A LD a = * created equal By J. Savage, Contributor i. in a perfect world all exits would be beautiful. ii. clint shook someone else’s hand when he left. there is a hole shaped like all the things he’ll never do. i wet my hands with soap. i put on red gloves to clean his knife one last time. all you need to separate fat from flesh is a clean knife and clean-looking hands. iii. there are a lot of things clint will never tell me and a lot of things i'll never get to yell at him for. there was so much anger it was like i could take a clam knife and shuck out his eyeball. now we hold our maybes like twin empty shells and understand nothing. iv. the day he left was the day i ignored him. v. there are only two sizes of bone, old and new. you don’t see the old bone so much because you are living in them. they are the physical necessity we use to mourn: our shelter, our fire, the very concrete floor. you don’t even have to think about loss when it has grown into everything around you. so permanent a part of us we forget it was even there to begin with. vi. new bone snaps part at the knife. the spine is just a zipper and we are undressing our dinner. new bone quivers with the pain of now. new bone breaks so easy. most people request them removed, but: one day the pinbones we swallow outgrow our stomachs and do all the remembering and grieving we had no time for. v. the poem is a poor replacement for a goodbye. The Old Trunk By Elizabeth Jacob, Production Assistant It was suffocating. No other word describes it more appropriately. Crammed in the backseat of an auto rickshaw with my grandfather’s leather trunk at my feet and my backpack protectively bundled in my arms, I felt vulnerable to the elements that I have landed within. I wrapped my shawl more tightly around my neck and picked up the straps of my canvas backpack to avoid the army of raindrops that had silently created a pool of water beside me which inevitably became my passenger along for the ride. I have never felt so small, yet from landing in this country not a mere four hours ago it crept on me that this place can do that to you. The make shift tarp that was attempting to cover the open windows was utterly useless as constant raindrops assaulted us from all sides while sprays from nearby lorries left us meandering through pothole riddled puddles on the street. Glancing around the interior of the auto, I could see the leather tearing at the seams on the seats, the rust eating away at the metal handle bars and the pasted images of gods and goddesses fading into the layers that were under them creating a divine décollage. Looking out at the view that my champion driver, Rattan, was navigating through was surreal. Distorted speckled drops of red and water were splattered onto the windshield which the small wiper futilely cleaned away but was immediately bombarded with another wave of glistening red drops. We had been making good time so far, so the traffic jam ahead with its bejewelled ruby lights was a sight that Rattan had anticipated and mentioned. Suddenly, my silent puddle of a passenger spilled over the edge of the seat and slipped into oblivion into an already soaked floor as Rattan slammed on the breaks as we entered as a tile into this Tetris traffic puzzle. The torrential downpour was relentless however the air that it created was fascinatingly toxic as we were stranded as an island within a sea of never-ending islands. If I could bottle up any smell and re-immerse myself in its fragrance it would be this smell of warm wet earth, the smokiness of traffic pipes, and the undertone scents of mouth-watering food savories from nearby vendor carts. This noise is another factor that I would love to record but I veto the idea of reaching into my backpack for my camera for fear of the rain against the lens but I feel it is more to the fact that I do not want to miss being in this moment. The rain continues to rap against the rickshaw and within these small confines the noise echoes loud and thunderous. Cars and rickshaws are continually honking as if performing a mediocre jingle while drivers swear and even my dear Rattan has participated in this chorus of curses at some invisible power who is clearly to blame for putting us all in this uncompromising position. Sitting trapped and drenched, I breathe deep this fragrance of chaos. In all my years I have never felt more awake and more alive. | look down my sodden shoes which are resting on the stenciled ‘S’ and ‘R’ of my leather trunk. I wonder what he would think of me being here, in his hometown. I recall the photo of the carved wooden doors with its vivid mosaic stained glass windows above the entrance and the metal name card that is imbedded on the right side of the door that mirror the same initials that my feet are currently resting upon. I bring my hand up to knock on the door and pause, realizing there is no turning back. I breathe in that welcoming perfume from the rickshaw and knock. I hear a shuffle from the inside and I wait. Wait to speak the words that have been uttered by pen and not by lips, locked away in a letter within that trunk whose words bleed truth of forgotten moments. I wait until the door finally opens and I gaze upon the person | have read so much about. Who would have thought I had her eyes? VR XM Excerpt from “Ghost,” a short story By Brittney MacDonald, Life & Style Editor Ghost switched the comm system to the internal channel, making sure only her fellow pilots would hear. It made the feed harder to tap into if they stayed off the main wave, the master control could switch their radios back anytime they had to issue direct orders. “Burst pattern, search and destroy.” The order was direct and short. It told the others to move all around the station, to find the enemy and take them out quickly. “Radio coordinates when you find them.” “Understood,” Angel replied. The hanger doors opened slowly, dragging out every unbearable second. “Four and Seven, take the left. One with me on the right. Circle around, keep in radio contact.” It was with that that the four ships left the hanger, each one flying off in a different direction. Rabbit and Watcher veered off to the left and out of sight. Ghost immediately took the right, higher angle, knowing Angel preferred the lower sub levels. The Mercury Three was fluid, slicing through the sky like needled silver. Ghost scanned every nook and cranny, trying to also pay close mind to where the soldiers flew in case they were quicker to pick up coordinates. But all they did was go after the obvious. Attacking the battle ship rather than defending the station itself. She took a deep breath, continuing her search and hoping the others were alright. “Mercury Four confirmed sighting. Calling team to coordinates axis head nine, sector three.” “Alright Watcher, I got you,” Ghost replied. “Do not engage till Mercury Seven approaches. Everyone switch to light rounds, get them away from the station before you bring out anything bigger. Mercury One position?” “Axis sub five, sector one oh one,” Angel replied almost instantaneously. ‘Tm sector one fifteen, meet and follow me in,” Ghost ordered. “Confirmed.” “Mercury Seven status?” Her stomach was in her throat as she awaited the reply, each second that passed one more moment that Watcher risked being spotted without any back up. “On approach already Ghost,” came Rabbit’s voice over the comm. She breathed a sigh of relief as she moved her ship out towards the coordinates given. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Mercury One move in to fly beside her. “Mercury Three and One on approach, arrival in two.” “Confirmed, engaging now.” Watcher’s voice was calm and collected, like he wasn’t about to enter battle with an enemy that he had seen kill so many before. But such was his way. The teen was an expert at compartmentalizing. He’d be scared later. Ghost and Angel moved quickly, their team mates coming into view as they approached the opposite side of the ship that they had been searching. Without words, each knew what they were to do. Mercury One and Three split off from their parallel path, coming around to flank the group of fighters that Watcher had discovered. Ghost’s arrival was seamless. The Mercury Three like a scalpel cutting through the folds of flesh. Her fingers tightened on the globes, the controls turning red as her ship fired on the enemy fighters, trying to herd them away from the station walls. The combat was chaotic, Ghost saw flashes of her team mates, but focused her attention more on avoiding enemy fire and not crashing. The comms were open. She heard every scream and curse the others uttered, but nothing sounded immediate. Ghost continued to fire on the enemy ships. Crying out when one managed to get a shot in over her right wing. The ship was linked to her mind, every dent and graze she felt as her own. The pain called her back, made her fly more with instinct rather than logic. The Mercury Three darted around erratically, moving with speed and grace in a pattern no one could predict. It was the advantage of the Mercury series. The pilot’s reflexes controlled everything; there was not response time because there was no steering wheel. The ship simply went where the pilot willed it. Ghost caught sight of a fighter on her tail. She corkscrewed and darted around the others trying to rid herself of the determined ship, but it was to no avail. The enemy fighter sent out shots mid chase that Ghost was barely able to dodge. She screamed in frustration as she tried to circle around to catch the other’s back end. The enemy pilot was fast, realising her intent and burning out his own engines on full blaze to avoid the nose of the Mercury Three. Ghost felt a stabbing pain shoot up her spine as he caught one over the back of her hull. Tears fell freely down her cheeks as she arched like a strung bow and tried to ignore the ache. She screamed again, this time in pain as he managed to hit the same spot once more. Lining it up perfectly with the intention of weakening her craft’s integrity. Ghost turned the gauge of the painkillers up before letting the Mercury Three fall into a nose dive. The ship followed just as she had expected. The B-pilot waited, watching with careful eyes and hiccupping breaths before another ship made its way into her path. She didn't have time to see what it was, only if it was ally or not, which it definitely wasn’t. She turned the Mercury Three ever so slightly, grazing past the other ship in her streamlined craft in a way she was sure the other fighter couldn't accomplish. Ghost pulled back, bringing the front of her ship up in a sudden climb just as the enemy crashed into the ship she had flew past full on. Ghost watched as both ships exploded and burst into silent flame. Pieces from each craft forced outward like fireworks. The teen watched with a soft gasp, unable to make herself deny the beauty of it. “Wow,” she whispered eyes wide. She raised a hand to push back her visor, getting the full effect of the impact through the windowed roof of the Mercury Three. “Ghost?!” Angel’s worried cry cut through the younger pilot’s reverence. “I’m fine,” Ghost replied; all childhood wonder erased from her voice. “Status?” The comm channel switched suddenly, but no words came in over the speaker. Only a bell to tell them to head back; It was over for now.