The Orwellian Future of Reproductive Rights 

Abortion is a controversial topic, with its opponents believing that it equates to murder and its proponents believing that it is a basic human right. There are multiple ways to explain why abortion is necessary, but let us start with this: Women die giving birth to children. The whole process of giving birth is extremely intense and puts an intense amount of strain on the women’s body – enough to kill them – making childbirth extremely dangerous. The act of raising a child is long and expensive, especially in America. Hospital visits can cost tens of thousands of dollars, with or without insurance, not to mention the cost of baby supplies. If a ten-year-old girl wanted to adopt a baby, would you let her do it? No, of course not. This (hypothetical) girl does not have the money to take care of it and she knows nothing about taking care of a newborn baby. But what if she was raped and impregnated? Would you make her carry it to term, only so she could face strain on her body that has killed thousands of full grown women since human existence? Would you cram her head with knowledge of raising a child when she will soon face the academic burden of higher education? At what point does this go too far? Not to mention the stigma surrounding young mothers, teenage mothers, and single mothers? What would people think of that ten-year-old mother? There is no reset button, no undo button to save her now. But this could have been prevented, so many months ago, with one of the most controversial medical procedures today: Abortion. 

 With Roe v. Wade overturned last June, many states have immediately turned to taking advantage of the situation, banning several (if not all) forms of abortion, with little to no exception. But what is Roe v. Wade? In 1973, Norma McCorvey, a mother of two, was pregnant with her third child and wanted an abortion. However, she lived in Texas, where abortion was illegal except to save the mother’s life. With her attorneys, Sarah Weddington and Linda Coffee, and under the pseudonym of “Jane Roe,” she won her case over her local district attorney, Henry Wade, stating that Texas’s abortion rules were unconstitutional. Furthermore, in 1973, the Supreme Court issued a decision holding that there is a due “right to privacy,” protecting women’s right to abortion. And so it was, for many years, until last June, when Roe v. Wade was overturned. With many states leaping to take advantage of it, many worry for the future of reproductive rights and compare it to Margaret Atwood’s dystopian novel, The Handmaid’s Tale. From standpoints literary, moral, political, and historical, it is impossible to deny reproductive freedoms for women and other people with uteruses without having unconscionable foundations.  

Passages: 

Offred narrates: “But a chair, sunlight, flowers: these are not to be dismissed. I am alive, I live, I breathe, I put my hand out, unfolded, into the sunlight. Where I am is not a prison but a privilege, as Aunt Lydia said, who was in love with either/or.”

Atwood’s dystopian novel depicts a future America, where inalienable rights are taken away and women are objectified and only hold value through their fertility and spouse, and everyone lives under control of Christian extremists. Throughout the novel, there are many aspects of life that are notably oppressive, such as the restriction of several rights, abilities, and freedoms of women. One important thing to note is the obvious: this is a dystopian novel taking place in the U.S., and that the country was taken over by Christian extremists, transforming the country into a strict and cruel civilization shaped with patriarchy, constantly oppressing any who dare speak out against the society, renaming it Gilead, which is shocking, because no one has ever really written about a country as ‘progressive’ as the U.S. in a sort of Orwellian way. Though the novel doesn’t openly advocate abortion, it advocates reproductive rights by showing how women’s bodies are constantly in control by their male counterparts, doctors, and lawmakers. We see this when the main character, Offred, acts as narrator, guiding the readers through the basic “do’s and don’ts” of living. We learn that abortion, along with other procedures relating to women’s bodily anatomy when it comes to pregnancy is not only illegal and banned, but one could go through severe torture and eventually death just for speaking of it. 

Throughout the novel, you start to see where so many basic rights and abilities such as freedom of speech and the ability to use talk with others are taken away, and it makes you realize the power they hold. One of which is the ability to have and use your own name. As described in the novel, the main character’s name, Offred, used to be June, but it was changed when the country was taken over. Similarly, the woman she works for, Serena Joy, was renamed, with her original name being Pam, along with other female characters in the novel – one starts to see how every female character is renamed, but nothing is changed about the men. Our name is a part of who we are and is often the first thing others know about us. Being able to use one’s own name is important and underestimated. 

Additionally, the right to free speech is especially important and easy to forget about, but its absence in the setting of the novel is especially noticeable. Any word heard against the country, legal system, or society would lead to harsh physical punishment, adding to the sort of dystopian, Orwellian theme. Like our country today, both governments have found ways to ban abortion, and many states have gone out of their way to eliminate abortion in its entirety, severely punishing those who go through or assist the procedure more then those who commit much more drastic crimes such as rape or child molestation. According to the New York Times article, “Inside the Extreme Effort to Punish Women for Abortion,” “Even as those in the anti-abortion movement celebrate their nation-changing Supreme Court victory, there are divisions over where to go next. The most extreme, like Mr. Durbin, want to pursue what they call “abortion abolition,” a move to criminalize abortion from conception as homicide, and hold women who have the procedure responsible — a position that in some states could make those women eligible for the death penalty. That position is at odds with the anti-abortion mainstream, which opposes criminalizing women and focuses on prosecuting providers.” Eligible for the death penalty. What if the abortion was utilized because of the high risk of death to the carrier? There are even those who seek miscarriages to be labeled as murder and punishable. Which is more valuable: the life of an unborn child or the life of a fully grown child and adult? 

With people like Durbin placing such high importance and specified personification on fetuses, some people fight back with the argument that if a fetus were to be valued as much as a grown human, they should also have rights and insurance. In the article “If a fetus is a person, it should get child support, due process and citizenship” from the Washington Post, assistant Professor at Washington and Lee University School of Law Carliss Chatman makes points of what possible rights and events could happen if a fetus was viewed as equal as a person.  For instance, take their statement that “When a state grants full personhood to a fetus, should they not apply equally? For example, should child support start at conception? Every state permits the custodial parent — who has primary physical custody of the child and is primarily responsible for his or her day-to-day care — to receive child support from the noncustodial parent. Since a fetus resides in its mother, and receives all nutrition and care from its mother’s body, the mother should be eligible for child support as soon as the fetus is declared a person —” and “And what about deportation? Can a pregnant immigrant who conceived her child in the United States be expelled? Because doing so would require deporting a U.S. citizen.” Elaborating on the topic of deportation, Chatman points out that if one were to determine the citizenship of a fetus, they would have to look to section 1 of the 14th Amendment, which declares that “All persons born or naturalized in the United States and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside.” She further points out that the term born was not defined by the writers, and that they must have meant the dictionary definition of the word, of which was “to be brought forth by birth.” One’s birthday is celebrated on the yearly anniversary of their being born, as in the day their mother gave birth to them, not the day they were a fetus. “But in states with abortion bans, born takes on a new meaning. Now legislatures assign an arbitrary time during gestation to indicate when life, personhood and, presumably, the rights that accompany these statuses take hold. This grant of natural personhood at a point before birth brings application of the 14th Amendment into question and may thus give a fetus citizenship rights — but only in those states.” Chatman points out yet another detail overlooked by the Supreme Court in their decision to overturn Roe v. Wade; because of the grant of natural personhood (and presumably, the rights that come with it) that a fetus is given by the lawmakers banning abortion, the application of the 14th Amendment comes under question and may possible allow said fetus to have citizenship. A newborn infant born in the U.S. is granted citizenship, but a fetus? This is something without a conscience; something unaware of its very existence. A line has to be drawn deciding when a person is considered a citizen, a line that doesn’t quite exist and is being exploited by lawmakers. 

With lawmakers and citizens seeking to penalize and label miscarriage as murder (even though miscarriages are not preventable and often happen without warning), there is a strikingly similar tone in The Handmaid’s Tale. In the novel, old women and infertile women are sent to enclosed states where they handle chemical materials without protective gear, allowing them to die due to the amount of radiation they are exposed to, making it a sort of extended death sentence. Those women are called the Unwomen, and it’s not just the old or infertile that are sent there. If a Handmaid miscarries, she has a chance of becoming an Unwoman, forced out and exposed to radiation. Though the novel was published over 35 years ago in 1985, the eerily similar thought process and beliefs of the religious extremists of the antagonists and location in the United States to the Supreme Court’s turnover of Roe v. Wade and its unfolding aftermath today could be seen as a foreshadowing of what’s next to come for abortion rights. In January of 2020, Britteny Poolaw, a then-19-year-old Native American from Oklahoma, arrived at Comanche County Memorial Hospital after suffering a miscarriage at home a little over 4 months into her term. According to the affidavit given by the detective who had interviewed her, Poolaw told the hospital staff that she had recently used marijuana and methamphetamine, which was then added to the list of factors contributing to the cause of miscarriage, a list which also contained congenital abnormality and placental abruption. She was arrested on account of first degree manslaughter and since she couldn’t afford the $20,000 bail, she had waited over a year and a half for her trial, which took place in October of 2021 and lasted one day. According to the local news station at the court, an expert witness had testified that the use of methamphetamine may not have been the main cause of miscarriage, but after debating for less than three hours, the jury found her guilty, and she was sentenced to four years of prison.

It is important to recognize the other contributing factors of the abortion, notable ones which were congenital abnormality and placental abruption. According to the World Health Organization, “An estimated 6% of babies worldwide are born with a congenital anomaly, resulting in hundreds of thousands of associated deaths. However, the true number of cases may be much higher because statistics do not often consider terminated pregnancies and stillbirths.” Some congenital abnormalities include heart defects, neural tube defects, and down syndrome, which can impact those who develop them for their entire life. This means that there was a chance that Poolaw could have given birth to a stillborn infant, or an infant which might have a congenital abnormality such as a heart defect, requiring expensive treatments that could put Poolaw in debt or considerably worse financial position, given that she wasn’t able to pay her bail and that healthcare in the U.S. is considerably expensive. Additionally, placental abruption could cause internal bleeding for the mother, sometimes requiring an early birth or resulting in a miscarriage. Infants born too early would need to be incubated, yet another expensive charge for the parent or parents. Infants born after surviving placental abruption have a higher mortality than ones born without abruption, and the impact of abruption extends far beyond the perinatal period. Even if Poolaw were to give birth, her would-be son would face a series of health issues, requiring costly treatments that would put almost anyone in financial burden. But the detective’s affidavit also stated that “when she found out that she was pregnant she didn’t know if she wanted the baby or not. She said she wasn’t familiar with how or where to get an abortion.” Examining this piece of evidence, one would be able to deduce that Poolaw’s entire ordeal could have been avoided if abortion resources and information were available to her. Reproductive healthcare is extremely important for those pregnant, and when it’s not available, the loss of information or spread of misinformation could seriously damage the mother or the fetus, resulting in an unfair imprisonment or punishment that could have been completely avoidable had the resources been present and available. 

It’s also important to recognize how race, stereotypes, and the stigma surrounding young and/or single mothers plays into the topic of prosecution of women miscarrying or having abortions. According to the NCRC, “Based on the 2015-2019 ACS for American Indian and Alaska Native population, the median income of American Indian and Alaska Native households was $43,825 – slightly higher than the median income of African American households, which was $41,935. The Hispanic household income for that same period was $51,811. Altogether, these numbers are substantially lower than White, non-Hispanic household median income of $68,785. In 2015, the average income on reservations was 68% below the US average, about $17,000.” According to an NBC news article, “A 2013 report by NAPW and Fordham University looked at 413 arrests and forced interventions of pregnant women from 1973 to 2005. The analysis showed that 71 percent were considered low income and 59 percent were women of color, with 52 percent identifying as Black.” Just by looking at the statistics, one could observe that women of color, especially those considered to be of low income, were charged more. It is no secret that people of color are often imprisoned far more often and harshly than their white counterparts. But why are women so harshly punished for actions of nature? A healthy birth can never be guaranteed, but it seems that lawmakers can’t decide on where the line should be drawn between nature and intentional terminated pregnancy. 

But this is not the only problem. Many anti-abortion protestors and lawmakers go on to harass those who are pro-choice or seeking abortion, with anti-abortion protestors rallying outside of abortion clinics, harassing those entering or leaving, and harassing pro-choice activists, sending threatening messages or even death threats. According to NARAL Pro Choice America, between 1977 and 2015, anti-choice protestors carried out over 7,200 acts of violence at abortion providers, including over 40 bombings, 185 arson attacks, and thousands of bioterrorism threats, death threats, and assault. Additionally, over 200,000 acts of disruption were reported, including bomb threats and threatening calls. These are criminal acts, punishable by fines, restraining orders, and prison time, and yet they keep happening. An abortion clinic is just like an emergency room, and it saves lives. To barricade an abortion clinic is like barricading a hospital’s ER. The people seeking or wishing to consult an expert about abortion are in a vulnerable state, and sometimes, it’s a matter of saving their life, or helping their financial situation. Childcare in the U.S. is expensive, and the cost of raising and looking after a child is a large burden, especially for working, single, and/or young mothers. What anti-choice believers don’t understand is the impact of children on people who aren’t them. In an article by WNYC about the heated anti-abortion demonstrations outside of abortion clinics, artist, activist, and volunteer clinic escort Wendi Kent shares her story of abortion and teen pregnancy. In 1993, 13 years old and an eighth grader in Texas, Kent found herself in a dire situation: she was pregnant. She visited her local clinic for information about her options, recognizing abortion as the best one for her. In her interview with WNYC, she states that “When I went in, I kind of expected for this option to be given to me, or for someone to tell me that it was an option, because I didn’t want to have to ask… That actually didn’t happen. They asked me what I wanted to do, and I kind of suddenly said, ‘I think I want to have this baby,’ because I didn’t know what else I was supposed to say.” She had hoped that the options would have been laid out for her, so she could choose abortion without stigma, but it didn’t happen. Several months later, at only 14, she gave birth to a baby girl. Having a child at 14 is extremely difficult, and Kent didn’t feel safe with her daughter at her parents house. She asked her boyfriend’s family to take in her daughter, and Kent left her parent’s home, and wound up on the streets.

What both Kent’s and Poolaw’s story can tell us is that the lack of information, access, and option for abortions is dangerous, and can result in events that lead to homelessness or prison time. Now, with abortion rights no longer protected by the Supreme Court’s decision, the need for these resources are more important than ever. 

Bibliography:

“Anti-Abortion Violence.” NARAL Pro-Choice America, 23 Aug. 2021, https://www.prochoiceamerica.org/issue/anti-abortion-violence/. 

“As Supreme Court Weighs Abortion, Christians Challenge What It Means to Be ‘pro-Life’.” Los Angeles Times, Los Angeles Times, 14 Apr. 2022, https://www.latimes.com/world-nation/story/2022-04-14/abortion-evangelical-christians-republican.

Asante-Muhammad, Dedrick. “Racial Wealth Snapshot: Native Americans ” NCRC.” NCRC, 7 Apr. 2022, https://ncrc.org/racial-wealth-snapshot-native-americans/. 

“Birth Defects.” World Health Organization, World Health Organization, https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/birth-defects. 

Blake, John. “They Cite the Same Bible and Evoke the Same Jesus. but These Two Christians Are on Opposite Sides of the Abortion Debate.” CNN, Cable News Network, 25 June 2022, https://www.cnn.com/2022/06/25/us/abortion-christian-debate-blake-cec/index.html. 

Chatman, Carliss. “Perspective | If a Fetus Is a Person, It Should Get Child Support, Due Process and Citizenship.” The Washington Post, WP Company, 18 May 2019, https://www.washingtonpost.com/outlook/if-a-fetus-is-a-person-it-should-get-child-support-due-process-and-citizenship/2019/05/17/7280ae30-78ac-11e9-b3f5-5673edf2d127_story.html. 

“Congenital Anomalies.” World Health Organization, World Health Organization, https://www.who.int/health-topics/congenital-anomalies#tab=tab_1. 

Dias, Elizabeth. “Inside the Extreme Effort to Punish Women for Abortion.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 1 July 2022, https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/01/us/abortion-abolitionists.html. 

Goldberg, Michelle. “When a Miscarriage Is Manslaughter.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 19 Oct. 2021, https://www.nytimes.com/2021/10/18/opinion/poolaw-miscarriage.html. 

J.p. “Child Molestation.” NY Crime Defense Lawyer Stephen Bilkis & Associates, https://criminaldefense.1800nynylaw.com/new-york-child-molestation.html. 

Kilgore, Ed. “Do Republicans Really Want to Punish Women for Having Abortions?” Intelligencer, Intelligencer, 29 Sept. 2022, https://nymag.com/intelligencer/2022/09/republicans-punish-women-abortions.html. 

Levinson-King, Robin. “US Women Are Being Jailed for Having Miscarriages.” BBC News, BBC, 12 Nov. 2021, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-59214544. 

“Placental Abruptions.” Publications.aap.org, https://publications.aap.org/pediatrics/article/142/2/e20173915/37549/Placental-Abruption-and-Child-Mortality. 

President, Julia Cusick Vice, et al. “Some States Are Ready to Punish Abortion in a Post-Roe World.” Center for American Progress, 23 Sept. 2022, https://www.americanprogress.org/article/some-states-are-ready-to-punish-abortion-in-a-post-roe-world/. 

“Recent Cases on Violence against Reproductive Health Care Providers.” The United States Department of Justice, 18 Oct. 2022, https://www.justice.gov/crt/recent-cases-violence-against-reproductive-health-care-providers. 

“Respect for Unborn Human Life: The Church’s Constant Teaching.” USCCB, https://www.usccb.org/issues-and-action/human-life-and-dignity/abortion/respect-for-unborn-human-life. 

Robertson, Katie. “Facts Were Sparse on an Abortion Case. but That Didn’t Stop the Attacks.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 14 July 2022, https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/14/business/media/10-year-old-girl-ohio-rape.html. 

“Roe v. Wade.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 5 Sept. 2018, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roe_v._wade. 

“When Healthcare Comes with Harassment: Photographing Abortion Clinic Protests: The Takeaway.” WNYC Studios, 24 Jan. 2018, https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/takeaway/segments/when-healthcare-comes-harassment-photographing-abortion-clinic-protests. 

“Woman Prosecuted for Miscarriage Highlights Racial Disparity in Similar Cases.” NBCNews.com, NBCUniversal News Group, 5 Nov. 2021, https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/woman-prosecuted-miscarriage-highlights-racial-disparity-simil ar-cases-rcna4583. 

Old Hallows Eve

The spooky season is upon us like a beast upon its prey

Hallows Eve is 18 away

The fall aromas spread across the land each day

Candles burning, witches yearning to take first flight

A croissant dipped in arsenic so enemies beware

Soon costumed children of all ages with take forth into the night

Fairies, ghosts, princesses and pumpkins

Ghouls jump out at you under the flickering candle light

Stranger things have happened on Old Hallows night

I nearly cannot wait, for all the world to be alight, under the pale moonlight

‘Eha

A young woman swam in the sea, suddenly stopping and looking back. Her skin was almost a pure white, and she was watching a deadly scene unfold. She watched the sun sink into the rosy haze of sun setting into the deep blue, clashing with the bright bursting fire not a mile away. If you looked closely, those daunting hazel eyes were brimming with golden tears, spilling over, and increasing by the second, ‘till the pool of water around her was also a shimmering gold, and the angry fire in her eyes was clear, but the overwhelming guilt was even clearer.

As the sun was almost out of view, she called out a deep and mystic call, older than the sea itself. It was a call of utter sorrow, from the aching from the pits of the soul. It was all she could do. There was nothing left.

Less than a week earlier, the young woman, or rather, the young siren, ‘Eha, was in her favorite fishing cove, where she was humming a sweet tune to herself, plucking the tiny bones from the meat of a small coelacanth fish. 

GLUB! ‘Eha turned around and saw a bewildered young, human, woman, looking at her in awe. ‘Eha was in shock. She had never seen a human woman before, only stupid sailor men or her sister sirens. 

Overcoming her earlier bewilderment, ‘Eha grabbed the woman by the shoulders, and swam her up to the surface, where she could talk.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my cove?” ‘Eha asked once they were above water, shaking the woman fiercely.

“I- I- was observing the reef, I’m a marine biologist,” the woman said in response.

‘Eha cocked her head at the new word, to which the woman responded,

“It’s a job, where you observe life underwater, and learn new things that wa-”

‘Eha interrupted her with a snarl. “No! Why are you here in MY cove, looking at ME? Am I being observed?” ‘Eha snapped her jaws menacingly.

“ N-n-no! I was looking at the coral reef around your… cove, and then I saw you… I have never seen one like you… above the water we thought creatures such as you extinct, it’s like… a miracle!” The woman was over her fear now, and in awe. ‘Eha loved it, the attention-loving siren she was. You could see her thinking, and she made a decision in her head.

“I am ‘Eha the siren, and I would not leave you to drown, but you must tell me what man thinks of sirens, and more of this… marine biology. In exchange, I will spare your life, yes?” 

‘Eha’s declaration was more of an announcement and less of a question, but nevertheless, the woman said yes.

“Also… my name is Sophie, just so you know,” the woman said shyly. “Now, where to begin…” Sophie’s voice faded into the distance, telling all sorts of tales, most all of them good to sirens, to please ‘Eha. 

The next couple of days, in between these story sessions, ‘Eha would swim back to her home cove, where the sirens slept, and had feasts, as well as hunting sessions together. 

“…And then, it was said that the Sirens were fated to die if any mortal should hear them sing and live to tell the story. So, once Odysseus passed them unharmed, disheartened by their humbling defeat, the Sirens hurled themselves into the sea and bothered no man ever again!” ‘Eha was telling tales she had heard from Sophie to her sisters in their cove, now explaining the story of Odysseus to them.

“That is untrue and outrageous, that one lowly man might escape us in the first place, and that we might leave for no one ever again! Why do you tell us such foul tales, sister?” Ayca, another siren, complained.

“I-” ‘Eha was shouted over, 

“Now! Tell us another, a good one ‘Eha.” Ayca again interrupted, longing for more of her sister’s tales. ‘Eha’s words spun webs around the sirens, trapping them all in stories of delight, and fear, and the sea. It was as if ‘Eha had placed a spell on them.

Yet, all seemed to be happy and wonderful, but one fateful day, with the oncoming storm darkening the sky with a blanket made of storm clouds, and fog so thick one could barely see through it. But sirens’ eyes were made to see through the deepest ocean depths, so this was a slightly cloudy day to their eyes.

So, ‘Eha waited hours after Sophie would usually come, but her impatient qualities got the best of her. She swam off, in search of Sophie’s ship. She found a huge, lumbering ship, made of some material, harder than wood, unknown to her. The ship had Sophie’s scent on it. She could tell, as a natural born hunter of man. 

Finally, swimming around the sides of the ship, ‘Eha heard Sophie’s voice, and peeked through a porthole.

There was a sailor, and Sophie sitting in the cabin. The sailor had a heavy beard and was noticeably short next to Sophie. The two seemed to be relaxed in the cabin, drinking ale while the rest of the crew scurried up to the deck to help with the oncoming storm. Now, ‘Eha could hear voices clearly, her ears adjusted to the muffled talking.

“BWAHAHAHA, ahh, Sophie, that’s a good one, phew. By the way, how’s your siren friend coming along? I don’t mean to pry, but…” A deep sailor’s voice reached ‘Eha’s ear, with his sentence left unfinished for Sophie to continue. 

“Well, I’m so glad you asked.” Sophie said with a smirk.

“It’s going great. The stupid little fish girl is oblivious, and full of herself, leading me right to it. All part of my plan…” Sophie continued talking, but what was said is unknown, for ‘Eha had heard enough. She swam away in a fury, astounded that Sophie could call her stupid, and full of herself! And, ‘Eha thought, she was most definitely not a ‘fish girl!’

Yet, even being the self-absorbed fish girl ‘Eha was, she forgot about everything else Sophie had said to the sailor man. She spent the rest of the day fuming, as if she had been set on fire.

Coming back to the main cove, ‘Eha told no stories, much to the dismay of her sisters, until Ayca finally convinced her to. After telling a couple of tales, ‘Eha took a break, but was content, and had forgotten about Sophie for a while. 

When dusk had settled, all the sirens swam to the lowest depths of the cove to sleep on the soft sand at the bottom. ‘Eha had laid awake for quite some time, thinking and thinking, until her mind suddenly became clear, seeing a beautifully destructive path of revenge.

She would plant a chøktå in the ship, and watch it all burn.

See, ‘Eha was a fish girl, and very full of herself, but there was one thing Sophie was wrong about. ‘Eha was not stupid. 

‘Eha hatched a plan to set the ship ablaze.

A chøktå was a sort of bomb made by sirens. It was made of shell, with a whisper of the magic of a siren entwined with it. The shell would be placed on a ship, and no matter how far away the siren was who cast the spell on the chøktå, if they said the spell again, the chøktå would burst into siren song, causing all men aboard the ship to jump off, and drown.

Now, this would not work on Sophie, for she was a woman, and a song meant to ensnare men would not do the same for any woman. So ‘Eha decided fire would have to do. ‘Eha would go up the ship one night, and steal a spark from a lantern hanging on the railing of the ship. That same spark would be placed into a beautiful shell in ‘Eha’s cove, and magic would be whispered into its soul.

Soon, ‘Eha had it all figured out. It had been two days, and Sophie didn’t show, so a confrontation upon her next visit was unlikely. 

Coming upon the now moving ship, ‘Eha knew it was now or never. The ship had been stationary the last few days, so now it was most likely going somewhere back wherever it came from.

With the water lapping at the sides of the boat, ‘Eha wriggled up the side, tugging herself up by the crook between the ship and the portholes. Finally, she put her head over the railing, looking out for incoming people. No one was there, so scrambling off and over the railing, ‘Eha placed the shell in a coil of rope, hidden and entangled.

She heard a voice, and as fast as she could, heaved over the railing, and took the dive back down. 

Now in water again, she could feel her tail aching with the relief of touching water again, her scales quickly feeling good as knew, she zipped off to the main cove.

Feeling much better about herself, she smugly shouted, “Gather, sisters. I have another story for you.” The other sirens chirped up, and gathered around.

This time, ‘Eha began to tell a story of her own design, about a princess of sirens, who longed to explore the world of man, but her sisters forbade it. Determined to go through with her plan, she sought out a lone siren, who had been banished years ago for misusing her magic. The story went on, the siren princess fell in love with a sailor man, but he had betrayed her. He pretended to love her, but he lied and married another woman, shunning the siren princess. The siren princess then, for revenge purposes, set fire to the kingdom, while she watched from the water and went back to her sisters, the only ones she could trust.

Done with the story at last, ‘Eha’s sisters looked at her in awe, for this story was more powerful and wonderful than the last ones. ‘Eha truly was a master of words. She assumed they were silent because her story was so great, so she took a deep bow, and her sisters swarmed her. 

That night, she decided, with her confidence built up, she would repeat the spell, and light it up. Sneakily swimming out of the main cove, ‘Eha swam up and about a mile away from the cove and the ship, an equal distance where she could stay unseen by others, but see everything herself. Once there, she took a deep breath, and called out to the shell, starting the countdown.

Little did ‘Eha know, Sophie had also hatched a plan of revenge. Sophie’s real name was Ashley, and Ashley had come leading sailor men to investigate the mysterious disappearance of men in this area. Ashley’s husband, Mark, was a sailor on a ship in the area a couple months ago, where all the men on the ship were found drowned without any signs of struggle.

Ashley had come back for revenge, and thanks to ‘Eha, she was able to track ‘Eha back to her cove. Ashley was planning an ambush on the sirens.

Just as ‘Eha was currently starting the countdown for the fire, Sophie had all her men put earplugs on to protect themselves from the siren songs. Because of the boat above their cove, the sirens next move would be to sing, and kill the potential threats, but since the ship was aware of that, they sprung nets when the sirens swam up, trapping them and tugging them up onto the deck.

Just as the countdown hit four, ‘Eha heard her sister Ayca call out to her for help, and ‘Eha realized that ship had come just over the main cove. Panicking, she swam as fast as she could, as if she was going at the speed of light, but sadly, there was nothing she could do.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

“Help, ‘Eha!” called Ayca.

Eight

Eha was nearing the ship.

Nine.

Ten.

FWOOSH!

The chøktå exploded into flames, propelling ‘Eha backwards. The fire quickly expanded across the ship, and it started sinking slowly, the sirens on the deck shrieking. 

‘Eha tried to push herself over to the boat, but since the explosion slammed ‘Eha back, she was pushed against a rock. Her scales were bloody, and she couldn’t swim, no matter how hard she tried.

And so we return where we started, with ‘Eha bobbing in the sea, watching it all burn, and responding with her call of great sorrow.

The Doubles’ Disaster

Bob was walking in a dark alley when someone came up behind him. He felt that someone was following him, and assumed the worst. He ran away, not daring to look back. It seemed that even though he kept running faster, the follower was still just behind him. What could he do, but look back? There behind him were the unmistakable frown and pocketed overalls of Kate Herentock. He was right to assume the worst, but there was no running now. She was much too close.

“Bob,” she said, “we meet again.” They circled each other, neither daring to make the first strike. The problem, though, was that they were both so scared of the other’s hatred that the circling took hours. Kate had lost the element of surprise, and Bob was terrified. They circled and circled until finally it became day again, and they realized that they couldn’t fight anymore because they would be caught. They both ran off, neither of them saying a word during this exchange since Kate’s first statement. 

Hour later, onlookers stood, shocked. Nobody was sure what to do. The whole world was silent, and in regret. They were not sure if it was good or bad. Kate and Bob looked at each other distrustingly. They looked down. Bob saw a very familiar outline, so he looked up and down at Kate, and below her. The feud had gone on forever, yet he’d never known who it was with. Had he done something good, or bad? He thought of his twin, and now he understood why both Kates wanted to kill him. One was good, and one was bad: just like him and his twin. Except everyone looked at him suspiciously because surely good Bob would not have done this awful thing. Did he do it to Good Kate or Bad Kate? Would he ever prove that he was Good Bob? 

Someone walked up with handcuffs, saying “You have done an atrocity to one of the Goods of the city. We rule you, Bad Bob, and we will capture you.”

In another town, another Bob sat there watching the news of Good Kate’s death. He saw Bad Bob be arrested—or was it good Bob? Who was he? Was he the good one, or the bad one? He decided that he was done with his arguing, and that he would fight the Kates. He had decided that there was no good or bad Bob. It was all Bad Kate’s fault, but she had turned from the dark side, it seemed, after seeing her sister lying on the floor. 

He worked on a new potion. They had always used hatred potions, which he had been so scared of when he’d circled one of the Kates. This time, he put his emotion out into a forgiveness potion that would hopefully do something nobody had before: stop the hatred after it had already inflicted its horror on another. There was another murderer on the loose, spreading hatred everywhere.

In jail, the other Bob thought about what happened. He and his twin had been put against each other from the start by a hatred potion, and manipulation. They each did awful things, and great things in the constant fight against hatred. They both thought there was one Kate. The Kates both thought there was one Bob causing madness. The good Kate thought there was only a bad Bob. The bad Kate thought there was only a good Bob. So they both attacked the Bobs, making the Bobs fight back. This caused many disasters. They also went on rescue missions. Bad Kate’s turned into an avalanche by accident, and everyone thought she was bad. This caused everyone to hate Bad Kate, infecting her with hatred. That’s how she became truly bad: because she was possessed. Another rescue went wrong by the Bob in jail, and Good Kate and the other Bob both succeeded. This caused a massive confusion that spread hatred like a virus, leading to the panic attack that killed Kate. When the Bob in jail saw two Kates, he killed one. But now, two of the few things that could combat the hatred had come: understanding and forgiveness.

Tenderloin’s Six

Chapter 1:

Julian, California, 1875

Fresh hay poked at the inside of Thomas’ butt, as he struggled to put his shoe on. 

“Dang sweet busters, ay Willy how ya do ye ol’ shoe. Coulda taught me?” Thomas asked.

“I teached ya an hour go, ya dinger!” William shot back

“Ya ain’t teached me an hour go, dat’s yesserday!” 

“Watcha sayin’ ya fool?!”

“I sayin’ dat ya can’t do nuttin’!” Thomas yelled, throwing the empty glass bottle on the floor at William.

“Ya chop floppin’ spam tangler!” William said. 

“Hey, look! Some shiny gold!”

“Huh, where?” William said, turning around. Thomas slapped him in the back of the neck and let out a loud laugh.

“You slap danglin’ meat picker!”

“Ya know,” said Thomas. “I want some pie!”

“Yeah, me too!”

“But we ain’t got no gold!” Thomas said.

“Been five year since ol’ Coleman was got gold!” William added.

“Well, why don’t we steal some it ourselves?!” Thomas said. “The Eagle Mine’s got plenny of it!”

Chapter 2: 

“Now dat’s a real dang good plan. First one ya got in a whole dang year!” William responded. 

“Flap it, ya muskrat, I get dat jolly poppin’ idea just four day ago.” Thomas snapped back. 

“Nah, wiz just today when ya flopped dat dang bustin’ idea, ya bootlicker.” said William.

“No, it not!”

“Ye, it is!”

“No, it not!”

“Ye, it is!”

“Shut yer bone box ya filthy muskrat!” 

Some time passed as the friends continued to snap at each other. But now the conversation was on some more important matters. 

“So how we gonna bust into dat Eagle Mine?” William said. 

“Well dat simple! Throw a bunch of bombs inside!”

“Na, dat would just blow up dat rich gold ya meater!” 

“Oh. Den why don’t we just run in and slap ‘em all silly! Then dey all be out cold and we got steal dat gold!”

“Ye let’s do ‘at!”

Chapter 3: 

It was 8 AM on Thursday, July 12th, 1875, and if you happened to be out front of the Eagle Mine in Julian, California, then you would’ve seen two old men, dressed in old ripped clothing. William and Thomas slowly walked up to the front of the mine and stepped inside. It was pretty dark and they didn’t see anyone until a young miner spotted them.

“Where ya keep all ya dang gold, ya gibface?” Thomas yelled to him. 

“Ya’ll don’t look like miners. Watcha doin’ in here?”

“We are miners!” said William rather quickly. 

“Now ya fools shut it with your fimble fambles before I give you a couple blinkers!”

“We just wanna know where ya keep some gold, ya hobbledehoy!” 

The boy looked very surprised by that remark, and feebly punched Thomas square in the face and slapped William. He kept on hitting them until they ran out of the mine, yelling curses.

“Well,” said Thomas, after they got out of the mine. “Guess dat wasn’t a good plan.”

“It sure wasn’t! And it ain’t my fault, ya flop dangler!”

Chapter 4:

“Well,” said William, looking up from the apple pie he had stolen. “If my scientiifick chalky-lashins are co-rect, we need to ‘semble a team for da gold stealin’.”

“Yar, but we might have to flop em’ some of out jolly poppin’ gold.” Thomas said. 

“No, we do not! Alls we’ll gotta do is tell them fools we givin’ em some gold and dey flop der trousers off and we run away wit all dat golds!”

“Dat a poppin idea, now, what bootlickers are we gonna get?” 

“Well, how ‘bout Sunny and the Hornswogglers?” said William.

“Right, but Sunny and the Hornswogglers can’t flop a dangler,” Thomas said. “We need ’em to be able to flop a dangler.” 

“Well let’s go get ‘em and see ya flop bootslappin’ cheap bungle ball!” yelled William.

“Where are dey?”
“Ya know I factually dow no!”

“Let’s check the Hornswoggler Shack, dats der main hideout.”

“Dat’s all the way across town, so how we gonna get der.”

“Well let’s do it ya slap foff-gogglin’ slap wonderin’ meat danglin’ horn bogglin’ belly guzzlin’ sleep chogglin’ bootlickin’ fat bunderin’ foozler!!!”

Chapter 5:

After two and a half hours of walking, they finally reached the Hornswoggler Shack. Sunny and the Hornswogglers were playing cards, which they obviously didn’t know how to play.

“Watcha doin’?” asked Thomas. 

“Playin’ cards,” said one Horswoggler, as he took the deck and threw it up in the air. “I win!” he yelled.

“No, I win!” said another Hornswoggler.

“No!”

“Ye!”

“I wanna play!” Thomas yelled over them.

“Na!” said William. “We gotta get down to bizz nizz!”

“Alriy,” said Sunny. “Woot dar yer bootlickers wunt froym us?”

“We need ya’ll Hornswogglers for dem heist were pullin’,’ ‘ said William. 

“But we don wanna get got,” said Billy the Boy.

“Ya’ll gonna help us and yer gets dat golds!” said Thomas.

“Oooh I want dose golds!” said Jumpin’ Jimmy.

“Fer yer infromattin, I am in charge of dis heist!” said William.

“Ya, but will we ge’ dos golds,” Sunny said. 

“Oh ya’ll will get half of de earnin’s from the hiesteroonies!”

“Fine we’ll take the job,” said Sunny. “But I ain’t doin’ it, and yer only takin’ five of my boys.” 

“Alrightyright, ya slap danglers, dat’s a deal.”

All through the night the boys discussed their heist plans, and they woke up feeling a little dreary. 

Chapter 6:

When the morning light showed upon the Hornswoggler Hut, William and the boys had a heist plan ready. All night they had practiced and practiced until they had all memorized what was supposed to happen. They had the entire day to prepare for the heist. They would leave for the Eagle Mine at 6:00. But first, they had to steal a carriage. Finally, the time came for the heist.

At approximately 7:00 PM, Billy the Boy entered the mine, in mining clothes. William was already there, dressed as a miner. Billy casually walked down close to where the gold was, then he snuck into the gold area, and shoved it into a sack. After William’s signal, he ran out of the mine and passed the sack with gold off to Jumpin’ Jimmy, who quickly switched it with a bag of fake gold and ran behind the mine. 

At this point, people from the mine would be running out, trying to catch the thief. Meanwhile, in front of the mine, Billy was sprinting to the stolen carriage, which had Thomas at the wheel. He tossed the fake bag of gold into the carriage and jumped in. Suddenly, Frankie Choo-Cha and Bootlickin’ Bob screeched into the area in a police carriage, both dressed as police officers. Suddenly, Jumpin’ Jimmy ran out from the area which the other carriage had driven away to, holding the real sack of gold, yelling, “I got the gold! I got it from the thief!” He then threw the sack of gold into the “police carriage” and Bootlickin’ Bob, dressed as a police officer, yelled, “We got the gold and we’re gonna catch them thief real soon!” They drove away, the miners cheering, completely oblivious of what had just happened.

No Emotions

The Sunshine shines on the farm 

The farmer awakes on the alarm 

The birds that chirp, the new crops that were harvested 

The tomatoes and potatoes that got marketed 

The farmer’s emotions disappear

Allowing the new ones to appear 

Which emotions had they been

The ones that were held within, within 

The flowers that bloomed

The people who assumed 

Nothing less or more than last 

Season it was that had just past

The farmer, only one who 

Was indifferent to the new

Amazing new spring’s view 

For the farmer had thought through and through 

For he had no emotions 

For he had no devotions 

To anything but his plants 

His emotions were wrecked as were his pants 

But that all changed over night 

For he had woken up in a fright

What was the emotion he had felt 

For he had never ever felt 

Nothing besides his belt 

That was too small for him 

For he, penniless, lived in hut that was dim

He felt like jumping around 

Up and down on the ground 

For he had no emotions 

For he had no devotions 

The feeling he felt was strong, strong 

He felt like writing a song 

Butterflies in his belly

The girl, her name was Shelly 

As beautiful as the sun

On a sunshiny day that had just begun 

As had his emotions 

For he had never had emotions 

For he had never had devotions 

Utopia

7 years ago…

My routine is quintessential. Nowadays, the word “perfect” is seen as a thing of the past. The word isn’t given much relevance since there is no perfection in our world. However, I would like to refute that point. The word “perfect” is pertinent to me because it so accurately describes my life. 

My eyes adjust to the luminous rays that fill up my room. I sigh contentedly. I rub my smiling eyes with my pajama sleeves and take a big stretch before I step out from the left side of my bed. I dance around my dreamy space humming the song that has been stuck in my head for the past week. Then, I start my valued morning routine that consists of getting ready in front of the shining vanity mirror, heading down the stairs of the manor to the abundance of fruit pastries prepared, and opening the embellished doors to explore my idealistic city, Utopia.

Utopia was the only place I ever lived. It was everything I could ask for. Homestyle bake shops on every block, fully restocked boutiques on every corner, and cinemas in every neighborhood. All of the citizens radiated a glow—a glow that could only be found in genuinely happy souls. The mayor of the city fulfilled every citizens’ needs and left no room for discontent. There was nothing that I would have thought to change. Absolutely nothing. 

Present day…

My eyes adjusted to the sunlight that beamed through the windows. I opened my eyes and stared at my bedroom ceiling. Another day. I had to drag my legs out of my comforter onto the cold stone floor. I entered my uncomfortably large bathroom to get ready for the day. I walked down the manor stairs into the dining table where the food spread was laid out. After taking a few bites of my toast, I grabbed my stuff and headed out the door. 

As I walked through the streets of Utopia, all I could see were smiles. Every face I saw was bubbling with excitement. The excitement that I contained 7 years ago. The excitement that I couldn’t find in myself anymore. 

As much as I tried to bring up that emotion that filled my soul once, I couldn’t quite dig it up. Utopia wasn’t the idealistic city. As I spent every day following the same routine, I started to find patterns. The cookie shops that were filled with the smell of sugar and buttermilk represented obesity in my society. Though enjoyable, cookies had a negative health effect on most citizens of Utopia. The boutiques that sold the latest gadgets, popular pants, and anything else you could possibly purchase, represented society’s greed. My closet and drawers were filled with things that I had little to no use of. It was when my dresser broke that I realized that I too had been corrupted by material goods. The movie theaters that satisfied the children left no room for actual education, disrupting creativity and a passion for learning. As I walked in the blinding radiant streets of my city, I realized how much it resembled a dystopian community. Oh how I longed for a humble routine. 

I soon arrived at my destination. I gazed up at the pure white, glimmering tower for five seconds, opened the clear intricate door, and entered. I walked across the marble floor with my heels click clacking against the stone. 

“Welcome back Ms. Solace,” the lobbyman called out. I gave him a quick nod and smile before entering the dinging elevator. I pressed the 13 button and I rocketed up the tower. I got out and headed to my office. The second I stepped out, I could hear greetings and laughter. As if excitement and joy were fairies, they surrounded me and filled every corner of the floor, maybe even the whole building. I opened my matte black office door and stepped into my soundproof space. 

I heard three consecutive knocks on the door. 

“Come in.” It was my assistant, she came in with a chai latte and a box of sugar cookies. I concealed my discontent with an illuminated smile and ecstatic thank you. 

“You always know what I need.” I happily responded. 

“Anything for you mayor.” My assistant walked out and gently closed the door behind her. I pushed the refreshments to the top right corner of my desk and opened my laptop. I opened my Gmail to see hundreds of proposals for “improvements.” Utopia had been manipulated with the lack of authority and I was going to resolve this conflict. With my cursor I selected all of the emails and clicked on the trash icon on the top right. The lives of Utopians would forever change. 

Peace

In a hot and loud classroom somewhere in Manhattan

Girl in black stares out the window yearning for peace.

Oblivious teacher in a button-up shirt gestures to an image of the 1960s

Students who never had phones scream about peace.

Boy who only wants to pass this class in the back of the classroom

Mindlessly copies down notes about protests for peace.

Student in a hood, head bent, glancing around every now and then

Holds their phone under the desk, ensuring that they’ll never know peace.

Somebody’s phone, tossed to the bottom of their backpack amongst gum wrappers and quarters

Has burrowed within it, if you know where to look, a passionate rant about peace.

Slightly over budget black car outside, air conditioner whirs and hums

Most likely irreparably damaging the environment but for now bringing peace.

Man whose eyes are not on the road envisions his big break, his retirement savings, his promotion:

His name sitting quietly under a headline proclaiming worldwide peace.

Nearly microscopic ant desperately trying to evade the unforgiving, ever-advancing wheel

Cannot begin to imagine peace.

On a date that maybe exists, so far in the future, my god, so far, 

Maya Wang-Habib’s life might not even change once we have peace.

Family Spirit of Thanksgiving

Cooking fills the table with love. 

Different styles of culture lie on the table. 

The scent of turkey and garlic fill the air.

The smell of food makes me drool.

Rushing waves of voices crash into my ears.

I am like a messenger, giving food to the poor.

I love being thankful. 

Being thankful makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

So does my family.