After the Nova Read online

  After the Nova

  An anthology by YA Stories

  After the Nova

  © 2021. YA Stories. All rights reserved.

  Contributions have been made by: Lily Segna, Sophia Stecker, Isla Granger, Emma Le Breton, Midori Mehandjiysky, Aida Broshar, Tealia Jud, Dora Graham, Monika Jozic, Cana Severson, Alfredo Roman Jordan, Jordan Hines, Nicholas Hull, Laurel Childress, Annaliese Ai Gumboc, Abigail M. Hull, Camille S. Campbell, Katelyn Crombie

  Published in the United States by the Unapologetic Voice House. The Unapologetic Voice House is a hybrid publishing house focused on publishing strong female voices and stories.

  www.theunapologeticvoicehouse.com

  Some of the names in this book have been changed to protect their privacy. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other— except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-955090-18-6

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-955090-19-3

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2021949874

  Contents

  A Chance at Tomorrow Lily Segna

  Illustrated by Katelyn Crombie

  Imperfect Sophia Stecker

  Danger Fish Isla Granger

  Immortal Dust Emma Le Breton

  5 Years Later Midori Mehandjiysky

  Orbit Aida Broshar

  The Aftermath Tealia Jud

  Among the Stars Dora Graham

  Vermilion Monika Jozic

  PerfectMatch.gov Camille S. Campbell

  The Pied Piper: A Dystopian Fairy Tale Cana Severson

  The Train Alfredo Roman Jordan

  Dearest Seacat Jordan Hines

  Have You Seen This Person? Nicholas Hull

  A Different View of Dark Laurel Childress

  Cold Classrooms and Empty Promises—

  Observations in Verse Laurel Childress

  Agave Annaliese Ai Gumboc

  Nightmare School Abigail M. Hull

  The Case of the Missing Fish Eden Hollemans

  Foreword

  Being a teenager is one of the most thrilling experiences in the world. Before your eyes, the dreamscapes of your childhood are bolstered by new people, places, and experiences. Youthful hunger is set free to the wide-open world, and you’ll find that there are endless spectacles to behold. In the years between your elementary and high school graduations, you’ll uncover many truths about yourself, and you’ll discover so many passions. It’s a vivid period of your life.

  But your teenage years can also be incredibly hard. As you shoulder more responsibilities, you’ll feel like both a child and an adult, and you’ll be treated like both at once. You’re given agency in some respects, and yet you’re restricted in other freedoms. It can be contradictory, confusing, and frustrating. And you may find yourself struggling with things that you don’t have words to express.

  I thought that my high school experience would be dictated by classes and college decisions; dates and drama; homecoming and hijinks, and to a degree, it was. I learned so much about myself, and I had a ton of fun along the way. But to be frank, many in my peer group struggled with mental illness in high school. Teenagers today are living through a mental health epidemic, where approximately one in five teens in the United States are living with a diagnosable mental health disorder. Human existence can be hard, and in this time period when you want to handle everything by yourself, it can be even harder to accept that you’re not okay. Many of us feel isolated and attempt to shoulder our burdens alone. However, one of the biggest lessons of your teenage years is that accepting support is a sign of strength, not weakness.

  This is why I chose the themes of mental health and self-reliance for our anthology. In recent years with the pandemic, it has felt like we are living in a dystopian world. These short stories are written in the genre of science fiction, and their settings span mountains, oceans, and the stars. But what they all hold in common is a tenacity of spirit in the face of adversity—something that the youth of today have demonstrated many times over. As an older member of Generation Z myself, I wanted to help pave the way for those who come after me, creating the channels to help their voices be heard. That is the mission of YA Stories—to amplify the voices of the young and to share their insights with the world. And you’ll find that these contributors possess a nuance and a sharpness of wit as strong as any author. We often underestimate the keenness of youth, but these stories are riveting all the while unveiling human truths.

  To the writers who contributed their stories to this anthology: thank you. We cherish your spirit, ingenuity, and your craft. Your stories make a difference. Your voice matters. You are heard.

  Hannah Weinberg, 20

  YA Stories Coordinator

  By Katelyn Crombie, 16

  A Chance at Tomorrow

  Lily Segna, 15

  Two weeks prior, the condemning letter had been left in the arena. It had been addressed to no one, but meant for her.

  I know who you are and why you hide the letter read.

  Three pages long, the letter had gone on to describe every detail of the identity she’d fought so hard to hide, because to reveal her identity was to forfeit her life.

  And because of the blackmail letter (how in the world had they figured out her identity?), Shou had been forced into a high-stakes fight against the arena’s current champion—who didn’t know the reason for the fight—the winner of which would become weapons master. As the current weapons master, Shou had everything to lose. The coveted position and the protection of her identity were the only things keeping her alive.

  The fight was in mere hours. Her opponent was a hulking giant of a man who called himself Slammer. His weapon of choice was the biggest double-bladed axe that Shou—or anyone, for that matter—had ever seen. In stark contrast, Shou’s weapons of choice required far more finesse: an arm-length extender staff that snapped out to nearly two meters in length and a set of duo cirades, two circular blades used in a style almost mimicking a pair of curved swords.

  Every bit of Shou’s appearance was as much for show as functionality—designed to make her appear stronger and bigger—especially the mask, which altered her voice and hid her entire face from judgmental audiences.

  Hopefully, the theatrics would confuse Slammer’s pebble of a brain.

  Time was ticking. Every second was one closer to the fights. Already, spectators and fighters alike had begun trickling through the doors and taking seats in the arena, whispering eagerly about the fights to come. As soon as the rickety stands were full and the fighters accounted for, Shou signaled for the fights to begin.

  The first fight was between a tall beanpole of a woman named Enif and a young man who went by Kickback. It was not a fair fight. Kickback had at least thirty years of youth over Enif, five times the muscle and was considered one of the arena’s best fighters. The fight was over in a matter of minutes with Kickback emerging on top.

  Suddenly there were only seven fights before Shou’s.

  Then there were six.

  Five.

  Four.

  The night was rushing by.

  Three.

  Two.

  The fight before Shou’s was over far too soon and out of nowhere, it was time for her to face Slammer. Taking a deep breath, the five-foot, hundred pound girl headed down to the arena floor and prepared to face off against the seven-foot, three hundred pound brute of a man.

  Slammer was waiting fo
r her, cracking his knuckles with a ferocity that made Shou think he was going to break his hands before the fight even started, though it wouldn’t have upset her if he did. “Let’s raise the stakes, shall we?” He swung his axe around a few times too, just for good measure, and pointed it at her with a cocky air. “I win, you remove the mask. You win, you keep it on.”

  Under her mask, Shou inhaled sharply. No, no, no. Why did he care? Did he suspect who she was?

  The crowd jeered, shouting taunts down at her.

  After a moment, she relented. Protesting would only make it worse. “You win, I remove the mask.” She let the corner of her mouth turn up into a lopsided grin that no one could see. “I win, I get the axe.”

  The whole arena fell silent. No one had expected that.

  Slammer weighed his axe in his hand, gazing down at it. Finally he narrowed his eyes. “Deal.” Without further ado, he hurled his axe at Shou’s head. She barely had a split second to duck out of the way.

  He charged, ramming into her and throwing her head over heels across the arena. She was pretty sure the noise from the impact had been audible from kilometers away. There was no time to find out, because Slammer was stampeding towards her again.

  This time, Shou was slightly more prepared and rolled out of the way, reaching out with her extender to trip Slammer. He hit the ground, his momentum propelling him across the arena. Unfortunately for Shou, he skidded to a halt next to his axe and thundered back over to swing it at her head. Shou’s extender hit the axe, deflecting it. Huffing out a breath, she pushed back to her feet, dancing away from Slammer’s next blow.

  Before she could retaliate with a blow of her own, Slammer smacked her with the flat side of the axe. Shou collapsed, head crashing against the ground. Her vision blurred. It took her a moment to get up.

  “It’s that it?” Slammer bellowed. “You fight like a girl.” The crowd roared with laughter.

  Shou winced, the remark hitting too close to home. She sent him a rude gesture with her left hand as she simultaneously jabbed the extender at his chest with her right hand. She parried the next blow and the next, until she saw an opening. Dashing forward, Shou whirled under Slammer’s guard and stabbed the blade of her extender into his chest. Turning away, Slammer twisted the extender out of her grip and flung it across the arena, growling down at his bleeding chest.

  Shou was left disarmed, albeit the cirades at her belt. She was panting, exhausted. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead, but she ignored it and grinned to herself. “Is that it?” she drawled. “I thought you were better than this.” Slammer growled, an inhuman sound. “Come on,” Shou taunted, bouncing on her toes as if that would make her exhaustion go away faster. “Do your worst.”

  With his right hand, Slammer threw a punch that Shou deftly dodged—only to come face-to-face with the hulking brute’s other fist. He flung her against the far wall.

  SMACK.

  Slammer did his worst.

  Her vision blurred, her mind went fuzzy and she had a moment of panic in which she could not remember where she was or why she was there, all of which were telltale signs of a severe concussion. It took her a couple heartbeats to remember the fight, and in that time, she took in a long breath and surveyed the arena. Every onlooker in the crowd had a spectral double, and the walls were spinning.

  The walls were not supposed to spin. Or were they?

  A shadowy monster made its way into her vision and pointed an oddly shaped object at her. It took a moment for Shou to realize the monster was Slammer and the object was his axe. The crowd booed.

  “You’ve lost,” boomed Slammer’s voice. Shou winced. No, she hadn’t lost. Not yet. Pushing herself up, she fumbled for the cirades at her sides, tugged one free, and flung the weapon at Slammer. He frowned and stepped back to avoid it. Once it was past him, Shou held her hand out. The trackers in the cirade activated, flying back to her and slicing a cut across Slammer’s arm. Success. She threw the cirade again, but this time, Slammer caught the blade’s grip and tossed it away, striking her down with the flat side of his axe. Shou fell back.

  “Get up!” someone in the crowd yelled. “Get up!”

  With some difficulty, she managed to kneel and hold out her last cirade in both hands, pointing it shakily at Slammer. He knocked it away and kicked her down. Again.

  “Get up!”

  Shou couldn’t.

  “GET UP!”

  It was too hard.

  “GET. UP!”

  The walls were spinning, the noise from the crowd was thunder, her head was pounding, and she couldn’t. Get up, you idiot, get up.

  The announcer made the proclamation. “And the fight goes to Slammer. Congratulations to our new weapons master!”

  Lost. I’ve lost.

  The crowd went wild. Slammer! Slammer! Slammer flung his axe into the ground and threw his arms up, shouting triumphantly along with the crowd. After a moment of victorious cheering, he reached over and yanked off Shou’s mask. Her hair tumbled down in layers around her shoulders, reminiscent of a curtain.

  The arena fell dead silent, quieter than it had ever been.

  “A girl,” Slammer said finally, as if being one was the worst crime imaginable. As if he didn’t notice anything else about her identity. Someone in the crowd made the connection to Slammer’s earlier taunt, the one about Shou fighting like a girl, and shouted it out. Disgusted, Slammer flung the mask down at her feet. Shou picked it up unsteadily. She felt oddly vulnerable without it, not to mention that everyone in the arena could see the golden-brown eyes that marked her as the heir to a long-since persecuted bloodline. She was as good as dead.

  Slammer grunted in disgust, reclaimed his axe and stomped off into the crowd of spectators, who quickly followed suit.

  Shou found the wall and slumped against it, the world still spinning around her. Over the pounding in her head, she heard the crunch of footsteps. Cursing the concussion for addling her brain, Shou hoped it wasn’t someone approaching with malicious intent. There wouldn’t be much she could do to defend herself.

  Through unfocused eyes, she saw two men. Both were weaponless, which—to some extent—relieved Shou. As they approached, she realized the taller one was Kickback, the fighter from the first match. The other man was a stranger. He held up his hands, palms out. “We mean you no harm.”

  “Good,” said Shou, running her fingertips bitterly across the ridges of her mask. “Now go away.”

  Kickback frowned. His spectral double, a vision induced by Shou’s concussion, frowned too.

  The other man gave him a pointed look. “You fought well,” he tilted his head to Shou, “but lost everything. You have potential. All you need is some focused training.”

  “So?” Shou retorted. Training didn’t matter. More fighting was not going to be a part of her future, if that’s what he was suggesting.

  The man relented, crossing his arms. “You’re small and cunning; you’ll be able to get past people unnoticed. You would probably make a good spy, and you know your way around a fight.” He gave a nonchalant shrug. “There’s an open position on our crew. Above-world. You have all the skills we’re looking for and with your lineage....well, nobody messes with one of ours. You in?” An invitation was the only way to join a crew. And she’d just been invited. She caught her breath. Most crews worked underworld in the black market, but a select few—known as above-world crews—worked to save lives instead of take them: stopping terrorists, fighting crime. Things that would make the world a better place.

  It didn’t take much consideration. Shou wanted more to her life, and this was an opportunity she had previously only dreamed of having. Add in the benefit of protection and there was no way she was turning this down.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m in.” She let out a long breath, shook out her wrists, rolled back her shoulders and felt herself truly unwind for what felt
like the first time in years. It felt good.

  “Excellent,” the man held out his hand to her. She took it shakily, still seeing double. He helped her stand. “Let’s go.”

  Shou cast one last look around the arena, a small smile drifting across her mouth at what had been her entire existence. But not anymore. She exhaled again and let it all go. She had a future to attend to, and she never planned to step foot in this arena ever again.

  And though there were mere hours remaining until daybreak, Shou would take the sleep she could. In the morning, she’d get up, and though there was never really any guarantee of survival, she would at least have a chance at tomorrow.

  Imperfect

  Sophia Stecker, 15

  As far as the eye can see, the fields are speckled red. The Fumeum flowers are blooming. I grab another flower by the stalk and add it to my basket. My abraded hands sting in the morning chill. Harvest season has come early this year. All around me, strips of blossoms stretch out into the distance.

  Up in the dark sky, stars glow brightly through the thin atmosphere. The planet we orbit, Ocelos, is visible in all its green glory. Around that patch of paradise, the void of space stretches, endless, empty, and cold.

  My throat closes up and I look down. A cold feeling spreads in my chest. With that thing looking at me all hours of the day, it’s hard to forget I’m on a tiny moon, hurtling through space, miles and miles and miles and miles away from the next closest inhabited solar system.

  Come on Jacey, think of something else, I say to myself. I’m not going to get scared today. Today is supposed to be different. My heart quickens its tempo and my mind fixes onto all the things that I’m not supposed to think about. Like how there’s no air in space, how it’s freezing, and anyone exposed directly to it would die instantly. Like how eventually our star will explode, and maybe someday every star will explode, and the universe will be cold and dark and empty. I resist the urge to curl up on the ground.

  At least I’m alone. At least no one can see the way my mouth curls into a grimace, the way I drop my Fumeum basket and squeeze my eyes shut. At least no one will see my fear.