Renaissance ...

              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
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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
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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