by Gitte Meldgaard (left) & Giampaolo Sgura

The other night Kelsey hosted a dinner party at her place. The meal was delicious and Kels, Kim, Michael, David and myself downed scrumptious sangria over gourmet BBQ chicken and conversation. By dessert, our topics darkened into debates on shark attacks, drowning, deadly and infamous movie-set mishaps, and speculation about how peaceful one’s submission to death might be. By the time we went dancing at Dub Club all morbid thoughts disappeared. 

At 2am I arrived home to an empty bed and waited for Drew to part with his hometown friends and go to sleep with me. In the meantime I popped open my laptop and perused a bit finally stumbled upon the drama surrounding Miss California. I’d avoided the subject out of disinterest but submitted to the bold headlines this time around. I gathered all the information and flip-flopped on how I felt. For me it seemed the contradictory Christian stance vs. nude pictures were just the classic signs of a young girl trying to discover her own code of morality. It is a bit sad the liberal media is chastising her and the conservatives are holding her up on such a high pedestal of purity considering her age and lack of life experience over one statement in a lousy beauty pageant. Do I think she’s lying about the conditions in which her breasts were out? Yes. However, having spent my high school years and beyond within church walls I can understand why she’d be dishonest- in judgmental circles, nothing is worst than losing face.  In short, this chick isn’t Billy Graham or C.S. Lewis even if she thinks she is. She’s a naive, young bleach blonde in a beauty pageant. How can we expect more from her? If Americans are really looking to these groups of women to guide our youth into a sound, moral life then we’ve got worst problems. 

Anyway, I’m not even wanting to talk about that. This is all to preface a dream I had. In one interview, Miss California said something about how she felt Satan and God were battling for her heart regarding what answer to give Perez Hilton. 

Somehow this brought me back to the morbid. Sometimes I think about the brutality of wars and the possibility of something so devastating on our own soil (or concrete as it may be). A literal battle. I often wonder how I would react in a fight for my life or my family’s lives in terrifying situations. Granted I have no reference point for this but I believe I’d discover an amazing resilience and ability to survive within myself. I just think my spiritual being would react in ways and make decisions and fight in a manner my logical mind couldn’t comprehend.

Now, it was 4am and way past bedtime. So, naturally, everything I’ve told you thus far warped itself into this incredibly insane and intensely vivid dream.

I found myself in an annihilated city. The streets were on fire, every building was covered in graffiti, rocks and rubble lined my walk. Ravaged billboards envisioned these tumultuous events as the end of the world  but clearly they were wrong because, there I walked. I guardedly but confidently carried a slew of supplies in my arms and wore destroyed white from head to toe. My hair was long, full and white blonde and when I saw a reflection of myself my face was ablaze, as though my resolve was radiating from the inside out.

by Rony Shram

I finally arrived at my destination and stood before the half demolished white building. Most of the outer walls were gone making it appear a deteriorating dollhouse. However, I decoded an array of enormous locks and padlocks and let myself in through a safe corridor. Music blasted from far down the hall and laughter echoed towards me. I was home. Within the hideout I found my brother Kris, Drew, and a slew of unfamiliar faces that I knew not in real life but within this reality. Everyone was wearing white but looked entirely fashionable and unique. We seemed like an group of angels trapped in this world or like a re-envisioned gang from The Warriors. 

Suddenly the entrance was pounding from the outside and “one of us” was screaming for help. Kris and I slipped down the hallway and let in the young boy. He too looked amazing in white but the expression he wore was distressed and horrified, “They are ready to battle! Tonight!” Our fellow hideaway mates crept from the distant rooms, faces grim. I had the sense I may die.

As we all planned for the fight - carving weapons, creating makeshift armor, re-spraying all we had white, and visualized our attack - my sound mind understood we were Christians battling Satanists during the end of the world (thank you, Carrie Prejean). As night fell, we gathered up everything we would need and entered the fiery streets. I felt terrified, forgetting my dream state, and adjusted my white armor as streaks of blonde swirled before my face. 

by James Mahon

At last I looked up and we were at our enemies’ hideout. In moments several of them came creeping out, and, as one might expect, looking all the “Satanists” role. Lips were smeared with black lipstick and eyes were ringed in charcoal. Some even had black leopards, snakes, and crows by their sides. I couldn’t cease to be impressed by their beautiful garments and powerful expressions but they drew no terror from me, only resolve to win.

From here it became a bloody and brutal fight as bodies collided with weapons, eyes cried in pain, and mouths gaped in horror.

Then I woke up. 

by Daniela Federici