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PerfectlyBy Megan Branning QuailBellMagazine.com Lila’s parents didn’t know about this room, with its wet stone walls and cobwebs. They didn’t know she’d come down here; they were too busy shouting. Shouting because Katrina had skipped school again, and gone to the bowling alley with that boy they didn’t like. She couldn’t understand why her sister would want to skip school. Maybe in high school, teachers threw children in an oven and ate them? Maybe they fed them to wolves? Instead of listening to the argument, Lila had gone into the basement, and slipped through the doorway behind the old wardrobe. A hidden and secret door, which she’d found while exploring when they first moved in here. From this room, she could only hear muffled voices through the floorboards above. Katrina’s high pitched shrieks, their father’s bellows, their mother’s creaky crow caw, as if she’d been yelling forever. Lila walked around the room, peered into the rusted bucket with dust and rocks in the bottom. Sometimes she played Red Riding Hood and used it as her basket of goodies. Or she pretended to be Cinderella, scrubbing floors while everyone went to the ball. The yelling grew closer, and someone stomped right above her. Loud enough to wake the dead, as her grandma would say. It had taken Lila a while to realize she didn’t have to go around whispering for fear of waking dead people. They can’t come up from the ground, Katrina had said. All that heavy dirt keeps them in. Lila pretended to be underground in a graveyard, where everyone had been awoken by the noise above. She went over to the wall, pressed her cheek against the stone. “Hello?” she said. “Hello,” said the person in the next grave. It sounded like a boy, no older than her. “How did you die?” she asked him. “A wicked witch ate me for supper,” said the boy. Lila sniffed, proud of herself for catching his lie. “If she ate you, then how could you be buried here?” “I got the last laugh,” said the boy. “I made her sick and she threw me right up!” Lila giggled. She went to the wall at the back of the room, farthest from the door. “Hello?” she said, leaning against it. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Playground FawnPhotographer: Jasmine Thompson
Hair & Makeup: Kasey Kohlhorst Model: Sierra Jones Dress: Rumors Boutique QuailBellMagazine.com The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Walrus Who Almost StarvedOnce upon a time there was a walrus, who like all walruses, was born without tusks. The difference was, that even when he came of age, his tusks never grew in. Plus, he was tiny. At that point, the other walruses accused his mother of sleeping with a seal. She balked and sighed and wept because none of the walruses trusted her virtue. They barked at her day in and day out. Even her husband doubted her. When the walrus was nine months old—around the time he should have already grown tusks—his father waddled up to a group of hunters without saying a word. The hunters immediately speared the father walrus and brought his massive body to their wives to dress. Not a single whisker was left behind. Exactly one month after that, the mother walrus threw herself to the same fate. And so the little walrus found himself an orphan. Nobody loved the little walrus. The other walruses snubbed him, hoping he would die so his ugliness would no longer burden them. Yet the little walrus persevered. With no dignity to lose, the walrus sought no one's acceptance. He ate the other walrus' leftover fish, eventually taught himself to hunt, and learned to enjoy his own company.
The little walrus would sit out on the ice, in the sun, watching the gulls. He would spend hours trying to translate their cries. Other times, he would count the puffins until he knew not what number came next. After that, he usually fell asleep, even if the other walruses were still awake, laughing and playing. The other walruses made sure to make merry close to the little walrus, but not close enough that he might think he could join them. Many of the conversations centered on the little walrus and how ugly they thought he was, born without tusks. They said this loudly and often. Unfettered, the little walrus kept counting puffins. When the other walruses realized that the little walrus did not fear their rejection, they hatched a plan. They dug a huge hole in the snow next to the little walrus while he slept. Then they pushed him in it. He instantly awoke upon hitting the bottom of the hole, but it was too late. The other walruses pushed a slab of ice over the hole, and waddled off. They cackled about how the little walrus could not dig himself out of the hole—not without tusks. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
GardeningBy Beth J. Whiting QuailBellMagazine.com The Knockwood family appeared to be an ordinary family except for their daughter. The parents were starting to worry about her. She was nine years old and had never brought anyone to the house. Layla was a bit eccentric. She was very bright. She didn’t watch TV. She was always reading or doing science experiments. That, or she was saying that she was bored, a phrase her mother heard too often. The science experiments weren’t new to the family. Her father was a high school science teacher. People remarked to the Knockwood family about how brilliant their daughter was. They kept the other comments amongst themselves. How she had poor hygiene. Her teeth were brown. Her light brown hair was hardly ever brushed. Her tiny body often appeared dirty. She talked to herself sometimes. She was a pretty kid if you looked past those things, which few did.
Though Mr. and Mrs. Knockwood were proud of their daughter, they hardly spent any time with her. The mother was busy teaching high school English. Actually, that was where the parents had met—the high school. The mother would have to stay after-hours to grade the essays. The father had meetings, homework to grade. He hardly had time to look after Layla himself. The trouble began when Layla's father noticed the human skeleton was missing from his classroom. At first he thought that another teacher might have borrowed it. But a week went by and no one said anything to him. It was then that he blamed his students. Mr. Knockwood told them that he wouldn’t punish the culprit. He just wanted the skeleton back. The students looked at him like he was crazy. A student even told him, “Why would anyone steal that?” The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
SistersBy Adreyo Sen QuailBellMagazine.com In quietly precious moments, that pass almost unnoticed, except for an unexplainable feeling of bliss, we betray those better beings we are so keen to conceal. Sara fights all the time. She calls her Radha names. She pulls her hair and slaps her till both of them cry. But when the girls, all of them, are dancing in a circle, look at Sara grip Radha’s hand, watch Radha grip her back. The careful looseness of that hold makes me love Sara the way she does not like to be loved, or love: deeply. The hold says: Fly away from me, fly away all you want, sweet bird of my dreams, I’ll come and find you, sweet bird, when you need me. My Sara loves my Radha very much. Adreyo Sen, based in Calcutta, India hopes to become a full-time writer. He did his undergraduate work in English and his postgraduate work in English and Sociology. Adreyo Sen has been published in Danse Macabre and Kritya.
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By Luna Lark QuailBellMagazine.com Luna Lark is an alternative model/actress and director. She loves to think and create. More at LunaLark.com.
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KulturaLuna Lark is an alternative model/actress and director. She loves to think and create. More at LunaLark.com.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Signature Photo Tales GaloreWe'll be introducing new Quail Bell Photo Tales to The Unreal soon. Stay tuned, gals (and guys--we know you're out there!) Don't forget to "like" our Facebook fashion page.
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The Mangrove and the ManateeMany suns ago in a crystalline grove swam Miriam the manatee, a creature often mistaken for a mermaid by sailors. It was not that she was beautiful or had a scaled fin; only that the lovelorn sailors were taken hostage by their own imaginations at the mere sight of Miriam bobbing in the distance. Her eyes became glorious moons and her bald head suddenly grew a long mane. Her whiskered lips blossomed into luscious roses. And so Miriam was transformed in the men's minds.
Miriam, meanwhile, suffered her own case of lovelornness, for she loved a mangrove tree. But the mangrove tree mistook Miriam the manatee for nothing. Everyday Miriam's fin brushed against the same mangrove root beneath the brackish waves. The sensation of the bark's ridges touching her skin made her blush. Miriam had never been touched by anything before, except the water. She had never even seen another manatee, other than her mother, who was now dead. |