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Reflections on The Craft
By Connor Huffman There are times I wonder if I’ll succeed. I question my definition of success. Will I be known? Remembered? Will I fade? Perish the thought, yes—still, It troubles me. I question my definition of success. Does it exist simply in the making? Perish the thought, yes—still, It troubles me, the thought my name will not be relevant. Does it simply exist in the making? I lie awake—await reassurance. The thought my name will have no relevance, a dreadful tormentor
mounthopemagazine
May 142 min read
Recent Pieces
Reflections on The Craft
By Connor Huffman There are times I wonder if I’ll succeed. I question my definition of success. Will I be known? Remembered? Will I fade? Perish the thought, yes—still, It troubles me. I question my definition of success. Does it exist simply in the making? Perish the thought, yes—still, It troubles me, the thought my name will not be relevant. Does it simply exist in the making? I lie awake—await reassurance. The thought my name will have no relevance, a dreadful tormentor
mounthopemagazine
May 142 min read
Eleven Years
By Nina Bodnar This is my moment, my final test of the season. The berry-sweet smell of makeup and anticipation fills my nostrils as I shift my weight, taking great caution not to give anything away with my tap shoes. D.A.N.C.E. by Kristin’s 14th annual showcase, presented at a local high school, is about to come to a close with this year’s senior tap piece, one we’ve been competing with and attempting to perfect for the last six months. I close my eyes and relish the before
mounthopemagazine
May 145 min read
Tomorrow
By Georgia Olson It needs some red. In the corner, maybe, like the sun is setting just out of sight. I’m writing it instead of painting, though, because I’m not sure. Blue might be better. Tomorrow I’ll add the cemetery. I can see it from the window, just beneath the lighthouse. They say it’s so you can always find your way home again, if you want to. I hope you want to. I went to the market today, for the first time since the funeral. They asked about you, and I re
mounthopemagazine
May 142 min read
The Ultimate Machine
By Theo Carreiro It watches, patiently awaiting the cog wheel turn from the meticulous movement of callused hands, to bite the hand that feeds it, worn from the long hours of work. Sweat on her brow, heel to the floor, the work begins. The ticking needle with its methodical hum: the artificial heartbeat. Is all creation like this? To gamble suffering in one's ambitions, needle to cloth, pen to paper. No, we must move forward accepting— in creation, there is misery and worry,
mounthopemagazine
May 141 min read
Nothing is "Just Following Orders"
By Finneaus Audette Planes soar above like Eagles of War, toward little school children who sit on dirt floors. They say there was nothing lost of any worth, morality judged by money's girth. The Children of Overthere deserve no remorse, Our war heroes call it just “recourse." They were just following orders of course. It wasn't your child. Why should you care? They are from overthere. At most your grief is tame. After all, you can use your second plane to fly to your house
mounthopemagazine
May 141 min read
Fifteen Minutes
By Lex Terzoiski ONE “Have we got a deal?” Mr. B extended his hand. It was visibly aged and slick with sweat. I sat in my seat, which I felt like I had been in for hours, and stared at his extended hand. The cigar betwixt his thin lips was still lit, and the ash droppings were hitting the top of the glass surface of the table. The smell alone that came from the fat cigar was making my head feel fogged and dazed. Am I worth this? Will I make it? What potential do they
mounthopemagazine
May 1417 min read
Fishing with Dad
By Thalia Ramirez WHOOSH. I heard my dad, four feet away from me, cast his fishing line into the ocean. My dad looked at me, waiting for me to cast my fishing rod as well. I was scared. What if the hook magically managed to get stuck in my skin? I looked at my dad with fear in my eyes, and he started to laugh. “Thalia, everything will be fine. You’re not going to get the hook stuck in you.” I nodded, and I managed to muster up the courage to put the fishing rod over my s
mounthopemagazine
May 148 min read
Dance! Dance! My Ballroom Evolution
By Aelan Lee My hand felt as if it might melt a hole in my dance partner's shirt from all the hot sweat I was producing. Logically, I knew she wouldn't mind; she was used to all the sweat and stink and puffs of bad breath that came from partners less hygienic than I. Yet the fear remained that I was the worst of them all. I mean, would she be brave enough to tell me? Probably. But that's beside the point. Ballroom dancing is both an art, a sport, and a team game. You have to
mounthopemagazine
May 1411 min read
Love Letters on Feminism
By Nina Bodnar As I write this, I feel it necessary to consider my personal values and how they have shaped my thinking. I have always identified with feminism, even before the term was introduced to me. Being a feminist, to me, has always meant standing up for women and their rights—whether that is cisgender women, queer women, trans people, women of color, white women, old women, young women, or anyone in between. It’s always meant having the freedom to choose, and feeling
mounthopemagazine
May 149 min read
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