannels, blue jeans, and boots. He has a scruffy beard and is traditionally attractive.

OLIVER, 17, is a junior in high school. He is tall and skinny. He is attractive, but not in a stereotypical jock sort of way. His favorite book is Little Women and his favorite movie is American Psycho. He is kind and witty but doesn’t have many close friends. 

Angela: Our son is kind of embarrassing.

Dan: Can you be more specific?

Angela: I just asked him what his plans are for the weekend, and he replied with, “I don’t know, whatever you guys are thinking.” I mean, Jesus, he’s 17 years old, and his parents are his closest friends.

Dan: Yeah, I know, but what’re we supposed to do? Punish him for not partying, having good grades, and being a respectful kid?

Angela: ...maybe? Look, if he doesn’t go to at least one crazy party before he graduates high school, he will not survive college. Joanna’s son told me frat hazing is the most extreme it’s ever been.

Dan: Ange, he’s going to Middlebury, I highly doubt fraternity hazing will be an issue. 

Angela: Don’t underestimate those English majors. Do you remember what you were like?

Dan: I choose to forget. But that was the ‘80’s, things are different now. 

Angela: The only thing different is cigarettes are vapes, pot is kush, and Zima is White Claw.

(Oliver enters the living room.)

Oliver: Are you guys talking about White Claw?  (Oliver throws up finger guns and laughs to himself.) I heard that stuff is crazy!

Dan: It’s a hard seltzer, Oliver.

Oliver: What? 

Dan turns to Angela.

Angela sighs and nods. 

Angela: Oliver, sweetie, can we first firstly just say how happy we are that you enjoy spending time with us.

Dan (Nodding his head, backing Angela up): So happy.

Angela: But, we’ve recently noticed that you don’t really seem to go out much or have many friends.

Dan shakes his head.

Angela: Um, and we don’t want you to feel like we’re holding you back from going out. We get that you’re a teenager, it’s what you guys do.

Oliver puts his hands on his mom’s shoulders.

Oliver: Mom, seriously, I don’t want you to worry about me.

A wave of relief passes over Angela’s face.

Angela: Phew. Ok, good because we were just-- 

Oliver: I don’t need to go out and party and do drugs to be happy. I’m happy just hanging out with you guys. Don’t worry, mom; you’ll never get a call from me at 2 A.M. asking you to pick me up because I’m throwing up at a party or anything.

Angela: Not even just once?

Oliver: I promise.

Oliver walks over to his dad.

Oliver: And Dad--

Dan: Oh, boy.

Oliver: You’ll never have to catch me smoking in the backyard or sneaking into the house late at night.

Dan: Ok.

(Beat)

Dan (Upbeat tone): But, son, you know if we ever did catch you doing any of those things, your mom and I would be understanding.

Oliver: And I appreciate that. But if Parenthood has taught me one thing, it’s that giving your child freedom and independence actually prohibits them from rebelling. So, I recognize what you guys are doing, and I’m on to you.

Oliver squeezes his dad’s shoulder and flashes his parents a sly smile.

Both Angela and Dan sit staring at each other, not knowing what to say. Oliver steps back and picks up the remote.

Oliver: So, what will it be tonight: “Dateline” or “Downton Abbey”?

As Angela begins to respond, Oliver nonchalantly pulls a joint out of his pocket and lights up.