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at herself in the mirror in sweet content. The idea of autonomy suddenly returned to her in a moment of revolution, and the idea of escape from the place she called prison existed as a marble pillar in the palace of euphoria.
Abandoning all trivial notions of her coat and bookbag, she walked out those begrudging doors and practically ran to her car. She turned the ignition with a giddy twist of her wrist and changed the gear to Drive. That sacred car ride became remembered by her as the best she’d ever known, the way that a first love feels. The rushing feeling of self-determination filled her with utter, unimaginable bliss. Listening to “Asleep” by Smiths, she smiled a genuine smile for the first time in days. Life was what she made it, and by god she was going to make it hers.r
Falling Through Air
Alden Wiygul
The sharp fibers of the rope chafe my hands. Rubbing up and down the ridges,
as my body flies through the air.
Splinters pierce me from the rough seat, made just that morning from a broken log.
Wind whistles through my hair, whispering a warm fall memory in my ear. I stare at the elephant plants growing,
my favorite of the foliage.
The tree creaks with every pump, threatening to crack, pop, and snap.
Down, down, down, I go, onto the soft leaves below. The branch gives and leaves me with a new story.
Mother Nature’s signature left behind, taking the shape of a new bump and bruise that stay with me till she sleeps in Winter.
Smoky Mountains
Alden Wiygul
Photography
Bamboo
Ashley Mangus
Drawing—Sharpie
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