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Glass Flames, Purple Flowers | Logos

Glass Flames, Purple Flowers | Logos
Continued from Logos Magazine | Issue 2022-2023 | Pages 23-24
By Giselle H. ‘25

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…Our beloved citadel sits in the center of Agrath. It is famously known as the Glass Cathedral, though its official and less common name is The Cathedral of Theron. It was conceptualized by the great Lester Theron, and while he did not live to see its completion, it was quickly named after him. The cathedral has stood, with its famous, beautiful glass dome for thousands upon thousands of years. Despite Agrath’s architectural modernity today, the Cathedral is the one “ancient “ building with many wooden structures from the aged era. It is a popular tourist attraction, and a place many families frequent, for it tells the story of our dear city.

Excerpt from “Agrath’s important features”

Dear Diary,

Today is the seventh day, year 7894. I woke up at the first quarter. Mother and I decided to go shopping. She has been experiencing frequent morning sickness (due to my brother growing in her belly) but today she is well. In class, we are learning about the importance of routine. So, here is my morning routine on break days. First I wake up and make my bed. You need to pull back the pale sheet, fold the blue blanket and fluff my pillow. Then, I get my clothes from my desk chair. I always get my clothes out the night before, because that is a sign of a prepared person. Then I put my clothes on and go scrub my face and brush my teeth in the bathroom.

I share a bathroom with my mother, father, Lida, and grandmother now, but soon I’ll have my own. We are moving when the new baby comes. I will be a big sister! This morning I took it upon myself to wipe the dusty mirror, and then make funny faces. If you hold another mirror up to the mirror, then it makes this infinite image, where you see your reflection staring back at you hundreds of times. It was warm out today so Mother and I walked to the market. We first stopped to get fish for dinner, the fish part of the market always smells of guts, and then we headed to the fruit section. Along the way, sly vendors lined the cobbled path offering me trinkets: A green bracelet for protection, some hair oil for beauty, and a peach that grants eternal life. My mother denies all of this and says “Bashke!” which means go away. I repeat her when she does this, she smiles and so I know I make her proud. We bought five pluqa today, one for each of us. The prices have raised drastically, Father mentioned something about the new government, and some of the ports have closed. It is not often we get fresh fruit, so we jumped at the opportunity.

Father, Lida, and Grandmother met us after our shopping so we could all go to the Glass Cathedral. Mother said it was important we visited once a week, as the baby’s due date approached. She did this for Lida and me and “kunkali ga jungoo”, it will bring good health. It got hot around midday so I indulged in my pluqa. I had to eat it with both of my hands, and I slurped loudly to stop the bright purple juice from running down my brown chin. Lida and I stood outside of the cathedral so the father could take our picture. Our shadows fell behind us, and I laughed because it appeared as if I was taller than Lida. She did not hesitate to mention she was still three years older. After that, we headed inside. I had to place my diary in the small cubbies up front. It is disrespectful to hold onto things of that nature inside. I will write about what happens.

- Ziza


Case#: 178280 Date: Seventh-day, 7894

Reporting Officer: Carmyn Savoy

Incident: Destruction of the Glass Cathedral

Detail of Event: Shortly after midday, I was making my morning rounds. There had been frequent disturbances at the pub, the same vendor coming in to offer his unwanted wears, drinking too much, and then causing trouble. This was the third day the pub had called about him, so I marched in today with a warrant for his arrest. The pub, Irish Curse, is on the corner of Ember Ln. and Devil’s Rd. I was walking up the front steps when all of a sudden I heard something between a boom and a bang. It is by far the loudest sound I have ever heard, and that we now know has ever been recorded. I turned quickly and found myself looking at the Glass Cathedral. The top, the famous dome, was surrounded by a ring of smoke…before I watched the whole thing implode. The dome caved in on itself, and screams could be heard for miles. I did not hear what was said on the radio but immediately took off toward the cathedral. I was only a block away at the time. I arrived at a harrowing sight. All but one were dead. In the center of the bottom floor, a girl who was later identified as Aziza Hunter stood surrounded by large glass shards. They were tightly packed around her and it took a while to get her free. Besides the emotional trauma, she suffered only a cut on her wrist.

Logos Magazine 22-23 NathanY.

Artwork by Nathan Y. '23

Dear Diary,

Well…the officers who freed me said they had a surprise. They found you, my diary, buried underneath the rubble. Do you know of my family? I was told to bow my head, I caught a short glimpse of my mother. She was lying on her back, something struggling to escape her lips - a laugh or a cry - and a large piece of glass piercing her stomach, her pale yellow dress dyed a striking red. 

Do you wanna know something I noticed? Before it all happened, there was a hum. A buzz even. I mentioned it to Father, who told me I was hearing things. I felt the ground buzz, and the glass thing before what they’re now calling “The Great Destruction” took place. Might I confess something, diary? A piece, no pieces of me are missing. I do not dare to write it down, but it is something that makes me shudder, and bury myself in the corner of my cramped room.


Dear Diary,

That’s how she always started her entires. Dear Diary. Is it weird to be jealous of an inanimate object? She calls you dear. She blows kisses at me through the mirror sure, but you’re her “dear”. You’ve gotten to see the world. You go to the market, to the port, to school. She talks to you every day. How lucky you are.

This morning she did her same routine this morning, and when she brushed her teeth in the mirror, I wasn’t there. I watched her from the window and wondered, did she miss me? I’ve decided, I shall do a thing to bring her joy. A favor. I was walking along Kipper Ln. by the school when I saw Luke Parrow. He called us ugly once, and we cried in the bathroom for a long time. So, I took it upon myself to invite him to the forest. He obliged. I look quite like Aziza, I’m just a tad bit more see-through. It’s a blessing he was too dense to notice. Do you want to know what I did to him diary? I shall tell you. When we arrived he leaned in to kiss me, and I grabbed his face. This is for Aziza. I said. I must admit I did not have a plan going into this, but when I touched him an idea sprouted in my mind. I leaped inside of him. His reflection and shadow inside were both as ugly as he would. I was holding one of the cathedral’s glass shards in my hand. As I spun in circles, I gouged his insides. Round and round I went, my laugh bubbling. He bled a pretty red. His eyes rolled deep into his head, and then I jumped out. He collapsed with a boring thud, his fingers twitched once more before he died. Suddenly, purple flowers began blooming around him. I plucked one delicately.

Purple was Aziza’s favorite color. I hoped she would be proud. His reflection and shadow began walking in opposite directions lost, I flipped them off. “Bashke!”

Aziza always ends her diary entries with her name. Should I do the same? Is my name too Aziza? I think it is.


Dear Diary,

Ziza always started her entries with Dear Diary. It is an interesting human practice. The day that cathedral exploded I tasted freedom for the first time. The glass shards surrounding her cut me free. She loved when the sun shone down on her, and her shadow, I, lay stretched out on the ground. She never heard me scream. I do not enjoy being stretched. She liked running down the stairs when the sun was out, she liked seeing me bend to conform with the stairs. She never heard me scream. I do not enjoy my bones, my beautiful bones, cracking and breaking to fill her with laughter. Bruises line my back.

I stood over her one night, poised to kill her, glass shard in hand, and she opened her eyes. Hello. She said, and I think she might have smiled. I suppose this was an apology. She closed her eyes, and I placed a kiss on her forehead. I decided my real enemy was the sun. I attempted to kill it. But did you know the most peculiar thing happened? The sunlight collected on my fingertips, in warm waves. I had the sudden urge to eat the sunlight, and so I did.

Shortly after, I saw Paul Dunning. He made us cry once when we were six. I will not say why. He was in his house, alone. I breathed deeply and placed my fingers purposefully on his front door. It caught ablaze quickly. I smiled. I threw open the door, the fires glided off of me and strode to Paul. I reached for his eyes and was inside him. His reflection and shadow begged for mercy. We begged too one time. Nobody heard Paul scream. Someone might have heard me laughing. How beautiful was the sight! Little purple flowers sprouted around his stupid charred body. I plucked one for Aziza. And maybe, the sun isn’t so bad after all. My fingertips dazzled still, so I lit some bushes on fire. Perhaps now, when it is sunny, I can walk beside her.


Dear Diary,

It has been months since the incident. The cut on my wrist has finally healed. They bring me purple flowers daily and tell me the stories of their day. I put the flowers in vases. There are now three in every room I have. How beautiful. There is a big grass hill at the park, we plant the flowers there too. The town calls it a natural wonder. How funny.

We make quite the trio us three. I have made a riveting discovery. If I slice my arm with the glass, they can join me and step out of me as they, please. I have many glass pieces from the incident, I keep them safeguarded in a box. I am making a necklace with glass pendants for us. We’re like sisters. I call them Ziza and Ash. Aren’t we the most stunning?

I was dragging bodies to the flower hill this morning when I saw the most peculiar thing. My mother. Standing tall and proud, in the same yellow dress, yet she’s see-through. Her reflection stared quietly at me. Mother. I call out to her. She turns, her head cocked to the side and I notice blood stains. Monster. She says. Her voice hums the same way the cathedral did. A tear slips down my cheek. Monster. She says again. I offer her a purple flower and wait for her to smile, purple is her favorite color. But she turns away slowly and lets out a scream. I do not want to write anymore.

I tell Ash to set the field of flowers ablaze.

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