California State University (CSU): Open Journal Systems

denDulk, Drew

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Theseus and Icarus Are Waiting | Drew 
denDulk
Characters
THESEUS: a young man, maybe in his twenties, outgoing 
and a little brash. He isn’t afraid to speak his mind, even 
if he isn’t always right. He doesn’t know how he got here, 
only that Icarus was here first.
ICARUS: a younger man, barely twenty, calm and carefree. 
He isn’t as loud as Theseus, but his thoughts are deeper, 
wiser for his age. He doesn’t know how he got here either, 
only that he was here before Theseus.  
Setting
Bench in the open. There is an overlook to the right with an 
implied cli! drop and a streetlamp to the left. Everything is 
white. The only sound is that of wind rushing past.
It is dark. There’s the faint sound of wind rushing 
past. The sound of wind rises before fading back 
down again. The lights rise suddenly, illuminating 
a white bench, sat next to a white streetlamp, a 
long white string tied to the base and stretching 
out into the wings. A white overlook fence sits 
to the other side, supposedly overlooking a 
cli! drop. There is a young man sitting, his legs 
crossed, on one side of the bench reading a 
book. The book has no title on the cover. This 
is ICARUS. He is dressed casually in grays and 
light blues; nothing too fancy. He looks up idly, 
glancing around at the audience. He can see 
them. He smiles kindly.
ICARUS 
Oh, hello. Glad to see you’ve made it. I’ve been waiting 
for you for a while. 
A pause. His smile does not change. It isn’t 
unkind or disingenuous, but there is something 
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about it; something that does not sit right. He 
closes the book, keeping a finger in the pages 
to hold his spot. He leans back against the 
bench, looking at ease. 
ICARUS 
I’m waiting for someone else, actually. Well, I was told I 
was. You can wait with me if you’d like, it shouldn’t be 
much longer. 
He returns to his book. There is a long moment of 
silence, only the wind and the occasional flip of 
ICARUS’s book. Then, footsteps. Another young 
man walks onstage approaching the bench. He 
holds a bundle of string, one end trailing long 
behind him. This is THESEUS. He stops next to the 
bench, waiting for ICARUS to notice him. When 
ICARUS doesn’t look up from his book, 
THESEUS clears his throat. ICARUS startles, looking 
up. When he sees THESEUS, he smiles. 
ICARUS 
You’re here! 
THESEUS 
I am, yes. Where is ‘here,’ anyways? 
ICARUS ignores his question, patting the empty 
bench next to him. 
ICARUS 
Please, take a seat. I’m sure we don’t have much longer to 
wait, but sitting is far more comfortable than standing. 
THESEUS 
But- 
ICARUS 
Sit, please! 
THESEUS relents, taking a seat. ICARUS goes 
back to reading his book. THESEUS watches him, 
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fiddling with his bundle of string. There is silence, 
awkward on THESEUS’s part but completely 
missed by ICARUS. After a long moment—  
THESEUS 
I’m Theseus. 
ICARUS 
I know. 
He returns to his book. THESEUS watches him, 
confused. He tries again. 
THESEUS 
I’m Theseus. What’s your name? 
THESEUS holds out a hand. ICARUS looks up, 
confused. 
ICARUS 
But don’t you know? 
THESEUS 
No? How would I know? Have we met before? 
ICARUS thinks for a moment before shaking his 
head. He reaches out, taking THESEUS’ hand 
and shaking it.
ICARUS 
No, I suppose not. I’m Icarus. It’s lovely to meet you, 
Theseus. 
THESEUS 
Likewise.
ICARUS nods, smiles, and returns to his book 
THESEUS looks around, fiddling with his string, 
clearly bored and trying to find a way to 
entertain himself. After a few moments he gives 
up, turning back to ICARUS. He’s impatient.
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THESEUS 
How long are we here for? 
ICARUS 
What? Oh, um, I’m not sure exactly. Can’t be too much 
longer now, though. I mean, I’ve been here for—  
ICARUS’s voice trails o! and he looks out over 
the overlook, eyebrows furrowing. THESEUS 
pokes him gently in the arm to regain his 
attention. 
THESEUS 
You’ve been here for how long? 
ICARUS 
Oh, not that much longer than you, I’m sure. Why, when 
did you get here? 
THESEUS frowns. He is clearly confused. 
THESEUS 
I just got here a few minutes ago. 
ICARUS 
Alright, I’ve been here for longer than a few minutes then!  
He returns to his book. THESEUS is very confused, 
but he lets ICARUS read; continuing to try to 
find things to occupy his time. Again he grows 
impatient, letting out a sigh and turning back to 
ICARUS. 
THESEUS 
Listen, Icarus— 
ICARUS 
That’s my name, don’t wear it out! 
THESEUS 
Don’t you think it’s rather boring here? 
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ICARUS looks confused. 
ICARUS 
I mean, not really? I have my book, I’m satisfied. 
THESEUS looks very impatient now. It’s clear 
ICARUS is wearing him out. 
THESEUS 
Well that’s all fine and good for you, but if you haven’t 
noticed, I don’t have a book. I just have this— he waves his 
bundle of string around -and it’s not very interesting.  
ICARUS 
What are you suggesting, then?  
THESEUS 
I don’t know, we could talk? Tell each other about 
ourselves? Pass the time? 
ICARUS seems to consider that. Eventually he 
nods, smiling. 
ICARUS 
Alright! Would you like to start? 
THESEUS 
Sure. 
A pause. THESEUS looks like he’s searching for 
something, words or a story. A starting place. 
THESEUS 
I’m not sure what to say or where to begin.
ICARUS 
Well your name is Theseus, you must be a certain age, 
which means you have a birthday. You certainly have 
parents, since you need parents to have a birthday. 
Maybe you even have siblings, or maybe a partner.
THESEUS 
I suppose you’re right. Well, I’m Theseus. You already know 
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that. I’m 25? 
ICARUS 
Are you unsure? 
THESEUS 
No, no. I’m 25. My birthday is March 7th. My mother’s name 
is Aethra, and my father is— 
A pause. 
ICARUS 
Yes? 
THESEUS 
I’m not quite sure. Do people normally only have one 
father? 
ICARUS 
Traditionally, yes. 
THESEUS 
I think I have two. 
ICARUS 
Oh. Well, doesn’t that make you special! 
THESEUS 
I suppose, yes. My fathers are Aegeus and Poseidon. 
ICARUS 
Like the god? 
THESEUS 
What? 
ICARUS 
You know, the god. Poseidon, god of the oceans and 
earthquakes? He’s quite the big name, I’m surprised you 
haven’t heard of him. 
THESEUS 
No, no, I think I do know of him. Oceans, yes. What would 
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that make me then, if my father’s a god? 
ICARUS 
Even more special than I thought! 
THESEUS 
I suppose, yes.
They fall back into silence for a moment.  
THESEUS 
What about you? Who are your parents? 
ICARUS 
Oh! Well, my father is Daedalus, and my mother is 
Naucrate. I never really knew my mother, but my father 
was a great inventor. You see, he designed the Labyrinth! 
THESEUS is startled by this. He holds his bundle of 
string closer. 
THESEUS 
The Labyrinth?? 
ICARUS 
Yes, have you heard of it?
THESEUS 
Heard of it? I was in it! 
ICARUS 
Oh, well me too! I mean, me and my father lived inside for 
many years. 
THESEUS 
I was just there, I swear it. How come I never saw you? 
ICARUS 
Well, probably because I was already gone. 
THESEUS 
Gone to where? 
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ICARUS 
Here.
THESEUS 
Right. And where is ‘here’ again? 
ICARUS opens his mouth to answer, but there’s a 
new sound suddenly, cutting through the wind. 
It sounds like breaking metal, gears jamming 
together, the sound of something very heavy 
falling very far. THESEUS jumps up, looking up 
into the sky at something we cannot see. 
He moves suddenly, striding to the overlook, 
placing both hands on the rail and leaning out 
to get a better look. ICARUS watches him from 
his spot on the bench. He seems unsurprised by 
all of this.
THESEUS 
What is that? 
ICARUS 
You’ll see. 
THESEUS watches as the unknown something 
falls past him, down into the abyss below the 
outlook. He leans dangerously over the railing, 
trying to watch it until it hits the bottom. 
THESEUS 
Was that you? 
ICARUS 
In a sense. 
THESEUS 
What does that mean? 
ICARUS sighs, setting his book down on the 
bench and joining THESEUS at the railing. He 
leans casually against, uncaring of the sudden 
drop on the other side. 
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ICARUS 
It means yes, but also no. That was certainly me at one 
point in time, but now… well, you could argue that, since 
I’m here with you, that really isn’t me at all. 
THESEUS 
It looked like you. 
ICARUS 
It did. 
THESEUS 
But it’s not you? 
ICARUS 
Maybe not. 
THESEUS 
Oh. 
ICARUS returns to the bench. THESEUS continues 
to look out over the edge, leaning with both his 
arms propped on the railing. 
THESEUS 
I think I fell once. 
ICARUS 
You did. 
THESEUS 
How do you know? 
ICARUS 
Because you told me.
THESEUS 
Just now?
ICARUS 
Well yes, but also before. 
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THESEUS 
When? 
ICARUS 
Never you mind. What were you saying about falling? 
THESEUS 
Well, I think I did it. Fell, I mean. Once. Like you did, like that. 
ICARUS 
Right into the ocean. 
THESEUS 
Right. Did you land in the ocean too? 
ICARUS 
I did. Most people do, I find. So, do you remember anything 
else? 
THESEUS 
I remember… I jumped? Or maybe I was pushed? 
ICARUS 
It does tend to vary, with you 
THESEUS 
What? How I end up falling? 
ICARUS 
Yes. Depends on the story, who’s telling it. Some people like 
to make it your fault. Some people like to say you jumped. 
THESEUS 
What people? 
ICARUS gestures out towards the audience. 
ICARUS 
Them. 
THESEUS looks, but he can’t see them.  
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THESEUS 
Who? 
ICARUS 
You’ll see them soon enough. Would you like to know why I 
fell? 
THESEUS 
If you’d like to tell. 
ICARUS 
I would. I was flying, you see. 
THESEUS 
Nonsense, people don’t fly. 
ICARUS 
Special people do. 
THESEUS 
Well you said I was special, why can’t I fly? 
ICARUS 
You’re special in a di!erent way. Anyways, I was flying. I 
flew too high, my wings melted together, and I fell. Right 
into the ocean. Most people assume I died falling, but I 
didn’t. I really died drowning.
THESEUS 
Sounds unpleasant. 
ICARUS 
It was. 
THESEUS 
Wait, so you’re dead? 
ICARUS 
Well, yes, in a sense.
THESEUS 
You keep saying that! 
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ICARUS 
Saying what?
THESEUS 
“In a sense.” It doesn’t mean anything. You keep saying it, 
but it doesn’t clarify anything!  
ICARUS 
Well maybe I don’t want to clarify anything. 
THESEUS 
Ok, fine. You’re dead. Does that mean I’m dead? 
ICARUS 
Well—
THESEUS 
Don’t say “in a sense.” 
ICARUS 
Fine. You’re only most of the way dead.  
THESEUS 
And what does that mean for me? 
ICARUS 
It means you have choices. Options. Not many, but options 
nonetheless. 
THESEUS 
Well, what are they? 
ICARUS 
I can’t tell you that. 
THESEUS 
Why not? 
ICARUS 
It’s not my place. 
THESEUS 
Gods, you are the most unhelpful person I have ever met! 
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THESEUS stalks over to ICARUS, grabbing his 
book and tossing it over the overlook and o! 
the cli!. ICARUS watches it go, looking sad. 
ICARUS 
Well, now you’ve made your choice. 
THESEUS forgets his anger, suddenly taken 
aback. 
THESEUS 
Have I? 
ICARUS 
One of them. 
THESEUS 
Well what do I do now? 
ICARUS 
Your string. 
THESEUS 
Yes? 
ICARUS 
Can I see it? 
THESEUS cautiously hands over his bundle of 
string. ICARUS examines it, winding it between 
his fingers a few times before handing it back, 
seeming satisfied. 
ICARUS 
It will do. 
THESEUS 
It will do for what? 
ICARUS 
For a guide, like before. 
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THESEUS 
Before? 
ICARUS 
Never mind. Do you want to try again? 
THESEUS 
Try again? 
ICARUS 
Do you want a second chance? A restart? Would you like 
to try again? 
THESEUS 
Oh. Is that an option? 
ICARUS 
Here, yes. With me, yes. 
THESEUS 
Then—yes, I’d like to try again. 
ICARUS 
Good. 
ICARUS stands, crossing to the streetlamp. He 
swings around it once, neatly removing the 
string that’s currently tied to the base as he 
goes. He walks back to THESEUS, holding out the 
end of the string. 
ICARUS 
Tie this to the lamppost. As long as this is tied tightly and 
you hold on to your bundle, you won’t get lost. 
THESEUS does what he’s told. Once he’s done, 
he turns back to ICARUS, who has moved back 
to the overlook.  
THESEUS 
What now?
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ICARUS 
You can go. 
A pause. 
THESEUS 
Go where?  
ICARUS 
Anywhere you want. Anywhere the string will reach.  
THESEUS 
And that’s how I start again? 
ICARUS 
In a sense. 
THESEUS snorts. He turns, starts walking back o!stage. He 
pauses. He looks out at the audience, finally able to see 
them. He understands, suddenly. He understands all of it. 
THESEUS 
Oh. Well, hello there. And goodbye, Icarus. 
ICARUS 
See you later, Theseus. 
THESEUS walks o!stage, the string trailing behind 
him. The sound of wind remains, and ICARUS 
stares out past the overlook. Finally he sighs, 
running a hand through his hair and down his 
face. 
ICARUS 
And so it begins again. 
He begins to walk back towards the bench, 
turning back to give the audience a rueful smile 
as he sits down. 
ICARUS 
One must assume Sisyphus to be happy. 
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He pulls a book from behind him, an exact copy 
of the one he had earlier. He crosses his legs 
then opens to the page he left o! at.  
ICARUS 
I would love to have Sisyphus come through here, now that 
would be an interesting conversation. But no, I suppose 
he’s not part of my job. I’ve just got—
ICARUS looks back to where THESEUS 
disappeared, following the string for a moment 
before turning back to his book with a sigh. 
ICARUS 
Well. He’ll be back. And I’ll be here waiting. 
Lights fade. 


English

Theseus and Icarus are Waiting

Askari, Nilgoon

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The Doll That Didn’t Die | Nilgoon Askari
In memory of Mona Heydari, Romina Ashrafi and all 
innocent women who are the victims of honor killings and 
child marriages in the world.
Logline
A 13-year-old Leila refuses forced marriage to confront a 
patriarchal community where powerless women are victims 
of honor killing and child marriages. 
FADE IN:
EXT. ADOBE VILLAGE - AFTERNOON
A dead tree looms in the shadows of the 
desert. Many dolls hang from twisted branches. 
WIND HOWLS. Black dust blows in an ominous 
formation in the air.
MAMA ANGIE (V.O.)  
The Black wedding day has been in our tradition for 
generations. An evil wind that has plagued our girls causing 
sorrow, misery and death.
EXT. ADOBE, YARD - AFTERNOON
A black cloud of dust hovers near the window. 
LEILA (13) petite doll-like figure stands by the 
glass. Brown skin. Brunette hair. Sad chestnut 
eyes gaze at the black dust.
On the ground is the ceremonial spread for 
a reception. White cloths. Rows of chairs. 
Circular tables. An oval display of eggs. A 
Pomegranates pyramid. Circle of Apples. 
Planters of wheatgrass. A fully cooked lamb on 
a silver platter. 
INT. LEILA’S ROOM - AFTERNOON 
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Leila opens the book. She stares at the photo of 
her PARENTS’ marriage ceremony. JAMAL (40s) 
stands next to SOFIA (20s). 
They are emotionless. Jamal has a mustache. 
Sun-burnt face. 
Sofia has innocent baby face with sad eyes. 
Long black hair.
EXT. ADOBE, YARD - AFTERNOON
WOMAN MAKEUP ARTIST (30s) approaches with 
a pink wooden box in hand walks to the house. 
INT. LEILA’S ROOM- AFTERNOON 
FOOTSTEPS. CHATTER. LAUGHTER. SEVERAL 
WOMEN enter. Leila gets scared. She closes the 
book. Slides it between books on a shelf. She 
squeezes her doll.
MAMA ANGIE (60s) weathered old woman sits in 
the corner.
AUNT SARA (30s) average build. She carries a 
bridal dress. 
Leila’s little sister JASMINE (11) enters.
DRUMMER WOMAN (20s) average build. Plays a 
drum. She walks around the room.
WOMEN 1 (30s) is skinny. Mousy features.
Jasmine brings Leila to the middle of the room. 
The women circle around her. THEY SHOUT. 
CHEER. Dance. Leila holds her doll. She is 
immobile. Detached. 
Woman 1 undresses Leila down to her 
undergarments. She’s embarrassed. Covers her 
chest with one arm. Covers her lower half with 
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her hand. Sara puts the bridal dress on Leila. She 
fixes her veil. Makeup Artist pulls out a kit from 
the box. 
MAKEUP ARTIST 
Sit down, sweetie, we’ll make you a bride that shines 
tonight.
Jasmine sits Leila down on a chair. Makeup 
Artist holds Leila’s chin. She narrows her eyes. 
Twists her face. She gives Leila a mirror. Drummer 
Woman exits. 
MAKEUP ARTIST(CONT’D)  
To happiness and joy. Congratulations sweetheart. May my 
blessings bring goodness for you.
She attempts to apply eyeliner on the bride’s 
eyes.
MAKEUP ARTIST(CONT’D)  
Close your eyes, my dear!
Leila stares at the mirror. Tears wallow in her 
terrified eyes. Teardrop falls on the mirror. Blood 
splashes. LITTLE GIRLS CRY. SCREAMS IN TERROR. 
JAMAL (O.C.) 
You piece of shit! I am not stupid, bitch! I know that you are 
having an a!air. 
SOFIA (O.S.) 
Swear to God, I’m not! I’m faithful to you!
(moans) 
I’m innocent.
Leila trembles. Leila blinks. Tears flow. The 
Makeup Artist wipes Leila’s tears with her 
fingertips.
MAKEUP ARTIST 
I can’t do your makeup like this, girl! Are you scared?
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Leila’s hands fall on her dress. The mirror slips 
from her hand on the carpet. The women 
surround Leila. Jasmine rubs her back. Woman 
1 gives her a towel. Mama Angie stares at Leila 
with a pipe in her hand. 
MAMA ANGIE  
I know you hate this situation, but every girl in this village will 
end up like this.
She smokes the pipe. 
MAMA ANGIE(CONT’D)  
Look at me, and you will see the past and future.
AUNT SARA 
What else is there besides being a good wife and mother 
to your man?
Leila is angry. 
WOMEN 1
(whispers to Leila) 
After the vow, you will love him and he will conquer your 
heart.
LEILA 
(trembles)
My mother said that these promises are all lies. I don’t 
want him. I don’t want this marriage. I will be killed like my 
mother.
The Makeup Artist ignores Leila. CROWD VOICES 
APPROACH from outside. MUSIC RISES. Jasmine 
looks out the window.
JASMINE 
The groom is here! 
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Sara approaches the window. Leila turns with a 
worried look. 
EXT. YARD - AFTERNOON
THE GROOM (40s) enters the yard. Grey-black 
hair. Grim facial expression. A grey gown. Loose 
pants. Black vest aligned with rubies. Head 
scarf. Pointed black sandals. He carries a tray 
with a brown wooden box. 
Jamal greets the groom. Shakes his hand. The 
groom kisses Jamal’s shoulder. Takes a box from 
the tray. He opens to reveal the gold coins. 
Jamal smiles.
INT. LEILA’S ROOM - AFTERNOON 
Leila is distressed.
LEILA
(shrill voice)
This man is as old as my father! I could be his daughter. I 
don’t want to marry him.
MAMA ANGIE 
You can’t deny our traditions. 
AUNT SARA 
Don’t be like your mother!
MAMA ANGIE  
A rebellious woman will never survive here.
JASMIN 
So what if she says no?
MAKEUP ARTIST  
Shut up! Let me finish my work.
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LEILA
(angry)
I don’t want to be like you all. 
WOMAN 1 
Did you really think you could fight this?
LEILA 
I want to see the white wind that my mother always told 
me about it.
JASMIN  
One day, a white wind will blow and purify the darkness 
of this oppressive force that stains this beautiful world with 
bloodshed.
Women stare at Leila with fear. Their faces 
contort. SHIVERS.
EXT. YARD - SUNSET
Leila stands by the window. Guests enter the 
yard with a  
MASTER OF CEREMONIES (70s). He goes to the 
altar. MUSIC PLAYS. The guests congratulate 
Jamal. Some shake hands with the groom. Both 
men go to the altar to wait for the bride.
GROOM 
Why doesn’t she come?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES
(to Jamal)
Tell the bride to come so we can start the ceremony.
Jamal looks at the window. Leila stares at 
Jamal. Shakes head. Runs from the window. 
GUEST CHATTER. Jamal moves towards the 
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house angry.
INT. LEILA’S ROOM - SUNSET
Leila sees the red-black wind dust on the 
horizon. Clusters circulate towards the village. 
Leila smiles.
INT. HALLWAY - SUNSET
Jamal KNOCKS on the door. Sara comes out. 
JAMAL 
I don’t want to hear anything. Just get her to come out.
Mama Angie comes to the front door.
MAMA ANGIE  
You go! I’ll bring her. 
EXT. YARD - SUNSET
Leila enters with her doll in hand. The women 
walk behind her. The guests HOOT. PLAY 
INSTRUMENTS.
Leila looks at the crowd. She pauses. Jamal 
stands next to the Groom. 
Leila pulls the veil from her head. Flings it to the 
ground. CROWD GASPS.
BLACK-RED DUST WINDS CONJURE. The guests 
are bewildered. They cover their eyes. Stand 
crouched over. 
Mama Angie smiles. Sara grins. Close their eyes. 
CHATTER. 
Leila drops her doll. A split down the doll’s chest. 
A WHITE DUST GUSHES OUT. BLACK-RED WINDS 
MORPH INTO WHITE DUST. 
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The men at the altar are angry. All women circle 
around Leila. THE WOMEN STOMP. 
WOMEN
(chant)
Woman, Life, Freedom...Woman, Life, Freedom...Woman, 
life, freedom....
EXT. OUTSIDE OF A VILLAGE - SUNSET
A distant view of a village. A live tree. The dolls 
drop from the branches. WHITE WIND HOWLS. 
Leila’s doll stands upright.
FADE TO BLACK:
CAPTION: Honor killings and child marriages occur in many 
parts of the world but are only widely reported in the 
Middle East, Asia, Africa, and South America. Historically, 
honor killings were common in Southern Europe, Canada, 
and the United States. In 2020, an estimated 47,000 women 
and girls worldwide were killed by their intimate partners 
or other family members. This film is dedicated to the 
victims of honor killings and child marriages to broadcast 
the universal message of discrimination, abuse, and 
mistreatment of women that has been covered up with 
silence.


The Doll That Didn’t Die

Ahern, Sean

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We used to know 
the gray road owns 
the fearless monsoon sky 
heavy with unbroken lies.
We used to know the white metal van 
with fiberglass seats overheats 
as the boys in the back dodge bottles of urine 
while they played Nintendo.
We used to know the frozen dance of cacti 
that hope for rain, we shot them 
while chewing the fuck out of Juicy Fruit, 
our little lead seeds loved to sow the soil.
We used to know the smell of gasoline-soaked shorts 
and the name of every roadside jerky, 
we licked our fingers for the taste of money 
painted like the canyons by atomic testing.
We used to know the mirages of ancient cities 
seen through the roll-up windows, 
where you can ask for anything 
as long as you don’t pray to Gods too hard.
We used to know the radio sage 
spitting phrases from his glass knife, 
we sing-along about sipping on black haze sugar, 
pocket change and faith.
We used to know the cowboy summer 
sweat as we lifted cinder blocks 
until the cans were empty and we were fisheyed, 
we traded it for dog tags, health plans, 401ks.
We know the open road 
promises to never end, 
we’ll burn till the tank is empty 
and sworn shut like an old rusty heart.
The Saints of Juicy Fruit | Sean Ahern


The Saints of Juicy Fruit

VanDomelen, Brianna

Sailing Off The Edge of The World

Valencia, Michael

Plagiarized Corpus

Flores, Anthony

Manor de Invierno

Thompson, India

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Weeping Over Words | India Thompson
Poetry is a dying. 
The poor guy is mangled, 
beaten, and abused. 
Words twisted, bleeding 
black ink in a cold, dark place. 
He is screaming for someone 
and although several hear it, 
that’s not what Poetry wants. 
Poetry doesn’t just want people to 
hear him scream. 
He wants to reach those 
who will bother to listen 
and sympathize with his agony 
even if it’s too late 
to save him. 
Too bad those few 
are all but gone. 
Poetry wants a revolution.  
Poetry wants to be born again. 
Poetry wants a voice.  
Poetry screams for the fallen.  
Poetry begs for the broken hearted. 
Poetry longs for those pained beyond 
 belief. 
How curious it is, 
that writers still exist 
in a world where 
no one reads. 
Why would anyone bother 
to be great at something 
that no one 
cares about? 
181
NR
Tho
m
p
so
n
Why would they pour their hearts out, 
weeping over words they themselves 
scribbled over paper,  
typed into documents, 
painted onto walls, 
only 
for them to be glanced at 
by others and 
dismissed; 
disregarded as some 
unimportant detail?
A writer is like a pianist, 
practicing and practicing, 
fingers dancing over black and white.
This pianist produces 
brilliant scales 
and cadences 
and arpeggios.
He works to be faster and faster, 
studying piece after piece, 
only 
to convey all of his hard work 
to an empty concert hall.
Why does the pianist still practice? 
Why does the writer still write? 
And why does Poetry keep screaming? 
Poetry died screaming 
in the alley: 
bloodied, 
tired, 
ragged, 
su!ering, 
but thankful for the few 
who bothered 
to listen. 
18
2
Th
o
m
p
so
n
The writers 
read 
and reread 
their work: 
erase, 
revise, 
re-word, 
repeat. 
Then they write 
themselves 
to tears again. 
The pianist 
plays  
to the empty 
hall 
only 
to retire 
and sit 
at his own 
piano 
and practice 
some more  
until his fingers 
cramp 
and ache, 
and he knows 
every note 
by heart. 
Poetry’s scream still echoes 
in the ally 
to the poets, 
to the musicians, 
to the artists, 
to the fallen, 
to the broken hearted, 
to those pained beyond 
 belief; 
to the dreamers 
who won’t stop dreaming. 
I hope they all listen. 
I hope they all mourn. 
183
NR
Tho
m
p
so
n
I hope they all see 
this new world 
without Poetry,
and I hope they scream too.  


Weeping Over Words

Tillis, Jake

Valley Dolls

Benitez, Jeanette

Abandonment

Vallejo, Daniel

13
Day 1- They told me I have 2 months. I don’t know what to even 
write. I’m only doing this because they said it would help me. 
It won’t. They think I’m sad or something, but I’m not. Every-
one I knew already left me so why would I care that I’m go-
ing away soon. I always hated them for that. Assholes. I doubt 
they’d care. What else am I even supposed to say? This was a 
stupid fucking idea.
Day 2- I woke up today. Brushed my teeth. Didn’t bother to get 
dressed. Stayed home. That’s it. Later.
Day 8- I forgot to write the past few days. Just been mindless-
ly watching TV. Couldn’t even tell you what shows they were, I 
fell asleep through half of them. I see the doctor tomorrow. 
Maybe things will change. I doubt it.
Day 9- Nothing changed. Bye.
Day 28?- I’m still here. I stopped writing because I can’t see 
who this is for. Nobody’s going to read it. Not even me in a 
few months. So why would I bother? Though, I guess it gives me 
something to do. Funny how little time I have here, yet noth-
ing to spend it on. Figures. I tried writing poetry, but I suck 
ass. The only thing I’ve written so far is: 
“The morning dew of the wilting !ower
Are tears for the incapacity to bloom once more”
 Had to pull a thesaurus for that one. It’s probably why I 
never passed English higher than a C. 
Day 30 (I guess)-  I haven’t eaten much today. I used to 
eat like a pig before. Now, I eat like a flower that hasn’t 
 2 MONTHS
DANIEL VALLEJO
14
had sunlight in weeks. All my favorite foods don’t taste the 
same anymore. Shrimp tastes too crunchy, pizza is too greasy, 
burgers are too fat, tacos too dry. Something happened to them. 
So, I’ve been stuck with oatmeal. Surprisingly, I don’t hate it. 
I don’t like it either. It’s just there. I guess me and oatmeal 
are more alike than I realized. Maybe that’s why I can stomach 
it, though I’m not sure for how much longer.
Day 31- I’ve lost a lot of weight without realizing it. I always 
said I would hit the gym eventually, but I guess I don’t have 
to anymore. What a gift. I look a lot skinnier than I would’ve 
liked but whatever. It’s not like I’m going out anyways.
Day 32- It’s starting to hit me just how much time I have left. 
Half of the time I was given is gone. I’m not scared. I’m not. 
Really. Anyway. I’ve been up all night. Can’t sleep. I haven’t 
dreamt in the past 2 days. Everything has been a black void. 
Everytime I try falling asleep, I get stuck thinking about the 
past. Choices. Crossroads. I think about all that could’ve 
changed had I just accepted that offer or if I just told them 
what I felt. I shouldn’t worry about this since it won’t matter 
once I’m gone. Still, these thoughts are eating me from the in-
side out like maggots. I guess they’re calling dibs early.
Day 33- I didn’t end up falling asleep. This insomnia is what’s 
been killing me. I’ve been thinking a lot of the dreams I had as 
a kid. First I wanted to be a cook so I could make tasty meals 
for all my friends and family. Ironic. Then I wanted to become 
a famous musician. I quit guitar lessons after a week. Then I 
wanted to become a lawyer. I didn’t know how the law system ac-
tually worked. And then it was pilot, engineer, mechanic, art-
ist, and the list goes on and on until I settled something. A 
convenience store worker. I never wanted it.
Day 36- I fell trying to get out of bed.  Guess I’m so skin-
ny now that my legs can’t hold my own weight. I had to grab the 
cane. Now I have to get used to it. Fun.
Day 38- I went for a walk today since I couldn't exactly run 
with a cane. There’s nothing to do out here, so I stopped at 
the playground I used to go to. It’s a lot more rundown and 
15rusty than I remember, but that’s just the way life goes I suppose. The moment I began to daydream, this little girl 
asked me to play with her and normally, I would be upset 
and tell her to fuck off since kids are annoying, but her eyes 
were starry and bright and she had the biggest smile on her 
face and she was super polite too, saying that her mom was busy 
on the phone so she had nobody to play with and I would have 
felt awful saying no so I tossed the ball to her and she would 
toss it back and sometimes she would throw it too high and my 
arms were too slow to catch it in time, but she would hop over 
and pick it up regardless. We played together for about 30 min-
utes until her mom finished her call, and she thanked me. It was 
nice. To be thanked.
Day 39- I went back to the playground again. I just wanted to 
experience that feeling again. But nobody was there. It was only 
me, just waiting and waiting. They owed me nothing. I didn’t 
even know their names. It was stupid of me to expect them to 
come back. But I guess being a dumbass pays off sometimes, be-
cause they showed up again. And we talked. And I smiled. Her 
name was Ava and her mom was Carmen. Ava wanted me to play tag 
with her, but I told her I couldn’t. We played catch instead 
and I talked to Carmen. She practically told me her life story, 
but I don’t blame her. Her life story is much more interesting 
than mine. More accomplished too. Her husband had passed away 
because of an illness, and she was left to take care of Ava by 
herself when she was only a few weeks old. She told me how she 
was Valedictorian for her high school, perfect GPA and every-
thing, full scholarships paid for her college, got her masters 
and was going for her PhD until everything happened. I don’t 
know how she managed. I could barely stand my 9-5 job, my GPA 
was… passable, I got denied from universities (that I couldn’t 
even afford) whereas she moved beyond all of that and had to 
raise a child by herself. She’s way stronger than I ever could 
hope to be. I even told her this and she told me not to under-
estimate myself and she’s sure I’m stronger and smarter than 
I think I am. Don’t really know how true that is when I don’t 
even have the strength to play tag with an 8 year old. But she 
pointed out something else too. She asked if I was feeling okay. 
That I looked pale. But I told her I was just tired and I 
only had the cane because I was recovering from a football 
match. Before she left, she asked if I would be back here 
16
tomorrow since Ava had trouble making friends. I didn’t even 
hesitate.
Day 43- I’ve been nauseous all day. Vomiting what little food 
there is in my stomach. But on the bright side, I’ve spent the 
past few days with Carmen and Ava. She’s on summer break so she 
has all the free time in the world, and Carmen is on a 2 week 
vacation. I couldn’t do much physical activity with her be-
cause of my condition, but I taught her how to draw and paint. 
I showed them some of my artwork from years ago and they were 
acting as if I was the next Picasso. Since Ava’s only 8, her 
drawings were very simple, like a sun in the corner and a car 
as a box with circles, but it really took me back to when I was 
kid. A time where I was happy. I think Carmen noticed a tear 
falling down my eye because she asked me if I was okay, and I 
told her there was just something in my eye. I even said I nev-
er felt better. That part wasn’t a lie.
Day 46- It was Ava’s birthday today, and I was the only guest. 
Carmen told me that her relatives live out of state. She got 
her a small cake with 9 candles and a pinata. Ava had trou-
ble breaking the pinata herself and asked me to help, but I’m 
not sure what she wanted me to do, you know, with my frail body 
and all, so I hit it with my cane, which she thought was fun-
ny. Carmen ended up breaking it for her. I asked Ava what she 
wished for when she blew the candle, but she didn’t tell me, 
because if she told me it wouldn’t come true. Maybe that’s why 
mine never came true. Anyhow, Carmen told me my eyes looked 
yellow. I guess I never really noticed since I stopped looking 
at myself in the mirror. But I guess I look older. I laughed 
really hard when Ava told me that she thought I was 50 years 
old because not even her mom is 50 yet. I’m only 23.
Day 56- I had to go to dialysis again. I hate going. Everybody 
looks at me with pity, like I’m a walking skeleton. The workers 
especially. They don’t say it, but I can see the “I’m so sorry” 
in their eyes. It gets annoying. Anyway, after my dialysis, I 
stopped by to visit Ava and Carmen again since it looks like my 
time is running out. Carmen’s figured out my situation, cause I 
guess having a sprained ankle for weeks isn’t exactly the best 
lie. She wanted to know exactly what was wrong with me so she 
17could try and help pay for any medical procedures, but I never told her. "I didn’t—I don’t want to think about it 
anymore. Maybe if I don’t think about it—If I continue to 
ignore it, it’ll go away". It won’t exist. She doesn't know how 
long I have until I leave, possibly leave that is, but I’m sure 
she’s made her guess because I told Ava I was moving away.Ava 
thought I was leaving because I hate her, but I told her I could 
never, and that I was planning on moving away before I even met 
them. I felt awful, like a doctor telling someone their rela-
tive just passed away. I had trouble looking at her face, my 
eyes couldn’t see clearly through all the water.
Day 59- My body feels like hell, especially my sides. The doc-
tors told me I have to stay here. At least I’m able to still 
write. Only when I’m numb to the pain though. But it’s noth-
ing I can’t handle. Right? I’ve made it this far. I can do-. 
No. I can’t. I’m scared. I’m scared. I can’t anymore. It hurts 
to live. It hurts to die. I don’t know. I don’t know anymore. 
I just. More time. Why couldn’t I have it? I don’t wanna go. 
There’s still so much I wish I could do here, but I never got 
the chance. I took too long, then it was too late. I don’t want 
to leave. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to. I don’t want. I 
don’t. I don’t. I. I. 
Day 72????- I’m still here, to me and the doctor’s surprise. My 
body is still fighting to live. Carmen came to visit me after I 
told her where I was, and for the first time in weeks, I’ve been 
able to sleep soundly through the pain. I told her not to bring 
Ava though. She’s been visiting me after work. She shows me 
pictures of the things Ava’s been drawing for her classes. Her 
drawing skills have gotten better; it’s really cute. She want-
ed to bring Ava to see me, but I had to beg her not to. I hate 
being seen like this, and I don’t want her final memory of me 
to be what I am right now. My body is in such a pathetic state 
that I can’t imagine Ava would do anything other than cry. But 
even with how I look, whenever Carmen talks to me, she doesn’t 
talk down to me like I’m dying. She doesn’t look at me with sad 
eyes. She treats me… normal. She was telling me about her fa-
vorite movies and shows and I kept making fun of her because 
she likes Hallmark movies and novelas. She has the worst 
taste. She tried getting me into learning about sports 
like football and baseball by putting some games on in the 
18
room, but they’re so damn boring. I was half asleep watching 
them. We also had an argument over whose slang is cornier. It’s 
weird. To feel the experience of having a mom again. 
Final Day- It’s nice. To not be alone. I wish I could’ve learned 
that sooner. Carmen’s writing this for me since I’m in too 
much pain to write it myself, so I hope she’s writing every-
thing correctly. Ava still asks about me. She even gives let-
ters to Carmen so she can “mail them” and I can read them. She 
tells me how much her teacher compliments her art and how good 
her grades have been and how she beat Jason at handball and how 
Jenny is her new best friend and how she’s considering being an 
artist. A part of me wishes Ava could forget about me. It feels 
wrong to say, but I don’t want her to feel the pain of los-
ing someone you care about so young. It’s an experience I wish 
I never went through. I forgot to get her a birthday gift last 
month, so I told Carmen to give her my favorite drawing I made: 
a blue flower blooming on the edge of the moon, in front of the 
sun. Thinking about that drawing makes me wish I could’ve done 
a lot of things sooner. I’d also be lying if I said I’m still 
not a little scared. But it's okay. You know, I never real-
ly accomplished much in my life and there’s a lot of things I 
may not be able to get to do. I may never be able to have kids 
of my own, become a grandparent, famous musician or artist, 
feel the taste of my favorite foods again, see the sunset or 
see the stars, visit Greece or Paris or Italy. There’s still so 
many things I still want to do and dream of doing. It’s some-
thing that bothers me, and yet, I don’t feel angry, because by 
the end of it all, I was still able to find them:  my family. If 
by some miracle, I do make it to twenty-four, I’m not going to 
write here anymore. This journal thing – was for a very specific 
time in my life, and I don’t need it anymore. I want to keep it 
untouched and look back on it years later, if I get the chance 
to. But if I don’t, that’s okay too. Oh, and before I end this, 
I was able to finish my poem with all the extra time I had. It’s 
not Shakespeare or anything, but I like what I made anyway:
“The morning dew of the wilting !ower
Are tears for the incapacity to bloom once more
But the sunlight of the brightest star
19Dries it and reminds them of the beautiful blossom that follows”


2 Months

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