Writer’s Spotlight: Andy Hollister

“Andy is an English Literature and Political Science double major. In middle and high school, they were in the Creative Writing Club, book reading club, and school newspaper. Their inspirations are from their emotions and trauma, and things that help them out of spirals. Things like the Batfam and Ninja Turtles and mermaids.” 

Dear Child by Andy Hollister 

Dear Child, 

Our world has always been broken. It started from the beginning, when we chose to settle in this God forsaken country. The Founders, Theresa Mary Delmonte and Christopher Vance Hollister, were the oldest. We thought they were the smartest but they weren’t. Not long after the country was formed, 35 years to be precise, the country fully fell apart. The Prime Minister versus the Emperor. Christopher versus Theresa. It didn’t take long for the country to become a full war torn territory and for the other three countries to prepare for a possible invasion. 

And right in there at the start of the war was us. Just you, me, and your father. Just our farmhouse and our giant Oak tree in the middle of nowhere. Alone and safe. You grew into your thirties, met a nice man, and had a sweet baby boy. Your boy, he was sweet, but he was still a little boy, and one day he climbed that Oak tree of ours and ate some bark from the top of it. You were so scared, you nearly fainted. But he was okay. You warned him to never eat bark again. 

When he was thirteen, he climbed up that tree and picked a bunch of leaves off the top, claiming they were the most magical ones cause they got the most sunlight. He used a trick he learned from some kids in the town and weaved them together into a crown that he wore for two weeks before you made him get rid of it. 

When he was sixteen, he climbed up that tree with your husband to watch the sunset. When he was seventeen, he climbed that tree with your husband to watch the bombs dropping miles away. The bright flash came before the sound. It brought your boy to tears. When he was eighteen, you and your husband had a fight with your boy and he climbed to tree to be alone. You let him be for hours, till midnight, when he climbed back down to go to bed. 

When he was twenty, he cut up some leaves from the Oak tree and made tea with it. It was really disgusting and you made sure that Me and your father didn’t drink any. Your husband, that silly man, he drank the whole pot, calling it “flat out delicious!”. That silly man. 

When he was twenty one, Me and your father had passed on. You heard the rumble of an army in the distance. Your boy climbed that tree for the final time. While up there, he could see the army approaching. Climbing down, he slipped and fell. You thought for sure your boy was dead. But he had not one scratch on him. Perfectly fine he was for a boy who had fallen thirty feet out of a tree. 

He laughed, saying that he inhaled some leaves on his way down. You three laughed until the army entered the field and approached the house. You were to be shot on the spot and your house would be taken. You each were shot forty times. You didn’t gain a scratch. You ran away, and kept running. The three of you had no idea what had happened. 

Fifty years later, you were pretty sure you knew. You three had not aged. One hundred years later, two hundred years later, five hundred years later. You and your immortal family. You were never sure how you became immortal, but you were.

Now you run. You see all kinds of things. You see the country change. Five hundred years of war does a lot to a country. Maybe one day you’ll reach Kayla or Jessica or maybe even Sydney. Then you will be safe. But for now, you run.