The Literary Magazine 2020 - Issue 03 "Acceptance"

Cover art by Anna Claire Raymer
2020-2021
3/4
Acceptance

Note from the Editors
Dear readers:
You will clash horns with acceptance through your entire life. It will
take shape as friends, as family, as truth, as yourself. Acceptance will
sometimes come as a gentle tap, carefully easing you into new paths
and ideals, and at times it will come as a fist, reckless and leave you
stunned. Regardless of what happens, try to accept the better you,
the newer you, the wiser you.
As always, please enjoy the works of pen and paintbrush your
peers have submitted to us. Without the dedication of these writers
and artists the literary magazine would not exist.
LitMag Editors
April 27th, 2021
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Table of Contents
Artworks marked by *
A Sketchbook - Kyuyeon Nam............................................ 3
A Brain On Fire - Bianca Piombo........................................ 3
Selfaware* - Kamilya Kamilova .......................................... 4
Smoke* - Maria Gomes....................................................... 4
A Welcoming Village- Saki Asahina................................. 5-6
Ignorance Is Bliss* - Po Musaeva....................................... 5
Normandy's Sacrifice - Michael Vartanian.......................... 7
Untitled* - Octavian Biris..................................................... 8
A Total Misunderstanding - Riley Welbes........................... 9
Eruption* - Kanani Lawrence.............................................. 10
The Boots - Antal Nagy................................................. 11-12
The Game of Lies - Nhat Minh Nguyen......................... 13-14
Leopard's Curse* - Ariadna Pacholczyk............................. 13
Litmag 2020-2021 Editors.................................................. 15
2

Hope - Samantha Antel....................................................... 16
Until Warm Breeze - Seyoung Kim...................................... 16
Cherries* - by Ksenia Kashchavtseva ................................. 16
Росток Абсурда - Ksenia Panchenko..................................
Pieces* - Hyunjin Kang......................................................... 17
17
Incorrigible Acceptance - Jan Karpiuk...........................
17-18
Oil Paint - Marissa Wolf....................................................... 18
21st Century Girl - Samantha Anthel................................... 19
Accept - Ksenia Panchenko................................................. 19
Flower Oil Paint - Bruno Cassina ........................................ 19
The Day I Die - Ksenia Panchenko...................................... 19
Litmag 2020-2021 Editors..................................................
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Acceptance
A Sketchbook, By Kyuyeon Nam
As my world changes in color and shape,
The gallery of memories expands its collection:
Each moment a valuable part of my life,
Each moment a precious piece of art.
My mind gets its art equipment ready,
Settling itself in its own studio,
And opens a new page in its sketchbook,
Revealing a snow white sheet of paper.
It starts by sketching the scene with a pencil,
Just a simple sketch that captures the moment,
Soft touches and lines of blackish gray,
Conjuring the bright light and dark shadows
in my life;
Then it takes out its watercolor palette,
Tinting the paper with subtle hues:
Soothing scenes sky blue, happy memories
rosy pink,
And my warmest moments, showered in
sunshine yellow.
Vivid moments are portrayed in bright color.
Strong memories that will not easily be forgotten:
Brilliant red campfires, fluorescent green
hills,
And hot pink, the moment of passionate
love.
The background is filled in with soft-hued
pastels—
Sweet moments, washed in shades of light—
And the final touch, the picture frame:
Delicate gold and silver, to match the art.
3
A Brain On Fire, By Bianca Piombo
A short story about anti-NMDA Encephalitis, a neurologic
disease.
The attack had begun. Fear arose in
my body as it rapidly began to shut down
like lights turning off in multiple rooms, one
by one. They crawled in from every corner,
replacing peace with anger, terror, and
violence. I rested my head on my knees, and
curled my body into a small ball; perhaps
it would stop. But the attack grew stronger.
Static noise erupted in my ears, blocking
out any sound that surrounded me. Time
stopped, they had ceased my ability to think
and move, I was trapped; trapped in my
own mind. My own body was attacking my
brain. My palms began to sweat, my knees
to shake, and my teeth crushed onto one
another, barely leaving space for oxygen to
enter my body.
I lost control. My head pounded
in agony, and my heartbeat increased
as each second went by. “What is wrong
with me”, that was the only thought that
briefly waltzed into my mind before being
devoured by an ocean of uncontrollable
emotions. I lifted my head from my knees
and opened my eyes as wide as I could; my
surroundings had become blurry. The light
shadows on the walls caused by my normal
classmates began to move vigorously as if
they were trying to come out of the wall like
trapped animals escaping from a cage. They
did.
The shadows grew larger and began to
engulf the room with the plain color black,
whilst my mind felt as if it were detaching
from my body. I had lost the ability to determine
what was real and what was not. The
shadows grew bigger and attempted to take

SelfAware? By Kamilya Kamilova
Smoke, By Maria Gomes
4

A Welcoming Village, By Saki Asahina
Once, there lived a boy, deep in the forests in The Middle of Nowhere. A handsome
boy, tall, with slick blond hair and glistening blue eyes. His broad stature
towered above almost everyone else in the small village where he grew up. Tense
muscles were built up all across his body and multiple scars of different shapes
and sizes were etched into his skin, which added to his powerful and intimidating
presence. A bow and arrow and a sharp dagger accompanied him wherever
he went, tucked into his leather belt along with a compass, and a few containers
of various creams for quick healing.
This boy’s job in the Unnamed Village was to fight off any dangerous creatures
that came by. Being one of the only young men in the village, his job was crucial
Ignorance is Bliss, By Po Musaeva
5

for keeping the village safe. This village was magical, going back
thousands and thousands of years. It is said that the two founders
of this village slowly came drifting down from the sky, their chests
glowing a cool teal color until they softly landed on the ground
in the middle of the forest. As soon as they woke up, they set to
work using peculiar hand movements and muttering under their
breath to conjure cottage after cottage, clearing the area of the forest
where they’d landed until there was enough to house and start
passing down their knowledge to the generations after them. The
rest, they say, is history.
Being one of the oldest magical villages to still exist, the potion
masters and healers here were far better off than any of the younger
villages trying to hold up the magical community. Safety was one
of, if not the, most important thing to the witches and wizards living
here.
It was a normal day for the boy, casually wandering around the
village borders in search of any vicious beings to fight, when the air
suddenly grew cold. All signs of warmth vanished from the air, the
sharp chill burying itself into the boy’s body before he could put up
any sort of guard. A thin layer of frost covered the thriving trees,
and vibrant flowers started shriveling up right before his eyes.
“Well well well, we finally meet.” A cold, emotionless voice spoke
behind the boy, sending chills down his already freezing spine. He
knew this voice. He knew he would come eventually. The man he
dreaded most of all.
The boy clenched his jaw and turned around, sinking his blue eyes
into a pair of dark black ones.
6

By Seobim Kim
By Alexe Grishakov
By Marissa Wolf
By Seoyoung Kim
Normandy’s Sacrifice By Michael Vartanian
Bullets puncturing my boat petrified me.
Knowing any one of them could end me instantly.
With every blink, I saw tears and soldiers begging to go home.
I crashed back as the boat hit the stones.
There was a loud bang as a bullet raced past me,
I thanked God that it did not kill me.
The scent of smoke burned the insides of my nose.
Knowing that my death was excessively close.
The storm of death was rising, and leaving us no choice but
to jump.
My skinny numb legs hit the ocean floor with a great bump.
The filthy water was deep and extremely cold.
I lifted my rifle, which was wet and old.
With every second, people drowned.
Their yells under water, was the scariest sound.
The level of trepidation was increasing swiftly,
But what kept me strong was the memory of my wife Tilly.
The deep sand stole from us life.
Suddenly something hit me, seemingly as sharp as a knife,
I tripped, wailing with pain as the bullet sank deep into me.
There was me sinking into the deep blue sea.
Beside me lay my dead brother Mark.
Gradually, everything started turning dark
7

8
Submited by Octavian Biris

A Total Misunderstanding
By RiIey Welbes
I have never understood anything my father has told me.
I swear it’s all gibberish. It’s like he speaks in rhymes and
limericks like he has the time to think before he speaks.
I don’t know anyone who thinks before they speak anymore.
But that’s not the point, to talk about my dad again,
I always felt like everything he had to say had something
deeper, something he wasn’t actually telling me but he
was. I just shrugged it off when I was a child but now, it’s
irrefutable. There is always something.
I’m not going to list everything he has told me cause that
would take ages, but I will tell you the one that has stuck
with me for the longest. To set the scene, it’s 1992, i had
just turned 8 years old and my father just returned from a
business trip. He sits me down in front of the tv, still warm
from the cartoons I was watching before dinner. He takes
my wrist, looks me in the eyes and says.
“Always keep your oven on low, you will never know what
happens with an oven turned on.”
I don’t why it stuck with me, but that sentence has been
haunting me for the last 18 years of my life. Not because
of the way he said it or anything, just the fact that he even
said it in the first place. But now it makes sense as i’m
standing here, wife by my side, watching everything I’ve
ever worked on slowly burn to the ground. The start of the
fire is a mystery to me, but I have a suspicion that it has
something to do with the casserole we were making.
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Eruption, By Kanani Lawrence
10

The Boots, By Antal Nagy
The wind was howling like an angry wolf, and the snow was falling rapidly, blocking almost
all of the sight of anyone who was unfortunate enough to get caught in the downpour. Although
it was only about 3 p.m., the sun was blocked by what seemed to be a massive tornado of snow
which made navigation through the blizzard a serious challenge. It was there, in the midst of the
storm, where a group of four young adventure-seekers were making their way through the kneedeep
floor of clear, white snow. Their leader, a young man whose short brown hair was almost
completely covered by a thick, wool hat, wore a pair of unusual red boots that did not look warm
enough to suit this weather. And although his friends encouraged Davis to change into something
more appropriate, he always refused, saying that he had more trust in these boots than any other of
the most powerful magic items. He said they had been passed down to him by his father, and were
called the Boots of Cinders, but he didn’t know, and wouldn’t know, until they would save his own
life. They had been walking for a few days now, and the storm did not seem to end at all. Although
some of his younger companions almost fell into a state of hopelessness, Davis refused to give up
and always encouraged his companions to continue walking.
After about two more hours of struggling, and making their way through the icy terrain
of the Northern Wasteland, the group was finally able to make out tall, gray mountains with
snow-covered peaks in the distance. The mountains stood like powerful titans in the distance, intimidating
almost anyone who was brave enough to make the journey all the way this far. Throughout
the journey, the group had only run into some hills and a few dead trees which only served as
reminders that this place once flourished. The mountains, on the other hand, had been concealed
and hidden away from civilization from the last couple hundred years, and only a few brave groups
of adventurers set out to find them. All of them had gone on the journey; none of them returned.
“Finally!” screamed Davis with great relief. “We have made it to the great Northern Peaks!”
“Quiet brother,” hushed Alex, a man who was a little older with brown hair similar to the one
Davis had. “We do not know what dangers lie within those mountains.”
And as though Alex had foreshadowed it, another group member, a slim blonde man about the age
of Davis named Eric, noticed a small gray dot flying up behind the mountains. Suddenly, the dot
began to increase in size and had apparently started heading toward the unfortunate adventurers.
Alex grabbed his brother’s arm, commanding him to duck down before they got seen, but it was
already too late. The creature had noticed them.
The creature dashed at the adventurers like a meteor, closing in on them in a matter of seconds
leaving no possible chance for escape. As it loomed, large terrifying wings with dark, gray
feathers became visible, and the terror that the young travelers now faced was unmatched by anything
else in their whole lives. The monster had a long neck which twisted and turned like a worm
who was swallowing its prey whole, while the size of it could be compared to one of an adult elephant.
Its claws were as sharp as the finest daggers, and its teeth were like scimitars ready to tear
apart anything caught in the midst of them. As the bird got closer, a large scar became visible just
under one of its eyes, which were similar to tiger eye gemstones in an endless sea of white. The
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ird had pure hunger in its eyes, and it was prepared to lunge at its pre with no remorse or mercy.
Although the folks were terrified, none of them had ever backed away from a fight, so instantaneously,
they began drawing out their weapons, preparing to fight off the creature with all of their
remaining energy. As Alex had drawn his double pistols, and Davis was unsheathing his fine steel
blade, the bird got closer and closer. Even if all of them would die, though Davis, they would die
with honor.
The creature opened its mouth, preparing to swallow the first person it could get to in an instant,
but it was greeted with the taste of steel bullets from Alex’s guns. The bird screeched in pain,
swinging its wing towards Alex, and knocking him down with a gust of wind it created. Eric took
out his staff and swung it with his full strength at the bird, sending a bolt of lightning straight at its
face. Meanwhile, Jacob, the fourth and most silent member of the adventuring group started firing
arrow after arrow from his bow. The bird twisted and turned, screaming as red blood flowed out of
its injured wing where an arrow had recently been shot at. Davis lunged forward with his sword,
but the bird was ready and easily repelled the attack with its claws. Meanwhile, Alex had gotten
back up and had immediately thrown a net over the creature’s worm-like neck. Sensing an opportunity,
Eric had clapped his hands together, creating a thick, dark, wall of smoke centered around the
monstrosity. Knowing that it would have little chance on the ground, the fierce predator had suddenly
dashed up into the sky, escaping another arrow from Jacob’s longbow. But instead of leaving
the dangerous prey be, the bird suddenly began flapping its wings with great speed, sending powerful
bursts of wind straight at the heroes. Little could they do against such force, they were like helpless
fishes stuck inside the fisherman’s net. Knowing that the adventurers were practically helpless,
the bird had swooped down at the helpless Alex, preparing to end the man’s life in an instant.
It seemed like there were not any chances for Alex to survive, not even a single opportunity
for him to get out of harm’s way. The bird had moved closer and closer, its jagged teeth preparing
for one final strike at the skilled warrior, preparing to tear his flesh into bits and pieces. Hearing the
screams of the creature, Davis turned around and gasped in terror as the bird was hastily descending
with its teeth ready to snap his brother in half.
“NO!” Exclaimed Davis as he lunged forward to protect his brother, “You shall not hurt him
you monster!”
And Just when Davis thought he wouldn’t make it, he felt a strange surge of power coming from
his red boots that had been his most prized possession. Powerful flames shot out of them, sending
the shocked adventurer forwards and just in time before the bird got a chance to bite Alex. Davis
slammed into the side of the bird, making it fall over and hit the ground. Before it got a chance to
counterattack, Davis had kicked the surprised bird with his boot on the side of its head. A gust of
fire came out, making the terrifying creature reel and pain as the flames singed its feathers. Not
giving the bird a break, Davis jumped onto his feet, and with one swift blow decapitated it, sending
its head flying to the side.
“What was that!?” asked Alex shocked.
“I don’t know,” answered Davis, “I guess the boots had saved our lives.”
Davis helped Alex get up, and about half an hour later they were already ascending the Northern
Peaks. Although Davis and his friends would have a lot of other adventures together later in his life,
he would never forget how the magical and powerful boots had saved his and his brother’s life.
12

The Game of Lies by Nhat Minh Nguyen
Author’s note:
Please keep in mind that the short story uses elements and events from the real world, such as Operation
Barbarossa and the Abwehr. But, many other elements, such as the characters and the actual narrative are
for the most part fictional, though I did take inspiration from real events, such as the Soft Circle’s arrest.
Berlin, Germany, sometime around May 1941
It was getting warmer outside, as summer was rapidly approaching. It had already been over a year since
France had been conquered. Morale was at an all-time high in Germany, as her armies had only seen victories
day after day. What was to come, would be the largest land invasion in history. And so, the propaganda
machine of Goebbels worked overtime, energizing the German public into full-blown support for more war.
But in the meantime, fewer problems from the dissidents within the Abwehr would help. Better yet, they
could be “taken care of.”
The Abwehr headquarters stood tall and proud as if it were the Reichstag. Though, it appeared much more
like a mansion than the headquarters of a German military intelligence organization. Heinrich walked into
the building quietly, hoping to avoid any conflict. Entering the brightly lit corridors, he would soon spot the
door that he was looking for. Knocking, he heard a grumble, before a man’s voice told him to come in.
“You’re early again, Mr. Schneider. 30 minutes, in fact. Couldn’t you have waited outside or something?”
The man sighed, taking a puff from his cigarette. “Your diligence is appreciated, but would be better
served in the mission itself.”
“I’m sorry, sir, it won’t happen again. And sir, you said something about a mission?”
“Indeed,” The man says, pulling out a particular file marked ‘For your eyes only,’ “Your mission is to
infiltrate the organization of traitors and Allied spies within the Abwehr and expose them so that we
can “take care” of them.
He added. “Oh, and don’t take your time with this assignment. We’ll need all possible agents for the
upcoming operation. You do know what I’m talking about, correct?”
“Yes, sir. Operation Barbarossa - the invasion of the Soviet Union.”
Berlin, Germany, sometime around July 1941 - Journal entry
Ever since my insertion into the dissident organization within the Abwehr, the Soft Circle, I have yet
to hear or see any definitive proof of treason. Perhaps, it is due to the fact that Operation Barbarossa
is going so well. I may need to go deeper. Some of the circle’s members have become increasingly
paranoid, already beginning to point fingers and becoming more secluded. I need to become better
friends with Otto Kiep. It may help me get into the inner circle. I should probably invite him for a
drink in one of Munich’s beer halls.
Days later - Journal entry
What a drunk! If this is the kind of people being brought into dissident organizations, it’s no wonder
they’re so pathetic! After a few glasses of beer, he’s already spilling his guts out. As I alongside other
Abwehr officials had long suspected, the ‘Allies’ have infiltrated the Abwehr as well. And, according
to Otto the drunk, the Soft Circle will be having a tea party soon. With this intel, the Abwehr can
not only restore honor from the stain of the Soft Circle but also find incriminating documents.
One week later - Journal entry
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With additional intel provided by our mole, Reckse, we will no longer need to find any more incriminating
documents, as he has graciously provided them for us. But, the more I think about it, the more I have second
thoughts and many more questions. Are we doing the right thing? Before, the answer would have been yes.
Probably, it was due to the propaganda I had been fed in my youth. These days, I find it hard to know what is
right or wrong anymore. I will soon go to see the new intel. Hopefully, I will know afterward what I will do
next.
Hours later - Abwehr headquarters
“You called, sir?” Heinrich asks.
“Indeed. The intel Reckse has provided is right here,” The man says, pointing to the many documents on the
table. “Take a minute to go over each one, as tonight, it will be put to good use in the Soft Circle’s arrest.” The
man then left, leaving Heinrich alone in the room with the documents.
Heinrich paused, looking over the documents. His face of mild curiosity turned into shock as he learned
whom the Abwehr was going to be arresting and then executing. Women, children, educators. Indiscriminate.
Thinking quickly, Heinrich took the documents away from the office.
Afterward, he tipped the Soft Circle of this plot, hoping that they or at least a few would escape. The war had
already taken its share of blood. It didn’t need more, especially from the German peoples.
Weeks later, with Heinrich unsure of the outcome of the planned arrest of the Soft Circle, he departed the
Abwehr, citing stress as the cause. Later on, he would meet with Herr Stauffenberg and the July 20 plot, in
hopes of ending the war and the needless bloodshed.
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Leopards Curse, by Ariadna Pacholczyk

Hope By Samantha Antel
As I look in the mirror
I catch a gaze
Bittersweet is the flavor of truth.
Brown eyes,
A silhouette.
If I was a painter, creating a woman from
the 18th century
I would accept her for morethan
what she really is.
Could I ever retrieve
My excitement,
Which would turn my fears
Into clueless tears?
I lost her,
Her smile
Her tender soul.
All that is left
are eyes, bright with regret.
I never believed in the existence of her
nemesis
But the victory was not made for the
weak...
“Until warm breeze”
By Seyoung Kim
The shivery time of the year
Is a tunnel towards tender bloom
Lynxes sleep under blankets of snow,
And nature’s crystal reflects Sun’s
warmth
Resting snowflakes soon become dews,
Like jewels hanging from a leaf
By the time lynxes wake up from the
deep dark,
The freezy air feels breezy,
And sky’s cold tint becomes a gold glow
Little lynx yawns
Wishes to sleep more
But hey, a small finch approaches
To whisper,
Welcome the warm breeze
What If the world was misunderstood?
I stole a chance from bravery which
ceased to exist,
I say: The ocean’s strength
Is in its depth
And though the whispers, currents cause
a storm,
In the end, it finds its peace in its unique
form.
Power survives off its strengthyours
lives off your weakness.
She would take control
and embrace her tender soul.
Could I be more naive?
Perhaps not,
But a part of my mind, a wise voice
It tells me:
Sadness - is the truth I choose,
It tells me,
Here is something I could never lose.
Cherries, by Ksenia Kashchavtseva
15

Росток Абсурда, by Ksenia Panchenko
Хотелось мне залезть на столб и прокричать,
“Отдай цветок!”
Но скотч упорно закрывал мне рот.
Но я вскорабкаюсь.
Царапаные руки,
Истекая морским песком.
Я отберу твой голос –
Возмездье за утраченный цветок.
И ты отдашь мне всё своё желание.
Я отказалась принимать существование смысла
И потерялась в бездне слов.
Translation:
A Sprout of Absurd
My want was to climb a pole and shout out,
“Give me back the flower!”
But the stubborn tape held my mouth.
But I will still clamber.
My arms are all in scratches,
Dripping with sea sand.
I will steal your voice –
Revenge for the loss of the flower.
And you will give away all your desires to me.
I have refused to accept that existence of meaning
And got lost in the abyss of words.
16

Pieces, by Hyunjin Kang
“Incorrigible Acceptance” by Jan Karpiuk
The peculiarity of the situation was immaculate;
nobleman Pierre Gascón left the civic
stable in an immense hurry after he realized
that his mansion in the countryside was endangered.
While leaving the residence Pierre
confirmed that Gascón relatives were nowhere
near his real estate, the only creatures
that could have been endangered were his
loved animals that he locked in an old barn
next to the rose garden. On his steed, Pierre
passed numerous tumultuous streets that
were full of peasants and merchants; Gascón
recalled that the city held a ceremony fair to
celebrate the fortieth birthday of Queen Selomonia
the Bloody. Nevertheless, under the
pressure of time, Pierre was not interested in
joyous music, luscious food, and bright colorful
folk costumes that were in every corner
of the town.
Absentmindedly, Gascón hurried his steed
17
to gallop as fast as possible and after a few
minutes of reckless rush, they passed the
baroque city gates and two sentinels who argued
over the price of the bread in the town.
“ I served the national guard for thirty
freaking years Emmanual! I have put myself
on the front in almost every single war that
our cursed queen decided to go to; and what
do I get from my sacrifice? Nothing. Ingratitude.
Ungratefulness. I am unable to buy a
loaf of bread because it is that expensive. “
- Emmanual scratched his head and quickly
spat onto the ground under his heavy military
shoes.
“Natanael. It is what it is, at least the
queen paid for your wooden leg prosthetic.
My brother did not even get that kind of
recompensation, he will forever stay in his
bed.” - The two guards were too busy to stop
Pierre from exiting the city and only looked
at him when he galloped through the gates.
Subconsciously the rider himself had
to admit that it was a pleasant sunny day in
June where trees started to fruit and secrete
wondrous sweet smells that would seduce
more than one man, although not Gascón.
His mansion was endangered and his hopes
to see his beautiful residence started to perilously
fade away; Pierre obtained the information
from his servant that his estate was
on fire, lit by envious peasants who wanted
to rob his property from anything of value.
While on the steed Gascón repudiated his
darkest thoughts about the possible brutality
that his animals could experience, he loved
every single one of them, especially a sheep
named Alberic who Pierre inherited from
his father. Fundamentally, the Gascón family
gained its wealth from rural animal farming
and selling sheep in large quantities to
the King and Queen, which eventually was a
reason for a white sheep being in the center
of the noble emblem of Gascón’s lineage.
Minutes passed while Pierre was galloping
through the forest, he passed the “Ja-

siowo” village which was one of many villages that Gascón owned, a sign that Pierre was not far
away from his home. Nonetheless, his tarnation had to be aired in some way, thus when Pierre
wished to scream on top of his lungs in despair he looked up to the mesmerizing blue sky to
calm himself down. But what he saw did not calm him down, the breath-taking image that he
observed was a harbinger of terrible and awry news that Gascón was so afraid of. The black
smoke was clearly visible as it was cutting through the blue sky.
When in agitation Pierre arrived at the mansion, he only saw a dilapidated and burnt
building that did not look like his residence. He was discombobulated. The oak that the estate
was made of did not withstand the flames that buried it, the most permanent trances of the macabre
were the stones and bricks that were scattered around the property. Even though in despair,
Pierre rushed to the barn in the hope to see his animals, to see Alberic. Old oaks fell over
on the path to the barn but with Pierre’s determination and perseverance they only appeared to
be infinitesimal hindrances that did not stop him from getting to the building.
The door to the barn was wide open while the ceiling collapsed and some parts of the wall
were still on fire; yet a bleat, some type of whimpering could be heard from the inside. Pierre
rushed into the building without a moment to think about the rationality of his decision, without
considering the fact that he might put his life at risk and danger. About twelve steps into the
barn, Pierre found a small, dun and wounded sheep, it was Alberic. Gascón looked over to see if
there were any other animals alive, however, he failed to notice any; hence he quickly used all of
his strength to pick up Alberic on his shoulders and moved towards the exit.
Pierre placed Alberic on a workshop stone twenty meters away from the entrance to the barn,
looked at him, and started to cry. His mansion, his barn, his rose garden, his stable, and his entire
equipment, as well as furniture burnt down to the ground, nothing except the ashes of the
past, did not persist. Everything was in ruins. The heritage of his family was gone so easily.
Nonetheless, a couple of years after this incident Pierre realized that no material property or
money equivalent could replace the amicable relationship with Alberic that he saved that day.
Gascón hardly accepted the loss of his valuable goods but he knew that he could never accept
the loss of his comrade. The understanding of the remarkability and uniqueness of their friendship
gave him the power to accept the mistakes of the past and progress stronger than ever with
the support of his small and dun friend.
Oil Paint, by Marissa Wolf
18

“21 first century girl” By Samantha Antel
As a young, light-hearted little girl
I lived in my own wonder world
Envisaging the future.
Naive, I had my sweet dreams
Which I had a wild determination to conquer.
When I became a teenage girl,
Unaware, blinded by dewy-eyed perceptions
I entered a ferocious world.
The causes of my self-consciousness and timidness
Disliked my views, my looks, my works.
For thee
I was too absurd,
Too melancholic and too vague,
Too weak and too dreamy.
Accept, by Ksenia Panchenko
Accept what is inside of you,
Accept yourself
Accept the rules
Of life and moral ethics.
Remember to accept your friends -
They are the ones who matter to you.
The ones who can accept you too.
And in a world where everyone accepts,
Humanity might bloom.
Deep inside, I knew our perceptions differed,
Yet I proceeded to live by their curse.
In truth, they did not care,
Alarmed, I hid my dreams in a scare.
Subsequent to their discontent
I gave up on attempting to suit their perfections,
Escaping into my wonder world
I retrieved my sincere dreams,
And as a sweet reminder, I dedicate this message
To every dear girl:
The ruinous expectations they have raised
Will never match the beautiful reality you praise.
Accept your world
Your thoughts, your dreams
And let them lead your way.
But never accept,
the face they want you to wear.
Manifest your views and thoughts,
Abstain the doubt.
By the intentions of your heart, stand by your will
Do not, and I say do not,
let them kill
-your soul that is unique.
And know my girl,
That after all your failure and success,
Bravely, you will attain your goal
And become your most powerful
Beautiful - woman,
they could only wish for.
The Day I Die, By Ksenia Panchenko
The day I die,
I don’t want to say goodbye,
Instead, enjoy my life,
Not knowing what is to come.
Flower Oil Paint, By Bruno Cassina
I don’t want to lie,
Tricking myself into believing
That I can predict tomorrow,
Not knowing what will come today.
The point is not to control,
But to leg too,
And focus on achieving happiness.
The beauty is in the not knowing.
Accepting the unknown,
I do not know the day that I will die.
19

AAS Lit Mag Editorial Team
2020-2021
Finn Carpenter
Jan Karpiuk
Javid Mustafa
Ms. Schenk
Mr. Willsea

Back-Cover Art by Anna Benno
Back-Cover Cover Art Art by Kamilya by Dayeong Kamilova Lee