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Renaissance Rosalyn Lomax, Editor Emerita Marian Westbrook, Editor Emerita Kathryn Spicer, Editor Emerita Cover............................... Ana Pantoja Art................................... Kellie Lankford Prose................................ Mary LaVanway Poetry............................... Sam Spivey Jeff Williams Ashley Merrill Dean Tuck Dedication This thirtieth volume is dedicated to Sanford Korschun and The Korschun Foundation for their generous donation to support our vision. The Writers’ and Artists’ Magazine of Wayne Community College Goldsboro, North Carolina Volume 30, April 2014 Student Awards Editors Acknowledgements Staff Theresa White-Wallace Faculty Danny Rollins and Angie Waller Wayne Community College Foundation Jack Kannan Educational Support Technologies Department Majena Howell, Ken Jones, and Ron Lane Student Government Association and The Artists and Writers No part of this magazine may be reproduced without permission. Copyright 2014 Renaissance Views expressed are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the editors of this institution. i Table of Contents Elephants.................................................................................... 1..........................................Kellie Lankford, AA 2820 miles.................................................................................. 2.......................................... Sam Spivey, AA Knowing.................................................................................... 4..........................................Mary Susan Heath, Special Credit A Few of My Favorite Things............................................................ 4..........................................Kellie Lankford, AA The Case of the Threatening Note...................................................... 5.......................................... Breanna Grim, AA Self Portrait................................................................................. 6.......................................... Jessica Brannan, AA What To Do With Your Beads After Mardi Gras Is Over............................ 7.......................................... Margaret Boothe Baddour, Faculty My Mother’s Hands....................................................................... 7.......................................... Julia Poole, Nursing Countertop................................................................................. 7.......................................... Mark Sawyer, AA Seedling..................................................................................... 8.......................................... Candice Marie Lancaster, AA Apple........................................................................................ 8.......................................... Brianna Homminga, AA February.................................................................................... 8.......................................... Jeff Williams, Faculty You’re Next................................................................................ 9.......................................... Shaneeka Greenfield, Office Admin. Value Drawing............................................................................. 10......................................... Jesse Royer, Sim./Game Dev. Clouds As Cheap As Ramen............................................................. 10......................................... Andre Selby, AA Fifth Gear................................................................................... 11.........................................Mary LaVanway, Nursing Kingdom Under the Sea.................................................................. 13......................................... Bria McCoy, Sim./Game Dev. Naughty the Nautilus..................................................................... 13......................................... Ben Massey, AA Light Always Shines....................................................................... 14......................................... Jessica Hendrick, AA Praying for the Prodigals................................................................. 15.........................................Mary Susan Heath, Special Credit Check Mate................................................................................. 15......................................... Danielle Carter, AA Dog Gone................................................................................... 15.........................................Mary Susan Heath, Special Credit A My Eye View............................................................................. 16......................................... Jonathan Mayo, AS Ireland....................................................................................... 17......................................... Samantha Grzybek, AA Smile and Wave............................................................................ 18......................................... Josh Hollowell, AA Cody......................................................................................... 18.........................................Cody Howell, AA The Real Me................................................................................ 18......................................... Danielle Carter, AA Statue........................................................................................ 18......................................... Liyah Foye, AA Esteemed Speaker on a Rainy Night.................................................... 19......................................... Renaissance Editors Rise of the Shenobie Wolf Clan (Excerpt)............................................. 19......................................... Renaissance Editors Whitney, Once Loved.................................................................... 19......................................... Renaissance Editors Summer Swamp........................................................................... 19......................................... Renaissance Editors Born on the Rocks........................................................................ 20......................................... Candice Marie Lancaster, AA Haiku Explorations........................................................................ 20......................................... Gene Carpenter, Con. Ed. Pencil Mill.................................................................................. 20.........................................Kellie Lankford, AA Home, For a Visit.......................................................................... 21......................................... Nancy Seate, Con. Ed. Welcome to the Nightmare.............................................................. 21.........................................Katie Carey, AA Rook......................................................................................... 21......................................... Michaela Deguzman, AA A Nip of Tuck.............................................................................. 22.........................................Ray Dotson, Con. Ed. Self Portrait................................................................................. 22......................................... Akiva Johnson, AA Equinox..................................................................................... 23......................................... Theresa White-Wallace, Staff Animal Positive............................................................................ 23......................................... Jesse Royer, Sim./Game Dev. I Belong Here.............................................................................. 24......................................... Sam Spivey, AA I Use People................................................................................ 25......................................... Sherrie Erb, AA Attempt at Zentangle..................................................................... 25......................................... Ana Pantoja, AA I Am.......................................................................................... 26.........................................Drew Blanco, AA Caroline..................................................................................... 26.........................................Ray Dotson, Con. Ed. The Hunter................................................................................. 26......................................... Amanda Smith, AA The Stars Became Our Anthem......................................................... 27......................................... Sadie Goulet, AA Zentangle................................................................................... 27......................................... Brianna Homminga, AA Made in China.............................................................................. 28......................................... Chunglam Lau, AA The Construction Men................................................................... 28......................................... Nancy Seate, Con. Ed. The Showdown............................................................................ 29.........................................Maurice Hunter, AA diamonds, bones, and oak spirits....................................................... 30......................................... Sam Spivey, AA Beatrix Potter’s Transdimensional Gateway........................................... 31......................................... Jeff Williams, Faculty Rose Red.................................................................................... 31......................................... Summer Woodard, AA Starplant.................................................................................... 31......................................... Chunglam Lau, AA Roxie........................................................................................ 31......................................... Courtney Howell, AA Chimera..................................................................................... 32......................................... Bria McCoy, Sim./Game Dev. Sunset....................................................................................... 32......................................... Theresa White-Wallace, Staff Isolation..................................................................................... 32......................................... Amanda Smith, AA ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ii ❦ Award Winner Member of Dean Tuck’s Creative Writing Class In Flight..................................................................................... 32......................................... Lora Sager, AA London...................................................................................... 32......................................... Samantha Grzybek, AA Tree Hotel.................................................................................. 33......................................... Chunglam Lau, AA Flora......................................................................................... 33......................................... Lailan Fowler, AGE Blue Moon.................................................................................. 33......................................... Jessica Brannan, AA Three Graces............................................................................... 34......................................... Bria McCoy, Sim./Game Dev. A Normal Conversation.................................................................. 34......................................... Amanda Smith, AA Pieces of Me................................................................................ 34......................................... Ana Pantoja, AA Kitten Frog................................................................................. 34......................................... Danielle Carter, AA Bamboo Tiger.............................................................................. 34......................................... Lora Sager, AA Blueberry Hill.............................................................................. 35......................................... Gene Carpenter, Con. Ed. All Your Bass................................................................................ 35.........................................Greyson Potter, AA Wine Glass................................................................................. 35......................................... Akiva Johnson, AA What A Wonderful Fall................................................................... 36.........................................Krystal Artis-Jones, Nursing The Travelers of Meriya.................................................................. 37......................................... Benjamin Mayo, Networking Tech. Keys.......................................................................................... 38......................................... Jessica Brannan, AA The Shadow’s Perspective................................................................ 39.........................................Taylor Pate, Con. Ed. Alone........................................................................................ 39......................................... Liyah Foye, AA When You Know It........................................................................ 39......................................... Nichole McWhirter, AA Zentangle................................................................................... 39......................................... Michaela Deguzman, AA Surprise..................................................................................... 40......................................... Nancy Seate, Con. Ed. The Yellow Orb............................................................................ 40.........................................Patrick Gallager, Con. Ed. Between Lovers and Liars................................................................ 41......................................... Josh Hollowell, AA I Am.......................................................................................... 41.........................................Taylor Pate, Con. Ed. Peaceful or Desolate...................................................................... 41......................................... Ana Pantoja, AA Golden Box................................................................................. 42......................................... Ben Munoz, AS A Circle of Oil............................................................................. 42......................................... Margaret Boothe Baddour, Faculty Caffeine..................................................................................... 43......................................... Mark Sawyer, AA Queen of Spring........................................................................... 43.........................................Katherine Michaelowicz, Con. Ed. Embarrassed................................................................................ 43......................................... Blake Sutton, HVAC Fishing with a Snake....................................................................... 44......................................... Jonathan Jernigan, Faculty saudade...................................................................................... 45......................................... Sam Spivey, AA I See You..................................................................................... 45......................................... Bria McCoy, Sim./Game Dev. The Details of Loss........................................................................ 46......................................... Alexis Brie Cox, Pathways-Hum./SS After It Happened......................................................................... 47......................................... Dylan Harrison, AA Puppy........................................................................................ 47......................................... Brianna Homminga, AA What Does the Fox Say?.................................................................. 48......................................... Summer Woodard, AA A Delightful Creamy Filling............................................................. 49.........................................Mary LaVanway, Nursing Scream....................................................................................... 51.........................................Drew Blanco, AA Hush......................................................................................... 51......................................... Nichole McWhirter, AA The Dark Days of 21...................................................................... 51......................................... Anika Rawlinson, AA Celebrating 30 Years: Magazine Memories............................................ 52......................................... Rosalyn Lomax, Editor Emerita Celebrating 30 Years: My Experience as Co-Editor of Renaissance................. 53.........................................Marian Westbrook, Editor Emerita Celebrating 30 Years: Renaissance—The Earliest Years............................... 54......................................... Liz Meador, Faculty Celebrating 30 Years: Creating Renaissance............................................ 54......................................... Anne Croom, Retired Faculty Ode to the Greatest Inventions......................................................... 55......................................... James Bailey, Computer Info. Tech. Lt. Gen. Tso................................................................................ 55......................................... Ana Pantoja, AA Math Poem................................................................................. 56......................................... Philip Cecil, AA The Equation of Learning................................................................ 56......................................... Hannah Darden, AAS Function..................................................................................... 56......................................... Nick Easom, AA Equations................................................................................... 56......................................... Choua Vue, AAS Math Cinquain............................................................................. 56......................................... Brittany Butler, AAS No One Will Miss You.................................................................... 57......................................... Charles Heath, Computer Info. Tech. Flower Child............................................................................... 58......................................... Summer Woodard, AA Pretty Little Fool.......................................................................... 58......................................... Jasmine Inya Coleman, AA Mema........................................................................................ 59......................................... Morgan Olmstead, AA When the Daffodils Bloom.............................................................. 60......................................... Karen Craig, AA Zen Tangle Self............................................................................. 61......................................... Lora Sager, AA In Sickness and in Health................................................................. 61.........................................Mary Susan Heath, Special Credit Pretentious................................................................................. 61......................................... Josh Hollowell, AA Flying Through the Cold................................................................. 61......................................... Nancy Seate, Con. Ed. The Bus Ride............................................................................... 62......................................... Malinda Gomez, Early Childhood Winking, Blinking, and Nod............................................................. 63.........................................Kellie Lankford, AA Molly’s Cruise.............................................................................. 64.........................................Crystal Bunn, Dental Hygiene A Few of My Favorite Things............................................................ 64......................................... Summer Woodard, AA Amy.......................................................................................... 65......................................... Lauren Merritt, Pathways-Life/Health Nature’s Caged Horse.................................................................... 68......................................... Jessica Brannan, AA ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ 1 Elephants Kellie Lankford ❦ 2 2820 miles tag-along games i play with my guilty conscience as i am drawn running towards the sea away from the cold atlantic and over the mountains through misty moors and smoky shacks into the land of giants and ruffians past god’s own blessed children i’ll rest in the foothills, sleep under the stars forget why i came, leave my boots in the rain end up singing indie rock in memphis cross the styx and enter no-man’s land sun stroke burning my brain prairie grass tickling my bare legs the flames will scorch me as i continue questioning myself in dreams visions beleaguering my addled acts texas taking its toll, crop dusting my purpose when i reach the desert i want to finish i wish to relax, to lie back and rewind but i must go on, i am not finished yet the red clay reminds me of why i walk the cactus appears as an omen the roadrunner goes ahead and turns back to help the promised place is nearing, i can sense it in my soul a searching light is cast, and i want to respond it is the final stretch the pacific is a blue heaven and i am weary for its embrace the highway seems to be safe, so i shamble at the side headlights like lightning bugs or dragon fire depending on the mood a man offers a ride, “l.a. or san fran?” “take me home,” i say, and he knows what i mean as he heads north. “the truth is, and i can’t admit this to just anyone, that i left my heart in san francisco.” the man just smiles and nods when i say this “a little farther south, isn’t it?” well yes, i concede; would he mind stopping off a little early? “sure,” he says, “you’ve been a long way, you’re almost there.” so after on month, nine days, five hours, fifty-seven minutes, and ninety-nine seconds i arrive i fall down at your door, not because i’m road-weary but because you open it when i call your name because i can hear you whisper my name back because i’m afraid if i get back up i’ll run away because i can’t meet you at eye level and because i’ve finally come far enough. 3 “i listened for the beating of your heart,” i say, barely able to speak “and heard silence; then i knew, it was when my heart stopped too.” pause; listen and i stumble inside astral: stargate lover, come back to me the sun presets your heart for a burn cycle (flame, flume, flare, fade) the moon twists and twinges to see you fly— glisten, glow, glide aside my mind wait for the pull to lessen, crash, and break (black and blue) i was never grand enough, opulence has small charm for a corpse (those ragged carpets and incense hold infinity for me) i was never grand enough a wise man with a mind but no hands to plan with (purposeless, crystalline—true, true) i was never grand enough ran through the streets with a flag on my wrist (filthy and fletched and follied, yeah) if you get a twitch, a stitch in your soul remember we’re not so far apart after all just stars on the surface, satellites orbiting the same idea that one ceiling isn’t enough to block out the sky when wondering when i will whisk you away recall i wait while the waters wake wild whistles waxing and waning weightlessness in the ways of winter (words, words, words, words) let me list the things you love: chevron cardigans and compact classics eyeglasses and i-love-yous; you are nostalgic and eclectic, folk singers and mountain roads; “i want to know, have you ever seen the rain?” oxygenize your anger, sweet one let this feeling die with me let this lust drain away prepare for the ocean to meet you when you fall and as the mice and men make their recovery i am drawn senselessly into the past again, wondering why you forget me so easily and why i cannot seem to lose sight of the future. Sam Spivey ❦ 4 Knowing Not knowing why I always check perfectly good, almost bloodless processed chicken parts for feathers. I watch my mother stand at 91, before her sink, to this day deftly cutting a sleek pink and white Perdue poultry hen into perfect frying parts— two drumsticks, two thighs, two wings. the pulley bone, or the wish bone, she called it, a part separate from the breast. I remembered we pulled it, and the bigger piece meant you got your wish, whatever you wanted. I wanted to know why she cut the breast in two parts and then divided the back. Her mother and brother chased the Sunday chicken around their yard. He caught it. She wrung its neck. My mother remembered the chicken flopping around in circles, its wings sweeping up dust in a grassless yard until it rested lifeless in the dirt, its feathers soiled from the dying dance. Her brother chopped off the dangling head. A blood-stained trail led to a wash pot boiling in the yard, where her mother dunked the hen to loosen the drooping feathers, then laid the carcass on the table, to pick the chicken and cut it into eleven pieces. “It goes further that way,” She explained. “I do it that way because that’s the way Mother did it.” Mary Susan Heath A Few of My Favorite Things Kellie Lankford ❦ 5 The Case of the Threatening Note Breanna Grim B on Friday, and it had been a long day of shampoo-ing and cutting hair, and I was ready to head home and watch some Supernatural. The sky was cloudy, the wind was whipping through my hair, and rain looked like it was due to fall any second. I quick-ened my pace as I walked my way through the park-ing lot towards my black Dodge Avenger. I un-locked the car and slid into the seat. The first thing I saw was a piece of paper stuck to the middle of my windshield. I opened the door and reached around to grab it. I turned the paper over in my hand and froze. “YOU’RE NEXT” is all it said. The bottom was ragged like it had been ripped off of something, and it was typed in big bold font across the middle. What the hell was this? Was this some sort of sick joke? I glanced out the windshield, half expect-ing to see some teenager watching me from across the street and laughing, but the road was clear. A look around the rest of the parking lot showed it was empty. I threw the paper in the passenger seat, buckled up, and sped out of the parking lot, eager to be in the safety of my home. Arriving at home, I rushed inside and locked the door behind me. The paper was clutched in my hand. It had been printed on light blue paper, and it seemed like this wasn’t just a joke played by some stupid teenager but the real deal. I mean, who would take the time to type and print something like this just to play a practical joke on somebody unless they meant it? The more I looked at the paper, the more it seemed familiar, almost like I had seen the same ex-act paper with those same exact words before. What if that means it was one of my friends that did this? Had I seen it sitting somewhere on one of their houses before? I calmed down a little at the thought. Of course I would be pissed if one of them did do it, but at least then it wouldn’t be anything serious. I decided to just forget about it tonight and relax before going to bed later. Tomorrow I would visit my friends and ask if any of them had seen this before. I woke up bright and early the next day and got ready before heading out on my quest to find the ye, Jess! See you tomorrow,” my friend Andrea said as I walked towards the front door of the hair salon. It was five o’clock owner of the note. I figured I would have had to see the note at one of my friends’ houses in the last two weeks, so that left me with five friends whose houses I had been to. Mike had left for vacation on Sunday and was still in Hawaii, so I only had to pay a visit to four of them. Angela was first on the list since she lived the closest to me. I rang her doorbell and waited as I listened to her walking through the house to answer the door. “Hey, Jess. Wasn’t expecting to see you here. What’s up?” she asked with a smile on her face. “I got off work yesterday and found this note stuck to my windshield. I was scared at first, but I could have sworn that I’ve seen this somewhere before, and I figured it was someone I knew playing a trick on me,” I said as I pulled out the note. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?” She pursed her lips and tilted her head a little in thought. “It looks familiar to me too for some rea-son, but I swear I had nothing to do with this.” Her face showed nothing suspicious, and I believed her. “Do you remember where you might have seen it?” I asked, even more sure that one of our friends had done it. “Sorry, no. You might want to check with Brad next, though. You know he’s always pulling pranks, and this seems like something he would do.” I nodded. “Yeah, that’s where I was headed next.” Scott was at Brad’s house watching a football game which was good because he was next on my list of people to visit. “Hey Jess, what’s up?” Brad asked. “Hey, guys. I’m glad you’re both here, it saves me from having to take a trip to your home after this,” I said while looking at Scott. “I found this note stuck to my windshield yesterday, and I was pretty freaked out at first. But it looks really familiar so I thought it might be one of you guys that did it.” I pulled the note out and handed it to Brad. “I al-ready asked Angela. Did either of you do it?” Scott leaned around my shoulder to peer at the note. Brad said, “I really didn’t do this, but I wish I had. This would be pretty funny.” He laughed. I punched him in the shoulder. “That would not by funny, you jerk! I was seriously scared that “ someone was out to kill me.” His laughter quieted. “I’m sorry, Jess, really.” Scott pulled back to his side of the couch. “It wasn’t me either, Jess. I’m sorry. Who were you go-ing to see after us?” “The only one left on my list is Caroline.” As I drove to Caroline’s house, I slowly grew more nervous. What if it wasn’t her? That would mean someone put it there on purpose. But that still doesn’t explain why I recognized it. Even if it was Caroline, why would she do it? Maybe she was still mad from the time I told her that her taste in men was bad. She can be really sensitive about it sometimes, but would it be bad enough for her to want to do something so mean? She was outside in her garage when I pulled up, and she turned and waved at me. I stepped out and walked into the garage to meet her. “I found this note on my car yes-terday and I’m checking with everybody to see if they know anything about it,” I said while passing over the note for her to see. “You think I did this? This is just plain mean, and I would nev-er do it to anyone, espe-cially not my friends!” She did seem genuinely upset and concerned for me. I pulled her in for a hug to mollify her, and she spoke into my shoulder. “It’s okay, Jess. I didn’t do this, though. Sorry.” The fear that had been slowly creeping up on me as each person said no hit me full on. That really did mean someone else did it. What if they had been fol-lowing me all day, laughing as I tried to find them? “It’s fine, I’ll see you around, okay?” I really needed some coffee right now. This was stressing me out too much. “Can I get a venti caramel latte, please?” I hand-ed over my cash and stood off to the side to wait for my coffee. As soon as I had my coffee in my hand, I would head home where I was safe. As far as I knew, there was a raving lunatic after me. I turned my head a little to the left, and something caught my eye. My whole body tensed up. How could I have been so blind? The answer was right there in front of me. There was a bulletin in the corner of the store where people could pin advertisements and services for customers to see. Right in the middle of the board was a piece of paper. The words at the top ingrained in my brain already. The advertisement read, “YOU’RE NEXT IN LINE TO WIN A TRIP TO HAWAII!! Call this number to find out how!” Underneath that was a number listed for people to call. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t remembered that before now. I look at it every day when I come in for my daily coffee. That’s how Mike had won the vacation trip. The piece of paper must have been flying around in the wind yester-day and landed on my windshield for me to find. I couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling out past my lips at the insanity of this situa-tion. The few people in the store gave me looks but otherwise carried on with their business. The barista called my name, and I stood up and grabbed my coffee. “Have a great day, everybody!” I said to everyone as I walked out. I was feeling re-lieved and giddy. Nobody was after me after all. I was just crazy. I sipped my coffee and turned the radio up. It was time to relax and enjoy my weekend. I never did get around to watching Supernatural... ❖ 6 Self Portrait Jessica Brannan What To Do With Your Beads After Mardi Gras Is Over These gold beads he hurled at me from the float— “Mr. New Orleans” muscles, eyebrows, chiseled features. “Meet me at Antoine’s” he cried, and I ordinary on the curb sighed, “Yes.” It’s morning now at Antoine’s and no Mr. New Orleans. The dark portraits of famous men loom over me. I wrap these faux fake tacky beads around the rose in its vase and twist until they pop. Margaret Boothe Baddour My Mother’s Hands Hands that till the earth The proof of her labor buried deep under her fingernails Hands, cracked and bleeding at the mercy of Winter’s feet She wears her scars as badges of strength Hands that steadily guide the needle She is her own North Star Hands, clasped in desperation, pleading to the sky Her prayers aren’t in vain These are the hands that first held mine Softened by love Hardened by time These are my mother’s hands These are the hands that wiped away my tears Held me tightly Hushed my fears These are my mother’s hands Her touch still lingers on my cheek And for just one moment She is with me These are my mother’s hands Julia Poole 7 Countertop Mark Sawyer 8 Seedling Stretched asphalt slides from west to east with this burden driving me farther as the banjo begs me “Faster.” The salt air pulls and cloaks the edges of disaster. The sun drops darkness on me like a hand grenade only head and tail lamps pulse lacing over the electric hills like last year’s forgotten Christmas lights. The earth of my home is churned from my leaving and soil clings to my roots. I must be repotted to flourish and into the world I’m thrust where I will reach for the sky or wither into dust. Candice Marie Lancaster February Tonight I bored a hole in the soil, a grave for a guinea pig lost to old age, and tomorrow I bury my grand-mother as I dig further into my own good night—the trees a silhouetted landscape cocooning me as a black cape hides the magician. But there is no sleight of hand in theses fingers, no performance on demand in these eyes. These arms are too sore for gestures. Tonight, I’m sure, I’ll dream of dying as I do so many nights in the crying wilderness of stars. Jeff Williams Apple Brianna Homminga You’re Next Shaneeka Greenfield Agrees, and I hurriedly cranked my car. As the cool air hit me and I leaned back to exhale, I spotted the sticky note on my windshield. Right there, right before my eyes was a neon, yellow sticky note with the words “YOU’RE NEXT” scribbled on it. My heartbeat doubled, and I grabbed my chest in hopes to slow down the beating of my heart. If the note were on the outside of the windshield, I could have laughed it off. My day would not have changed. The note was on the inside of my car, on the inside of my locked car, in broad daylight. Who could have left that note? Did they break in the wrong car? I asked these questions on the way home. For the life of me, no one came to mind. Yes, some people do not care for me too much, but not enough to hurt me. Once I made it home, I needed a bubble bath. On the way upstairs the phone rang, but I ignored it. The next morning, my routine did not change. My day consisted of the usual, no surprises, so I decided to put the recent scare behind me. That evening after my workout, I decided to do a couple of laps around the track. On my second lap, a bur-gundy Lincoln LS with tinted windows slowly rode by. When my heart was pounding, legs burning, and my face was drenched in sweat, I called it quits. On my way to the car, I noticed the burgundy Lin-coln drive by again. On the way home, my phone rang off the hook. I refused to answer because it was a private number. My mind wandered back to the note, “YOU’RE NEXT.” What was I next for? My palms began to sweat. The note, the suspicious car, and the pri-vate numbers had me jittery. “It’s all coincidences,” I told myself. Who would have thought it, I, Sha-neeka Greenfield, tough girl, scared shitless? When I approached my front door, I noticed that it was unlocked. The thought of an intruder did not cross my mind because leaving my door un-locked is a bad habit of mine. It was dark inside, and as I reached for the light switch, I heard move-ment behind me. Forgetting the switch, I turned around to receive a punch to the face. My body hit the floor. Before I had time to react, the intruder fter an extreme workout, I headed to my car. The tem-perature was a blistering 98 de-was upon me, sitting on my belly, delivering blow after blow. I quickly began to throw my body around like a mental. The intruder fell to the floor beside me. As I began to rise to my feet, I felt a sharp object enter my side. I screamed and ran for dear life to-wards the stairs. I had an advantage, my house, my turf, and I knew that. Hitting the light switch, I turned to see who the intruder was. My eyes almost popped out of the sockets. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking like the mad woman she was, was Tash Kingman. Tash Kingman was a woman I knew too well; I never thought we would be face-to-face. For the past four years, we had been sleeping with the same man. Romeo refused to leave her, and I refused to leave him. After all these years, never had there been any altercation. Everyone just accepted things as they were. A couple of months back, I gave Romeo an ultimatum: her or me. I guess you know who he chose. Snapping me out of my daze was Tash’s move-ment. Panicking, I grabbed the lamp from the side table at the top of the stairs. Tash ran full speed up the stairs. Mid-way, I launched the lamp, and it smashed against her face. Tash fell back down the stairs, and I did not know if she was dead or alive. Blood was spilling from my side. On my way to my bedroom, I prayed that I lived. I should have been dialing 911, but I had seen too many movies, and I needed some protection. As I reached and retrieved my .38 handgun, a voice behind me spoke. “You’ll never know the pain you have caused. So much heartache and disappointment followed your perfectly fit body. You broke up a home, a family, years I put into this. You can have Romeo and he can have you, IN DEATH!” Tash grabbed me and shoved me towards my floor-to-ceiling window. I turned and fired a shot, at the same moment she shoved me through the win-dow. If she thought she was going to come in my home and kill me she was dead wrong. When Tash pushed me through the window I used to love so much, I grabbed her blouse and took her with me. My perfectly trimmed shrubs, rose bushes, and baby trees broke our fall. When I opened my eyes, my head immedi- 9 Value Drawing Jesse Royer 10 ately began to hurt. I could not feel anything else, possibly from the blood loss. The gun was within reach, and I rolled onto my belly to retrieve it. Tash grabbed my leg and began to drag me away from the gun. Turning over on my back, I kicked her in the face and quickly grabbed the gun. Pointing it at her, I stood. “I never wanted it to come to this,” I said. Tash just looked at me. We both looked like death. “Maybe next time you will think twice before sleeping with somebody’s man,” Tash said. “Maybe I won’t,” I said. Tash screamed and ran towards me. Without hesitation, without second-guessing, I pulled the trigger. Standing over Tash’s dead body, watching the blood spill from the single bullet wound, I thought back to the note. “No, bitch, you’re next,” I said aloud. ❖ Clouds As Cheap As Ramen The peculiar way of ones who float instead of walk. It’s the destiny of the abstract to be explained. As it were, perception has always been the entirety of me. Maybe this means Like all the things we see, and all we can know for certain That I Am little more than a ray of light What have I bounced off of? Was I the cloth whose glow emanates from a closet Like the frightful hostile beast that strangely Peers from behind some wooden door? Am I the thing of your dreams? The lost you? I am the raccoon at night, Dwelling in the very fields you fled long ago. And I would look through the garbage The trash you threw out The faith and goodwill That became a liability to you While you closed your eyes to avoid the gawking stares of nostalgia, The shameful eyes that would gaze over that tragedy. And those who would witness me descending upon the refuse at 6 am would behold the madman, Those at 8 a.m. would watch the trash man. And if I came at noon, no one would venture a guess as to why I am there at all. Let us hope I can reach nightfall A nightfall with no more assumptions The peculiar ways of ones who float instead of walk? It’s not strange at all. Andre Selby 11 Fifth Gear Mary LaVanway J my heart. The past two minutes passed amaz-ingly fast, and I still had not gotten my bear-ings. Now with the car off, it is completely si-lent except for the tick, tick, tick of the engine as it begins to cool down. I take a deep breath, let it out, and open my eyes to find the world is upside down. “Get out.” Exiting the car involves a bit of planning. With the car off, everything is dark, and I have to feel my way around. If I undo my seat belt, I am going to fall on my head, so I opt for open-ing the door first. I grip the steering wheel with my legs and one arm and then press the release button on the seat belt. I do indeed hit my head but not as hard as I had imagined. Swinging my legs over the steering wheel and out the open door, I roll onto the ground. Chip’s door is jammed against the side of the ditch, so he has to haul his bulk over the tiny car’s console and out my door. I nearly laugh out loud, but look-ing at his face I keep quiet. I figure at this point I have pushed him far enough, although all of this was his fault. “Listen…..up.” Chip is huffing and puffing, either from an-ger or from trying to separate himself from the car, and looking at him, I figure the latter. His shirt is raked up, exposing his impressive belly. His usually slicked back hair is sticking up in all directions, and one jean leg is pushed up, giving me another unwanted glimpse of Chip’s hide. I do a quick inventory of myself to ensure he is not getting the same show. I am presentable. I take a few shaky steps down the road, making sure everything works the same way it did this morning. “Hey….c’mere.” It strikes me that all it takes to reduce the self-important, long-winded, “just call me Chipster, all my fans do, heh, heh, heh” Chip to a man of few words is to flip his car. I should ust turn it off,” he gasps. “Turn it off!” “Okay, okay. Stop yelling.” But he needs to yell because I can barely hear him over the beating of spread the word. For now, I walk back to where he is waiting, leaning over with his hands on his knees. He looks pitiful that way, and I almost feel sorry for him. Sweat is running off him, but Michigan in August is hot enough to cause that regardless of our little situation here. He is simply wearing too much clothing, but guys like Chip need to appear cool, and he cannot pull that off in shorts and a T-shirt. There is too much of him in all the wrong places. Chip’s not bad looking, but he comes across a bit greasy, like a guy who should smell bad but he never does. Maybe it is all that Old Spice he wears. “We gotta get our stories straight,” he says. Get our stories straight? Who are we go-ing to tell? There is no one around for miles, and unless you count the crickets that suddenly came back to life, we are totally alone. Just who does this guy think is going to come by and chat? This is so typical of Chip. Everything has to be done his way, and his way means he is the center of attention, he makes the rules, and he comes out on top. “The cops will be here soon.” It never occurred to me until that moment there might be more to this than getting his car out and driving away. Sure the cops will come. They always do. And when they get here, they are going to ask questions. They always do that, too. To top it off, my dad knows a lot of cops. I am doomed. “We can’t tell them you were driving. My insurance won’t cover it. Gimme a minute to think here.” There is no way this girl is going to lie to the police. I am a terrible liar. Panic is beginning to set in, but I give him the minute. He turns and looks at his car and his face sags. The car looks like one of those insects that cannot get back on its feet after turning turtle. Uprooted weeds are sticking out of the wheel wells and the front bumper, and there is a slick of mud running down the side. He loves that car, just bought it brand new three, four months ago. It is the coolest car anyone in our little group owns—a Datsun 280Z with all the bells and “ 12 whistles, and five gears—which is why we are in this mess. Guys like Chip need a car like this. People hang out with the guy who has a cool car. But he is my friend, kind of, and I feel bad for the way the night has turned out and decide to go along with him as long as he does not go ‘all Chip’ with it. “Okay, here it is. I was taking you for a drive, and all of a sudden, two cars come over that hill, racing each other, and to avoid hitting them, I crossed the road and went into the ditch and the car flipped. They kept right on going. Never stopped. Neither of us got a good look at what kind of car, ok? You got that?” Chip is getting his wind back. He stares at me, waiting for an answer. I nod, wondering if I can do this. I have to decide quickly; the police have arrived. “Cry and act scared and they’ll believe you,” he whispers as they get out of the car. No need to act. I am scared. Petrified, ac-tually. I stand near the Datsun as Chip tells his story, waving his hands and mimicking the rev-ving sounds of racing cars, totally into it. Both cops stand there, never moving, not interrupt-ing or asking any questions. When he finishes, Chip follows one cop over to the police car and the other checks out the car. The flashing blue and red lights make his movements appear jerky as if one second he is there the next he is not. The crickets must have decided to sit this one out as it was silent once again with only an occa-sional squawk from the police car. Cop number two then walks up the road for a bit, turns, and comes back to where I am standing and looks down at me. He is huge. He must be at least six and a half feet tall. He reaches into his belt and pulls out his notepad, the leather creaking as he does so. I see his gun, his badge, and all the other components that make up his uniform. This guy is not just a cop; he is authority. Lying to this guy is going to be a mistake. “Would you please tell me what happened here tonight, miss?” I tell the story and put everything I have into it, but it sounds lame. I know he recognizes it as a big, fat fib and I want to stop. When finished, he sighs and tells me to follow him down the road. He shines his light on the pavement while explaining such things as skid marks and other accident evidence that barely registers with me. “I want you to listen to me very carefully. I don’t care what that man told you to say or not to say. What I want now is for you to tell me exactly what happened.” In one long breath I tell him: Chip want-ed to teach me how to drive a stick and after stalling out a few times I was doing fine in first and second gear and how he was ragging at me when I did not go fast enough for third so I went faster and now to get to fourth gear I had to go even faster and so I went faster and I told him I was still not speeding but Chip wanted me to go into fifth gear and I just was not going fast enough so he reached over and pushed on my knee and the car just flew scaring the crap out of me and probably him and he is yelling at me to shift and then we were in the ditch upside down. I breathe again and feel pretty good. “You were driving.” I nod. He smiles at me, and together we walk back to the two cars which have been joined by a tow truck. Chip is smiling until he sees me shake my head. After the police confer, Chip gets a lecture and a ticket. I am out of earshot but do not miss the look Chip sends my way. With a few choice words and a lot of grunt-ing, Chip, the two cops, and the tow truck driv-er are actually able to push the car over onto its four wheels, and the tow truck pulls it out of the ditch. Amazingly, only the roof is dented. Chip picks off the weeds, scowls at the mud, and gets in. It starts on the first try. The police get ready to leave, and I decide to get a ride with the tow truck driver; Chip can wait for another day. I think he feels the same way. I will give him a couple of weeks to cool down. He will not stay mad at me for long. I hope not. I hear he is getting a new motorcycle, and I would love to learn how to drive one. ❖ 13 Kingdom Under the Sea Bria McCoy Naughty the Nautilus Ben Massey T the Nautilus. Now Naughty the Nautilus did many naughty things to be thought of as such a not-so-good nautilus. He would stay in bed after Mommy Nautilus had asked him to wake up and play in the street even though Daddy Nautilus had told him not to. He would take toys from the other nau-tiluses without asking them first and color on walls when no one else was around. If all of that was not enough naughtiness to justly earn our little nautilus his name, he would also tie knots in the other nautiluses’ ten-tacles and eat cookies that Mommy Nautilus had told him not to. It could be rightly said that Naughty the Nautilus was the naughti-est little nautilus in the entire ocean. One day, Naughty the Nautilus went to school, but none of the other little nauti-here once was a naughty nautilus. He behaved so badly that every-one else just called him Naughty luses wanted to play with him. As Naughty swam around the playground, he wondered why. He wondered and wondered and won-dered some more, and then a thought came to him. Could the reason why the other nautiluses would not be his friends be that he was not being a friend to them? He considered this a little while longer before deciding to swim over to where the other little nautiluses were playing. Once he had reached them, he said he was sorry for being so naughty in the past and asked them if they would all be his friends. Every one of the other nautiluses said, “Yes,” and from that day on Naughty the Nautilus was nev-er mean to anyone. He stopped doing all the naughty things that he used to do, and Naughty the Nautilus became known as the Not-So-Naughty Nautilus. However, every now and again a cookie would still mysteri-ously disappear from the cookie jar. ❖ 14 Light Always Shines Jessica Hendrick N in Svitavy, Moravia, Oskar Schindler was born. Schindler grew up under normal cir-cumstances; he attended trade schools, held a variety of jobs, served in the Czechoslovak army, and joined the German Armed Forces in 1936. At the beginning of his journey with the Nazi Party he was out to increase his wealth. In essence, Schindler did indeed become a very wealthy man during World War II, but in wealth that cannot be mea-sured in numbers and figures. Following the invasion of Poland in 1939, Schindler moved to Krakow and bought German Enamelware Factory Oskar Schindler; there he employed Jewish work-ers. The workers who were subject to mis-treatment at Plaszów were treated kindly while at the factory. For that purpose, in 1943 he sought permission for his workers to stay overnight. As the war progressed and the Jewish prisoners were being taking away for liquidation, only the workers that were considered “essential to the war effort” were safe; thus, he added an armaments division. Schindler’s efforts to help the Jewish prisoners did not come without great risk. He was arrested three times by the SS, but they were unable to convict him. In 1943 he traveled to Budapest to meet with two rep-resentatives of the Hungarian Jewry. Dur-ing his trip he discussed the atrocities being othing on Earth can bring out the true character of an individ-ual quite as well as a cataclysmic contention. The year of 1908, committed and possible solutions. Another great risk was that in the eight months of production from the armaments factory, only one live wagonload of ammo was ever produced. Schindler did his best to protect as many prisoners as he possibly could. He learned of great atrocities that Amon Goeth (com-mandant) was committing against prison-ers at Krakow-Plaszów and befriended him; Schindler tried to influence his behavior by telling him that a man with true power shows that power by granting forgiveness. In addition, Schindler rescued “his” Jewish prisoners from certain death when they were suddenly deported to Auschwitz. At this point he made the list known as “Schindler’s List.” He spent every penny he had to buy each of these 1,000 people back, and stayed with his workers until May 9th, 1945 – the day after the war ended. Through him people were able to live to tell the story. In accordance with his acts of courage the Yad Vashem awarded him the title “Righteous Among the Nations.” In 1993 the US Holocaust Memorial Council posthumously presented him the Museum Medal of Remembrance for extraordinary deeds during the Holocaust and in the cause of Remembrance. Many of those he saved and their descendants lobbied for and fi-nanced the transfer of his body for burial in Israel. With great power comes great re-sponsibility. Oskar Schindler is a hero; may his actions be always revered. ❖ Works Cited Holocaust Encyclopedia. “Oskar Schindler.” United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Washington, DC. 10 June 2013. Web. 30 Nov 2013. Yad Vashem. “The Righteous Among The Nations.” Yad Vashem The Holocaust Martyrs’ and Heroes’ Remembrance Authority. 2014. Web. 30 Nov 2013. 15 Praying for the Prodigals Hands clenched in prayer, refused to release their grip on the lives of those held close. We held hands, and wrung them while we almost sacrificed our Isaacs on the altar of our desires. Mary Susan Heath Check Mate Danielle Carter Dog Gone We Southern women have read too much Gone With the Wind. Doggone it, he’s just gone. Frankly, my dear, he didn’t give a damn, and never did, and now, it’s done over. Mary Susan Heath A My Eye View Jonathan Mayo I was a population problem. Too many of us and too many of them. They always thought that they had the rights to this place just because they built on it. They started out to be so friendly, or at least that’s how the stories were told to me while on migration. It was a peaceful coexistence between us, up until they started scaring us all the time with those loud killing tree branches they would carry around. They would send out these disgusting four legged beasts to scare us, point those branches at us and boom! Ears would bleed at how loud those branches were. Some of us just fell right out of the air, scared to death by that awful racket. Then they became of some use to us. They built tall straight metal trees that gave all of us places to rest and defecate. There was an abundance of food laying all over the place. They even built huge moving food islands for when we went on vacation to the beach. Then one day it all stopped. The airways were as quiet as a field mouse being hunted, from what I’m told. None of them were walking around down there. There were no metal boxes zooming around in straight lines any more. It was if they had all just got fed up and walked away. You see, they had to walk, because of the feather problems. What had happened to them all, I wondered. I took a short trip over to the biggest metal tree around; it was the meeting spot in case of an emergency. There I found mothers, fathers, sons and daughters all worried sick about what was going to happen to our food. Lady Cornwallis finally chirped loudly, proclaiming that her family had been in this area the longest, so ev-erything was rightfully theirs. According to law she was correct, but all of us already knew that. She was just establishing her dominance of the area to cre-ate some kind of order from the chaos. Now that she had everyone’s attention she reviewed the proce-dures for an emergency. Afterwards the open forum went on for hours, so many questions with so few answers. Then, with a loud crash into the meeting hall, a messenger arrived. The look on his face was of pure horror. Lady Cornwallis asked, “Have you news from abroad, messenger?” “Indeed I do my lady, a great death has spread amongst the humans and other non-flying species.” Shocked beyond belief, Lady Cornwallis demanded an end to the forum and to have a meet-ing with her inner council. It didn’t take long for the f I was ever asked “What was it like that day?” I would have to say it started just like every other miserable day in that city. As usual there hall to empty. As usual, guardsmen, such as myself, were to stay behind and wait for orders. A few hours passed by as we waited. I indulged on a rat carcass while I waited. Now that I look back on it, eating that rat might have been a bad idea at the time. At last the senior guardsman came forth with orders. My orders were simple: go with team two and scout the southern shoreline to verify the reports. As we set out for our flight south, we detected a repug-nant smell from a northern wind. It was a smell we all knew too well, the smell of week old rotten flesh. We flew south to begin our investigation. Tree after tree, we smelled nothing but rotten flesh as we flew by. As we came close to the shore line, we finally investigated the source of the smell. We landed and promptly entered one of the trees and found piles upon piles of bodies on the lower floors. The tops of the bodies had been burned horribly to try and contain whatever was happening, I assumed. At the bottoms of the piles were grotesquely rotten corpses. Their skin had gotten so weak that their insides were bursting out onto the floor. The smell of rotten flesh, burned skin and fecal matter was too much for one of my comrades. He promptly left the tree for some fresh air. In the next tree we found some four legged hairy animals eating away at the bodies. The sound of bones cracking in between their teeth like branch-es breaking. Their snouts buried deep into a hot pile of intestines, with a mushing and grunting sound when they chewed. That’s not what bothered me to begin with, it was the look on the animal’s face that was scary. It was a look of nothingness, like all life had been sucked out of its body and it was just eat-ing to eat. We made the decision to leave this hor-rible tree and continue on to the southern shoreline. As we flew closer and closer to the shoreline, I started to notice different kinds of bodies scattered on the ground. They were bodies like mine. Hun-dreds of them scattered along the shoreline. These were not rotting so quickly like the others though. These bodies were full of holes and covered in their own blood. This was a massacre by all means. What right would any creature have to massacre so many of my kind like this? These circumstances were very puzzling indeed. In the inner city we saw human bodies burned and massacred, and near the shore-line we saw a different kind of killing. Yet every-thing was so calm, there was no large storm, and the temperature was beautiful. It was like any other calm and peaceful vacation to the southern shore. Suddenly, we heard very loud noises in the stillness. 16 Could this be the source of such death on a massive scale? Unnerved, we flew to the sounds as quickly as possible, following the trail of death. There! Humans, real live humans. It seemed they weren’t all dead after all. But they were run-ning away so fast and afraid. What could they be afraid of? We are on friendly terms now; we coex-isted comfortably. The closer I got, it seemed as if they were looking behind me, yet there was nothing there. I called out to them loudly, “I am here to help you!” The running continued. They were all run-ning toward the floating islands that they made from metal. I heard more loud bangs to my left and to my right. I saw them holding such strange branches and pointing them at us. The bangs became louder and louder, closer and closer. What could they all have been so afraid of? We circled higher to get a better view of the situation and possibly find the humans’ location for safety that they seem to have found. We circled high and saw nothing out at sea except a few more metal islands with humans on them. My team swooped down to help any strug-gling humans that we could and we were met with resistance. Could they have been blaming us for all this death and mayhem? We were a peaceful species that only killed to eat when we had to. We definitely wouldn’t try to eat something nearly as large as a hu-man. I tried to grab on to one of the small ones to attempt to fly it to safety, but my claws couldn’t get a good grip on it. I moved quickly and attempted to rescue another one, yet my claws just sliced through their soft flesh. Another loud bang, this one was very close. My chest had never felt this kind of pain before in my life. I fell like a stone out of the sky. They were trying to kill us, I realized. Why, why? What could we possibly have done? My body felt warm all over as my life rushed out of me. Puzzled, I questioned reality. What had this world come to that would provoke such fear, hatred, and violence? One of my team members landed beside me to check on my wounds. He told me he was sorry, but the look on his face was a look that I had seen earlier that day. His eyes were black and full of nothingness. That wild animal! He did this to us. Yet I did not remember any of us coming close to touching the beast. Could it be that we were the one spreading this death unknowingly? My final thoughts landed on deaf ears amongst the chaos and the panic. I tried to warn my brothers that we might be the root cause of this massacre. Nothing, nothingness had taken over my mind now. I lay there with nothing but my own thoughts that were soon to run dry. ❖ 17 Ireland As the brisk, cool air chaps my pale face, I feel like I am home more than ever. I see crowds of people, and they are so wonderfully, incredibly happy. A cluster of French girls hold hands and sing songs in a foreign dialect. German friends talk amongst themselves, pointing at castles. How I would just love to sit and watch all the different people interact. In a few short moments, I am surrounded by books. Rows and rows cascading down the walls; they seem so inviting. I can smell the scent of the old, rusted pages, and it feels like home. Dublin nights are especially fun. Neon lights fill the night. I sit in the lobby of a hotel, and watch party goers come and leave. These nights differ greatly from the sleepy nights of Killarney. Ireland, in its entirety, is a magical place, full of beautiful landscapes, cold weather, majestic libraries, and different people from across the world. This may seem peculiar to mere strangers, but these are the things I live for. If only I could return, what I would not give to experience it all over again. Every chilled breath, every step I took across the dewy grass, listening to every heavy accent. I’d give a thousand sunsets to return. For it is filled with magic, as all of Europe is, and has the power to not just change a person, but their whole outlook on life. Samantha Grzybek 18 Smile and Wave Feel an ocean breeze And see the sun setting Over crystalline waters Dig your toes into white, warm sand As these words wash over you, picture Anything you like to soothe and relax Your poor, tired soul. Why not embrace the changes? Consider the tides, like life, rearranges All things deemed consistent, save death and taxes Escape the need for stagnant fixtures Find your meaning in the stream and Eschew the thoughts of martyrs In your mind, start letting Go, be still, at ease. Josh Hollowell Statue You were like this statue You always stood still You always kept your eyes forward Never gave me your attention And that’s what I wanted most I danced around you Called out to you Touched you Yet you remained still And when you finally moved You shattered my heart into a million pieces The Real Me Danielle Carter Liyah Foye Cody Howell 19 A tribute to last year’s contributors Rise of the Shenobie Wolf Clan (Excerpt) Red Archer Winter pond on Buckleberry Road Seeking shelter in the old barn His eyes were human pink Looking at stars All the pretty horses Sight of the sound Four ways of looking at leaves Revelation of tears Whitney, Once Loved When prince charming flees, capture the moment: Kure Beach, after September— here I am again: Garbage Hero, monarch caterpillar, a clownfish from the NC aquarium: me, myself, and id. Journey to the past, Sunset Flower. Admire the beautiful life’s unexpected changes. And now who will you love? Summer Swamp Interstate KLW41 mushrooms growing a flash of white dives into the woods trees at sunset two barns circle pyre parts the lady masquerade passion Mama, I lied church is no sanctuary Esteemed Speaker on a Rainy Night Kobi on a rainy night Porch in Burnsville, NC Flower in hand A peony from my garden From civilian to Marine recruit Big fish out of water False hope Fear Support system Grandmom and son Mellissa’s song Happy 20 Born on the Rocks The tides are low, So build a life in the sand, Life flows slow, No need to stand. The waters rush in, Home falls apart, The room starts to spin The waves drown your heart Pick everything up And build a house in the sky Build a tower tough And keep your toes dry Let many years pass, And no waters come Suspicion doesn’t last, The tower, you break from Toes in the ocean Tempting your fate Returning devotion, The tides are irate Again they take you Fill your lungs with salt They beat and they break you This time it’s your fault. Candice Marie Lancaster Haiku Explorations once the night stirs me awake to cold or hunger muses flutter by cast on sylvan path blade of sunlight cuts open to the light inside family journey slices thin layers from the zucchini for lunch Gene Carpenter Pencil Mill Kellie Lankford ❦ 21 Home, For a Visit I squeezed around the white, enameled table in my mother’s crowded kitchen to my chair, my feet on the stored boxes underneath. Sit on an old phone book, her chairs too low to match the table set for her birthday lunch. She says the blessing, looks up at all the food. She asks, “Would you like some gravy?” and passes me the dish. I have always hated gravy. I am stunned, saddened. “No, thank you,” I say. She talks to me and smiles behaving properly taking my breath away as I understand. Mother can fry chicken and I can’t, make a pound cake for every event but she doesn’t remember me. Nancy Seate Welcome to the Nightmare Tossing and turning Sweat beads down your face Oh, but you’re not awake Welcome to the Nightmare Every fear you’ve ever had Taunts you You try to escape But your eyes tighten Your hands clutch your pillow The fear is so real You kick and scream Yet you still sleep It’s not easy to run Run from yourself, your thoughts Everything calls to you You tremble, shake Something laughs Laughs at your fear You feel that the end is near And it seems so real You cry for help Your body tossing and turning You finally jerk awake “Welcome to the Nightmare...” Rook Michaela Deguzman Katie Carey 22 A Nip of Tuck Folks used to kick up their horses when they come past our house. Them that walked stepped up their own pace a mite too! And the few what had cars mostly took the 3-C trail over Dix Knob ‘bout four miles further on, just not to pass our house. Y’see, folks thereabouts claimed Aunt Jessie was a Witch! Aunt Jessie put a spell on Tucker Coleman after he set out to have his way with Cousin Francine. Done her hex stuff, then said “He’ll end up being downed by everybody on Cavanaugh Creek for what he’s done.” Didn’t seem to bother Tuck much though… Went right on with his rowdy ways, making liquor and such. Then one drunk September Ol’ Tuck fell in his corn mash hopper. Drowned right then and there! I reckon he must a’ worked off right along with the corn mash cause they never found what was left of him ‘till they throwed out the sludge. By then most everybody on Cavanaugh Creek had took a nip. Ray Dotson Self Portrait Akiva Johnson Equinox The pale blue sky turned dark blue. The air cooled and thunder echoed as it passed over each holler. Rain could be heard from afar as it touched the trees below. The rain arrived and with it came the sound of crashing thunder. Bright lightning illuminated the sky. As the thunder and lightning rolled away, the rain which had been coming in sheets was now a gentle spray. The flowers, grass, and trees were full of vigor and freshness. The rainbow above looked like a jewel against the dark blue sky. The storm was finally over. The morning dew glistened on everything in sight as the sun rose from behind the mountain top. Small animals awakened to a brand new day. Birds sang and bumblebees hummed as brightly-colored butterflies danced in the air. Twinkling stars and constellations filled the night sky. Cows bedded down in fields as crickets, cicadas, and bull frogs serenaded them. Hundreds of lightning bugs rose from the ground with ease. Voices and laughter could be heard coming from every yard, as families enjoyed an evening under the heavenly stars. Theresa White-Wallace 23 Animal Positive Jesse Royer I Belong Here Sam Spivey I Foggy, warm, the smell of wood smoke drifting down the banks; I stood in the middle of the current, knowing if I was sucked under no one would find me for quite some time. I could hear the pealing of the church bells in the village, miles away, carried softly to me on the faint breeze. They reminded me of the distance I had put between myself and those walls, the distance between the people sitting in those pews, and the world I had escaped to. I blocked out the bells. I blocked out the birds coming down to the water for a drink before putting down for the night; I blocked out the hunting dogs picking up my scent sev-eral miles down the trail, and fussing over it; I blocked out even the sound of the water bugs, floating and flitting across the top of the rush-ing water. I blocked out all but the sound of my heartbeat and the sound of the stars far above— I could feel them calling to me, and even as I stood chest deep in a river on Earth, I knew they were waiting for me, expecting me. I belonged there, beside the asterisms, look-ing down at someone in a river on earth and feeling sorry for him, just so someone would. I felt the water swirling around me, felt it like it was my blood, like the stones on the bottom were my bones, and I was shattering into a mil-lion liquid pieces. I gasped, struggling for air; I sucked in icy water instead, found myself under-neath the surface, immersed in a blue eclipse of death and immortality. In front of my eyes was a solitary image: the constellations dancing un-der the side shade of a sycamore, their dark eyes begging me to join them in their cosmic ring-around, their song echoing in my soul. Somewhere deeper than they could reach me, though, I felt a stirring. It was a voice I thought had long been lost. It said, “Love, don’t let me go. You’ll never know what you have went down to the rainy river one night, hoping to lose myself in the cold, clear waters. when you’re gone.” The spinning stars, now burning brown, taunted me and tantrummed when they felt me begin to go for air. “Love, don’t let me go.” And I broke the surface, screaming silently, oxygen pouring into my nearly nixed lungs. I spoke to myself, wheezing even in my head, “Where—have you been—all of this time?” The voice that was hope said the only true thing that could be said. “I never left. You just sunk so far that I had to make a move, for my own integrity.” “And what would have happened had you no moral backbone?” I asked, somehow finding the strength to be combative. “That’s easy,” it said, “you’d have died.” I stepped out of the now-chilling waters, clammy and cold. The bells had stopped, I no-ticed; the dogs had moved farther down the path, and the birds were gone, probably fright-ened by my near-suicide. “Will I be hearing from you again soon?” I rubbed my hands together, feeling a bit silly now openly talking to myself. “Oh, you can count it,” it said smoothly, and I felt my inner-most being sewn back together again, the part of me that held hope. The walk back to town was a long one, a cold one; footprints told me others had walked here recently, maybe the hunters with their dogs. Passing my father’s house on the way, I didn’t stop in to say hello. My focus was too intent on my existence, on my newfound life, on the road ahead of me. My mind was oc-cupied with other things—the greed of galaxies (and how to fall from heaven with a soft land-ing), the unwavering faith of the heart (and the unspeakable tragedy of muddy water), and the beauty of the October twilight. I belong here, among the autumn leaves and amber eyes of a lover, and I feel sorry for anyone watching from space, that they miss out on all of this. ❖ 24 ❦ 25 I Use People I use people. I use them to fill a void I’ve had for as long as I can remember. I do not know where this void comes from. I do not know if it grew in me or I grew around it. I have no emotion reserved for myself so I use others to feel. I am a robot created by social inequality. I am dangerous because of this. I am kind because of this. I do for others to get a response. They feel I am genuine and their responses are honest. Because I ask nothing solid in return they feel they get my time for free. They do not know they are being used. I think about this often. I follow this practice of using people daily. And I wonder if I’m the only one who will admit to what we all do. I do it consciously. Do you? Sherrie Erb Attempt at Zentangle Ana Pantoja The Hunter The hunter of the night, creeping upon his prey bathed in the full moon’s light, hibernating during the day. Sleek as a passing shadow, unheard with silent footsteps. Upon a hopeless victim, slow the hunter quietly crept. Beheaded, disemboweled, his prey Quickly cut down to size. The hunter, with a grin so gay Carries home his prize A gift, the carcass that he brings Brought forth for the chosen one Awaiting for the one to sing. A house-cat’s job now done. Amanda Smith 26 Caroline A parade of one—Caroline in her crinoline— caged in wire hoops and whalebone stays, down the boardwalk past Jacob’s grocery. Down the steps—across the dirt alleyway, the hem of her gown held at ankle height kept out the yellow mud— Ah, but a grand parade it was—Grand! And, only when she pushed forward a gold locket to Walker McGlohorn— opened to show empty frames, tiny tintypes having been removed for safekeeping and renewable memories— did one notice the frayed lace at her wrists and about her gracefully curved neck “Three dollars,” Walker whispered. “They’s not much call anymore, you know? Folks ain’t buying like before Sherman come through.” Twas like a pale fog had crept inside the room. She fumbled inside a once-beaded bag for something eluding her search. “Five, then,” he said. “Five! OK? But don’t be bringing me nothin’ else.” Ray Dotson I Am Drew Blanco The Stars Became Our Anthem We were sitting on the patio indulging in our favorite bad habits and pervasive mid-summer humidity, as we often did that season of the year, and nothing was quite as palpable as the paradox of our shared contentedness and dissatisfaction with life as we knew it. We didn’t dare ask for more; we could bear no less. We were children of the night, born from a thunderstorm, blooming into self-realization, withering in the heat and melancholy drifting up on the small breeze. It did smell like rain that night, but that could’ve been the condensation on our lips and shoulders. Learning those lessons from the moon never gets easier, but once we accepted that the more we learned the less we knew, those songs from the stars became our anthem. Sadie Goulet 27 Zentangle Brianna Homminga 28 The Construction Men Sudden, strange men’s voices buzzing of power tools call me to the window. Discovering unknown men in knee length denim shorts, with T-shirts, two without, all white socks and heavy work boots. There is a tight-wire-walker on the roof, strolling quickly, then squats low, hammering shingles, held fast— magnetic muscles in his legs. On the grass amid ladders and tools a tanned, bare back bends over propped up boards, pulls power saw down loudly at right angles, blasting decibels. Deafening buzzing, stops-pauses, silence begins again, steady beat of hammers and nail gun blasts rapidly repeat, the men talk of their next steps. Made in China Chunglam Lau Ripping out the rotten wood, Rick prepares a new spot for repair. Measuring twice, Dave calls out fractions of inches Allen cuts, together building new porches. Talented, tanned men wield tools artistically. Short hair, sweat on their foreheads, strength and speed, create three-dimensional masterpieces with wood. Asking us only for 3-prong electrical outlets, cold water and a listening ear for their stories, we indoor ladies catch each other’s eyes, and laugh at our good fortune. Nancy Seate 29 The Showdown Maurice Hunter I looking beautiful. I decided I would pick a few flowers, so I could give some to my mom. I went inside, so I could get a spare vase I was positive I had in the hall closet. When I was looking through the closet, it was nowhere to be found even though I thought I was sure there was a vase in the closet. Since it wasn’t there, I just brushed it off and decided to go out and buy a new one. I walked out of the house and was heading towards my car when I noticed some paper on the front windshield. I hustled over out of curi-osity. The paper read, “You’re Next.” I was very confused. Then a voice came from my left, it was Hulk Hogan, and he was riding a bull while holding an RPG. He was about 50 yards away, and he shouted out, “I’m coming after you, brother. Nobody messes with Jennifer and gets away with it.” The bull started charging after me, and I began freaking out. As the bull was getting closer to me, a black van drifted into my driveway, the door slid open, and Mr. T hopped out. He started star-ing Hogan in the eyes with the intensity of a thousand starving lions out on the prowl for the single gazelle left in Africa. Then he said, “No-body messes with a man trying to give flowers to his momma. Not if I have anything to do with it!” He started charging towards Hogan and the bull. Hogan fired off his only RPG at Mr. T. It missed and hit Mr. T’s van, blowing it up. By the look in Mr. T’s eyes, I could tell things just got even more real. The bull that Hogan was riding and Mr. T slammed into each other with incredible force, causing dust to fly everywhere. When the dust settled, Mr. T had Hogan’s bull by the horns. He threw it into the air, making Hogan fly off in my direction. Hogan landed and rolled on the ground until he was about ten feet in front of me. I started worrying that Hogan was going to get up any second and clobber me to a pulp. So I started ’ll never forget that day. It was gorgeous outside, the birds were chirping, and the flowers in the flower patch out back were yelling for Mr. T to get over here, but he was going at it with the bull and couldn’t help at the moment. I saw Hulk Hogan start to get up and brush dirt off of his body. I didn’t have much time to think, so I did what any other 18 year old male that just witnessed a man stop a bull barehand-ed would do. I ran up to Hogan and punched him. Wrong move. It barely affected him, and he hit me in the stomach with three punches. Those punches knocked the wind out of me, and I could tell he was nowhere close to done. While he was laughing at the windless me, I decided to make a run for my house. While I was running to the front door, I looked behind me to see that Hogan was chasing me, and he was a little ways off. I struggled to get my front door unlocked, and now he was even closer to me. I got in and ran up the steps to the sec-ond floor bedroom, shutting the door behind me to try and buy some more time. When I got upstairs, I noticed a gun on the nightstand and had no idea where it came from. I didn’t have time to sit and think, so I ran and grabbed it and aimed it at the top of the stairs, waiting for Hogan. Seconds later I heard Hogan bust through the door and climb the steps. He got to the top, and BOOM! He was hit in the shoulder by a bullet. Hogan fell onto the ground, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I remember thinking my nightmare was finally over. Then I started to hear what sounded like a bunch of people cheering. I listened closer and heard a bunch of people cheering. I saw Hulk Hogan struggling to his feet. He was looking at me and wagging his finger at me and then just pointed it at me. I heard a loud “You!” that seemed like it came from all around me. While I was looking around con-fused, Hulk charged me and threw me out the window into my flower garden. My vision went blurry upon impact, but I could still hear cheer-ing. I remember wondering what was going on. I looked at my shattered window, and I saw 30 Hulk Hogan standing there about to jump out. At the same time Mr. T had run to the back of the house. Hulk Hogan said, “You’re finished now brother!,” jumped, and went into a leg drop. Mr. T said, “Quit yo jibber jabber, fool!” and dove to stop Hogan. As I lay on the ground in pain, vision blurred, I watched as Mr. T col-lided with Hulk Hogan. The collision was so epic it created a blast wave that sent me flying back into my fence, causing me to black out. As I came to, I looked over and saw Mr. T and Hulk Hogan dead. I began to stand up, and as I did I heard thunderous applause. I looked up, and the sky had been replaced by rows of cheering people looking down on me. A patch of ground underneath me started tak-ing me higher. When the ground stopped, I saw a scoreboard with my face on it. The num-ber underneath my name went from a one to a two. There was a flood of flashing lights, so many that I was being blinded. I shut my eyes to protect myself from the light. When I did, the noises stopped, and when I opened my eyes again, I was back in the flower garden. It was gorgeous outside, the birds were chirping, and the flowers were looking beautiful. ❖ diamonds, bones, and oak spirits (moussaieff) like a petal, i fall in spirals to the grounds of the garden, leaving my sorrows on rosebuds as i pass by— hoping to see them crystallize hoping to see them grow hoping that they will shed tears of their own. (orthopedics) i’ve bent my bones like stars reflecting off lake woebegon or a dragon undergoing psychoanalysis, so i dream a little dream of your coffee shop around the corner— about the silky espresso sunrises melting my already fragile skeletalia and transforming me into a career man. but here’s the thing: i don’t like driving sports cars or trying to fit into limousines or drinking pricey champagne at benefit dinners for people who don’t exist; i don’t enjoy this new life any more than i did the old. i want more than anything a good massage therapist who knows her way around the lumbar, who could maybe loosen up my too-tight hold on reality for just a moment, just long enough for me to catch my breath and learn how to walk again. (deciduousness) in between the fall and winter months, wishfully appearing in dreams both odd and even, obtuse and abstract but sharp and modern, never to be confused with the pine of the north; to understand her is to understand yourself, longing for a glimpse into her perennial soul, every day wasted recycled in desire, truth spilling from paint cans and beer bottles, gorgeous (runway material), and humble to boot— of course she is still falling from maturity, letting go of her scarecrow dreams, oversensitizing to bleak religious theory, veritably a swan in an automobile factory: everything i never needed, and always wanted. Sam Spivey ❦ 31 “Rose Red” - Summer Woodard “Beatrix Potter’s Transdimensional Gateway” - Jeff Williams “Starplant” - Chunglam Lau “Roxie” - Courtney Howell 32 “Chimera” - Bria McCoy “London” - Samantha Grzybek “In Flight” - Lora Sager “Sunset” - Theresa White-Wallace Isolation Cut off from all the world, Nature’s beauty at the window sill. A quiet, introvert girl, Sitting, watching, still. Watching the birds flutter by, She begins to wonder How do these majestic beings fly? And to where? She ponders. Turning once again inside, She thinks, “What is life about?” Never before have these thoughts pried Before the Internet went out. Amanda Smith 33 “Tree Hotel” - Chunglam Lau “Flora” - Lailan Fowler “Blue Moon” - Jessica Brannan 34 “Three Graces” - Bria McCoy “Bamboo Tiger” - Lora Sager “Kitten Frog” - Danielle Carter “Pieces of Me” - Ana Pantoja A Normal Conversation “Can I take your order, please?” “Yes, I’ll have a number one. Super-size it, and add cheese, Then my order will be done.” “And what would you like to drink? You never did tell me.” “A Diet Pepsi’s good, I think. It slipped my mind, I’m sorry.” “Your total is in the eight-dollar range.” “Thank you, here’s a ten, and you can keep The change.” Amanda Smith 35 Blueberry Hill Blueberry Hill was a roadhouse in the wet country just south of us About 25 miles away As a little kid I loved to go with my father on his quest for beer In those days, when no one in Monroe County drank Daddy left me in the car, made his purchases and soon returned Bringing a delicious, juicy hamburger on a warm, sandwich press crisped bun Tearing into the wrapper, careless of dripping grease, catsup, mayonnaise, Onions, lettuce, tomato, or pickle Salivating, I crammed luscious portions into my small mouth as fast as possible Fearful the savoring time will be over too soon Preacher Pruitt came that night to visit And asked, “Gene, who makes the best hamburgers in town?” “Blueberry Hill,” I told him With enthusiasm and confidence! Oddly, Mother and Daddy were quiet. Gene Carpenter Wine Glass Akiva Johnson All Your Bass Freeing a mind is easy, Freeing mine is anyway. I just happen to think of her, And all else fades away. She is in every song I hear, And every single beat. Every little tune, She puts me on the edge of my seat. Everywhere I go I carry her there, Four strings, an amp, and a song I am willing to share. Greyson Potter 36 What a Wonderful Fall Krystal Artis-Jones Wmy mother as she continued to try to catch her breath. There we were, all eleven of us, lined up under the rickety old carport attached to the grey cinderblock house. All our heads hung low as we knew what our punishment entailed. I peeked up to watch my mother deliver swift blows to each of my cousins and brothers. I quickly returned my head to its down position, knowing my turn was next. The anticipation was brutal. Once, twice, three times. The pain from the thin switch was worse than a mil-lion bee stings. Then, just as quickly as the punish-ment began, it was over. This particular fall started just as any other fall, with cooler temperatures and the turning of leaves from green to red, gold, and brown. I played out in the yard and as usual ended up in our neigh-bor’s yard. In the side yard, I found my ten-year-old brother hovering over the small rectangular fish pond. He held a makeshift fishing rod in his hand, which he had made from a long stick and a piece of tattered rope. I had seen this pond a million times, but I was four, and the vibrant colors of the koi and the goldfish never ceased to amaze me. My brother and I knew we were not supposed to play anywhere near the pond, much less in it. I contin-ued to watch the fish although my brother left and played somewhere else. I was fascinated and just knew I had to pet one of those fish. I reached over the edge as far as I could, and before I had any idea what had happened, I had toppled headfirst into the pond. Gasping for air, I yelled for my brother. I must have made a lot of noise because not only did my brother come running, but so did the neighbor! As soon as I started to breathe normally again, the neighbor dragged us both back to our own house and explained the situation to our mother. You can only imagine the trouble we were in from there! About a week later, I found myself in another strange situation. My brother and stepbrother also liked to bury my Barbie dolls, once they removed their heads, in our very large garden in the back-yard and then hide the shovel from me. Yes, they were jerks! This particular instance, I knew they had hidden the shovel in the loft of our old, ramshackle barn above our dog’s pen. The only way up to the loft was by climbing the ladder my stepfather had handmade out of a bunch of wooden boards. I had climbed this ladder over and over, but because this hat in the world were you all thinking? Someone could have gotten hurt or run over!” fumed time I was alone, my fear was palpable. I should have listened to that fear! I made my way up toward the loft and, suddenly, a board broke. The ladder silently fell backwards like a tree in the woods with no one around until I hit the ground, hard! I had never had the breath knocked out of me like that before. I laid there with my eyes tightly shut, feeling the weight from the ladder on my chest. It felt like an hour before I heard my mother’s voice. “Are you okay? What were you doing? You know you aren’t supposed to be out here by yourself!” In that mo-ment, I knew I was in trouble…again! I stayed out of trouble the next few weeks, and then we had an unexpected visit from my stepfather’s family. An uncle was moving from Georgia, and my mother was asked to watch a few of my cousins, “a few” meaning eight. My mother instructed only two of the older boys to go check the mail as she re-turned to her college studies. We lived on a long dirt path that teed with a very busy road and a bridge overlooking the Neuse River, and the mailbox was at the very end. There we were, eleven kids all aged eleven and under, with nothing to do on a fall day in the country. Of course, we all played follow the leader, and everyone headed down the path to the mailbox. As we came to the end of the path, some-one had the bright idea to go over to the bridge and look at the water to see if we could spot any turtles or snakes. Once again, we all went, unhindered by the many cars whizzing past us. “Okay, okay, we’ve been up here long enough. We gotta go back,” I persuaded the other ten. We began our trip back towards the house. As we rounded the first turn, we came face-to-face with my mother, switches in hand, and she was furious! I froze. My brothers whispered, “Run far from her, and don’t stop till you get to the house.” I waited for them to start run-ning, and when they did, I took off too. They split around her, and I made my break for the house. I was still last to make it to the house with my mother right next to me. The boys just stood there waiting; we all knew the trouble we were in, but the worst was yet to come! Now here I sit on the steps of my own house as the seasons are changing from summer to fall, re-membering these times. I watch my own child of almost four years running in the yard, wondering if she will be as mischievous as I was at her age. Will she do some of the same stupid things I did that fall, and will I sound just like my mother when I catch her in the act? ❖ “ 37 The Travelers of Meriya Benjamin Mayo K earlier when he found a suspicious manila envelope that only read #7593. The con-tents included a layout of the house where he found a hidden room underneath the fireplace. He picked up the journal slowly and let out a breath as he began to read the first entry. The universe is much more complex than any of us thought. In our imagination it’s as enormous as infinity while at the same time, there are an infinite number of different di-mensions coexisting inside the thread of real-ity. The device in the corner of the room you are in opens a portal to another one of these dimensions. In this journal, I will lay out a complete explanation of how everything works, but know that now it is up to you. He put down the journal as he looked to-ward the corner of the room to see the device. It was as thin as a monitor yet large enough to step inside, if need be. He stopped for a moment and studied his surroundings as the feeling of déjà vu crept into his mind. Karl rubbed his eyes and stared at the journal in front of him. He had to read more. There was a traveler’s pack as the journal called it to the right of the desk. Opening the pack, he found water, rations, a breathing mask, and a return device. Next to the pack was a sheathed scimitar. Once Karl had located everything the journal spoke of, he picked up the book confidently moving on to the final section. Your journey is only at its start, and you must complete what I have failed to do. You will go into this other world now, a world they call Eyri. The photo on the last page of this book is who you are looking for. Keep your mind open, and once you pass through the por-arl sat at the desk with his curiosity piqued as he placed the blueprint of his house next to a journal. He had been tending to his garden tal, accept this fact: You understand nothing. You know nothing about everything and that is the greatest defense you need. The device is set to the proper coordinates. Go now, and save everyone that you can. The travelers of Meriya will not be denied. Turning to the back of the book, Karl picked up the photo and turned it around. It was a grotesque image of a robed figure with the face of a mantis shrimp. After he turned on the machine, a light blue mist ap-peared around the edges until rapidly the mist seemed to connect and form a portal. More than ready for whatever was on the other side, Karl hooked up the breathing mask, threw on his back pack, and attached the sword to his waist. While he anxiously walked to the portal, his mind flashed mem-ories of his life and the people he knew. It seemed appropriate to happen at a time like this. He jumped in. The sky was dark, filled with unknown stars and …sharks? Confused and filled with curiosity, Karl stared above, forgetting to breathe for a moment as assorted sea crea-tures flew in the air, as if ocean was now sky. He shrugged it off, remembering what the journal spoke of as he turned his gaze to-wards a complex in the distance. Silently, Karl trekked across the ground, keeping to the shadows as he moved about the complex, peeking in windows to try and get an under-standing of the layout. His jaw dropped as he surveyed a room with an unusual crusta-cean- esque head inside. Triple-checking the photo in his pocket he was confident as he snuck inside the building and into the room. I am in your mind, and I know you are here. Its voice in Karl’s head, raspy with clicking noises, caught him off guard. The assassin stopped moving with the creature in sight, hand poised on the handle of his fine scimitar. 38 Keys Jessica Brannan I’ve known of Meriya’s plan for quite some time now, it passed along telepathi-cally. Slowly, Karl took out his weapon and walked towards the creature, eager for the easy kill. You should at least know, should you choose to do this, you will die. The hunter ignored the thoughts enter-ing his mind and went into a run. The beast turned, and his eyes went wide as the scimi-tar went straight through, leaving glowing blue blood drippings on the ground. It fell immediately, clutching at its wound as it let out a shriek of horror. You are a sad, pathetic thing. How many have you already killed for Meriya? You don’t even know, do you? You’re nothing but a pawn to be used over and over. That was the last Karl heard in his head as the body on the ground stopped moving. The kill had satisfied him, and he knew he had done well that night. Cleaning off his blade, he began hearing a beeping noise. Slowly at first, it started to gain speed and Karl only thought of the worst. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed the return de-vice, lifting the head of the pen-shaped ob-ject and pushing the button. A blue mist slowly began to rise and a portal appeared next to him. Karl jumped through the por-tal, hearing the explosions behind him. Karl sat at the desk with his curios-ity piqued as he placed the blueprint of his house next to a journal. He had been tend-ing to his garden earlier when he found a suspicious manila envelope that only read #7594. The contents included a layout of the house where he found a hidden room underneath the fireplace. He picked up the journal slowly and let out a breath as he be-gan to read the first entry. ❖ 39 Zentangle Michaela Deguzman The Shadow’s Perspective I walk through fog I am alone I cease to exist Walk through the mist I see a man before me I step back into gray wispy blankets That man I saw is me The way he looked It struck my epiphany Now I know I exist and will be great Taylor Pate Alone Shattered like broken glass I’m drowning in shame The things that held me together Tore me into a million pieces Those pieces are scattered around I once was whole But now I have cracks I’m all alone Without even a shadow I didn’t turn my back on the world The world turned its back on me Liyah Foye When You Know It lips pursed in silence with these three words unuttered “I love you,” she thought Nichole McWhirter The Yellow Orb Your coat a constant yellow with knobs at either end. Leathery skin with dimples throughout protect what’s within. Buffeting the boldness of halibut complementing the sweetness of tea. This orb resides at Bojangles’ to the finest five-star eatery. Before my morning joe I drink my yellow tea. Squeezing the life out of you I put it into me. Patrick Gallager 40 Surprise In the pet store’s glass cage, eight pink, hairless hamsters are born. Two months old, the brown and honey blonde become birthday presents for two little boys. They argue over colors and “I want that one…” Dad talks on his cell phone. Mom looks through her purse, grows weary, and settles the noise. They decide on a cage, bedding, and food; each boy holds his prize in a wiggling cardboard box. The new pets run in circles on the new wheel. The family watches and laughs. One night the hamsters stop running. One catches the other. Weeks later, a surprised boy wakes to find a litter, eight pink, hairless creatures underneath his hamster named Bob. Nancy Seate 41 Peaceful or Desolate Ana Pantoja Between Lovers and Liars From the day she was born She was living on borrowed Time, two ruthless decades And some change, full of Dead-ends and false-starts Thus she chose the high way A clear, straight shot to nowhere No blue lights or sirens gave warning To hospital signs or the bad Disease lurking in wait The fatal acronym, three letters Foiling her independent victory She was too content to dream For better, for worse was familiar Picture Dorothy dozing among poppies Anesthetic comfort to quiet cries Elusive shadows mesmerize The sedated to embrace oblivion One hit of the snooze button At a time until it was too late To wake up and catch the school bus So she waited for the knight But got left riding his horse alone Suddenly flung from its saddle, She heard a bell toll, in flight Before landing for the last time Never to long again for three words Spoken between lovers and liars. Josh Hollowell I Am I am green and bumpy Kids think I’m obscene and funky I am a vegetable mixed in liquids To be on burgers is my mission I’m either thick or sliced Taste sweet, sour or spiced And in the old days I had cost a nickel If you haven’t guessed me yet, I’m a pickle Taylor Pate Golden Box Ben Munoz I “Come here son! Get some of my product!” I was puzzled when I heard the man, yet when I turned around, he wasn’t what I expect-ed to be behind me. He looked almost like a professor of a university, but I knew that wasn’t right because there were no universities where I lived. I also noticed in the man’s hand was a small cube that appeared to be laced with gold and silver. He gave a polite smile when I start-ed to walk over to him. I asked him what the cube was for, and he simply replied, “To see the world!” Now, just like anyone else in my place, I was bemused. “To see the world?” I asked myself. The man looked at me fiercely with eyes of hope that I would take the box and look inside. I was intrigued to see what could possibly be in-side this wonderful box with all of its angles and was walking down a beautifully lit street on the night of June 22, 2004 when I heard a man calling from behind me, sides. I took the box from his hand, but when I went to grab the box I grazed his hand, and it felt like thousands of icicles hanging from a winter cavern. Yet, I pulled the box closer to me. There were two circles on each side that looked to have jewels of each kind around each circum-ference. I opened the box to find a single line of blue light pouring out of the box as if a huge load that was compressed inside had virtually been lifted. The light was gorgeous to any eye that viewed it, but the box seemed a lot bigger on the inside. I saw a whole city of gold inside this one box, and I didn’t know what to do or say. I immediately closed the box and looked at the man, about to ask him what had happened, but he was gone. His clothes lay smoking on the ground. I took the box back home with me, never to let anyone see it again. ❖ 42 A Circle of Oil Sitti scorned measurements. A pinch of salt a dash of cinnamon a circle of oil in the Lebanese salata. Wide-eyed, we watched her make Shaykh Misha—eggplant boats that float in tomato sauce— not from memory but a place deep in her fabric a slim Mediterranean land like a woman, whose head touches the mountain cedars her feet the cerulean sea. Koosa—yellow summer squash stuffed with meat, tomatoes, rice. Tabbuli—that zings with wheat parsley, mint. Kibbi—lamb pine nuts, onion. Hummus— chick peas and lemon tahini. And, ah yes, the Mithli—sweets of honey, pistachios, phyllo passed down to Sitti through her imperious mother-in-law white hair piled high, who came, a little girl, to Ellis Island. With fumbling hands, we try to mimic their sure fingers. A sprinkle of parsley a dash of pungent mint a rush of lemon juice a circle of oil Margaret Boothe Baddour 43 Embarrassed Blake Sutton I of problems that year with players getting hurt. Well, I was on the bench waiting to go in be-cause our second baseman had been hurt but was trying to play through it because it was his senior year. This inning, I was on foul ball duty. Now, nobody liked foul ball duty because whenever someone hit a foul ball, that person on duty had to go get the ball. This inning had been a rough inning for me; the batters kept fouling, and I had to go get the baseballs ev-ery time. The last foul ball I had to go get was hit in a very weird place. It was in an enclosed fence, and at the time I didn’t know there was a gate. I tried to jump the fence, got all the way to the top, and got stuck. I was lying on my stomach, trying to get over, but I just could not move. Finally, this old man saw me struggling and came over to help. At this point, I was be-yond embarrassed. An old man was pushing on my butt, my coaches and teammates were laughing at me, and everybody in the stands was looking at me. Finally, the man gave me a good push, and I was able to get into the fence and played baseball for Aycock for four years. This story happened during my first year of varsity, my junior year. We had a lot get the ball. I finally saw the gate when I was trying to get out, so I took that. I went back to the dugout, and I started to feel a draft between my legs. I looked down and saw a huge rip in my crotch. Everybody was laughing, and my coach said to get ready to hit. This is where it got worse because now I had a gigantic hole in my pants, and I had to go hit. The opposing team’s fans got an image of something they did not come to a baseball game to see. I was flash-ing the other team’s fan. When I got on base, I was flashing my fans. This was just not my day. Finally, we were in the last inning. I was play-ing first base, and the other team was hitting the ball and getting on base, which was causing me to flash my fans some more. The whole time this was going on, I had the other team talking smack to me when they got on first base. I just wanted to knock every single one of them out, but I couldn’t. The game finally ended, and I was so happy until I got to the team meeting at the end. My coaches, my teammates, and even some parents were making jokes then. As the season went on, I wasn’t embarrassed after that. I found it funny just like everyone else, but to this day I still hear jokes. ❖ Caffeine - Mark Sawyer Queen of Spring Ruby stalk, tart and sweet— fruit or veggie? Good to eat. Crunch munch, saucy treat, rhubarb pie, all hard to beat. Katherine Michalowicz Fishing with a Snake Jonathan Jernigan N would make beads of sweat roll off your forehead just walking to the mailbox, humid enough to make your clothes cling to you like plastic wrap. It was much too hot for boots and snake pants, more like flip flops and swimming trunks. However, the heat was the last thing on any of our three teenage minds in rural Duplin County. We were more concerned about what tackle we should take to the local fishing pond, and possibly a couple of things we would need to get up to some mischief, just in case the fish were not biting. We rummaged enough tackle together to go fish-ing. That in itself was sometimes quite a task. This day was no different. We dug through the clutter of our fathers’ barns for their leftover and misplaced fishing gear and pieced several fishing poles togeth-er to make one good one. After the scavenger hunt was over, we loaded all the fishing treasure and some unmentionable beverages we weaseled from our par-ents’ stock in the back of my dad’s old 1976 Chevro-let truck, and we were off. The truck didn’t have A/C or any modern day luxuries; in fact, it was more like a rolling oven dur-ing the summer months, so the other two fought over which one would get the window seat. My father often joked, saying the truck had a two-fifty-five air conditioner in it, meaning two windows down and fifty-five mile per hour breeze coming in the windows. However, lucky for the one stuck in the middle, the floor was rusted out and allowed a little breeze to pass through into his or her lap. The truck even had an unusual old rusty gasoline smell. None of this really bothered us because old Betsy always cranked and got us where we needed to go. Once we finally got to the pond, we had to do a little work clearing the banks of cat tails and reed grass with a machete and bush axe, so we could cast and fish without getting tangled up in the brush. After cleaning the banks, we went to the front porch on the far end of the little wood fishing shack. On the porch were some old wooden wire spools and some random pieces of rough cut lumber that we quickly made a bench out of. We sat down to enjoy the feel of the fresh summer breeze and partook in a couple of those beverages. We then tied our lures of choice on to our fishing poles, and we were finally ready to fish. By the time we got all of our things right for orth Carolina summers are some of the hottest in America. This particu-lar summer day was a smoldering, humid July day—the kind of day that the perfect cast, it was probably three-thirty or four o’clock, which was also the perfect time of the af-ternoon to get a line wet. There were a couple of trees in the corner that offered some shade over the pond from the afternoon sun due to the angle the sun would hit the trees. Unfortunately, during this time of the day the only things you normally could catch were a couple of small brim or maybe some baby bass, and that’s not what we were after. The shade was nice, and it was a good refuge from the sun. However, in order to catch the big largemouth bass we were after, you had to walk the exposed steamy banks of the pond. To save time and effort, we only cleaned certain spots of the banks, the spots that were known hon-ey holes, or, in other words, spots we knew the fish were in, which meant the rest of the pond’s shoreline was still overgrown with tall Bahia grass and other random summer grasses. All the grass made the bare ground invisible. This time of the day was not only the perfect time to cast a line, but it was also the perfect time for sun bathing along the banks of the pond for various wetland creatures. Yellow bellied water moccasins were notorious for lying on the banks and absorbing the summer sun, and often had entrance holes bur-rowed around ponds to evade predators. Then again, with the sun on my back and fishing line in the water, the only creature I was worried about was a large mouth bass—until the moment the spongy ground under my flip flop sole felt more like a squirming tree root. I froze in position, forcing all my weight onto my one foot, scared to move, which would free the snake from its hole. Luckily, I was on the side of the pond closest to the fishing shack where one of my buddies was. I began yelling a couple of choice words to him, requesting him to grab the bush axe or machete and hurry. He came running and chopped into the snake right beside my foot, breaking its neck and immobilizing it. After that we both stepped back, and the third buddy pulled him the rest of the way out. The moccasin was, to this day, the biggest I’ve ever seen. It must have been at least three and a half feet or more. By the time we killed the snake and cleaned up, that was all the excitement we could stand for one day. We stretched the moccasin out on the front porch of the shack in hope of scaring and warning the next group of fishermen, and then loaded up the old Chevy and headed home, always remembering to watch where we stepped. ❖ 44 saudade i have broken (borderline dismemberment) and need fixing. smashing vases and visages smoking hookahs and homesteads saltwater rain and rye-bread a corpse dream and a copse of trees (blackberry brainpower isn’t enough, not this time). dissimilarity confuses the hell out of me— “becoming a legend” is not like “touching the sun,” though some may argue. I See You Bria McCoy 45 pomegranate honey-suckle and wine from Monticello, the finer things to cover up: a blood-stained heart-throb a crowd of gods, weak and wheezing a love lost and lingering an ever-falling starscape an absolute reality an equivalence of oblivion and a dance in the moonlight, dreams distancing the way we were from the way we could be. Sam Spivey ❦ 46 The Details of Loss Alexis Brie Cox I Loss is a real experience, one that everyone goes through at some point in his or her life. Yet, it is avoided like a plague. I myself have recently succumbed to loss in my life. In my experience, loss has three unavoidable stages: the initial bro-ken heart, when you falsely believe you have overcome the loss, and when your world splits down the middle one final time. Just two months ago, I experienced the loss of my grandmother. I remember the raw, tear-ing feeling I felt rip through my chest when I was told the news. I remember the days it took for the shock of the loss to really set in. That, for me, was stage one of my loss. My heart was broken for the wonderful woman that would never be part of my life again. In another sense, my heart also broke for my father. As a daugh-ter, you grow up viewing your dad as a rock of strength and courage. Until then, I had never seen loss break him down. I had never felt my heart shatter in that way, watching the pure pain claw at him. As for when stage two of the loss began, I cannot clearly say. I do not know when I began to feel at peace again. I didn’t acknowledge the first day I went to sleep without crying. Stage two, for me, just sort of began to happen all on its own. I slowly started to tell myself the worst was over. The bitter memory of her death would fade away with time. I started to smile when I thought of her. Going through photos didn’t send a shock of pain through my body anymore. I had arrived at the sweet level of clo-sure where I could push all the pain out of her memory. The way I viewed her death began to change, as well. I started to think about the fact her suffering was over. I even started to think of her watching over me from heaven. One night, that sweet closure shattered. I t is strange how so many people shy away from the same subject. No one likes to talk about it. No one likes to face it. woke myself up crying and shouting. I had dreamed about the day she died. I felt all the same things. I could feel the knife in my heart return, as of the experience of losing her was happening all over again. That is when stage three began for me. My world shattered, yet again. I stopped helping my mom go through her belongings and I removed any pictures of her from my room, trying to avoid anything that would remind me she was gone. I was split in two again. The pain of losing her was so fresh that I thought I was going crazy. But as time went on, I began to regain a sort of numbness about the whole thing, not so much a positive outlook on her death but more of an acceptance that I could not change it or bring her back. That is when I truly began to heal. In order to gain closure, I ultimately realized I had to accept what had happened for what it was. I had to realize some things are just out of my control. I have learned that the road to recovery after experiencing a loss is a long one. Once the three stages have occurred, finally the loss just has to be accepted. I do not know if anyone ever fully recovers from a devastating loss. I suppose we all move on and continue our lives, but I think the scars of a loss are part of a person forever. I know, personally, that I will never forget the feelings I experienced during that time. That sort of pain is not something I would wish on my worst enemy. Although everyone deals with loss in differ-ent ways, everyone experiences the same three stages that come along with it. They are each equally painful and unavoidable, but everyone has the choice to prevent the stages from reoc-curring. The key to ending the pain of a loss isn’t getting through each stage without going completely insane; the key is to accept the loss and understand that some things are not in your power or control. Only then can you begin to move on with your life. ❖ Puppy Brianna Homminga 47 After It Happened Dylan Harrison W my family, the people that raised me from when I was a puppy. I can still envision them, with smiling faces, and Emma, my sweetheart, with her front teeth missing, but now they are all gone. Ripped from my paws by “things” I have never seen before. It was just a normal day. Emma was ready to walk me through the neighborhood, just as she always did. We passed all the houses, the same houses I had seen hundreds of times. There was nothing but rubble where those houses stood. When I had finished my business, Emma brought me back to the house. She ran me in-side, and went and caught the bus. Her father and mother had left two hours prior, not say-ing where they were going, but then again, they never did. So I sat there for seven hours waiting for them. I hardly ever moved when they left. As if where they went, so did my soul. But they never came back. I ran as fast as my paws would take me. I hen I woke up, everything was gone. My home, the place I had lived all 77 years of my life, and do. All I cared about was finding Emma and her parents. Once night fell, the presence of the “things” was gone. Then again, there was no presence of anything. I figured this would be the best time to lie down. When I woke up from a night of night-mares, I noticed something strange. There was still no sign of these “things.” This arose a great anger in me. Did they just come here to de-stroy and leave?! Emma deserved better than that! All day I looked for them, but there was nothing. Nothing but trees, and grass, as far as I could see. This, surely was the worst day of my life. I lie down once again, in hopes that all this was just a dream. This time when I awoke, there was no rubble, almost as if mankind had never been on this planet. As I looked out upon the beauty of the wilderness, I saw a big golden gate. I ran to it and saw, at the top was a big sign that read, “A New.” When I nudged the gate with my snout, there were all kinds of animals in there. From lions to peacocks. I felt a strange, warm feeling arising in my chest. I felt like this was my home, ran past the house, past the park, past Emma’s school, but they were nothing compared to what they had been. The “things” never no-ticed me. They flew past like I wasn’t even there. It was strange. The only things they destroyed was what the “no-hairs” had built. Buildings, roads, but never did they destroy a tree. It was almost like they couldn’t. I did not know where these “things” came from, or what they planned to 48 but I told myself, home is where Emma and my owners are. I looked around, and to my bewil-derment there stood Emma’s parents, looking just as healthy as always. Had this planet gone through a transformation? Into a new begin-ning? When they saw me, the look in their eyes was absolutely frightening. Their pupils dilated, and they turned red. I immediately ran out of that place. Those were NOT Emma’s parents, not at all. Maybe the “things” had taken over their bodies. I had no idea what to do. I ran along the path back to my house. I wept there, in front of the rubble. Every-thing I had loved was gone. I may never see Emma again. I’m going to die here. I felt something prick my back, and I turned around. There standing was Emma. I was so excited to see her, until I saw the same expression that her parents had worn when they had seen me. She drove a sharp knife into my back, but it didn’t puncture my skin. That’s right! They can’t hurt non-“no-hair” made things! I turned around and bit her hand. She fell, and when she hit the ground, turned into a pile of ashes. That was not Emma. With my new powers now revealed, I ran back to the gate and killed Emma’s “so-called” parents. I let all the animals out of that place. Maybe this is a new beginning, ruled by ani-mals. ❖ What Does the Fox Say? Summer Woodard 49 A Delightful Creamy Filling Mary LaVanway E He actually works at FFGS (Foods for Good-ness’s Sake!), and the closest he comes to being a chef is running the semi-automatic machine that squirts the creamy filling for FFGS’s Spon-gies into the little hump of a cake. Knockoff Twinkies for sure, but at one point they were the hottest selling item for the company. His job is simple: align any cake that comes down the conveyor belt askew, rendering the filling gun useless at shooting the cream into the cake at the proper point. A good day aver-ages about 3 reject cakes out of every 100. A no-brainer job. Ed gets bored about the third hour into his eight-hour shift, and four or five, sometimes six times a day will hit the manual override button and shoot a double or triple shot of cream into the cake just to watch it ex-plode. Once he left his finger on the button too long, creating enough of a mess he had to stop the line to clean it up. He had to explain it to the line boss. Then had to fill out a “line malfunction” report which kept him after work for another hour. He will not do that again; he almost missed Judge Judy. This monotony and occasional excitement pay him $10.75 an hour and all the Spongies he can eat, which is considerable. Just this morn-ing he breached the 300 mark when he stepped on the scale, and the numbers finally stopped at 301. He used to get some pretty good over-time hours, but those dried long ago. The break room gossip has it that the Spongie line may shut down altogether. Ed is aware it’s more than gossip. Thirty years of watching those little cakes flow down the line, thousands and thou-sands a day, have taught him what a full produc-tion run looks like, and the batches have gotten thin lately. He used to worry a little; now he worries every day. A 57 year old fat man will have a devil of a time getting another job. Un-d is a pastry chef at a bakery; this is what he tells all his friends, the sum to-tal of which exist entirely on Facebook. employment will cover him for about 6 months, but after that he knows he’ll be in a situation. He has no savings to speak of, and the money he makes now just barely covers the rent and the rest of the monthly bills. A minimum wage job will be the best he can hope for and that simply won’t do. That night, reclining in his chair in front of the television, fingers orange from munch-ing Cheezie O’s (another great FFGS product), Ed flips through the channels, but his mind is busy working on an idea. It came to him while watching Judge Judy berate a man who claimed he could not work due to a bad back. The man was collecting disability and could not possibly pay back the money he had borrowed from his daughter. Ed never learned how the case came out. His mind freeze-framed on the word dis-ability. Disability meant never having to work again. It meant a check each and every month for as long as he lived. He can have a bad back. Ed hauls himself out of the chair and plops in front of the desk. He Googles disability and spends the next 30 minutes learning it could be years before a claim reached approval status. He waddles back over to his chair, but before he slaps the recliner arm, he says aloud, “An ac-cident. Yes, yes, I could have an accident. That’s the ticket.” He needs to be hurt on the job. Really hurt, possibly a “sue the socks off them” kind of hurt, but definitely a workman’s comp hurt that would turn into a disability-for-life hurt. But how? Never mind
Object Description
Description
Title | Renaissance... |
Other Title | Renaissance (Goldsboro, N.C.) |
Date | 2014 |
Description | 2014 |
Digital Characteristics-A | 51.6 MB; 74 p. |
Digital Format | application/pdf |
Pres File Name-M | pubs_serial-renaissance2014.pdf |
Full Text | Renaissance Rosalyn Lomax, Editor Emerita Marian Westbrook, Editor Emerita Kathryn Spicer, Editor Emerita Cover............................... Ana Pantoja Art................................... Kellie Lankford Prose................................ Mary LaVanway Poetry............................... Sam Spivey Jeff Williams Ashley Merrill Dean Tuck Dedication This thirtieth volume is dedicated to Sanford Korschun and The Korschun Foundation for their generous donation to support our vision. The Writers’ and Artists’ Magazine of Wayne Community College Goldsboro, North Carolina Volume 30, April 2014 Student Awards Editors Acknowledgements Staff Theresa White-Wallace Faculty Danny Rollins and Angie Waller Wayne Community College Foundation Jack Kannan Educational Support Technologies Department Majena Howell, Ken Jones, and Ron Lane Student Government Association and The Artists and Writers No part of this magazine may be reproduced without permission. Copyright 2014 Renaissance Views expressed are those of the individual contributors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the editors of this institution. i Table of Contents Elephants.................................................................................... 1..........................................Kellie Lankford, AA 2820 miles.................................................................................. 2.......................................... Sam Spivey, AA Knowing.................................................................................... 4..........................................Mary Susan Heath, Special Credit A Few of My Favorite Things............................................................ 4..........................................Kellie Lankford, AA The Case of the Threatening Note...................................................... 5.......................................... Breanna Grim, AA Self Portrait................................................................................. 6.......................................... Jessica Brannan, AA What To Do With Your Beads After Mardi Gras Is Over............................ 7.......................................... Margaret Boothe Baddour, Faculty My Mother’s Hands....................................................................... 7.......................................... Julia Poole, Nursing Countertop................................................................................. 7.......................................... Mark Sawyer, AA Seedling..................................................................................... 8.......................................... Candice Marie Lancaster, AA Apple........................................................................................ 8.......................................... Brianna Homminga, AA February.................................................................................... 8.......................................... Jeff Williams, Faculty You’re Next................................................................................ 9.......................................... Shaneeka Greenfield, Office Admin. Value Drawing............................................................................. 10......................................... Jesse Royer, Sim./Game Dev. Clouds As Cheap As Ramen............................................................. 10......................................... Andre Selby, AA Fifth Gear................................................................................... 11.........................................Mary LaVanway, Nursing Kingdom Under the Sea.................................................................. 13......................................... Bria McCoy, Sim./Game Dev. Naughty the Nautilus..................................................................... 13......................................... Ben Massey, AA Light Always Shines....................................................................... 14......................................... Jessica Hendrick, AA Praying for the Prodigals................................................................. 15.........................................Mary Susan Heath, Special Credit Check Mate................................................................................. 15......................................... Danielle Carter, AA Dog Gone................................................................................... 15.........................................Mary Susan Heath, Special Credit A My Eye View............................................................................. 16......................................... Jonathan Mayo, AS Ireland....................................................................................... 17......................................... Samantha Grzybek, AA Smile and Wave............................................................................ 18......................................... Josh Hollowell, AA Cody......................................................................................... 18.........................................Cody Howell, AA The Real Me................................................................................ 18......................................... Danielle Carter, AA Statue........................................................................................ 18......................................... Liyah Foye, AA Esteemed Speaker on a Rainy Night.................................................... 19......................................... Renaissance Editors Rise of the Shenobie Wolf Clan (Excerpt)............................................. 19......................................... Renaissance Editors Whitney, Once Loved.................................................................... 19......................................... Renaissance Editors Summer Swamp........................................................................... 19......................................... Renaissance Editors Born on the Rocks........................................................................ 20......................................... Candice Marie Lancaster, AA Haiku Explorations........................................................................ 20......................................... Gene Carpenter, Con. Ed. Pencil Mill.................................................................................. 20.........................................Kellie Lankford, AA Home, For a Visit.......................................................................... 21......................................... Nancy Seate, Con. Ed. Welcome to the Nightmare.............................................................. 21.........................................Katie Carey, AA Rook......................................................................................... 21......................................... Michaela Deguzman, AA A Nip of Tuck.............................................................................. 22.........................................Ray Dotson, Con. Ed. Self Portrait................................................................................. 22......................................... Akiva Johnson, AA Equinox..................................................................................... 23......................................... Theresa White-Wallace, Staff Animal Positive............................................................................ 23......................................... Jesse Royer, Sim./Game Dev. I Belong Here.............................................................................. 24......................................... Sam Spivey, AA I Use People................................................................................ 25......................................... Sherrie Erb, AA Attempt at Zentangle..................................................................... 25......................................... Ana Pantoja, AA I Am.......................................................................................... 26.........................................Drew Blanco, AA Caroline..................................................................................... 26.........................................Ray Dotson, Con. Ed. The Hunter................................................................................. 26......................................... Amanda Smith, AA The Stars Became Our Anthem......................................................... 27......................................... Sadie Goulet, AA Zentangle................................................................................... 27......................................... Brianna Homminga, AA Made in China.............................................................................. 28......................................... Chunglam Lau, AA The Construction Men................................................................... 28......................................... Nancy Seate, Con. Ed. The Showdown............................................................................ 29.........................................Maurice Hunter, AA diamonds, bones, and oak spirits....................................................... 30......................................... Sam Spivey, AA Beatrix Potter’s Transdimensional Gateway........................................... 31......................................... Jeff Williams, Faculty Rose Red.................................................................................... 31......................................... Summer Woodard, AA Starplant.................................................................................... 31......................................... Chunglam Lau, AA Roxie........................................................................................ 31......................................... Courtney Howell, AA Chimera..................................................................................... 32......................................... Bria McCoy, Sim./Game Dev. Sunset....................................................................................... 32......................................... Theresa White-Wallace, Staff Isolation..................................................................................... 32......................................... Amanda Smith, AA ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ii ❦ Award Winner Member of Dean Tuck’s Creative Writing Class In Flight..................................................................................... 32......................................... Lora Sager, AA London...................................................................................... 32......................................... Samantha Grzybek, AA Tree Hotel.................................................................................. 33......................................... Chunglam Lau, AA Flora......................................................................................... 33......................................... Lailan Fowler, AGE Blue Moon.................................................................................. 33......................................... Jessica Brannan, AA Three Graces............................................................................... 34......................................... Bria McCoy, Sim./Game Dev. A Normal Conversation.................................................................. 34......................................... Amanda Smith, AA Pieces of Me................................................................................ 34......................................... Ana Pantoja, AA Kitten Frog................................................................................. 34......................................... Danielle Carter, AA Bamboo Tiger.............................................................................. 34......................................... Lora Sager, AA Blueberry Hill.............................................................................. 35......................................... Gene Carpenter, Con. Ed. All Your Bass................................................................................ 35.........................................Greyson Potter, AA Wine Glass................................................................................. 35......................................... Akiva Johnson, AA What A Wonderful Fall................................................................... 36.........................................Krystal Artis-Jones, Nursing The Travelers of Meriya.................................................................. 37......................................... Benjamin Mayo, Networking Tech. Keys.......................................................................................... 38......................................... Jessica Brannan, AA The Shadow’s Perspective................................................................ 39.........................................Taylor Pate, Con. Ed. Alone........................................................................................ 39......................................... Liyah Foye, AA When You Know It........................................................................ 39......................................... Nichole McWhirter, AA Zentangle................................................................................... 39......................................... Michaela Deguzman, AA Surprise..................................................................................... 40......................................... Nancy Seate, Con. Ed. The Yellow Orb............................................................................ 40.........................................Patrick Gallager, Con. Ed. Between Lovers and Liars................................................................ 41......................................... Josh Hollowell, AA I Am.......................................................................................... 41.........................................Taylor Pate, Con. Ed. Peaceful or Desolate...................................................................... 41......................................... Ana Pantoja, AA Golden Box................................................................................. 42......................................... Ben Munoz, AS A Circle of Oil............................................................................. 42......................................... Margaret Boothe Baddour, Faculty Caffeine..................................................................................... 43......................................... Mark Sawyer, AA Queen of Spring........................................................................... 43.........................................Katherine Michaelowicz, Con. Ed. Embarrassed................................................................................ 43......................................... Blake Sutton, HVAC Fishing with a Snake....................................................................... 44......................................... Jonathan Jernigan, Faculty saudade...................................................................................... 45......................................... Sam Spivey, AA I See You..................................................................................... 45......................................... Bria McCoy, Sim./Game Dev. The Details of Loss........................................................................ 46......................................... Alexis Brie Cox, Pathways-Hum./SS After It Happened......................................................................... 47......................................... Dylan Harrison, AA Puppy........................................................................................ 47......................................... Brianna Homminga, AA What Does the Fox Say?.................................................................. 48......................................... Summer Woodard, AA A Delightful Creamy Filling............................................................. 49.........................................Mary LaVanway, Nursing Scream....................................................................................... 51.........................................Drew Blanco, AA Hush......................................................................................... 51......................................... Nichole McWhirter, AA The Dark Days of 21...................................................................... 51......................................... Anika Rawlinson, AA Celebrating 30 Years: Magazine Memories............................................ 52......................................... Rosalyn Lomax, Editor Emerita Celebrating 30 Years: My Experience as Co-Editor of Renaissance................. 53.........................................Marian Westbrook, Editor Emerita Celebrating 30 Years: Renaissance—The Earliest Years............................... 54......................................... Liz Meador, Faculty Celebrating 30 Years: Creating Renaissance............................................ 54......................................... Anne Croom, Retired Faculty Ode to the Greatest Inventions......................................................... 55......................................... James Bailey, Computer Info. Tech. Lt. Gen. Tso................................................................................ 55......................................... Ana Pantoja, AA Math Poem................................................................................. 56......................................... Philip Cecil, AA The Equation of Learning................................................................ 56......................................... Hannah Darden, AAS Function..................................................................................... 56......................................... Nick Easom, AA Equations................................................................................... 56......................................... Choua Vue, AAS Math Cinquain............................................................................. 56......................................... Brittany Butler, AAS No One Will Miss You.................................................................... 57......................................... Charles Heath, Computer Info. Tech. Flower Child............................................................................... 58......................................... Summer Woodard, AA Pretty Little Fool.......................................................................... 58......................................... Jasmine Inya Coleman, AA Mema........................................................................................ 59......................................... Morgan Olmstead, AA When the Daffodils Bloom.............................................................. 60......................................... Karen Craig, AA Zen Tangle Self............................................................................. 61......................................... Lora Sager, AA In Sickness and in Health................................................................. 61.........................................Mary Susan Heath, Special Credit Pretentious................................................................................. 61......................................... Josh Hollowell, AA Flying Through the Cold................................................................. 61......................................... Nancy Seate, Con. Ed. The Bus Ride............................................................................... 62......................................... Malinda Gomez, Early Childhood Winking, Blinking, and Nod............................................................. 63.........................................Kellie Lankford, AA Molly’s Cruise.............................................................................. 64.........................................Crystal Bunn, Dental Hygiene A Few of My Favorite Things............................................................ 64......................................... Summer Woodard, AA Amy.......................................................................................... 65......................................... Lauren Merritt, Pathways-Life/Health Nature’s Caged Horse.................................................................... 68......................................... Jessica Brannan, AA ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ 1 Elephants Kellie Lankford ❦ 2 2820 miles tag-along games i play with my guilty conscience as i am drawn running towards the sea away from the cold atlantic and over the mountains through misty moors and smoky shacks into the land of giants and ruffians past god’s own blessed children i’ll rest in the foothills, sleep under the stars forget why i came, leave my boots in the rain end up singing indie rock in memphis cross the styx and enter no-man’s land sun stroke burning my brain prairie grass tickling my bare legs the flames will scorch me as i continue questioning myself in dreams visions beleaguering my addled acts texas taking its toll, crop dusting my purpose when i reach the desert i want to finish i wish to relax, to lie back and rewind but i must go on, i am not finished yet the red clay reminds me of why i walk the cactus appears as an omen the roadrunner goes ahead and turns back to help the promised place is nearing, i can sense it in my soul a searching light is cast, and i want to respond it is the final stretch the pacific is a blue heaven and i am weary for its embrace the highway seems to be safe, so i shamble at the side headlights like lightning bugs or dragon fire depending on the mood a man offers a ride, “l.a. or san fran?” “take me home,” i say, and he knows what i mean as he heads north. “the truth is, and i can’t admit this to just anyone, that i left my heart in san francisco.” the man just smiles and nods when i say this “a little farther south, isn’t it?” well yes, i concede; would he mind stopping off a little early? “sure,” he says, “you’ve been a long way, you’re almost there.” so after on month, nine days, five hours, fifty-seven minutes, and ninety-nine seconds i arrive i fall down at your door, not because i’m road-weary but because you open it when i call your name because i can hear you whisper my name back because i’m afraid if i get back up i’ll run away because i can’t meet you at eye level and because i’ve finally come far enough. 3 “i listened for the beating of your heart,” i say, barely able to speak “and heard silence; then i knew, it was when my heart stopped too.” pause; listen and i stumble inside astral: stargate lover, come back to me the sun presets your heart for a burn cycle (flame, flume, flare, fade) the moon twists and twinges to see you fly— glisten, glow, glide aside my mind wait for the pull to lessen, crash, and break (black and blue) i was never grand enough, opulence has small charm for a corpse (those ragged carpets and incense hold infinity for me) i was never grand enough a wise man with a mind but no hands to plan with (purposeless, crystalline—true, true) i was never grand enough ran through the streets with a flag on my wrist (filthy and fletched and follied, yeah) if you get a twitch, a stitch in your soul remember we’re not so far apart after all just stars on the surface, satellites orbiting the same idea that one ceiling isn’t enough to block out the sky when wondering when i will whisk you away recall i wait while the waters wake wild whistles waxing and waning weightlessness in the ways of winter (words, words, words, words) let me list the things you love: chevron cardigans and compact classics eyeglasses and i-love-yous; you are nostalgic and eclectic, folk singers and mountain roads; “i want to know, have you ever seen the rain?” oxygenize your anger, sweet one let this feeling die with me let this lust drain away prepare for the ocean to meet you when you fall and as the mice and men make their recovery i am drawn senselessly into the past again, wondering why you forget me so easily and why i cannot seem to lose sight of the future. Sam Spivey ❦ 4 Knowing Not knowing why I always check perfectly good, almost bloodless processed chicken parts for feathers. I watch my mother stand at 91, before her sink, to this day deftly cutting a sleek pink and white Perdue poultry hen into perfect frying parts— two drumsticks, two thighs, two wings. the pulley bone, or the wish bone, she called it, a part separate from the breast. I remembered we pulled it, and the bigger piece meant you got your wish, whatever you wanted. I wanted to know why she cut the breast in two parts and then divided the back. Her mother and brother chased the Sunday chicken around their yard. He caught it. She wrung its neck. My mother remembered the chicken flopping around in circles, its wings sweeping up dust in a grassless yard until it rested lifeless in the dirt, its feathers soiled from the dying dance. Her brother chopped off the dangling head. A blood-stained trail led to a wash pot boiling in the yard, where her mother dunked the hen to loosen the drooping feathers, then laid the carcass on the table, to pick the chicken and cut it into eleven pieces. “It goes further that way,” She explained. “I do it that way because that’s the way Mother did it.” Mary Susan Heath A Few of My Favorite Things Kellie Lankford ❦ 5 The Case of the Threatening Note Breanna Grim B on Friday, and it had been a long day of shampoo-ing and cutting hair, and I was ready to head home and watch some Supernatural. The sky was cloudy, the wind was whipping through my hair, and rain looked like it was due to fall any second. I quick-ened my pace as I walked my way through the park-ing lot towards my black Dodge Avenger. I un-locked the car and slid into the seat. The first thing I saw was a piece of paper stuck to the middle of my windshield. I opened the door and reached around to grab it. I turned the paper over in my hand and froze. “YOU’RE NEXT” is all it said. The bottom was ragged like it had been ripped off of something, and it was typed in big bold font across the middle. What the hell was this? Was this some sort of sick joke? I glanced out the windshield, half expect-ing to see some teenager watching me from across the street and laughing, but the road was clear. A look around the rest of the parking lot showed it was empty. I threw the paper in the passenger seat, buckled up, and sped out of the parking lot, eager to be in the safety of my home. Arriving at home, I rushed inside and locked the door behind me. The paper was clutched in my hand. It had been printed on light blue paper, and it seemed like this wasn’t just a joke played by some stupid teenager but the real deal. I mean, who would take the time to type and print something like this just to play a practical joke on somebody unless they meant it? The more I looked at the paper, the more it seemed familiar, almost like I had seen the same ex-act paper with those same exact words before. What if that means it was one of my friends that did this? Had I seen it sitting somewhere on one of their houses before? I calmed down a little at the thought. Of course I would be pissed if one of them did do it, but at least then it wouldn’t be anything serious. I decided to just forget about it tonight and relax before going to bed later. Tomorrow I would visit my friends and ask if any of them had seen this before. I woke up bright and early the next day and got ready before heading out on my quest to find the ye, Jess! See you tomorrow,” my friend Andrea said as I walked towards the front door of the hair salon. It was five o’clock owner of the note. I figured I would have had to see the note at one of my friends’ houses in the last two weeks, so that left me with five friends whose houses I had been to. Mike had left for vacation on Sunday and was still in Hawaii, so I only had to pay a visit to four of them. Angela was first on the list since she lived the closest to me. I rang her doorbell and waited as I listened to her walking through the house to answer the door. “Hey, Jess. Wasn’t expecting to see you here. What’s up?” she asked with a smile on her face. “I got off work yesterday and found this note stuck to my windshield. I was scared at first, but I could have sworn that I’ve seen this somewhere before, and I figured it was someone I knew playing a trick on me,” I said as I pulled out the note. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?” She pursed her lips and tilted her head a little in thought. “It looks familiar to me too for some rea-son, but I swear I had nothing to do with this.” Her face showed nothing suspicious, and I believed her. “Do you remember where you might have seen it?” I asked, even more sure that one of our friends had done it. “Sorry, no. You might want to check with Brad next, though. You know he’s always pulling pranks, and this seems like something he would do.” I nodded. “Yeah, that’s where I was headed next.” Scott was at Brad’s house watching a football game which was good because he was next on my list of people to visit. “Hey Jess, what’s up?” Brad asked. “Hey, guys. I’m glad you’re both here, it saves me from having to take a trip to your home after this,” I said while looking at Scott. “I found this note stuck to my windshield yesterday, and I was pretty freaked out at first. But it looks really familiar so I thought it might be one of you guys that did it.” I pulled the note out and handed it to Brad. “I al-ready asked Angela. Did either of you do it?” Scott leaned around my shoulder to peer at the note. Brad said, “I really didn’t do this, but I wish I had. This would be pretty funny.” He laughed. I punched him in the shoulder. “That would not by funny, you jerk! I was seriously scared that “ someone was out to kill me.” His laughter quieted. “I’m sorry, Jess, really.” Scott pulled back to his side of the couch. “It wasn’t me either, Jess. I’m sorry. Who were you go-ing to see after us?” “The only one left on my list is Caroline.” As I drove to Caroline’s house, I slowly grew more nervous. What if it wasn’t her? That would mean someone put it there on purpose. But that still doesn’t explain why I recognized it. Even if it was Caroline, why would she do it? Maybe she was still mad from the time I told her that her taste in men was bad. She can be really sensitive about it sometimes, but would it be bad enough for her to want to do something so mean? She was outside in her garage when I pulled up, and she turned and waved at me. I stepped out and walked into the garage to meet her. “I found this note on my car yes-terday and I’m checking with everybody to see if they know anything about it,” I said while passing over the note for her to see. “You think I did this? This is just plain mean, and I would nev-er do it to anyone, espe-cially not my friends!” She did seem genuinely upset and concerned for me. I pulled her in for a hug to mollify her, and she spoke into my shoulder. “It’s okay, Jess. I didn’t do this, though. Sorry.” The fear that had been slowly creeping up on me as each person said no hit me full on. That really did mean someone else did it. What if they had been fol-lowing me all day, laughing as I tried to find them? “It’s fine, I’ll see you around, okay?” I really needed some coffee right now. This was stressing me out too much. “Can I get a venti caramel latte, please?” I hand-ed over my cash and stood off to the side to wait for my coffee. As soon as I had my coffee in my hand, I would head home where I was safe. As far as I knew, there was a raving lunatic after me. I turned my head a little to the left, and something caught my eye. My whole body tensed up. How could I have been so blind? The answer was right there in front of me. There was a bulletin in the corner of the store where people could pin advertisements and services for customers to see. Right in the middle of the board was a piece of paper. The words at the top ingrained in my brain already. The advertisement read, “YOU’RE NEXT IN LINE TO WIN A TRIP TO HAWAII!! Call this number to find out how!” Underneath that was a number listed for people to call. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t remembered that before now. I look at it every day when I come in for my daily coffee. That’s how Mike had won the vacation trip. The piece of paper must have been flying around in the wind yester-day and landed on my windshield for me to find. I couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling out past my lips at the insanity of this situa-tion. The few people in the store gave me looks but otherwise carried on with their business. The barista called my name, and I stood up and grabbed my coffee. “Have a great day, everybody!” I said to everyone as I walked out. I was feeling re-lieved and giddy. Nobody was after me after all. I was just crazy. I sipped my coffee and turned the radio up. It was time to relax and enjoy my weekend. I never did get around to watching Supernatural... ❖ 6 Self Portrait Jessica Brannan What To Do With Your Beads After Mardi Gras Is Over These gold beads he hurled at me from the float— “Mr. New Orleans” muscles, eyebrows, chiseled features. “Meet me at Antoine’s” he cried, and I ordinary on the curb sighed, “Yes.” It’s morning now at Antoine’s and no Mr. New Orleans. The dark portraits of famous men loom over me. I wrap these faux fake tacky beads around the rose in its vase and twist until they pop. Margaret Boothe Baddour My Mother’s Hands Hands that till the earth The proof of her labor buried deep under her fingernails Hands, cracked and bleeding at the mercy of Winter’s feet She wears her scars as badges of strength Hands that steadily guide the needle She is her own North Star Hands, clasped in desperation, pleading to the sky Her prayers aren’t in vain These are the hands that first held mine Softened by love Hardened by time These are my mother’s hands These are the hands that wiped away my tears Held me tightly Hushed my fears These are my mother’s hands Her touch still lingers on my cheek And for just one moment She is with me These are my mother’s hands Julia Poole 7 Countertop Mark Sawyer 8 Seedling Stretched asphalt slides from west to east with this burden driving me farther as the banjo begs me “Faster.” The salt air pulls and cloaks the edges of disaster. The sun drops darkness on me like a hand grenade only head and tail lamps pulse lacing over the electric hills like last year’s forgotten Christmas lights. The earth of my home is churned from my leaving and soil clings to my roots. I must be repotted to flourish and into the world I’m thrust where I will reach for the sky or wither into dust. Candice Marie Lancaster February Tonight I bored a hole in the soil, a grave for a guinea pig lost to old age, and tomorrow I bury my grand-mother as I dig further into my own good night—the trees a silhouetted landscape cocooning me as a black cape hides the magician. But there is no sleight of hand in theses fingers, no performance on demand in these eyes. These arms are too sore for gestures. Tonight, I’m sure, I’ll dream of dying as I do so many nights in the crying wilderness of stars. Jeff Williams Apple Brianna Homminga You’re Next Shaneeka Greenfield Agrees, and I hurriedly cranked my car. As the cool air hit me and I leaned back to exhale, I spotted the sticky note on my windshield. Right there, right before my eyes was a neon, yellow sticky note with the words “YOU’RE NEXT” scribbled on it. My heartbeat doubled, and I grabbed my chest in hopes to slow down the beating of my heart. If the note were on the outside of the windshield, I could have laughed it off. My day would not have changed. The note was on the inside of my car, on the inside of my locked car, in broad daylight. Who could have left that note? Did they break in the wrong car? I asked these questions on the way home. For the life of me, no one came to mind. Yes, some people do not care for me too much, but not enough to hurt me. Once I made it home, I needed a bubble bath. On the way upstairs the phone rang, but I ignored it. The next morning, my routine did not change. My day consisted of the usual, no surprises, so I decided to put the recent scare behind me. That evening after my workout, I decided to do a couple of laps around the track. On my second lap, a bur-gundy Lincoln LS with tinted windows slowly rode by. When my heart was pounding, legs burning, and my face was drenched in sweat, I called it quits. On my way to the car, I noticed the burgundy Lin-coln drive by again. On the way home, my phone rang off the hook. I refused to answer because it was a private number. My mind wandered back to the note, “YOU’RE NEXT.” What was I next for? My palms began to sweat. The note, the suspicious car, and the pri-vate numbers had me jittery. “It’s all coincidences,” I told myself. Who would have thought it, I, Sha-neeka Greenfield, tough girl, scared shitless? When I approached my front door, I noticed that it was unlocked. The thought of an intruder did not cross my mind because leaving my door un-locked is a bad habit of mine. It was dark inside, and as I reached for the light switch, I heard move-ment behind me. Forgetting the switch, I turned around to receive a punch to the face. My body hit the floor. Before I had time to react, the intruder fter an extreme workout, I headed to my car. The tem-perature was a blistering 98 de-was upon me, sitting on my belly, delivering blow after blow. I quickly began to throw my body around like a mental. The intruder fell to the floor beside me. As I began to rise to my feet, I felt a sharp object enter my side. I screamed and ran for dear life to-wards the stairs. I had an advantage, my house, my turf, and I knew that. Hitting the light switch, I turned to see who the intruder was. My eyes almost popped out of the sockets. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking like the mad woman she was, was Tash Kingman. Tash Kingman was a woman I knew too well; I never thought we would be face-to-face. For the past four years, we had been sleeping with the same man. Romeo refused to leave her, and I refused to leave him. After all these years, never had there been any altercation. Everyone just accepted things as they were. A couple of months back, I gave Romeo an ultimatum: her or me. I guess you know who he chose. Snapping me out of my daze was Tash’s move-ment. Panicking, I grabbed the lamp from the side table at the top of the stairs. Tash ran full speed up the stairs. Mid-way, I launched the lamp, and it smashed against her face. Tash fell back down the stairs, and I did not know if she was dead or alive. Blood was spilling from my side. On my way to my bedroom, I prayed that I lived. I should have been dialing 911, but I had seen too many movies, and I needed some protection. As I reached and retrieved my .38 handgun, a voice behind me spoke. “You’ll never know the pain you have caused. So much heartache and disappointment followed your perfectly fit body. You broke up a home, a family, years I put into this. You can have Romeo and he can have you, IN DEATH!” Tash grabbed me and shoved me towards my floor-to-ceiling window. I turned and fired a shot, at the same moment she shoved me through the win-dow. If she thought she was going to come in my home and kill me she was dead wrong. When Tash pushed me through the window I used to love so much, I grabbed her blouse and took her with me. My perfectly trimmed shrubs, rose bushes, and baby trees broke our fall. When I opened my eyes, my head immedi- 9 Value Drawing Jesse Royer 10 ately began to hurt. I could not feel anything else, possibly from the blood loss. The gun was within reach, and I rolled onto my belly to retrieve it. Tash grabbed my leg and began to drag me away from the gun. Turning over on my back, I kicked her in the face and quickly grabbed the gun. Pointing it at her, I stood. “I never wanted it to come to this,” I said. Tash just looked at me. We both looked like death. “Maybe next time you will think twice before sleeping with somebody’s man,” Tash said. “Maybe I won’t,” I said. Tash screamed and ran towards me. Without hesitation, without second-guessing, I pulled the trigger. Standing over Tash’s dead body, watching the blood spill from the single bullet wound, I thought back to the note. “No, bitch, you’re next,” I said aloud. ❖ Clouds As Cheap As Ramen The peculiar way of ones who float instead of walk. It’s the destiny of the abstract to be explained. As it were, perception has always been the entirety of me. Maybe this means Like all the things we see, and all we can know for certain That I Am little more than a ray of light What have I bounced off of? Was I the cloth whose glow emanates from a closet Like the frightful hostile beast that strangely Peers from behind some wooden door? Am I the thing of your dreams? The lost you? I am the raccoon at night, Dwelling in the very fields you fled long ago. And I would look through the garbage The trash you threw out The faith and goodwill That became a liability to you While you closed your eyes to avoid the gawking stares of nostalgia, The shameful eyes that would gaze over that tragedy. And those who would witness me descending upon the refuse at 6 am would behold the madman, Those at 8 a.m. would watch the trash man. And if I came at noon, no one would venture a guess as to why I am there at all. Let us hope I can reach nightfall A nightfall with no more assumptions The peculiar ways of ones who float instead of walk? It’s not strange at all. Andre Selby 11 Fifth Gear Mary LaVanway J my heart. The past two minutes passed amaz-ingly fast, and I still had not gotten my bear-ings. Now with the car off, it is completely si-lent except for the tick, tick, tick of the engine as it begins to cool down. I take a deep breath, let it out, and open my eyes to find the world is upside down. “Get out.” Exiting the car involves a bit of planning. With the car off, everything is dark, and I have to feel my way around. If I undo my seat belt, I am going to fall on my head, so I opt for open-ing the door first. I grip the steering wheel with my legs and one arm and then press the release button on the seat belt. I do indeed hit my head but not as hard as I had imagined. Swinging my legs over the steering wheel and out the open door, I roll onto the ground. Chip’s door is jammed against the side of the ditch, so he has to haul his bulk over the tiny car’s console and out my door. I nearly laugh out loud, but look-ing at his face I keep quiet. I figure at this point I have pushed him far enough, although all of this was his fault. “Listen…..up.” Chip is huffing and puffing, either from an-ger or from trying to separate himself from the car, and looking at him, I figure the latter. His shirt is raked up, exposing his impressive belly. His usually slicked back hair is sticking up in all directions, and one jean leg is pushed up, giving me another unwanted glimpse of Chip’s hide. I do a quick inventory of myself to ensure he is not getting the same show. I am presentable. I take a few shaky steps down the road, making sure everything works the same way it did this morning. “Hey….c’mere.” It strikes me that all it takes to reduce the self-important, long-winded, “just call me Chipster, all my fans do, heh, heh, heh” Chip to a man of few words is to flip his car. I should ust turn it off,” he gasps. “Turn it off!” “Okay, okay. Stop yelling.” But he needs to yell because I can barely hear him over the beating of spread the word. For now, I walk back to where he is waiting, leaning over with his hands on his knees. He looks pitiful that way, and I almost feel sorry for him. Sweat is running off him, but Michigan in August is hot enough to cause that regardless of our little situation here. He is simply wearing too much clothing, but guys like Chip need to appear cool, and he cannot pull that off in shorts and a T-shirt. There is too much of him in all the wrong places. Chip’s not bad looking, but he comes across a bit greasy, like a guy who should smell bad but he never does. Maybe it is all that Old Spice he wears. “We gotta get our stories straight,” he says. Get our stories straight? Who are we go-ing to tell? There is no one around for miles, and unless you count the crickets that suddenly came back to life, we are totally alone. Just who does this guy think is going to come by and chat? This is so typical of Chip. Everything has to be done his way, and his way means he is the center of attention, he makes the rules, and he comes out on top. “The cops will be here soon.” It never occurred to me until that moment there might be more to this than getting his car out and driving away. Sure the cops will come. They always do. And when they get here, they are going to ask questions. They always do that, too. To top it off, my dad knows a lot of cops. I am doomed. “We can’t tell them you were driving. My insurance won’t cover it. Gimme a minute to think here.” There is no way this girl is going to lie to the police. I am a terrible liar. Panic is beginning to set in, but I give him the minute. He turns and looks at his car and his face sags. The car looks like one of those insects that cannot get back on its feet after turning turtle. Uprooted weeds are sticking out of the wheel wells and the front bumper, and there is a slick of mud running down the side. He loves that car, just bought it brand new three, four months ago. It is the coolest car anyone in our little group owns—a Datsun 280Z with all the bells and “ 12 whistles, and five gears—which is why we are in this mess. Guys like Chip need a car like this. People hang out with the guy who has a cool car. But he is my friend, kind of, and I feel bad for the way the night has turned out and decide to go along with him as long as he does not go ‘all Chip’ with it. “Okay, here it is. I was taking you for a drive, and all of a sudden, two cars come over that hill, racing each other, and to avoid hitting them, I crossed the road and went into the ditch and the car flipped. They kept right on going. Never stopped. Neither of us got a good look at what kind of car, ok? You got that?” Chip is getting his wind back. He stares at me, waiting for an answer. I nod, wondering if I can do this. I have to decide quickly; the police have arrived. “Cry and act scared and they’ll believe you,” he whispers as they get out of the car. No need to act. I am scared. Petrified, ac-tually. I stand near the Datsun as Chip tells his story, waving his hands and mimicking the rev-ving sounds of racing cars, totally into it. Both cops stand there, never moving, not interrupt-ing or asking any questions. When he finishes, Chip follows one cop over to the police car and the other checks out the car. The flashing blue and red lights make his movements appear jerky as if one second he is there the next he is not. The crickets must have decided to sit this one out as it was silent once again with only an occa-sional squawk from the police car. Cop number two then walks up the road for a bit, turns, and comes back to where I am standing and looks down at me. He is huge. He must be at least six and a half feet tall. He reaches into his belt and pulls out his notepad, the leather creaking as he does so. I see his gun, his badge, and all the other components that make up his uniform. This guy is not just a cop; he is authority. Lying to this guy is going to be a mistake. “Would you please tell me what happened here tonight, miss?” I tell the story and put everything I have into it, but it sounds lame. I know he recognizes it as a big, fat fib and I want to stop. When finished, he sighs and tells me to follow him down the road. He shines his light on the pavement while explaining such things as skid marks and other accident evidence that barely registers with me. “I want you to listen to me very carefully. I don’t care what that man told you to say or not to say. What I want now is for you to tell me exactly what happened.” In one long breath I tell him: Chip want-ed to teach me how to drive a stick and after stalling out a few times I was doing fine in first and second gear and how he was ragging at me when I did not go fast enough for third so I went faster and now to get to fourth gear I had to go even faster and so I went faster and I told him I was still not speeding but Chip wanted me to go into fifth gear and I just was not going fast enough so he reached over and pushed on my knee and the car just flew scaring the crap out of me and probably him and he is yelling at me to shift and then we were in the ditch upside down. I breathe again and feel pretty good. “You were driving.” I nod. He smiles at me, and together we walk back to the two cars which have been joined by a tow truck. Chip is smiling until he sees me shake my head. After the police confer, Chip gets a lecture and a ticket. I am out of earshot but do not miss the look Chip sends my way. With a few choice words and a lot of grunt-ing, Chip, the two cops, and the tow truck driv-er are actually able to push the car over onto its four wheels, and the tow truck pulls it out of the ditch. Amazingly, only the roof is dented. Chip picks off the weeds, scowls at the mud, and gets in. It starts on the first try. The police get ready to leave, and I decide to get a ride with the tow truck driver; Chip can wait for another day. I think he feels the same way. I will give him a couple of weeks to cool down. He will not stay mad at me for long. I hope not. I hear he is getting a new motorcycle, and I would love to learn how to drive one. ❖ 13 Kingdom Under the Sea Bria McCoy Naughty the Nautilus Ben Massey T the Nautilus. Now Naughty the Nautilus did many naughty things to be thought of as such a not-so-good nautilus. He would stay in bed after Mommy Nautilus had asked him to wake up and play in the street even though Daddy Nautilus had told him not to. He would take toys from the other nau-tiluses without asking them first and color on walls when no one else was around. If all of that was not enough naughtiness to justly earn our little nautilus his name, he would also tie knots in the other nautiluses’ ten-tacles and eat cookies that Mommy Nautilus had told him not to. It could be rightly said that Naughty the Nautilus was the naughti-est little nautilus in the entire ocean. One day, Naughty the Nautilus went to school, but none of the other little nauti-here once was a naughty nautilus. He behaved so badly that every-one else just called him Naughty luses wanted to play with him. As Naughty swam around the playground, he wondered why. He wondered and wondered and won-dered some more, and then a thought came to him. Could the reason why the other nautiluses would not be his friends be that he was not being a friend to them? He considered this a little while longer before deciding to swim over to where the other little nautiluses were playing. Once he had reached them, he said he was sorry for being so naughty in the past and asked them if they would all be his friends. Every one of the other nautiluses said, “Yes,” and from that day on Naughty the Nautilus was nev-er mean to anyone. He stopped doing all the naughty things that he used to do, and Naughty the Nautilus became known as the Not-So-Naughty Nautilus. However, every now and again a cookie would still mysteri-ously disappear from the cookie jar. ❖ 14 Light Always Shines Jessica Hendrick N in Svitavy, Moravia, Oskar Schindler was born. Schindler grew up under normal cir-cumstances; he attended trade schools, held a variety of jobs, served in the Czechoslovak army, and joined the German Armed Forces in 1936. At the beginning of his journey with the Nazi Party he was out to increase his wealth. In essence, Schindler did indeed become a very wealthy man during World War II, but in wealth that cannot be mea-sured in numbers and figures. Following the invasion of Poland in 1939, Schindler moved to Krakow and bought German Enamelware Factory Oskar Schindler; there he employed Jewish work-ers. The workers who were subject to mis-treatment at Plaszów were treated kindly while at the factory. For that purpose, in 1943 he sought permission for his workers to stay overnight. As the war progressed and the Jewish prisoners were being taking away for liquidation, only the workers that were considered “essential to the war effort” were safe; thus, he added an armaments division. Schindler’s efforts to help the Jewish prisoners did not come without great risk. He was arrested three times by the SS, but they were unable to convict him. In 1943 he traveled to Budapest to meet with two rep-resentatives of the Hungarian Jewry. Dur-ing his trip he discussed the atrocities being othing on Earth can bring out the true character of an individ-ual quite as well as a cataclysmic contention. The year of 1908, committed and possible solutions. Another great risk was that in the eight months of production from the armaments factory, only one live wagonload of ammo was ever produced. Schindler did his best to protect as many prisoners as he possibly could. He learned of great atrocities that Amon Goeth (com-mandant) was committing against prison-ers at Krakow-Plaszów and befriended him; Schindler tried to influence his behavior by telling him that a man with true power shows that power by granting forgiveness. In addition, Schindler rescued “his” Jewish prisoners from certain death when they were suddenly deported to Auschwitz. At this point he made the list known as “Schindler’s List.” He spent every penny he had to buy each of these 1,000 people back, and stayed with his workers until May 9th, 1945 – the day after the war ended. Through him people were able to live to tell the story. In accordance with his acts of courage the Yad Vashem awarded him the title “Righteous Among the Nations.” In 1993 the US Holocaust Memorial Council posthumously presented him the Museum Medal of Remembrance for extraordinary deeds during the Holocaust and in the cause of Remembrance. Many of those he saved and their descendants lobbied for and fi-nanced the transfer of his body for burial in Israel. With great power comes great re-sponsibility. Oskar Schindler is a hero; may his actions be always revered. ❖ Works Cited Holocaust Encyclopedia. “Oskar Schindler.” United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Washington, DC. 10 June 2013. Web. 30 Nov 2013. Yad Vashem. “The Righteous Among The Nations.” Yad Vashem The Holocaust Martyrs’ and Heroes’ Remembrance Authority. 2014. Web. 30 Nov 2013. 15 Praying for the Prodigals Hands clenched in prayer, refused to release their grip on the lives of those held close. We held hands, and wrung them while we almost sacrificed our Isaacs on the altar of our desires. Mary Susan Heath Check Mate Danielle Carter Dog Gone We Southern women have read too much Gone With the Wind. Doggone it, he’s just gone. Frankly, my dear, he didn’t give a damn, and never did, and now, it’s done over. Mary Susan Heath A My Eye View Jonathan Mayo I was a population problem. Too many of us and too many of them. They always thought that they had the rights to this place just because they built on it. They started out to be so friendly, or at least that’s how the stories were told to me while on migration. It was a peaceful coexistence between us, up until they started scaring us all the time with those loud killing tree branches they would carry around. They would send out these disgusting four legged beasts to scare us, point those branches at us and boom! Ears would bleed at how loud those branches were. Some of us just fell right out of the air, scared to death by that awful racket. Then they became of some use to us. They built tall straight metal trees that gave all of us places to rest and defecate. There was an abundance of food laying all over the place. They even built huge moving food islands for when we went on vacation to the beach. Then one day it all stopped. The airways were as quiet as a field mouse being hunted, from what I’m told. None of them were walking around down there. There were no metal boxes zooming around in straight lines any more. It was if they had all just got fed up and walked away. You see, they had to walk, because of the feather problems. What had happened to them all, I wondered. I took a short trip over to the biggest metal tree around; it was the meeting spot in case of an emergency. There I found mothers, fathers, sons and daughters all worried sick about what was going to happen to our food. Lady Cornwallis finally chirped loudly, proclaiming that her family had been in this area the longest, so ev-erything was rightfully theirs. According to law she was correct, but all of us already knew that. She was just establishing her dominance of the area to cre-ate some kind of order from the chaos. Now that she had everyone’s attention she reviewed the proce-dures for an emergency. Afterwards the open forum went on for hours, so many questions with so few answers. Then, with a loud crash into the meeting hall, a messenger arrived. The look on his face was of pure horror. Lady Cornwallis asked, “Have you news from abroad, messenger?” “Indeed I do my lady, a great death has spread amongst the humans and other non-flying species.” Shocked beyond belief, Lady Cornwallis demanded an end to the forum and to have a meet-ing with her inner council. It didn’t take long for the f I was ever asked “What was it like that day?” I would have to say it started just like every other miserable day in that city. As usual there hall to empty. As usual, guardsmen, such as myself, were to stay behind and wait for orders. A few hours passed by as we waited. I indulged on a rat carcass while I waited. Now that I look back on it, eating that rat might have been a bad idea at the time. At last the senior guardsman came forth with orders. My orders were simple: go with team two and scout the southern shoreline to verify the reports. As we set out for our flight south, we detected a repug-nant smell from a northern wind. It was a smell we all knew too well, the smell of week old rotten flesh. We flew south to begin our investigation. Tree after tree, we smelled nothing but rotten flesh as we flew by. As we came close to the shore line, we finally investigated the source of the smell. We landed and promptly entered one of the trees and found piles upon piles of bodies on the lower floors. The tops of the bodies had been burned horribly to try and contain whatever was happening, I assumed. At the bottoms of the piles were grotesquely rotten corpses. Their skin had gotten so weak that their insides were bursting out onto the floor. The smell of rotten flesh, burned skin and fecal matter was too much for one of my comrades. He promptly left the tree for some fresh air. In the next tree we found some four legged hairy animals eating away at the bodies. The sound of bones cracking in between their teeth like branch-es breaking. Their snouts buried deep into a hot pile of intestines, with a mushing and grunting sound when they chewed. That’s not what bothered me to begin with, it was the look on the animal’s face that was scary. It was a look of nothingness, like all life had been sucked out of its body and it was just eat-ing to eat. We made the decision to leave this hor-rible tree and continue on to the southern shoreline. As we flew closer and closer to the shoreline, I started to notice different kinds of bodies scattered on the ground. They were bodies like mine. Hun-dreds of them scattered along the shoreline. These were not rotting so quickly like the others though. These bodies were full of holes and covered in their own blood. This was a massacre by all means. What right would any creature have to massacre so many of my kind like this? These circumstances were very puzzling indeed. In the inner city we saw human bodies burned and massacred, and near the shore-line we saw a different kind of killing. Yet every-thing was so calm, there was no large storm, and the temperature was beautiful. It was like any other calm and peaceful vacation to the southern shore. Suddenly, we heard very loud noises in the stillness. 16 Could this be the source of such death on a massive scale? Unnerved, we flew to the sounds as quickly as possible, following the trail of death. There! Humans, real live humans. It seemed they weren’t all dead after all. But they were run-ning away so fast and afraid. What could they be afraid of? We are on friendly terms now; we coex-isted comfortably. The closer I got, it seemed as if they were looking behind me, yet there was nothing there. I called out to them loudly, “I am here to help you!” The running continued. They were all run-ning toward the floating islands that they made from metal. I heard more loud bangs to my left and to my right. I saw them holding such strange branches and pointing them at us. The bangs became louder and louder, closer and closer. What could they all have been so afraid of? We circled higher to get a better view of the situation and possibly find the humans’ location for safety that they seem to have found. We circled high and saw nothing out at sea except a few more metal islands with humans on them. My team swooped down to help any strug-gling humans that we could and we were met with resistance. Could they have been blaming us for all this death and mayhem? We were a peaceful species that only killed to eat when we had to. We definitely wouldn’t try to eat something nearly as large as a hu-man. I tried to grab on to one of the small ones to attempt to fly it to safety, but my claws couldn’t get a good grip on it. I moved quickly and attempted to rescue another one, yet my claws just sliced through their soft flesh. Another loud bang, this one was very close. My chest had never felt this kind of pain before in my life. I fell like a stone out of the sky. They were trying to kill us, I realized. Why, why? What could we possibly have done? My body felt warm all over as my life rushed out of me. Puzzled, I questioned reality. What had this world come to that would provoke such fear, hatred, and violence? One of my team members landed beside me to check on my wounds. He told me he was sorry, but the look on his face was a look that I had seen earlier that day. His eyes were black and full of nothingness. That wild animal! He did this to us. Yet I did not remember any of us coming close to touching the beast. Could it be that we were the one spreading this death unknowingly? My final thoughts landed on deaf ears amongst the chaos and the panic. I tried to warn my brothers that we might be the root cause of this massacre. Nothing, nothingness had taken over my mind now. I lay there with nothing but my own thoughts that were soon to run dry. ❖ 17 Ireland As the brisk, cool air chaps my pale face, I feel like I am home more than ever. I see crowds of people, and they are so wonderfully, incredibly happy. A cluster of French girls hold hands and sing songs in a foreign dialect. German friends talk amongst themselves, pointing at castles. How I would just love to sit and watch all the different people interact. In a few short moments, I am surrounded by books. Rows and rows cascading down the walls; they seem so inviting. I can smell the scent of the old, rusted pages, and it feels like home. Dublin nights are especially fun. Neon lights fill the night. I sit in the lobby of a hotel, and watch party goers come and leave. These nights differ greatly from the sleepy nights of Killarney. Ireland, in its entirety, is a magical place, full of beautiful landscapes, cold weather, majestic libraries, and different people from across the world. This may seem peculiar to mere strangers, but these are the things I live for. If only I could return, what I would not give to experience it all over again. Every chilled breath, every step I took across the dewy grass, listening to every heavy accent. I’d give a thousand sunsets to return. For it is filled with magic, as all of Europe is, and has the power to not just change a person, but their whole outlook on life. Samantha Grzybek 18 Smile and Wave Feel an ocean breeze And see the sun setting Over crystalline waters Dig your toes into white, warm sand As these words wash over you, picture Anything you like to soothe and relax Your poor, tired soul. Why not embrace the changes? Consider the tides, like life, rearranges All things deemed consistent, save death and taxes Escape the need for stagnant fixtures Find your meaning in the stream and Eschew the thoughts of martyrs In your mind, start letting Go, be still, at ease. Josh Hollowell Statue You were like this statue You always stood still You always kept your eyes forward Never gave me your attention And that’s what I wanted most I danced around you Called out to you Touched you Yet you remained still And when you finally moved You shattered my heart into a million pieces The Real Me Danielle Carter Liyah Foye Cody Howell 19 A tribute to last year’s contributors Rise of the Shenobie Wolf Clan (Excerpt) Red Archer Winter pond on Buckleberry Road Seeking shelter in the old barn His eyes were human pink Looking at stars All the pretty horses Sight of the sound Four ways of looking at leaves Revelation of tears Whitney, Once Loved When prince charming flees, capture the moment: Kure Beach, after September— here I am again: Garbage Hero, monarch caterpillar, a clownfish from the NC aquarium: me, myself, and id. Journey to the past, Sunset Flower. Admire the beautiful life’s unexpected changes. And now who will you love? Summer Swamp Interstate KLW41 mushrooms growing a flash of white dives into the woods trees at sunset two barns circle pyre parts the lady masquerade passion Mama, I lied church is no sanctuary Esteemed Speaker on a Rainy Night Kobi on a rainy night Porch in Burnsville, NC Flower in hand A peony from my garden From civilian to Marine recruit Big fish out of water False hope Fear Support system Grandmom and son Mellissa’s song Happy 20 Born on the Rocks The tides are low, So build a life in the sand, Life flows slow, No need to stand. The waters rush in, Home falls apart, The room starts to spin The waves drown your heart Pick everything up And build a house in the sky Build a tower tough And keep your toes dry Let many years pass, And no waters come Suspicion doesn’t last, The tower, you break from Toes in the ocean Tempting your fate Returning devotion, The tides are irate Again they take you Fill your lungs with salt They beat and they break you This time it’s your fault. Candice Marie Lancaster Haiku Explorations once the night stirs me awake to cold or hunger muses flutter by cast on sylvan path blade of sunlight cuts open to the light inside family journey slices thin layers from the zucchini for lunch Gene Carpenter Pencil Mill Kellie Lankford ❦ 21 Home, For a Visit I squeezed around the white, enameled table in my mother’s crowded kitchen to my chair, my feet on the stored boxes underneath. Sit on an old phone book, her chairs too low to match the table set for her birthday lunch. She says the blessing, looks up at all the food. She asks, “Would you like some gravy?” and passes me the dish. I have always hated gravy. I am stunned, saddened. “No, thank you,” I say. She talks to me and smiles behaving properly taking my breath away as I understand. Mother can fry chicken and I can’t, make a pound cake for every event but she doesn’t remember me. Nancy Seate Welcome to the Nightmare Tossing and turning Sweat beads down your face Oh, but you’re not awake Welcome to the Nightmare Every fear you’ve ever had Taunts you You try to escape But your eyes tighten Your hands clutch your pillow The fear is so real You kick and scream Yet you still sleep It’s not easy to run Run from yourself, your thoughts Everything calls to you You tremble, shake Something laughs Laughs at your fear You feel that the end is near And it seems so real You cry for help Your body tossing and turning You finally jerk awake “Welcome to the Nightmare...” Rook Michaela Deguzman Katie Carey 22 A Nip of Tuck Folks used to kick up their horses when they come past our house. Them that walked stepped up their own pace a mite too! And the few what had cars mostly took the 3-C trail over Dix Knob ‘bout four miles further on, just not to pass our house. Y’see, folks thereabouts claimed Aunt Jessie was a Witch! Aunt Jessie put a spell on Tucker Coleman after he set out to have his way with Cousin Francine. Done her hex stuff, then said “He’ll end up being downed by everybody on Cavanaugh Creek for what he’s done.” Didn’t seem to bother Tuck much though… Went right on with his rowdy ways, making liquor and such. Then one drunk September Ol’ Tuck fell in his corn mash hopper. Drowned right then and there! I reckon he must a’ worked off right along with the corn mash cause they never found what was left of him ‘till they throwed out the sludge. By then most everybody on Cavanaugh Creek had took a nip. Ray Dotson Self Portrait Akiva Johnson Equinox The pale blue sky turned dark blue. The air cooled and thunder echoed as it passed over each holler. Rain could be heard from afar as it touched the trees below. The rain arrived and with it came the sound of crashing thunder. Bright lightning illuminated the sky. As the thunder and lightning rolled away, the rain which had been coming in sheets was now a gentle spray. The flowers, grass, and trees were full of vigor and freshness. The rainbow above looked like a jewel against the dark blue sky. The storm was finally over. The morning dew glistened on everything in sight as the sun rose from behind the mountain top. Small animals awakened to a brand new day. Birds sang and bumblebees hummed as brightly-colored butterflies danced in the air. Twinkling stars and constellations filled the night sky. Cows bedded down in fields as crickets, cicadas, and bull frogs serenaded them. Hundreds of lightning bugs rose from the ground with ease. Voices and laughter could be heard coming from every yard, as families enjoyed an evening under the heavenly stars. Theresa White-Wallace 23 Animal Positive Jesse Royer I Belong Here Sam Spivey I Foggy, warm, the smell of wood smoke drifting down the banks; I stood in the middle of the current, knowing if I was sucked under no one would find me for quite some time. I could hear the pealing of the church bells in the village, miles away, carried softly to me on the faint breeze. They reminded me of the distance I had put between myself and those walls, the distance between the people sitting in those pews, and the world I had escaped to. I blocked out the bells. I blocked out the birds coming down to the water for a drink before putting down for the night; I blocked out the hunting dogs picking up my scent sev-eral miles down the trail, and fussing over it; I blocked out even the sound of the water bugs, floating and flitting across the top of the rush-ing water. I blocked out all but the sound of my heartbeat and the sound of the stars far above— I could feel them calling to me, and even as I stood chest deep in a river on Earth, I knew they were waiting for me, expecting me. I belonged there, beside the asterisms, look-ing down at someone in a river on earth and feeling sorry for him, just so someone would. I felt the water swirling around me, felt it like it was my blood, like the stones on the bottom were my bones, and I was shattering into a mil-lion liquid pieces. I gasped, struggling for air; I sucked in icy water instead, found myself under-neath the surface, immersed in a blue eclipse of death and immortality. In front of my eyes was a solitary image: the constellations dancing un-der the side shade of a sycamore, their dark eyes begging me to join them in their cosmic ring-around, their song echoing in my soul. Somewhere deeper than they could reach me, though, I felt a stirring. It was a voice I thought had long been lost. It said, “Love, don’t let me go. You’ll never know what you have went down to the rainy river one night, hoping to lose myself in the cold, clear waters. when you’re gone.” The spinning stars, now burning brown, taunted me and tantrummed when they felt me begin to go for air. “Love, don’t let me go.” And I broke the surface, screaming silently, oxygen pouring into my nearly nixed lungs. I spoke to myself, wheezing even in my head, “Where—have you been—all of this time?” The voice that was hope said the only true thing that could be said. “I never left. You just sunk so far that I had to make a move, for my own integrity.” “And what would have happened had you no moral backbone?” I asked, somehow finding the strength to be combative. “That’s easy,” it said, “you’d have died.” I stepped out of the now-chilling waters, clammy and cold. The bells had stopped, I no-ticed; the dogs had moved farther down the path, and the birds were gone, probably fright-ened by my near-suicide. “Will I be hearing from you again soon?” I rubbed my hands together, feeling a bit silly now openly talking to myself. “Oh, you can count it,” it said smoothly, and I felt my inner-most being sewn back together again, the part of me that held hope. The walk back to town was a long one, a cold one; footprints told me others had walked here recently, maybe the hunters with their dogs. Passing my father’s house on the way, I didn’t stop in to say hello. My focus was too intent on my existence, on my newfound life, on the road ahead of me. My mind was oc-cupied with other things—the greed of galaxies (and how to fall from heaven with a soft land-ing), the unwavering faith of the heart (and the unspeakable tragedy of muddy water), and the beauty of the October twilight. I belong here, among the autumn leaves and amber eyes of a lover, and I feel sorry for anyone watching from space, that they miss out on all of this. ❖ 24 ❦ 25 I Use People I use people. I use them to fill a void I’ve had for as long as I can remember. I do not know where this void comes from. I do not know if it grew in me or I grew around it. I have no emotion reserved for myself so I use others to feel. I am a robot created by social inequality. I am dangerous because of this. I am kind because of this. I do for others to get a response. They feel I am genuine and their responses are honest. Because I ask nothing solid in return they feel they get my time for free. They do not know they are being used. I think about this often. I follow this practice of using people daily. And I wonder if I’m the only one who will admit to what we all do. I do it consciously. Do you? Sherrie Erb Attempt at Zentangle Ana Pantoja The Hunter The hunter of the night, creeping upon his prey bathed in the full moon’s light, hibernating during the day. Sleek as a passing shadow, unheard with silent footsteps. Upon a hopeless victim, slow the hunter quietly crept. Beheaded, disemboweled, his prey Quickly cut down to size. The hunter, with a grin so gay Carries home his prize A gift, the carcass that he brings Brought forth for the chosen one Awaiting for the one to sing. A house-cat’s job now done. Amanda Smith 26 Caroline A parade of one—Caroline in her crinoline— caged in wire hoops and whalebone stays, down the boardwalk past Jacob’s grocery. Down the steps—across the dirt alleyway, the hem of her gown held at ankle height kept out the yellow mud— Ah, but a grand parade it was—Grand! And, only when she pushed forward a gold locket to Walker McGlohorn— opened to show empty frames, tiny tintypes having been removed for safekeeping and renewable memories— did one notice the frayed lace at her wrists and about her gracefully curved neck “Three dollars,” Walker whispered. “They’s not much call anymore, you know? Folks ain’t buying like before Sherman come through.” Twas like a pale fog had crept inside the room. She fumbled inside a once-beaded bag for something eluding her search. “Five, then,” he said. “Five! OK? But don’t be bringing me nothin’ else.” Ray Dotson I Am Drew Blanco The Stars Became Our Anthem We were sitting on the patio indulging in our favorite bad habits and pervasive mid-summer humidity, as we often did that season of the year, and nothing was quite as palpable as the paradox of our shared contentedness and dissatisfaction with life as we knew it. We didn’t dare ask for more; we could bear no less. We were children of the night, born from a thunderstorm, blooming into self-realization, withering in the heat and melancholy drifting up on the small breeze. It did smell like rain that night, but that could’ve been the condensation on our lips and shoulders. Learning those lessons from the moon never gets easier, but once we accepted that the more we learned the less we knew, those songs from the stars became our anthem. Sadie Goulet 27 Zentangle Brianna Homminga 28 The Construction Men Sudden, strange men’s voices buzzing of power tools call me to the window. Discovering unknown men in knee length denim shorts, with T-shirts, two without, all white socks and heavy work boots. There is a tight-wire-walker on the roof, strolling quickly, then squats low, hammering shingles, held fast— magnetic muscles in his legs. On the grass amid ladders and tools a tanned, bare back bends over propped up boards, pulls power saw down loudly at right angles, blasting decibels. Deafening buzzing, stops-pauses, silence begins again, steady beat of hammers and nail gun blasts rapidly repeat, the men talk of their next steps. Made in China Chunglam Lau Ripping out the rotten wood, Rick prepares a new spot for repair. Measuring twice, Dave calls out fractions of inches Allen cuts, together building new porches. Talented, tanned men wield tools artistically. Short hair, sweat on their foreheads, strength and speed, create three-dimensional masterpieces with wood. Asking us only for 3-prong electrical outlets, cold water and a listening ear for their stories, we indoor ladies catch each other’s eyes, and laugh at our good fortune. Nancy Seate 29 The Showdown Maurice Hunter I looking beautiful. I decided I would pick a few flowers, so I could give some to my mom. I went inside, so I could get a spare vase I was positive I had in the hall closet. When I was looking through the closet, it was nowhere to be found even though I thought I was sure there was a vase in the closet. Since it wasn’t there, I just brushed it off and decided to go out and buy a new one. I walked out of the house and was heading towards my car when I noticed some paper on the front windshield. I hustled over out of curi-osity. The paper read, “You’re Next.” I was very confused. Then a voice came from my left, it was Hulk Hogan, and he was riding a bull while holding an RPG. He was about 50 yards away, and he shouted out, “I’m coming after you, brother. Nobody messes with Jennifer and gets away with it.” The bull started charging after me, and I began freaking out. As the bull was getting closer to me, a black van drifted into my driveway, the door slid open, and Mr. T hopped out. He started star-ing Hogan in the eyes with the intensity of a thousand starving lions out on the prowl for the single gazelle left in Africa. Then he said, “No-body messes with a man trying to give flowers to his momma. Not if I have anything to do with it!” He started charging towards Hogan and the bull. Hogan fired off his only RPG at Mr. T. It missed and hit Mr. T’s van, blowing it up. By the look in Mr. T’s eyes, I could tell things just got even more real. The bull that Hogan was riding and Mr. T slammed into each other with incredible force, causing dust to fly everywhere. When the dust settled, Mr. T had Hogan’s bull by the horns. He threw it into the air, making Hogan fly off in my direction. Hogan landed and rolled on the ground until he was about ten feet in front of me. I started worrying that Hogan was going to get up any second and clobber me to a pulp. So I started ’ll never forget that day. It was gorgeous outside, the birds were chirping, and the flowers in the flower patch out back were yelling for Mr. T to get over here, but he was going at it with the bull and couldn’t help at the moment. I saw Hulk Hogan start to get up and brush dirt off of his body. I didn’t have much time to think, so I did what any other 18 year old male that just witnessed a man stop a bull barehand-ed would do. I ran up to Hogan and punched him. Wrong move. It barely affected him, and he hit me in the stomach with three punches. Those punches knocked the wind out of me, and I could tell he was nowhere close to done. While he was laughing at the windless me, I decided to make a run for my house. While I was running to the front door, I looked behind me to see that Hogan was chasing me, and he was a little ways off. I struggled to get my front door unlocked, and now he was even closer to me. I got in and ran up the steps to the sec-ond floor bedroom, shutting the door behind me to try and buy some more time. When I got upstairs, I noticed a gun on the nightstand and had no idea where it came from. I didn’t have time to sit and think, so I ran and grabbed it and aimed it at the top of the stairs, waiting for Hogan. Seconds later I heard Hogan bust through the door and climb the steps. He got to the top, and BOOM! He was hit in the shoulder by a bullet. Hogan fell onto the ground, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I remember thinking my nightmare was finally over. Then I started to hear what sounded like a bunch of people cheering. I listened closer and heard a bunch of people cheering. I saw Hulk Hogan struggling to his feet. He was looking at me and wagging his finger at me and then just pointed it at me. I heard a loud “You!” that seemed like it came from all around me. While I was looking around con-fused, Hulk charged me and threw me out the window into my flower garden. My vision went blurry upon impact, but I could still hear cheer-ing. I remember wondering what was going on. I looked at my shattered window, and I saw 30 Hulk Hogan standing there about to jump out. At the same time Mr. T had run to the back of the house. Hulk Hogan said, “You’re finished now brother!,” jumped, and went into a leg drop. Mr. T said, “Quit yo jibber jabber, fool!” and dove to stop Hogan. As I lay on the ground in pain, vision blurred, I watched as Mr. T col-lided with Hulk Hogan. The collision was so epic it created a blast wave that sent me flying back into my fence, causing me to black out. As I came to, I looked over and saw Mr. T and Hulk Hogan dead. I began to stand up, and as I did I heard thunderous applause. I looked up, and the sky had been replaced by rows of cheering people looking down on me. A patch of ground underneath me started tak-ing me higher. When the ground stopped, I saw a scoreboard with my face on it. The num-ber underneath my name went from a one to a two. There was a flood of flashing lights, so many that I was being blinded. I shut my eyes to protect myself from the light. When I did, the noises stopped, and when I opened my eyes again, I was back in the flower garden. It was gorgeous outside, the birds were chirping, and the flowers were looking beautiful. ❖ diamonds, bones, and oak spirits (moussaieff) like a petal, i fall in spirals to the grounds of the garden, leaving my sorrows on rosebuds as i pass by— hoping to see them crystallize hoping to see them grow hoping that they will shed tears of their own. (orthopedics) i’ve bent my bones like stars reflecting off lake woebegon or a dragon undergoing psychoanalysis, so i dream a little dream of your coffee shop around the corner— about the silky espresso sunrises melting my already fragile skeletalia and transforming me into a career man. but here’s the thing: i don’t like driving sports cars or trying to fit into limousines or drinking pricey champagne at benefit dinners for people who don’t exist; i don’t enjoy this new life any more than i did the old. i want more than anything a good massage therapist who knows her way around the lumbar, who could maybe loosen up my too-tight hold on reality for just a moment, just long enough for me to catch my breath and learn how to walk again. (deciduousness) in between the fall and winter months, wishfully appearing in dreams both odd and even, obtuse and abstract but sharp and modern, never to be confused with the pine of the north; to understand her is to understand yourself, longing for a glimpse into her perennial soul, every day wasted recycled in desire, truth spilling from paint cans and beer bottles, gorgeous (runway material), and humble to boot— of course she is still falling from maturity, letting go of her scarecrow dreams, oversensitizing to bleak religious theory, veritably a swan in an automobile factory: everything i never needed, and always wanted. Sam Spivey ❦ 31 “Rose Red” - Summer Woodard “Beatrix Potter’s Transdimensional Gateway” - Jeff Williams “Starplant” - Chunglam Lau “Roxie” - Courtney Howell 32 “Chimera” - Bria McCoy “London” - Samantha Grzybek “In Flight” - Lora Sager “Sunset” - Theresa White-Wallace Isolation Cut off from all the world, Nature’s beauty at the window sill. A quiet, introvert girl, Sitting, watching, still. Watching the birds flutter by, She begins to wonder How do these majestic beings fly? And to where? She ponders. Turning once again inside, She thinks, “What is life about?” Never before have these thoughts pried Before the Internet went out. Amanda Smith 33 “Tree Hotel” - Chunglam Lau “Flora” - Lailan Fowler “Blue Moon” - Jessica Brannan 34 “Three Graces” - Bria McCoy “Bamboo Tiger” - Lora Sager “Kitten Frog” - Danielle Carter “Pieces of Me” - Ana Pantoja A Normal Conversation “Can I take your order, please?” “Yes, I’ll have a number one. Super-size it, and add cheese, Then my order will be done.” “And what would you like to drink? You never did tell me.” “A Diet Pepsi’s good, I think. It slipped my mind, I’m sorry.” “Your total is in the eight-dollar range.” “Thank you, here’s a ten, and you can keep The change.” Amanda Smith 35 Blueberry Hill Blueberry Hill was a roadhouse in the wet country just south of us About 25 miles away As a little kid I loved to go with my father on his quest for beer In those days, when no one in Monroe County drank Daddy left me in the car, made his purchases and soon returned Bringing a delicious, juicy hamburger on a warm, sandwich press crisped bun Tearing into the wrapper, careless of dripping grease, catsup, mayonnaise, Onions, lettuce, tomato, or pickle Salivating, I crammed luscious portions into my small mouth as fast as possible Fearful the savoring time will be over too soon Preacher Pruitt came that night to visit And asked, “Gene, who makes the best hamburgers in town?” “Blueberry Hill,” I told him With enthusiasm and confidence! Oddly, Mother and Daddy were quiet. Gene Carpenter Wine Glass Akiva Johnson All Your Bass Freeing a mind is easy, Freeing mine is anyway. I just happen to think of her, And all else fades away. She is in every song I hear, And every single beat. Every little tune, She puts me on the edge of my seat. Everywhere I go I carry her there, Four strings, an amp, and a song I am willing to share. Greyson Potter 36 What a Wonderful Fall Krystal Artis-Jones Wmy mother as she continued to try to catch her breath. There we were, all eleven of us, lined up under the rickety old carport attached to the grey cinderblock house. All our heads hung low as we knew what our punishment entailed. I peeked up to watch my mother deliver swift blows to each of my cousins and brothers. I quickly returned my head to its down position, knowing my turn was next. The anticipation was brutal. Once, twice, three times. The pain from the thin switch was worse than a mil-lion bee stings. Then, just as quickly as the punish-ment began, it was over. This particular fall started just as any other fall, with cooler temperatures and the turning of leaves from green to red, gold, and brown. I played out in the yard and as usual ended up in our neigh-bor’s yard. In the side yard, I found my ten-year-old brother hovering over the small rectangular fish pond. He held a makeshift fishing rod in his hand, which he had made from a long stick and a piece of tattered rope. I had seen this pond a million times, but I was four, and the vibrant colors of the koi and the goldfish never ceased to amaze me. My brother and I knew we were not supposed to play anywhere near the pond, much less in it. I contin-ued to watch the fish although my brother left and played somewhere else. I was fascinated and just knew I had to pet one of those fish. I reached over the edge as far as I could, and before I had any idea what had happened, I had toppled headfirst into the pond. Gasping for air, I yelled for my brother. I must have made a lot of noise because not only did my brother come running, but so did the neighbor! As soon as I started to breathe normally again, the neighbor dragged us both back to our own house and explained the situation to our mother. You can only imagine the trouble we were in from there! About a week later, I found myself in another strange situation. My brother and stepbrother also liked to bury my Barbie dolls, once they removed their heads, in our very large garden in the back-yard and then hide the shovel from me. Yes, they were jerks! This particular instance, I knew they had hidden the shovel in the loft of our old, ramshackle barn above our dog’s pen. The only way up to the loft was by climbing the ladder my stepfather had handmade out of a bunch of wooden boards. I had climbed this ladder over and over, but because this hat in the world were you all thinking? Someone could have gotten hurt or run over!” fumed time I was alone, my fear was palpable. I should have listened to that fear! I made my way up toward the loft and, suddenly, a board broke. The ladder silently fell backwards like a tree in the woods with no one around until I hit the ground, hard! I had never had the breath knocked out of me like that before. I laid there with my eyes tightly shut, feeling the weight from the ladder on my chest. It felt like an hour before I heard my mother’s voice. “Are you okay? What were you doing? You know you aren’t supposed to be out here by yourself!” In that mo-ment, I knew I was in trouble…again! I stayed out of trouble the next few weeks, and then we had an unexpected visit from my stepfather’s family. An uncle was moving from Georgia, and my mother was asked to watch a few of my cousins, “a few” meaning eight. My mother instructed only two of the older boys to go check the mail as she re-turned to her college studies. We lived on a long dirt path that teed with a very busy road and a bridge overlooking the Neuse River, and the mailbox was at the very end. There we were, eleven kids all aged eleven and under, with nothing to do on a fall day in the country. Of course, we all played follow the leader, and everyone headed down the path to the mailbox. As we came to the end of the path, some-one had the bright idea to go over to the bridge and look at the water to see if we could spot any turtles or snakes. Once again, we all went, unhindered by the many cars whizzing past us. “Okay, okay, we’ve been up here long enough. We gotta go back,” I persuaded the other ten. We began our trip back towards the house. As we rounded the first turn, we came face-to-face with my mother, switches in hand, and she was furious! I froze. My brothers whispered, “Run far from her, and don’t stop till you get to the house.” I waited for them to start run-ning, and when they did, I took off too. They split around her, and I made my break for the house. I was still last to make it to the house with my mother right next to me. The boys just stood there waiting; we all knew the trouble we were in, but the worst was yet to come! Now here I sit on the steps of my own house as the seasons are changing from summer to fall, re-membering these times. I watch my own child of almost four years running in the yard, wondering if she will be as mischievous as I was at her age. Will she do some of the same stupid things I did that fall, and will I sound just like my mother when I catch her in the act? ❖ “ 37 The Travelers of Meriya Benjamin Mayo K earlier when he found a suspicious manila envelope that only read #7593. The con-tents included a layout of the house where he found a hidden room underneath the fireplace. He picked up the journal slowly and let out a breath as he began to read the first entry. The universe is much more complex than any of us thought. In our imagination it’s as enormous as infinity while at the same time, there are an infinite number of different di-mensions coexisting inside the thread of real-ity. The device in the corner of the room you are in opens a portal to another one of these dimensions. In this journal, I will lay out a complete explanation of how everything works, but know that now it is up to you. He put down the journal as he looked to-ward the corner of the room to see the device. It was as thin as a monitor yet large enough to step inside, if need be. He stopped for a moment and studied his surroundings as the feeling of déjà vu crept into his mind. Karl rubbed his eyes and stared at the journal in front of him. He had to read more. There was a traveler’s pack as the journal called it to the right of the desk. Opening the pack, he found water, rations, a breathing mask, and a return device. Next to the pack was a sheathed scimitar. Once Karl had located everything the journal spoke of, he picked up the book confidently moving on to the final section. Your journey is only at its start, and you must complete what I have failed to do. You will go into this other world now, a world they call Eyri. The photo on the last page of this book is who you are looking for. Keep your mind open, and once you pass through the por-arl sat at the desk with his curiosity piqued as he placed the blueprint of his house next to a journal. He had been tending to his garden tal, accept this fact: You understand nothing. You know nothing about everything and that is the greatest defense you need. The device is set to the proper coordinates. Go now, and save everyone that you can. The travelers of Meriya will not be denied. Turning to the back of the book, Karl picked up the photo and turned it around. It was a grotesque image of a robed figure with the face of a mantis shrimp. After he turned on the machine, a light blue mist ap-peared around the edges until rapidly the mist seemed to connect and form a portal. More than ready for whatever was on the other side, Karl hooked up the breathing mask, threw on his back pack, and attached the sword to his waist. While he anxiously walked to the portal, his mind flashed mem-ories of his life and the people he knew. It seemed appropriate to happen at a time like this. He jumped in. The sky was dark, filled with unknown stars and …sharks? Confused and filled with curiosity, Karl stared above, forgetting to breathe for a moment as assorted sea crea-tures flew in the air, as if ocean was now sky. He shrugged it off, remembering what the journal spoke of as he turned his gaze to-wards a complex in the distance. Silently, Karl trekked across the ground, keeping to the shadows as he moved about the complex, peeking in windows to try and get an under-standing of the layout. His jaw dropped as he surveyed a room with an unusual crusta-cean- esque head inside. Triple-checking the photo in his pocket he was confident as he snuck inside the building and into the room. I am in your mind, and I know you are here. Its voice in Karl’s head, raspy with clicking noises, caught him off guard. The assassin stopped moving with the creature in sight, hand poised on the handle of his fine scimitar. 38 Keys Jessica Brannan I’ve known of Meriya’s plan for quite some time now, it passed along telepathi-cally. Slowly, Karl took out his weapon and walked towards the creature, eager for the easy kill. You should at least know, should you choose to do this, you will die. The hunter ignored the thoughts enter-ing his mind and went into a run. The beast turned, and his eyes went wide as the scimi-tar went straight through, leaving glowing blue blood drippings on the ground. It fell immediately, clutching at its wound as it let out a shriek of horror. You are a sad, pathetic thing. How many have you already killed for Meriya? You don’t even know, do you? You’re nothing but a pawn to be used over and over. That was the last Karl heard in his head as the body on the ground stopped moving. The kill had satisfied him, and he knew he had done well that night. Cleaning off his blade, he began hearing a beeping noise. Slowly at first, it started to gain speed and Karl only thought of the worst. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed the return de-vice, lifting the head of the pen-shaped ob-ject and pushing the button. A blue mist slowly began to rise and a portal appeared next to him. Karl jumped through the por-tal, hearing the explosions behind him. Karl sat at the desk with his curios-ity piqued as he placed the blueprint of his house next to a journal. He had been tend-ing to his garden earlier when he found a suspicious manila envelope that only read #7594. The contents included a layout of the house where he found a hidden room underneath the fireplace. He picked up the journal slowly and let out a breath as he be-gan to read the first entry. ❖ 39 Zentangle Michaela Deguzman The Shadow’s Perspective I walk through fog I am alone I cease to exist Walk through the mist I see a man before me I step back into gray wispy blankets That man I saw is me The way he looked It struck my epiphany Now I know I exist and will be great Taylor Pate Alone Shattered like broken glass I’m drowning in shame The things that held me together Tore me into a million pieces Those pieces are scattered around I once was whole But now I have cracks I’m all alone Without even a shadow I didn’t turn my back on the world The world turned its back on me Liyah Foye When You Know It lips pursed in silence with these three words unuttered “I love you,” she thought Nichole McWhirter The Yellow Orb Your coat a constant yellow with knobs at either end. Leathery skin with dimples throughout protect what’s within. Buffeting the boldness of halibut complementing the sweetness of tea. This orb resides at Bojangles’ to the finest five-star eatery. Before my morning joe I drink my yellow tea. Squeezing the life out of you I put it into me. Patrick Gallager 40 Surprise In the pet store’s glass cage, eight pink, hairless hamsters are born. Two months old, the brown and honey blonde become birthday presents for two little boys. They argue over colors and “I want that one…” Dad talks on his cell phone. Mom looks through her purse, grows weary, and settles the noise. They decide on a cage, bedding, and food; each boy holds his prize in a wiggling cardboard box. The new pets run in circles on the new wheel. The family watches and laughs. One night the hamsters stop running. One catches the other. Weeks later, a surprised boy wakes to find a litter, eight pink, hairless creatures underneath his hamster named Bob. Nancy Seate 41 Peaceful or Desolate Ana Pantoja Between Lovers and Liars From the day she was born She was living on borrowed Time, two ruthless decades And some change, full of Dead-ends and false-starts Thus she chose the high way A clear, straight shot to nowhere No blue lights or sirens gave warning To hospital signs or the bad Disease lurking in wait The fatal acronym, three letters Foiling her independent victory She was too content to dream For better, for worse was familiar Picture Dorothy dozing among poppies Anesthetic comfort to quiet cries Elusive shadows mesmerize The sedated to embrace oblivion One hit of the snooze button At a time until it was too late To wake up and catch the school bus So she waited for the knight But got left riding his horse alone Suddenly flung from its saddle, She heard a bell toll, in flight Before landing for the last time Never to long again for three words Spoken between lovers and liars. Josh Hollowell I Am I am green and bumpy Kids think I’m obscene and funky I am a vegetable mixed in liquids To be on burgers is my mission I’m either thick or sliced Taste sweet, sour or spiced And in the old days I had cost a nickel If you haven’t guessed me yet, I’m a pickle Taylor Pate Golden Box Ben Munoz I “Come here son! Get some of my product!” I was puzzled when I heard the man, yet when I turned around, he wasn’t what I expect-ed to be behind me. He looked almost like a professor of a university, but I knew that wasn’t right because there were no universities where I lived. I also noticed in the man’s hand was a small cube that appeared to be laced with gold and silver. He gave a polite smile when I start-ed to walk over to him. I asked him what the cube was for, and he simply replied, “To see the world!” Now, just like anyone else in my place, I was bemused. “To see the world?” I asked myself. The man looked at me fiercely with eyes of hope that I would take the box and look inside. I was intrigued to see what could possibly be in-side this wonderful box with all of its angles and was walking down a beautifully lit street on the night of June 22, 2004 when I heard a man calling from behind me, sides. I took the box from his hand, but when I went to grab the box I grazed his hand, and it felt like thousands of icicles hanging from a winter cavern. Yet, I pulled the box closer to me. There were two circles on each side that looked to have jewels of each kind around each circum-ference. I opened the box to find a single line of blue light pouring out of the box as if a huge load that was compressed inside had virtually been lifted. The light was gorgeous to any eye that viewed it, but the box seemed a lot bigger on the inside. I saw a whole city of gold inside this one box, and I didn’t know what to do or say. I immediately closed the box and looked at the man, about to ask him what had happened, but he was gone. His clothes lay smoking on the ground. I took the box back home with me, never to let anyone see it again. ❖ 42 A Circle of Oil Sitti scorned measurements. A pinch of salt a dash of cinnamon a circle of oil in the Lebanese salata. Wide-eyed, we watched her make Shaykh Misha—eggplant boats that float in tomato sauce— not from memory but a place deep in her fabric a slim Mediterranean land like a woman, whose head touches the mountain cedars her feet the cerulean sea. Koosa—yellow summer squash stuffed with meat, tomatoes, rice. Tabbuli—that zings with wheat parsley, mint. Kibbi—lamb pine nuts, onion. Hummus— chick peas and lemon tahini. And, ah yes, the Mithli—sweets of honey, pistachios, phyllo passed down to Sitti through her imperious mother-in-law white hair piled high, who came, a little girl, to Ellis Island. With fumbling hands, we try to mimic their sure fingers. A sprinkle of parsley a dash of pungent mint a rush of lemon juice a circle of oil Margaret Boothe Baddour 43 Embarrassed Blake Sutton I of problems that year with players getting hurt. Well, I was on the bench waiting to go in be-cause our second baseman had been hurt but was trying to play through it because it was his senior year. This inning, I was on foul ball duty. Now, nobody liked foul ball duty because whenever someone hit a foul ball, that person on duty had to go get the ball. This inning had been a rough inning for me; the batters kept fouling, and I had to go get the baseballs ev-ery time. The last foul ball I had to go get was hit in a very weird place. It was in an enclosed fence, and at the time I didn’t know there was a gate. I tried to jump the fence, got all the way to the top, and got stuck. I was lying on my stomach, trying to get over, but I just could not move. Finally, this old man saw me struggling and came over to help. At this point, I was be-yond embarrassed. An old man was pushing on my butt, my coaches and teammates were laughing at me, and everybody in the stands was looking at me. Finally, the man gave me a good push, and I was able to get into the fence and played baseball for Aycock for four years. This story happened during my first year of varsity, my junior year. We had a lot get the ball. I finally saw the gate when I was trying to get out, so I took that. I went back to the dugout, and I started to feel a draft between my legs. I looked down and saw a huge rip in my crotch. Everybody was laughing, and my coach said to get ready to hit. This is where it got worse because now I had a gigantic hole in my pants, and I had to go hit. The opposing team’s fans got an image of something they did not come to a baseball game to see. I was flash-ing the other team’s fan. When I got on base, I was flashing my fans. This was just not my day. Finally, we were in the last inning. I was play-ing first base, and the other team was hitting the ball and getting on base, which was causing me to flash my fans some more. The whole time this was going on, I had the other team talking smack to me when they got on first base. I just wanted to knock every single one of them out, but I couldn’t. The game finally ended, and I was so happy until I got to the team meeting at the end. My coaches, my teammates, and even some parents were making jokes then. As the season went on, I wasn’t embarrassed after that. I found it funny just like everyone else, but to this day I still hear jokes. ❖ Caffeine - Mark Sawyer Queen of Spring Ruby stalk, tart and sweet— fruit or veggie? Good to eat. Crunch munch, saucy treat, rhubarb pie, all hard to beat. Katherine Michalowicz Fishing with a Snake Jonathan Jernigan N would make beads of sweat roll off your forehead just walking to the mailbox, humid enough to make your clothes cling to you like plastic wrap. It was much too hot for boots and snake pants, more like flip flops and swimming trunks. However, the heat was the last thing on any of our three teenage minds in rural Duplin County. We were more concerned about what tackle we should take to the local fishing pond, and possibly a couple of things we would need to get up to some mischief, just in case the fish were not biting. We rummaged enough tackle together to go fish-ing. That in itself was sometimes quite a task. This day was no different. We dug through the clutter of our fathers’ barns for their leftover and misplaced fishing gear and pieced several fishing poles togeth-er to make one good one. After the scavenger hunt was over, we loaded all the fishing treasure and some unmentionable beverages we weaseled from our par-ents’ stock in the back of my dad’s old 1976 Chevro-let truck, and we were off. The truck didn’t have A/C or any modern day luxuries; in fact, it was more like a rolling oven dur-ing the summer months, so the other two fought over which one would get the window seat. My father often joked, saying the truck had a two-fifty-five air conditioner in it, meaning two windows down and fifty-five mile per hour breeze coming in the windows. However, lucky for the one stuck in the middle, the floor was rusted out and allowed a little breeze to pass through into his or her lap. The truck even had an unusual old rusty gasoline smell. None of this really bothered us because old Betsy always cranked and got us where we needed to go. Once we finally got to the pond, we had to do a little work clearing the banks of cat tails and reed grass with a machete and bush axe, so we could cast and fish without getting tangled up in the brush. After cleaning the banks, we went to the front porch on the far end of the little wood fishing shack. On the porch were some old wooden wire spools and some random pieces of rough cut lumber that we quickly made a bench out of. We sat down to enjoy the feel of the fresh summer breeze and partook in a couple of those beverages. We then tied our lures of choice on to our fishing poles, and we were finally ready to fish. By the time we got all of our things right for orth Carolina summers are some of the hottest in America. This particu-lar summer day was a smoldering, humid July day—the kind of day that the perfect cast, it was probably three-thirty or four o’clock, which was also the perfect time of the af-ternoon to get a line wet. There were a couple of trees in the corner that offered some shade over the pond from the afternoon sun due to the angle the sun would hit the trees. Unfortunately, during this time of the day the only things you normally could catch were a couple of small brim or maybe some baby bass, and that’s not what we were after. The shade was nice, and it was a good refuge from the sun. However, in order to catch the big largemouth bass we were after, you had to walk the exposed steamy banks of the pond. To save time and effort, we only cleaned certain spots of the banks, the spots that were known hon-ey holes, or, in other words, spots we knew the fish were in, which meant the rest of the pond’s shoreline was still overgrown with tall Bahia grass and other random summer grasses. All the grass made the bare ground invisible. This time of the day was not only the perfect time to cast a line, but it was also the perfect time for sun bathing along the banks of the pond for various wetland creatures. Yellow bellied water moccasins were notorious for lying on the banks and absorbing the summer sun, and often had entrance holes bur-rowed around ponds to evade predators. Then again, with the sun on my back and fishing line in the water, the only creature I was worried about was a large mouth bass—until the moment the spongy ground under my flip flop sole felt more like a squirming tree root. I froze in position, forcing all my weight onto my one foot, scared to move, which would free the snake from its hole. Luckily, I was on the side of the pond closest to the fishing shack where one of my buddies was. I began yelling a couple of choice words to him, requesting him to grab the bush axe or machete and hurry. He came running and chopped into the snake right beside my foot, breaking its neck and immobilizing it. After that we both stepped back, and the third buddy pulled him the rest of the way out. The moccasin was, to this day, the biggest I’ve ever seen. It must have been at least three and a half feet or more. By the time we killed the snake and cleaned up, that was all the excitement we could stand for one day. We stretched the moccasin out on the front porch of the shack in hope of scaring and warning the next group of fishermen, and then loaded up the old Chevy and headed home, always remembering to watch where we stepped. ❖ 44 saudade i have broken (borderline dismemberment) and need fixing. smashing vases and visages smoking hookahs and homesteads saltwater rain and rye-bread a corpse dream and a copse of trees (blackberry brainpower isn’t enough, not this time). dissimilarity confuses the hell out of me— “becoming a legend” is not like “touching the sun,” though some may argue. I See You Bria McCoy 45 pomegranate honey-suckle and wine from Monticello, the finer things to cover up: a blood-stained heart-throb a crowd of gods, weak and wheezing a love lost and lingering an ever-falling starscape an absolute reality an equivalence of oblivion and a dance in the moonlight, dreams distancing the way we were from the way we could be. Sam Spivey ❦ 46 The Details of Loss Alexis Brie Cox I Loss is a real experience, one that everyone goes through at some point in his or her life. Yet, it is avoided like a plague. I myself have recently succumbed to loss in my life. In my experience, loss has three unavoidable stages: the initial bro-ken heart, when you falsely believe you have overcome the loss, and when your world splits down the middle one final time. Just two months ago, I experienced the loss of my grandmother. I remember the raw, tear-ing feeling I felt rip through my chest when I was told the news. I remember the days it took for the shock of the loss to really set in. That, for me, was stage one of my loss. My heart was broken for the wonderful woman that would never be part of my life again. In another sense, my heart also broke for my father. As a daugh-ter, you grow up viewing your dad as a rock of strength and courage. Until then, I had never seen loss break him down. I had never felt my heart shatter in that way, watching the pure pain claw at him. As for when stage two of the loss began, I cannot clearly say. I do not know when I began to feel at peace again. I didn’t acknowledge the first day I went to sleep without crying. Stage two, for me, just sort of began to happen all on its own. I slowly started to tell myself the worst was over. The bitter memory of her death would fade away with time. I started to smile when I thought of her. Going through photos didn’t send a shock of pain through my body anymore. I had arrived at the sweet level of clo-sure where I could push all the pain out of her memory. The way I viewed her death began to change, as well. I started to think about the fact her suffering was over. I even started to think of her watching over me from heaven. One night, that sweet closure shattered. I t is strange how so many people shy away from the same subject. No one likes to talk about it. No one likes to face it. woke myself up crying and shouting. I had dreamed about the day she died. I felt all the same things. I could feel the knife in my heart return, as of the experience of losing her was happening all over again. That is when stage three began for me. My world shattered, yet again. I stopped helping my mom go through her belongings and I removed any pictures of her from my room, trying to avoid anything that would remind me she was gone. I was split in two again. The pain of losing her was so fresh that I thought I was going crazy. But as time went on, I began to regain a sort of numbness about the whole thing, not so much a positive outlook on her death but more of an acceptance that I could not change it or bring her back. That is when I truly began to heal. In order to gain closure, I ultimately realized I had to accept what had happened for what it was. I had to realize some things are just out of my control. I have learned that the road to recovery after experiencing a loss is a long one. Once the three stages have occurred, finally the loss just has to be accepted. I do not know if anyone ever fully recovers from a devastating loss. I suppose we all move on and continue our lives, but I think the scars of a loss are part of a person forever. I know, personally, that I will never forget the feelings I experienced during that time. That sort of pain is not something I would wish on my worst enemy. Although everyone deals with loss in differ-ent ways, everyone experiences the same three stages that come along with it. They are each equally painful and unavoidable, but everyone has the choice to prevent the stages from reoc-curring. The key to ending the pain of a loss isn’t getting through each stage without going completely insane; the key is to accept the loss and understand that some things are not in your power or control. Only then can you begin to move on with your life. ❖ Puppy Brianna Homminga 47 After It Happened Dylan Harrison W my family, the people that raised me from when I was a puppy. I can still envision them, with smiling faces, and Emma, my sweetheart, with her front teeth missing, but now they are all gone. Ripped from my paws by “things” I have never seen before. It was just a normal day. Emma was ready to walk me through the neighborhood, just as she always did. We passed all the houses, the same houses I had seen hundreds of times. There was nothing but rubble where those houses stood. When I had finished my business, Emma brought me back to the house. She ran me in-side, and went and caught the bus. Her father and mother had left two hours prior, not say-ing where they were going, but then again, they never did. So I sat there for seven hours waiting for them. I hardly ever moved when they left. As if where they went, so did my soul. But they never came back. I ran as fast as my paws would take me. I hen I woke up, everything was gone. My home, the place I had lived all 77 years of my life, and do. All I cared about was finding Emma and her parents. Once night fell, the presence of the “things” was gone. Then again, there was no presence of anything. I figured this would be the best time to lie down. When I woke up from a night of night-mares, I noticed something strange. There was still no sign of these “things.” This arose a great anger in me. Did they just come here to de-stroy and leave?! Emma deserved better than that! All day I looked for them, but there was nothing. Nothing but trees, and grass, as far as I could see. This, surely was the worst day of my life. I lie down once again, in hopes that all this was just a dream. This time when I awoke, there was no rubble, almost as if mankind had never been on this planet. As I looked out upon the beauty of the wilderness, I saw a big golden gate. I ran to it and saw, at the top was a big sign that read, “A New.” When I nudged the gate with my snout, there were all kinds of animals in there. From lions to peacocks. I felt a strange, warm feeling arising in my chest. I felt like this was my home, ran past the house, past the park, past Emma’s school, but they were nothing compared to what they had been. The “things” never no-ticed me. They flew past like I wasn’t even there. It was strange. The only things they destroyed was what the “no-hairs” had built. Buildings, roads, but never did they destroy a tree. It was almost like they couldn’t. I did not know where these “things” came from, or what they planned to 48 but I told myself, home is where Emma and my owners are. I looked around, and to my bewil-derment there stood Emma’s parents, looking just as healthy as always. Had this planet gone through a transformation? Into a new begin-ning? When they saw me, the look in their eyes was absolutely frightening. Their pupils dilated, and they turned red. I immediately ran out of that place. Those were NOT Emma’s parents, not at all. Maybe the “things” had taken over their bodies. I had no idea what to do. I ran along the path back to my house. I wept there, in front of the rubble. Every-thing I had loved was gone. I may never see Emma again. I’m going to die here. I felt something prick my back, and I turned around. There standing was Emma. I was so excited to see her, until I saw the same expression that her parents had worn when they had seen me. She drove a sharp knife into my back, but it didn’t puncture my skin. That’s right! They can’t hurt non-“no-hair” made things! I turned around and bit her hand. She fell, and when she hit the ground, turned into a pile of ashes. That was not Emma. With my new powers now revealed, I ran back to the gate and killed Emma’s “so-called” parents. I let all the animals out of that place. Maybe this is a new beginning, ruled by ani-mals. ❖ What Does the Fox Say? Summer Woodard 49 A Delightful Creamy Filling Mary LaVanway E He actually works at FFGS (Foods for Good-ness’s Sake!), and the closest he comes to being a chef is running the semi-automatic machine that squirts the creamy filling for FFGS’s Spon-gies into the little hump of a cake. Knockoff Twinkies for sure, but at one point they were the hottest selling item for the company. His job is simple: align any cake that comes down the conveyor belt askew, rendering the filling gun useless at shooting the cream into the cake at the proper point. A good day aver-ages about 3 reject cakes out of every 100. A no-brainer job. Ed gets bored about the third hour into his eight-hour shift, and four or five, sometimes six times a day will hit the manual override button and shoot a double or triple shot of cream into the cake just to watch it ex-plode. Once he left his finger on the button too long, creating enough of a mess he had to stop the line to clean it up. He had to explain it to the line boss. Then had to fill out a “line malfunction” report which kept him after work for another hour. He will not do that again; he almost missed Judge Judy. This monotony and occasional excitement pay him $10.75 an hour and all the Spongies he can eat, which is considerable. Just this morn-ing he breached the 300 mark when he stepped on the scale, and the numbers finally stopped at 301. He used to get some pretty good over-time hours, but those dried long ago. The break room gossip has it that the Spongie line may shut down altogether. Ed is aware it’s more than gossip. Thirty years of watching those little cakes flow down the line, thousands and thou-sands a day, have taught him what a full produc-tion run looks like, and the batches have gotten thin lately. He used to worry a little; now he worries every day. A 57 year old fat man will have a devil of a time getting another job. Un-d is a pastry chef at a bakery; this is what he tells all his friends, the sum to-tal of which exist entirely on Facebook. employment will cover him for about 6 months, but after that he knows he’ll be in a situation. He has no savings to speak of, and the money he makes now just barely covers the rent and the rest of the monthly bills. A minimum wage job will be the best he can hope for and that simply won’t do. That night, reclining in his chair in front of the television, fingers orange from munch-ing Cheezie O’s (another great FFGS product), Ed flips through the channels, but his mind is busy working on an idea. It came to him while watching Judge Judy berate a man who claimed he could not work due to a bad back. The man was collecting disability and could not possibly pay back the money he had borrowed from his daughter. Ed never learned how the case came out. His mind freeze-framed on the word dis-ability. Disability meant never having to work again. It meant a check each and every month for as long as he lived. He can have a bad back. Ed hauls himself out of the chair and plops in front of the desk. He Googles disability and spends the next 30 minutes learning it could be years before a claim reached approval status. He waddles back over to his chair, but before he slaps the recliner arm, he says aloud, “An ac-cident. Yes, yes, I could have an accident. That’s the ticket.” He needs to be hurt on the job. Really hurt, possibly a “sue the socks off them” kind of hurt, but definitely a workman’s comp hurt that would turn into a disability-for-life hurt. But how? Never mind |
OCLC number | 21895524 |