https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/31ed7cdfca6ccd70bd27e2a6535495d5.pdf 5f45d895e925ea91b720edb76e299780 PDF Text Text D lurtiiuc $tar$ Matthew Orszulak Fiction They threw the ninth spoon out the window with a frustrated scream. It sailed through the clear summer air and hit the fence, making a dull sound, and fell onto the pile of its gruesomely made constituents. Cedar put their head in their hands, shaking with frustration. Everything they made was shit, all of it. There wasn’t a single thing they’d made in the past three months that was worthwhile. Everything they were referring to, of course, were small, intricately made spoons. The pile outside was filled with seventeen spoons at the moment, though more would surely arrive via a short one-way flight tomorrow morning when Cedar sat down to work again. But right now, they left the materials haphazardly strewn across the work table and instead got up to go for a walk. The air still held residual heat from the mid-July day, but now that the sun was beginning its slow descent, it was cool enough to bear even the thought of going outside. Cedar stomped down the hallway, the boards that usually creaked letting out screams beneath their enraged footfalls. AU those stupid spoons, all that work, and not one that’s actually worth it, they thought, hastily reaching for their coat. Why didgrandpa leave me thisplace anyways? He’d be so disappointed tofind out I can’t make anything worth a damn. The coat would not come unhooked, and for a brief moment. Cedar considered tearing the hook right out of the stud wall before setting the whole house on fire. In moments like this, it was recommended they count down from ten. They made it to eight before letting out a slew of colorful language and deciding it was warm enough to go without. In an instant they were on the sidewalk, continuing their 94 �Daytime Stars mumbled tirade about the worthlessness of the singular hobby they’d once enjoyed. The sidewalk was empty save for a neighbor across the street, sitting on the porch and likely succeeding in achieving the peace Cedar was desperately attempting. They raised their hand in greeting, and Cedar gave a tight nod before stuffing their hands in their jean pockets. After a while, they made the turn up around the block, continuing the therapist-recommended deep breaths. Why did Grandpa leave them the stupid house anyway? Sure, it was nice having a place to live that was not someone else’s couch, but it still proved that Cedar really was useless at everything, including the one thing they so desperately wanted to be good at. But the walk proved effective, as it had so many times before. By the time they were coming down the path back to the large blue house, the anger had almost ebbed away completely, and it dashed completely when they saw someone was in the yard. A strange figure with long dark hair crouched along the side of the fence, picking something up. She might not have heard Cedar coming, but she certainly did when they started yelling. “Who the hell are you?” they asked indignantly, striding up. She scrambled away, dropping what she was holding, and as it hit the dust, Cedar realized what it was. One of the spoons, one they’d made yesterday with the red glass embedded in the handle. “Oh! Sorry, are these yours? I didn’t realize, you just... they’re always here and I figured I’d put them to good use,” the stranger said. She looked about Cedar’s age, staring at them and brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “No it’s just... they’re pretty garbage, aren’t they?” Cedar said, still staring down at the dusty spoon. They knelt and picked it up, running fingers over the filigree. All they could see was where the joint had melted too much, where the dents of mistaken hammer strokes scarred the metal. The stranger let out a laugh as they handed it to her, shaking her head. “Garbage? Are you kidding? These are beautiful,” she said. ‘And when the light catches them, gosh, they look like daytime stars.” “They look like what?” All Cedar could picture was the sim, shining ruthlessly on a pile of awful garbage they’d made with their awful garbage hands. 95 �Daytime Stars “Daytime stars! Come see,” she said, turning on her heel and walking off. Cedar hesitated for a moment, weighing the risk of following a spoon-thieving stranger, but the mysterious allure of daytime stars was too great. The two walked up the block and toward the long abandoned lot that most in the neighborhood accepted as an irremovable eyesore. They weaved around the pile of rotting wood that was once a house and through the tall bushes to the towering oak tree. Cedar watched as the stranger walked around the back, scaling a rather precarious-looking ladder, and disappeared into the wooden hole of a treehouse. How had they not realized this was here? The stranger’s face reappeared, and she blew a couple of strands of hair out of her face before flashing a grin. ‘Are you coming or what?” Cedar looked around, wondering how long it would take for medical help to arrive if they perished on this ladder. The girl had taken it without hesitation, and that would have to be enough. They started the climb and poked up through the wooden floor before letting out a gasp. The girl was sitting cross-legged on a blanket, surrounded by the reflected light of hundreds of spoons that had been tied to the roof. The setting sun poked its rays through the window, lighting up the faces of the spoons and splitting hundreds of tiny rays onto the walls. It reminded them almost of a disco ball if each ray of light could dance on its own. “'Vbu... you made this?” they asked, clambering into the treehouse and sitting down. “"You made them! You’re the one in the window!” she said, looking around. Cedar stared at her, the lights dancing, making her eyes glow. One was right on her eye, highlighting the emerald green against chestnut brown hair. “Yeah but they’re... so bad,” they protested, staring up at the spoons with wonder. Daytime stars. The girl shrugged, watching Cedar with a smile. “They look fine to me,” she said, looking up at them again. “Where did you learn how to make them?” Cedar hesitated, thinking of the summer days when they were young enough that everything they made was good and everything their grandfather made was perfect. 96 �Daytime Start “My grandpa taught me when I was little,” they said, watching the soft breeze make the lights dance even more. “He picked up the hobby from god knows where, but I thought it the coolest thing in the world. I used to be okay, but now that I’ve started doing it again I can’t make anything good.” The girl smiled again. “Maybe you just need to look at it from a different perspective?” Cedar shrugged and looked over, watching her brilliant smile. “I guess. What’s your name, spoon thief?” Her name was Fern, and she loved daytime stars. And though neither of them knew it yet, she loved Cedar too. 97 � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. 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All rights revert back to the author/artist after publication.</div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2023 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Matthew Orszulak Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Expression Literary and Arts Magazine, CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01_Exp_2023_Prose_02 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Casper College