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Girl bite your tongue, his feelings are important. His thoughts, his being. But- Ah ah, when you bite your tongue, and you will, silence spreads all over like scalding steam to steal your breath and sting your throat. Yes. Let him steal your breath, your speech, that way it will be easier to shut your mouth when he is talking. To listen and do what you are told. I have already learned this. Gasp and give up. They like pretty things that are accessories, showcasing their success and power. You are the pretty thing he gets. You must know this. It’s biblical for God’s sake! Things like us you, use wings to cover mouths, to look away in reverence of his existence. You are to be faithful and subservient wholly to him. Why can’t you get that? You are stained glass panes in church windows, sweet wine at service, and an offering yourself. Nothing without the purpose of exaltation. What you have been told about your wings and the span they can reach is a lie. “Your” wings don’t even belong to you. I’m sure you know who they belong to. So, bite your tongue and show some respect, he won’t owe you the same, just to be clear. That would be absurd. He will be your life and that is how it needs to be. So he has your voice in a box and your wings on display in a trophy case to keep you still. Growthless and under thumb. Know that you are alone. No one wants to hear that pathetic plea to be “free.” I have already tried. You are free. He says you’re free. Are you saying he is a liar? I thought you loved him. You did this to yourself, loveless little seraphim, You belong on the ground. You need him to hold the sun Or it will fall on you and burn. Those pretty wings can’t get tainted, Then who would want such a grotesque you? You don’t belong so far down there, you know the place. Where every fallen angel is in perpetual agony. Trust me, this life is far from agony. Only he can keep you from that fate, Only he can save you. You know what your purpose is, as I have laid it out before you. To follow my lead into salvation. His Angel Hello, pretty feathers and glossy eyes, You should smile more. It would make me want to keep you, Don’t you want that? It’s the only thing you can do for me anyway. You know I am it for you, right? You are lucky that I keep you at all, that I provide. You would be useless on your own! What did your mother teach you? I guess it wasn’t enough.

I stood there, turning a slow circle and looking at my surroundings––at the desolation around me. Smoke rose to the sky in plumes and the bright blue sky from earlier was smudged with haze; the buildings around me had been either leveled or left unlivable. Nothing was untouched and the desolation stretched as far as I could see. There’s no turning back. I looked down at the soot and dirt that caked my hands, then pressed my eyes closed, a single tear slipping free and slowly tracing its way down my cheek. “I’m sorry I had to go this far,” I whispered, opening my eyes and looking back. Nobody was left to talk to. The smoke that had finally begun to fade, to die, was the only company I had left. Perhaps it’s better off that way. I turned away, dragging my feet through rubble. Time and time again, I stumbled, nearly falling flat on my face. Every time, at the last moment, I caught myself, pressing on as if I had something left to fight for. Finally, I collapsed, my head bowing and meeting the hard ground. “I’m so sorry.” Quiet sobs shook my body. “I just wanted to survive. I didn’t mean to cause—” My throat closed and I tucked my head closer to the rest of my body, tears rolling down my face in streams. Faces flashed to mind, of Father, of Mother. Of little Sydney, smiling at me. It was like I could hear her voice. “You’re going to be a hero, Sams,” I choked out, matching my little sister’s words as I heard her little bell-like voice say them in my head. “You’re going to be the light that everyone needs to see.” I pushed myself up a bit, rubbing my arm across my face as I shoved upwards. “I wasn’t, Syd. I wasn’t. I destroyed them.” My voice shook, barely scraping its way out of my throat. “Do you hear me?” I whirled, stumbling on the rough ground again. “I did it!” I yelled. The words echoed in the cavernous divot that stretched between where houses once were. “I ruined what you wanted me to save!” The flames still burned, their smoke rising in the distance. They were alive in ways that I wasn’t sure that I was. Where they were thriving, hungrily devouring the food they’d been provided, I felt hollow. “I said I wasn’t going to stop until we were all safe.” My voice was as soft as a whisper.. “Now who’s the safe one?” Beneath me, my legs wobbled, threatening to deposit me on the ground, but I straightened, attempting to draw strength that I no longer had. “I failed you, Syd.” Her voice rose in my mind, and she giggled. “You’ll always be my hero.” “No, I won’t!” My voice rose, loud as it could go, then cracked. “Syd, I let you down.” I took a few steps, clutching to the crumbled remains of a house as I slumped. “Syd, I was the one who let you all stay there. I did what they told me to do. And I lost you all.” Syd was still laughing. “I told you so.” A memory flashed before my eyes, of her running across the living room, her bare feet padding across the cream carpet. “I told you!” A lump rose in my throat. “I never listened to you, Syd. You should’ve been the one who survived. You should’ve made it this far; you should’ve been the one standing here, not me. You’d know what to do.” My memories melted away, replaced with new ones,  dimmer ones. Syd’s arms wrapped around me, the pressure there but not. Her laughter was gone, replaced with sniffles. “You be the strong one, Sams. I can’t be strong. I just cry and I cry and I cry.” I leaned my head against the rock, the memory of my own voice grating at my ears as I lay there, still, listening to myself. “I’ll be the strong one, Syd, and you can be the bright little shining star that helps me light up the world.” Syd sniffled and snuggled closer to me. “You can do it. I believe in you.” Her voice rasped, tired and sad. My fist hit the rock of the building. “Go away!” My hoarse scream didn’t seem to make any difference after leaving my mouth. I don’t know what I expected, but I tried to glare at the smoke clouds in the sky through the glaze of tears in my eyes. I stared so hard, as if they could undo themselves, restore the town to what it had been before. The hustle and bustle of the place. “Come with me, Sams.” Syd reached out for my hand, her shoulders pulled back and her head held high. Just one strand of hair fell across her face, defying all attempts Syd made to blow it out of her face. “Come with me, and we’ll defeat the darkness.” Her face was serious, but when I looked closely enough, I could see her lips tremble. I could see how much older she’d gotten, the seriousness in her eyes that stood next to her ferocious attempt at retaining childish innocence. “I don’t want to know,” she always said. But we had to tell her anyway. My tears slipped free, spilling down my cheeks and mingling with the previous waves that had long since turned sticky. “I can’t, Syd. I can’t. It wasn’t right.” My hands fisted and I rested my head on them. “You changed.” The voices in my head stopped, nothing left but ashes and rubble, smoke and tears. I slid off the rock, crumpling to the ground. Silently, my body began to shake, tears streaming down my cheeks in rivulets. “I just wanted to live. Why did you have to make it so hard?” In the distance, I heard the sounds of the living. Voices. A search party. “Do you see anything moving?” I heard the call, a male voice rising above the deafening silence of destruction. Any response was lost, like the ashes that kept drifting away in the wind. I lifted my head only enough to look for them, still laying there and crying. I don’t want to be seen. I studied the horses, the figures on their backs and the bags that hung from the saddles. Not after what I’ve done. The voices continued talking, their figures diminishing, and the sound of hooves soon dissipating. “I deserve this,” I whispered, trying to remind myself of my place as fear flooded me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone. “I deserve every bit of this.” “Where are you going?” I heard the distant shout, the voice quiet enough that it could’ve been just another voice in my head. Then I heard the footsteps. A whine escaped my mouth and I curled in on myself more, a new wave of tears streaming down my cheeks. Don’t get your hopes up. You’re supposed to be alone. “Miss?” The voice was quiet, gentle. Close. “Are you okay?” A small cry escaped me, but no words accompanied. I heard rustling. “Miss, we have to get you out of here.” “No, you don’t.” My voice was low, raspy, and broken. I opened my eyes and turned, looking right into the gaze of a man about my age. His eyes held life while I was sure mine held close to none. “Leave me here.” “Why do you think you need to stay here?” he asked, his voice still soft. His eyes searched my face for an answer. “It’s my fault.” I trembled as I said it. “They weren’t all supposed to die, but they did. And I have to pay for it.” His face grew sad, knowing in a way that I could not begin to understand. “This was bound to happen. It’s not your fault.” “Yes, it is.” In my head, I saw Syd dancing around in my head, laughing. “I was the nice one, Sams. You got the evil person this time. I was good, you were evil!” My throat ached as I swallowed, as if that would suppress the memory. “Leave me be. Let me die in peace.” Conflict raged across his face, then his jaw tightened. “Forgive me, but no.” He slid his arm under me, pulling me upright. I let out a pitiful cry of protest and struggled against his firm hold. “Let me go! I deserve this! I do, I do, I do!” “You don’t,” he whispered, then lifted me up, my entire body leaving the ground. He slung me over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes and I slumped against his back, too tired to struggle. “Nobody deserves to die like this.” My eyes drifted shut and my body went slack, jostled as he walked along. I just wanted to fix this. I just needed to fix one thing that I did wrong. “What did you find?” I heard the distant call. “It’s a who!” he replied. I could feel his body vibrate as he spoke. “She’s alive!” More tears leaked out of my eyes, these ones streaking up, making their way to my forehead. I didn’t bother trying to wipe them away. “Why can’t you just let me go?” I choked out quietly. “Why did you have to help?” “Because nobody deserves to die alone, no matter what they’ve done.” His reply was quiet. “And someday, you’ll come to realize that no matter what you did, you’ve been forgiven. You don’t deserve death anymore.” I hung there limply, too tired to protest. I can only hope that you’re correct. I have no other reason to hang on. “Good job!” I heard the approval, the likes of which I found myself wishing I deserved. I felt myself sliding and stiffening, only to realize that the man was lowering me to the ground. He set me down gently, carefully, making sure I didn’t fall. My legs trembled, but I stood, my shoulders curved in and my head bowed low. “Miss,” the new voice prompted quietly, just as gentle as the first man’s. “Could you look up at me?” I blinked slowly, then slowly lifted my head up. I had no doubt that my face was covered in soot and dirt, crossed with tracks of tears. My eyes were almost certainly bright red, undeniably full of tears. “Beautiful.” He smiled down at me. “You are beautiful.” More tears filled my eyes and I clasped my hands together, trying to control their shaking. “I’m not. Do not save me. I do not deserve it.” His smile turned sympathetic. “My dear, we do not always deserve saving. That does not affect whether we do or not receive it.” A lump rose in my throat and he turned away, rummaging through the pack on his horse, only to turn right back around and hold out a canteen of water. As I imagined taking it, I came to the realization that I was thirsty, so thirsty, but I didn’t reach for it. “I do not deserve—” “Even if you deserve nothing, I will give you something. That is simply my way.” I kept studying the canteen, where it was held, then tentatively reached out, my hand shaking. My first hand was trembling too much to grip it, forcing me to hold both hands out. As he let go, though, as the weight of it landed in my hands, and as I drew it closer and carefully screwed off the top, thoughts echoed in my head, waging a war. I took a long drink, and as the cold, refreshing water filled my mouth and slid down my throat, it was as if my strength returned. But the voices in my head only seemed to grow louder. I screwed the top back on, shoving it back a bit too forcefully. My breath came in slow gasps and I stared at the ground, then whispered, “I deserve it.” The images of the smoke, of the soot, flashed before my eyes. I deserve it. The first man spoke. “Ma’am, if you’ve survived this far, I’d say there’s a lot of good you deserve, and the bad you’ve already received tenfold.” I raised my hand, meeting his clear eyes with my own. His image was distorted by tears, but I still managed a wobbly smile. “Thank you.” I closed my eyes. “I think I’d like to be saved, if you don’t mind.” “You are loved, Miss. And since you have asked, you will not be turned away.”

-Present- The leaves fell from the stems of the flowers I’d picked from my mother’s flower beds, the silver blades of my scissors scraping together as they snip snipped through the bouquet I’d made. Years ago, I’d watched her plant her favorites, knowing that her only daughter would enjoy picking a few to arrange in a vase on the table. “Bouquets make me feel better,” I always said as I set the flowers out, “like life is brighter.” Perhaps, though, that was simply my past speaking, and yet a lot of the time, it felt like they’d been with me through it all… -Last Month- He showed up on my doorstep, shifting awkwardly from side to side with a bouquet of tulips in his hands. Through the peephole of the door, I studied him curiously. Bundled up in his winter coat, the vibrant colors seemed out of place. Yet, who was I to complain when my boyfriend brought me flowers? “Hey.” I smiled at him, stepping onto the porch as I slipped my arms into the sleeves of my jacket. “What’re you doing here?” The breeze brushed by my chilled hands–a warm one, despite the shade cast over us by the house. An uncomfortable smile crossed his face, then he held out his full arms. “I brought you flowers.” Carefully, I took them from him, cradling each of the blooms gently with my arm. “Well, thank you. You know you didn’t have to do that.” My smile grew, something the flowers would never do again, and as I did so, I studied his face. “Do you want to come in while I put them in some water?” If anything, he managed to look even more uncomfortable, shifting on his feed and looking down briefly. “Uh, no. Thank you. I’ve actually got some things I need to do. I just wanted to deliver those.” “Okay. Thank you, again.” My lips tugging downward in a faint frown, I shifted the flowers in my grasp. The slight prickle of flower stems and leaves brushed my palm as I cradled the blooms in one arm, managing to free one to reach out for a side hug. He twisted his lips up in a smile, but it seemed forced. And then he walked to his car, shut the door behind himself, and slowly drove away. Having watched his car disappear down the road, I slipped back inside, burying my face in the blooms and melting against the wall as I relaxed into the faintly sweet aroma. Tyler might be awkward at times, perhaps confuzzling, but he was good to me. Perhaps too good. -Present- It was staring at the tulip in my hand that I remembered. And it hurt, sometimes, how each flower would have a memory that it hadn’t been alive for, and yet, every single time I looked at one, I remembered. There had been times where I’d looked up what the flowers meant, because for a while, I’d found it both interesting and a good excuse to stare at pictures of flowers. The tulip definition I’d found years ago that I remembered most clearly was “new beginnings,” but it was restricted to white tulips. My tulips weren’t white. They were orange, yellow, and pink. I should’ve known that Tyler would figure that I’d look up the meanings of certain flowers. Perhaps he had simply hoped that I’d understand what he meant by giving me these flowers. But it should’ve crossed my mind that he must’ve meant something by leaving flowers and then ghosting me. The flowers were beautiful, but they didn’t mean anything good when you were looking into the meanings of them. Orange, yellow, and pink tulips meant apology. -Seven Months Ago- I laughed, the long grass tickling my bare legs as I walked, hand-in-hand with Tyler. “We’re going to get caught!” I squealed, trying to be soft, but he kept making me laugh. The fact that we were technically trespassing on private property didn’t dull my pleasure. Tyler grinned at me, his blue eyes sparkling. “We won’t. Nobody ever comes here. Besides, I had to get the perfect flower for the perfect girl.” I felt my cheeks heat as laughter kept bubbling out of me. “There isn’t anything here but long weeds!” “So you say.” Tyler raised an eyebrow. With one last grin, I took off, leaving him to chase after me. But in the long grass, I stumbled, catching myself only a few times before I finally fell, giggling breathlessly as I rolled onto my back. Tyler was at my side in an instant, bending down over me. For a second, I thought he would be concerned, but his eyes were still glimmering with tears of laughter even as he looked away from the sunlight. He reached a hand down and I reached for it, but with his other hand, he swatted my hand away, picking a flower and handing it to me. With a cheeky grin, he tilted his head. I thought I saw him wink. “What’s this?” “A weed!” My answer was determined and loud, stealing away what breath I had and leaving me gasping for air between new puffs of laughter. “I see.” Tyler shook his head, mouth quirking to the side. “I suppose I’ve got to leave you there and force you to smell the flowers, then.” “Hey!” I was still laughing as he disappeared from my view, leaving my vision lined with tall grasses. I tried to pull myself up, but I was too breathless. “Help me up!” More wildflowers landed on me–these ones cornflowers and violets–drifting down onto my face, tickling my arms and sending spores of pollen and other allergens up my nose. I sneezed. “Admit that they’re flowers!” Tyler stood over me, grinning as he sprinkled more flowers on me. He settled his hands on his hips. “Accept defeat.” “Okay! Okay.” I fought another sneeze, brushing the flowers off my torso. “They’re flowers.” -Present- I should’ve looked up the flowers afterward. They were pretty, but even those had meaning. Wildflowers… distinctly unique but so similar to a disappointment many know and suffer. Single blessedness. It was a jab, of sorts. As if Tyler was saying that he hoped I would be blessed, but not in a relationship, not with him, not when he was still the fake he was. Probably not even after. Hopefully, not after. I snipped the leaves off of a cornflower and added it to my growing arrangement of flowers. They all looked different, but with each one came a new, unwanted memory. And a wish that things could only have worked out for good, just this once… -Five Months Ago- “So, for homecoming, what kind of corsage should I get you?” The question came as we walked leisurely, side-by-side towards my home. The sun had just crested over the trees, setting beautifully as I enjoyed the moment, soaking in the final rays and storing them up for when it became dark and lonely later on that night. “Do you need those for homecoming?” I mused. “I’m getting you one for homecoming,” Tyler persisted. I smiled, rolling my eyes and bumping him with my shoulder. “I don’t need one, though.” Tyler didn’t reply, just raised an eyebrow at me. I laughed softly, trying to huff at him through the laughter. “Fine. What about… white something? A white flower. Roses, maybe.” I just named the first flower that came to mind. Tyler smiled, seeming satisfied. “Good.” I smiled back at him and looped my arm through his, leaning into him. “You spoil me, you know.” “Is it still called spoiling someone when they don’t want to be spoiled?” I laughed, letting go of his arm for a moment to poke him. “Yes, you persistent charmer.” Tyler laughed with me. “I like that one.” I rolled my eyes, a smile dancing across my lips. “You would.” My house loomed above us, a giant sign that shouted, “Time to say goodbye.” I slid my arm out of his and cast him one last smile. “See you at homecoming.” -Present- I felt a prick and my hand jerked back from the flower I had been holding, almost of its own volition. Bright red blood beaded on my thumb, darkening as I lingered a moment too long. Dabbing it with one of the wet paper towels the flowers were wrapped in, I went back to work, leaving the thorns on the roses as I carefully arranged them in the jar. Despite the paper towels though, I’d let the flowers sit out too long on such a hot, dry summer day. A few of the flowers were starting to droop. I picked up another rose and a barely-crispy petal fell to the floor, my gaze following it as it fluttered down. My heart gave a pang. White roses. Secrecy and wistfulness. Dried white roses. Sorrow. Scoffing softly, I adjusted my shoulders. “He doesn’t deserve it,” I told myself. “He doesn’t deserve anything anymore.” He’s not a good person. He doesn’t deserve you being sad. A list of assorted lies sprang to mind, but I bit the rest of them back, knowing they came from the hurt inside of me. All the same, they were lies I wanted to believe. Lies that mixed with the truths until I didn’t know what was real anymore. Pushing the rest of the flowers into the vase, I realized that I felt heavier than before. Unsurprising, considering the cumulation of the depressing thoughts. Letting out a small sigh, I lifted the vase to my nose and slowly breathed in. 1…2…3… Setting the vase back onto the table and rearranging a few of the buds, I admired my work, the irregularity striking me as beautiful in its own way. Lifting my chin ever so slightly, I sucked in another fortifying breath. “I’m over you, Tyler,” I told myself, gripping the table tightly. “You can’t take what I love away from me.” Because I’m pretty sure I never loved you. And because flowers are the one thing I’ll never get over. So, no one and nothing can ever take that love away from me, because I refuse to let it, and because I determine what deserves my feelings. And a fraud doesn’t deserve anything but the wisp of a memory full of wishes that things didn’t have to turn out the way they did. Through my mind flitted the idea that just because an individual can be thought of due to a flower in your hand, they don’t need to get your emotions, too. Just a memory of what could’ve been could fill the hole they left. Even that rift repairs itself. Until finally, all that’s left is the memory of flowers.

Submitting to ~ The Fioretti ~ Welcome, all! Readers and creatives alike are welcome in this space, whether experienced or inexperienced in the ways of creating. Our goal is to support all in our efforts to widen the publishing horizons for those in the Marian community. We encourage you to submit to grow your platform and community of people that you reach with your creative works! We hope to give you a wider audience to view your piece(s) and help you to grow in whatever ways we can! Photo by Kadin Gaviola '27 Our Submission Guidelines Fiction Creative Nonfiction Poetry Songs Visual Arts And Any Other Creative Works Fiction Guidelines Whether it be fantasy, mystery, science fiction, or contemporary, we consider short stories of all types. We require the stories submitted to us be 3,000 words or less, and if your story contains graphic content, we ask that you include a content warning on your piece. We look forward to reading your work! Submit Creative Nonfiction Guidelines Creative nonfiction reflects a vast genre of work, and we encourage you to explore all that this genre represents! Creative nonfiction can include narrative essays, personal reflections on research or experiences, lyrical essays, and more. The “rules” to creative nonfiction are that the events and/or research present in the piece must be true, and the piece must have some creative aspect to it. If you find yourself writing about things that haven’t actually happened in the real world, then your piece can be submitted through the fiction category. If you find yourself writing about research or historical events, you should be making subjective and personal connections to the information you are writing about. For example, we will not be accepting academic papers that you might write for class; however, if what you’ve learned in class has impacted you in some way, we would love to hear the story of how and why you’ve been impacted. Please keep creative nonfiction essays at 3,000 words or less. Happy writing! Submit Poetry Guidelines We are looking for poetry of many different forms, whether it be rhyming, shaped, or freestyle poetry. There are a variety of creative fiction or nonfiction pieces that authors can feel comfortable writing and submitting to us. An example can include an event that happened in your life or someone else's life with conveying metaphorical expressions. If your piece or pieces have fictional or nonfictional graphic imagery, please have warnings of the pieces for the readers. Submit your work in any style you want, but we may contact you if we need to change the font or style of a piece depending on the journal's needs. We also encourage you to come with a visual if you choose to submit something, but the author does not have to. Submit Song Guidelines Songs can be from any genre you choose with any representation of class, race, religion, morality, or any other beliefs you hold as a song writer. Try to have songs with reasonable amount of graphic imagery or language depending on the creative purpose for the lyrics and the graphic content. For songs, feel free to format how you want either a document or video or voice player format. We also encourage any beats or instrumental pieces. Try to keep songs between 1-5mins depending on the genre of the song. We also highly encourage artists to perform their songs at upcoming events if you feel comfortable in doing so. Events will be posted on website or via Instagram page Submit Visual Arts Guidelines We are keeping submissions open for all kinds of visual arts. There is no wrong answer to this. If you have a creative voice you want to be heard or something that you are passionate about, we would like to hear your voice about that subject so we can be as passionate as you are. The list of examples for formatting can be a film, comic strip, comedy skit, sculpture, drawing, etc. Submit Miscellaneous Guidelines This category is for any and all things creative that might not fit into the other categories! Some examples of this might be videos, comic strips, works of interactive fiction, etc. As long as it has some creative aspect to it, your work can be submitted here. Submit

Submissions The Fioretti accepts creative submissions from Marian University's students throughout the year. Check our guidelines page for more information on how to submit your work. Art & Media Showcase Event When Apr 26, 2024, 5:30 PM Where Alumni Hall, 3200 Cold Spring Rd, Indianapolis, IN 46222, USA Details

Welcome to ~ The Fioretti ~ Marian University's Student-Led Literary Journal Photo by Fioretti Students of '86 - '87 (Vol. 45 No. 1) Why Submit to The Fioretti? With The Fioretti , both our annual print publication and our ongoing online publication, we provide a platform for Marian University's amazing writers and artists to showcase their creativity and talent. Our goal is to create a community for creatives alike who appreciate the art of not only literature but also many other art forms as well. ​ We're constantly looking for new voices in the creative world and would love to see anything and everything you have to offer! About The Fioretti The Fioretti is a literary magazine created by and for Marian University's students. We believe that literature is an important part of our culture, and we aim to provide a platform for student writers to share their work and ideas. Learn More Photo by Kadin Gaviola '27 Contact