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The Daily Cardinal Est. 1892
Monday, April 12, 2021


All articles featured in Almanac are creative, satirical and/or entirely fictional pieces. They are fully intended as such and should not be taken seriously as news.

I reach to the very tippy top of my toes

To peer out the frosty window

To wallow in the white desert before me

The crumbs of ice and slush and cold are falling


Not falling



The pavement is defaced with their anger

And sorrow

The cold bites at the cusp of my nose

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Yet I am pulled from the rigid numbness of the war outside 

My mother beckons me

“Cocoa is ready!”

And the fireplace welcomes my return

Where it is safe

And free from the intense storm out that window

I am so lucky

The following day

I return to my stoop of observation

And there are children playing


I am ridden with jealousy as I watch them

Their tiny feet puttering and pattering 

amongst the harsh white lines they have etched with chalk

I am consumed by my loneliness 

Filled only by my mother

And father

And brother and sister

And a large Labrador with his thick collar 

“Bernard” it reads

If I had a collar

It would read “Empty”

As tears drip down my fat cheeks 

Onto my satin robe



Not falling


Onto the wood and tin and plastic toys surrounding me

With no wood or tin or plastic people to play with them

Not with me 

I am so lucky

I retreat from the window

And my satin pillows are filled with sobs and snivels

But I have missed it

A new boy has come to play

He is snuggled tight in his nylon suit

Protecting him from the wind and snow and ice and rain

But not from them 

They kick

And yell


Please stop

They don’t stop

Until the blood pools around his bundled-up head

And face

And hands

But I am no longer in my sill



I am dreaming of hopscotch

I am so lucky

A week later

I return to my post

My eyes are no longer raw

But my surroundings are


Stung with the mourning and shrieks of fear

Trees are singed with anger

Over money




But mostly just that

Just anger

The pavement where those lucky kids played their hopscotch

Now homes puddles

Of blood

And snot

And tears and more blood

The streets are flooded with Fatherless children

And childrenless Fathers

But I still have a father

And a mother

And My Window

I am so lucky

Years later

I visit my window

Where I once watched the children play

And die

But it is hardly a window anymore

Simply a peeling frame

Shards of glass on the floor

I am in it now

I can’t simply watch

And wallow and wail and whine

There is no glass to protect me

I am so lucky 

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