Eyrie 2015

Lit

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Eastern Maine Community College

The Eyrie A Literary /Arts Journal Spring 2015

The Eyrie is a literary/arts journal published by Eastern Maine Community College to showcase student work. This issue highlights exceptional writers and artists from across the campus.

Faculty Advisors: Amanda Bales, John Ianelli, Heather Magee

Cover Design Samone Crouch

Design Samone Crouch Jayson Dorr Edner Fago Samantha Higgins Seth Jenkins

Carol Kutz Kiala Magliozzi Elisabeth Mclain Shelby Pratt Eva Sockabasin

DGD231 Printing and Publishing

Š All works in this journal remain the sole property of their owner and may not be reprinted without permission.

Contents Fiction 6

The Gabby Douglas Story.....7 Alicia Allen

More Than a Grain of Sand.....10 Chelsea Bliven

Fairytale.....13

Francesca Havre

Death Rattle.....14

Michael Weymouth

Family Ties.....18 Joshua Phillips

Poetry 21 Where We Live Between.....22 Austin Ludorf

Noon.....22

Ryan M. Higgins

Pantoum.....22

Calvin Michaud Austin Ludorf

Calendar Girl (Sonnet).....22 An Epistle Of Enid.....23 Michael Weymouth

Hands.....24 Wohlfeil

The Russian Revolution of 1917.....25 Sean Hadley

That Old House on the Bay.....25 Cassidy McNerney

The Lions Misogynistic Cocaine Safari.....26 Zachary Kostusyk

Rise Up.....26

Samantha Fecteau

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Photography 27 Untitled.....28 Jessy Butler

Untitled .....29

Kaila Magliozzi

Summertime.....29 Carol Kutz

Lulu.....30

Orwin Santa-Cruz

Clown Vertical.....31 Orwin Santa-Cruz

Class Picture.....32 Heather Magee

Ducks.....32

Eva Sockabasin

Changing Seasons.....33 Edner Mae Fago

Little.....33

Shelby Pratt

Overlay Greyscale Assignment.....34 Troy Devoe

Portrait/Pen Assignment.....34 Rachel Umphrey

Untitled.....35

Jonathan Whitney

Earl Sweatshirt.....35 Brianna Sickles

Drama 36 Nothing Is As It Seems.....37 Wohlfeil

Someone Is Here To See You.....39 By: Michael Weymouth

Critical Writing

43

Depression in Combat Veterans.....44 Sean Hadley

Historical Rivalries and Cultural References in

The Cask of Amontillado.....50 Steven Santerre

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Illustration 52 Minecraft Monopoly Game Board.....53 Edner Mae Fago

Brown Natural Dart Board Design.....53 Edner Mae Fago

CandyLand Monopoly.....54 Eva Sockabasin

Maple Crunch Cereal.....54 Carol Kutz

Berry-Os.....55 Carol Kutz

Artist Monopoly.....55 Carol Kutz

Darth Vader Face.....56 Samantha Higgins

Bottle and Stars.....56 Samantha Higgins

Experimental Writing

57

Film Review 1.....58 Francesca Havre

Timepiece.....60 Austin Ludorf

Ten ways to show that you love them.....60 Asia Wohlfeil

Non-Fiction 61 Letter from Birmingham Jail.....62 Sean Hadley

Personal Essay.....62 Sarah Monahan

Personal Essay II.....64 Zachary Neptune

Personal Essay .....65 Blake Johnson

In with the tides, out with the toes......66 Joanna Robidoux

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Fiction

The Gabby Douglas Story Alicia Allen

In the town of Virginia Beach, Virginia there lived a young girl with too much heart for the world to handle. This girl goes by the name of Gabrielle Douglas. This name may not have meant anything to anyone until around 2008, however, coming up on the summer Olympics of 2012, most EVERYONE knew who this famous young sixteen-year-old Gabby Douglas was.

It all started a short time after Gabrielle was born. Her family was struggling financially trying to keep up with their bills, and their four kids. They were living in their van and spent most of their days driving around trying to find hotels to stay in for the night. Most people wouldn’t allow them to stay at their hotel, due to their so many eviction notices from previous rents. They felt like they had hit rock bottom. Gabrielle’s mother Natalie decided they would go stay with her mother until they were able to get back on their feet.

Gabrielle’s father Timothy did not stay with them. Gabrielle lived at her grandmothers with her mother, and her siblings Arielle, Joyelle, and Johnathan. The four children loved to play outside. They saw each day as an adventure. Gabrielle’s sisters both loved to do gymnastics. They had been in lessons before, and they were excited to teach Gabby what they knew. Gabby picked up on it very quick. She was doing cartwheels and handstands like you wouldn’t believe. It was like she had already been involved in the sport for years. Gabby would often do them through the house and knock over furniture. She was always so excited when she learned a new trick. One day one of Gabby’s sisters told their mom that she needed to be signed up for lessons. Gabby had a natural gift as a gymnast, and even at 8 years old, you could tell she would go far in this sport.

Natalie took Gabby to the nearby gymnastics facility to sign her up for recreational classes. When Gabby entered the gym, her eyes got big and her face lit up. She was in awe of everything she was seeing. She was amazed and she knew that this is where she belonged. Gabby took off and started swinging on the bars, jumping on the trampoline, and doing back hand springs on the floor.

Natalie approached a coach of the facility and said, “We’re here to sign up for Saturday rec class.”

The coach looked at Natalie with a shocked face and said, “No way.”

“But she’s just a little excited, I’m sorry she shouldn’t be jumping on everything right yet. Get over here!” She motioned at Gabby.

“No, I’m sorry miss. Saturday rec classes are for beginners. How much training has she had?” He said.

“None.” Natalie replied.

“Junior nationals, Senior Elite in 5 years?” The coach mouthed to another nearby coach as she nodded in agreement. “What’s her name?” He asked Natalie.

“Gabrielle Douglas.”

“Gabby Douglas.” Coach said shaking his head with a smile watching Gabby jump all over the gym in excitement. He knew it just as much as she did that this was her destiny.

From that day on, gymnastics had become Gabby’s life. Practices everyday after school, with big dreams ahead of her. Gabby competed as a National Gymnast and made her first appearances at huge international competition in the year of 2007. She attended the VISA Championships as a Junior Elite gymnast. Also competing in the VISA Championships that day was her idol and hero Senior Elite gymnast Shawn Johnson. Shawn was about power, and inspired many people in this sport. She was known for her determination and her will to win. Shawn was who Gabby wanted to grow up to be. Competing with her in the same arena was a dream come true in itself. Shawn was coached by Liang Chow of China. Chow moved to Des Moines, Iowa which is where Shawn lived. After this day of Gabby being up close and personal with Shawn, she got home that day and said, “Mom, I’m going to the Olympics some day. And Liang Chow is going to be my coach.” Natalie didn’t know what to think. Her daughter was still young and had such big dreams.

As Gabby got older, her gymnastics got much harder. Her road to the supposed Olympic dream was a long one. She was learning new skills everyday, and it seemed like there would never be enough time to get everything she needed. Also with Gabby getting older, she was also competing more, which required a lot of traveling. Natalie homeschooled her kids, and the other three siblings were always being moved around because of Gabby’s gymnastics. The traveling

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alone took a hard toll on this family. Natalie continued to struggle financially, even though she had found herself a well paying job. Gabby’s gymnastics was costing a fortune, and there were many times when Natalie thought about pulling her out of the sport. As parents, they’re supposed to support their child’s dreams. They’re supposed to encourage them and push them to keep going until they’ve reached their goals, not stop them. How could Natalie ever pull Gabby out of something she was so great at? She couldn’t. Natalie was always good at finding ways to get by, although it was no easy task of course. The burden of trying to put food on the table for your kids is heavier then ever. Each day was harder, and it felt like it was never going to get easier.

Gabby got home from gymnastics one day and told her mother that Liang Chow (Shawn’s gymnastics coach) was coming to their gym in Virginia. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity for Gabby! This was her time to show him what she could do. After all, Gabby’s goal was always to train with him. Natalie could see the flame in her daughter’s eyes when she asked her. However, something that was going through Natalie’s head that wasn’t going through Gabbys was that this is going to cost another few hundred dollars that they did not have. Even though Natalie was worried through her teeth, she said yes to Gabby. This chance would never come again.

Liang Chow entered the facility in Virginia, and everyone in the gym froze. They couldn’t believe their eyes. Chow had coached Shawn her whole life, and had helped Shawn reach her goal of being an Olympic Champion in 2008. Gabby wanted to be his next champion, in the London Olympics of 2012. Gabby blew Chow away with her sass, her ability, and her desire to try anything new that he threw at her. As Chow left the gym that day, Natalie was going to give him a ride to the airport. Gabby thought that this was it. This was when Chow would talk her mom into moving to Iowa to train for the Olympics.

“Mom! What happened?! What did he say?! Was he impressed?! Please mom, we HAVE to move to Iowa! If I don’t train with Coach Chow then I won’t go to the Olympics.” Gabby said barely taking a breath between her questions.

“Whoa, slow down for a sec. I can barely understand you.”

“Mom, you don’t understand, this was my one shot! If I don’t take this now, then I’ll never reach my dream.” Gabby’s face dropped.

“Gabby, we can’t just pick up our family and move to Iowa. That’s way too big of a commitment.

Your sisters and your brother have friends here and they have their activities too. It’s not all about you sweetie.” Natalie didn’t want to see her daughters dream crumble to the ground, but she thought there was no way she could afford to move across the states when she could barely pay the rent on the house they were already in.

One of Gabby’s sisters convinced Natalie to call Liang Chow to see what could be done about this.

She felt like she was being torn between Gabby’s dream and the rest of her kids. She had already knew all of the efforts they had already put into this sport for Gabby. All of the practices, all of the dedication and all of the money just to see Gabby succeed.

“Hi, Coach Chow? This is Natalie Hawkins, Gabby Douglas’ mother from Virginia.”

Natalie told him through the phone.

“Yes of course!” He said.

Natalie and Chow talked for what seemed like forever on Gabby’s end of the situation.

However, Chow had offered good news that could help their family and still keep Gabby’s dream alive. Chow has a program at his gym where parents sign up to be co parents for gymnasts who come from afar. Gabby could stay with a family while she trained with Chow in Iowa, and Natalie wouldn’t have to move. While this was exciting for Gabby and her mom, it was also scary. They had always been together and pushed each other through the hard times. Gabby was at first apprehensive and wasn’t sure if she would be able to leave her family for a matter of years at a time.

However, Natalie told Gabby to look at the big picture. If being an Olympian was what Gabby wanted, then this was the opportunity to take. A week later, Gabby packed her bags. She said her goodbyes to her family and she headed to Des Moines, Iowa. The family she was matched with was extremely welcoming. Gabby had been used to having siblings, so she was matched with a family that had four younger girls. They were thrilled to have a temporary big sister.

Gabby was living her dream. Up until now she had gotten everything she had ever asked for. Chow was teaching her more in this sport then she ever thought she could know.

Before she came to Iowa, she thought she knew it all. Little did she know, she had a lot to learn.

Chow took her to many invitational meets and many international meets to prepare her for the pressure of what the Olympics would hold against her. Being in international meets means being watched my thousands of people. Being in the Olympics however, meant being watched by millions of people. The Olympic cycle for gymnasts only happens every four years. The 2008 cycle

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had ended and the 2012 round were coming up faster then they could believe.

Years had passed, but to Gabby it had felt like years without her family. Being able to fulfill any dream is hard to do alone. It is important to have the love and support from the people you love, to remind you everyday to keep going. While the family she was staying with was extremely supportive and helpful, it still wasn’t the same. Gabby missed being home. One day in practice, Gabby tore her knee. This felt like the end. Her dream seemed so far away and she felt like she would never accomplish all the skills she needed on time now. She’d have to sit out for a while, and this would put her at an extreme disadvantage. She would call home and talk to her mom and siblings often, and tell them that she would rather be home then in Iowa watching her dream fall apart. Her family told her they would travel to her next invitational meet that she was able to attend, and they would come and support her through it. Natalie had taken a second job, and had been keeping up with her bills enough to be able to take a trip to Iowa. It also helped that Gabby was being sponsored, and Natalie did not have any gymnastics bills for a few years.

Gabby’s knee got to a point where she was able to get back on her feet and back into the gym. She pushed herself towards recovery mostly because she knew her family would be coming to her next competition. That day after Gabby’s competition, she met up with her mom to catch up on their lives. At the end of their conversation, Gabby told her mother she wanted to quit gymnastics. She didn’t want to do it anymore, this wasn’t her dream, and she wanted to come home. Natalie was in shock. She could not believe that Gabby was about to throw away everything she had been working for her entire life. Natalie did not accept this.

“Gold metals aren’t made of medal.” Chow said. “They’re made of determination, motivation and will to win. I can’t teach that to you. If you’re not in this 100% anymore, then I’d say this is the end of it.” Chow was disappointed. He had felt like he put so much effort into Gabby and he thought he could help her reach her goal.

Gabby took some time off to make up her mind. Although, she knew in the back of her head that if she was going to keep going then she didn’t have any time to waste. Each day was precious and each day she wasn’t training, she was getting weaker. She could see it in her families eyes how disappointed they were. So after a few months of being home, Gabby decided to go back to Iowa. She walked into Chow’s Gymnastics and said, “Coach. I want to finish my dream.”

Chow nodded his head and smiled.

Gabby appeared back into the gym with her goal in mind. It was coming up so soon, and the only thing standing in the way was the pre Olympic trials. The pre Olympic trials is a meet just before the trials, to determine the rankings of who will compete for a spot on the Olympic team. Gabby was only 15 at the time, so she was not able to have her scores count at this pre meet due to her age. However, she was still able to compete. Gabby finished in first place.

Everyone knew that even though her scores didn’t count, that she was going to be our number one heading to London. Following the pre meet was the real trials, where Gabby also finished in first place.

Now we hit the peak of the dream. Gabby is on her way to London to compete for the United States with five other teammates. Gabby went into this meet like her life depended on it. Gabby went to her first event, and nailed it! She maintained a huge lead in front of her other competitors from that first event, and then never let herself fall below it. In 2012 Gabby Douglas became the first African American to receive a medal in the Olympics. She also became the first person of the United States to win the Gold in both the All Around Individual Competition, and the Team Competition. Gabby Douglas is now the face of sport of gymnastics. She is the one to be inspired by.

Gabby’s story shows that no matter how big your dream is, it can be achieved. She has shown that you can come back from pain, you can come back from injury, and still succeed in whatever you chose to do. Her story is inspiring because it shows that you can start from rock bottom, and still rise to the top. Gabby’s family has been given millions for her accomplishments, even though no amount of money could express how proud they are of her. Even at five years old, your dreams can come true.

9

More Than a Grain of Sand Chelsea Bliven

I cherish the mornings, the peaceful solitude of waking in my bed with a pleasant quietness, void of disruptive squabbling or the fickle reporting of opinion-based news. I leave my eyes closed and feel the warmth of the sun peeking over the horizon to start a new day. Such an enjoyable few minutes that I delight in more than any other from the twenty four hours. I tried to explain it to my brother once, and he looked at me as if I had lost my mind. I don’t understand how valuing the little things make someone odd, but after that, I didn’t bother trying to tell Joshua, my brother, of the things I enjoyed. We don’t talk much at all anymore, really I only see Josh on holidays, he kind of tours in and out of my life, coming around only when his guilt outweighs his indifference. His visits were obligatory, not loving. It doesn’t really bother me though; we’re very different from each other.

There was a story in the paper a few years back, I remember reading it and wondering why people judge so quickly. After all, who is it that truly determines who’s good or evil? It reminded me of the day my brother judged me, and I remember how much I didn’t appreciate that.

I woke up this morning thinking of that story, that dreadful story of a man who was damned as evil by the world, a man who was judged by people thinking they are gods. I often ponder society throughout the day, the inner working of human behavior, the interconnectedness of mankind and deviance.

I remember in the story they called the man a “blemish upon humanity.” I didn’t think he was all that bad, he had found what made him happy, he found the one thing that made his life complete. Isn’t that what everyone’s goal in life was? He was fortunate enough to find it, and feel satisfied with his life. To each their own I say; who are they to say he was wrong? At least he became more than the average, his name was known by millions. We are all as grains of sand on a beach, a little speck of insignificance in this vast world, yet so many believe they are such a large piece of it. It’s comical really; they don’t seem to understand the simplicity of their existence, the passing breeze that is their life, as it floats through the air and lands only to be followed by another equally meaningless gust. Only a few truly great people ever become more than that, and well, I think he did that.

I still have that newspaper article somewhere, I know it’s here; maybe I put it in the drawer by my bedside. It can’t be far, I don’t venture too far from my room, no need really, independence is what you make of it, I don’t believe I have to travel the world to be free, just be happy with the little adventures I have each day. Waking up each morning, living another day, why aren’t those considered adventures in themselves?

In my room I sit and bask in the rays of sunshine showing though the window, the beautiful sky, though I know from where I am in the world, well, where any one person is in the world, I can only see an infinitesimal piece of the glorious sky. My friend Spencer, good friend, he appreciates the little things like me. He was the one who first taught me how to live without fear of judgment, or the mistake of judging people yourself. I met him about two years ago, in the early autumn, when my life was very unsettled and I needed help to cope. Spencer was there, and I’ll always love him for that; he helped me when no one else would. We found ourselves in similar circumstances, but his acceptance and wisdom made things much easier.

He’s a good man; he’s kind and gentle. He has grand plans for his life. He’s trying to get a degree in philosophy right now, but he’s a few credits shy, and can’t complete it at the moment.

He’s always got his nose in a book, he took those online courses, who knows how many. Spence wants to teach at Oxford, he’s quite ambitious, I think he’ll get there. He has a meeting with the board in a few days; he may be able to finish school if they like him. I didn’t always like Spencer, but that was because I followed society’s norms like a sheep, that was before I was unchained from the shackles of judging others. I’m so glad I saw the err of my ways; so glad I was able to get past my misguided beliefs to the truth.

“Hey Brad, you ready?” I heard from the doorway. It was Spencer.

“Yeah, almost, just gettin’ my shoes on.” I answered. He was waiting for me so we could go to breakfast together. I really wasn’t much of a social person, but Spencer showed me that people weren’t so bad if you give them a chance. I enjoyed going to breakfast with him. We went to our usual spot, the food wasn’t much to fuss about, but it was familiar and comfortable. I

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More Than a Grain of Sand

knew the guys there, everyone seemed to have their place, and conversation was easy to share, we all seemed to have so much in common.

There was a group of men always sitting in the far corner who loved to talk about sports; I had seen them get together a few times to play. I was never really athletic, but I did like to watch them play, so sometimes I would sit and spectate. There were a few tables of guys that seem to brood through existence, merely using force and intimidation as their cause for happiness. Essentially, bring misery to others to make yourself happy. I wouldn’t say Spencer had much in common with them, but I could understand the emptiness that causes a person to act that way, I had experienced such sorrow before, and I took pity on them, rather than disliking them. Still, I kept my distance so as not to proverbially poke the hornet’s nest.

“So, how’s that book I gave you to read?” Spencer asked as he took a sip of his orange juice. Spencer had just given me one of his favorite books to read, he told me it would help me to open my eyes, but I don’t know, from what I had read so far, it wasn’t overwhelmingly enlightening me as he said it would. “Beyond Good and Evil” by Friedrich Nietzsche, that was the book. I could see where it would be a book to cause rumination in some, but I wasn’t overly impressed.

Basic conceptual scrutiny of philosophies widely accepted as universal truths, but not much more.

“It’s good so far, I haven’t really gotten too far.” I answered vaguely, not wanting to disappoint Spencer. I hoped by the end of the book I felt more strongly about it, so as to please him with intellectual conversation about it. Spencer looked up at me with a warm smile, seemingly satisfied by my answer. He was always very patient with me, I can honestly say I’d never met anyone like him.

I know I have that news story here somewhere, I just have to think. Ah! I was using it as a bookmark in that Nietzsche book. Here it is! Yes, so as I was saying before, the story was beastly, the man is described in so many horrid ways. I have read this article so many times, but it never gets old, I find something new every time my eyes roll across its lengthy, foul sentences. I remember before I met Spencer, before I changed, I was caged; restricted by all the controls in my life, none of which I could overcome. I read this article to remind myself that change is good, that being free is a state of mind; that life is more than a good salary and a white picket fence.

Sitting here, at my desk, I see the beauty in bare walls, that there isn’t a necessity for trinkets or art, but that life free from adornments was truly living. The gray of the walls seemed to glow almost, it must be about noon, the sun was lighting the world below, but I couldn’t see it through the window because of where it was in the sky. A bird perched on the sill looked in at me, a crow. It was so deeply black it almost appeared blue as the light hit its feathers. Beady little eyes fidget; he turned his head slightly as if puzzled by my presence. I smiled, wondering what was going through that tiny brain, so small, yet from the literature I’ve read, birds were actually very smart; and free, so free, roaming about the skies without any boundaries. Such envy I had of their wings, their built-in escape from anything, what I would give to have that unconditional, unhindered freedom.

Spencer would laugh at such fantastical desires, telling me how my rampant imagination would be my undoing someday. Nevertheless, though he would laugh, he would never tell me I was wrong or to stop, nor would he turn away and not listen to me. It was great to have someone unwaveringly loving in my life.

The hours seemed to slip by me unnoticed as dusk began to settle the infancy of the night’s darkness throughout the sky. It would soon be time for dinner, and I knew Spencer would be by for my company for the meal. Such was our routine, it was simple, but I was easily contented with just our like-minded conversation. I wonder how his meeting will go, I must say, as much as I hoped for a favorable outcome for his ambitions, I had this familiar, unsettling feeling in my gut, that sick feeling over the potential of him not being here anymore. I was ashamed of my dependence on another person; I had sworn never to need anyone else, much less ache over the mere idea of them not being there. The smell of food brought my senses back from my momentary deviation from reality.

Dinner went by smoothly, no more questions about the book, just friendly banter and pleasantries. Though this incessant feeling, this aching wouldn’t relent. My food had no taste, my thoughts were scattered and anxious, and I could barely sit still. I hoped that Spencer didn’t notice, I didn’t want to have to explain it to him, anyone, I would be seen as some kind of pathetic acolyte, a daffodil, and I could not have that; I would not have that. To be seen as less than a man was unacceptable, I was more than a grain of sand.

The usual peaceful sleep that would consume me would not come. The darkness seemed to be shifting into lively creatures dancing through the dead space of the air. A beautiful

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More Than a Grain of Sand

opera of players danced across the ceiling, as I stared blankly into the night’s imaginative and powerful nothingness. My mind buzzed with a million thoughts in a billion different directions.

I was lost and found in the same travelling neurons, as they blazed from one corner to the next within my brain. What was this overwhelming feeling, this emotion that consumed every fiber of my being? How could one solitary sentiment control me so wholly, overtake me so completely?

The morning crept into my vision, by way of sleepy rays of sun, and the faint song of birds in the trees. The day was here, Spencer’s meeting with the board was today. It was still very early, too early; I knew the day would drag on with hour-like minutes crawling across the clock.

I rose from the bed and went to my desk, picking up the news article again, the paper had aged yellow, and the edges where I had cut it from the page were curling and tearing. I had read it so many times, I never got tired of it, but today even that news article didn’t seem to ease my mind.

Spencer was a remarkable person, a rare and beautiful kind of person. He would undoubtedly get what he longed for; he would walk away from his meeting with a grand smile from ear to ear in incomparable satisfaction. The thought of losing him pulled the air from my lungs. He was MY rare and beautiful person, no one else’s. I glanced again at the article, reading the lines again and it dawned on me.

“You still read that old thing?” Spencer said, appearing behind me with a playful smile.

I briefly closed my eyes, and placed the article back on my desk.

“I do.” I simply replied, my tone flat, my plan solidified as concrete, once dried.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. How was it possible he didn’t know the answer to that by now? Maybe he wasn’t as smart as I thought he was, maybe I had grown fond of my own bolstered belief of his intellect; maybe now I could see what he truly was. These walls do funny things to people, these walls were the truth, the truth I wanted to forget; the truth that defined me, no matter how much I fought against it.

“Nothing.” I answered. Spencer wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t push it. He seemed uneasy, even scared as he walked past me to my desk and peered at the article. See, I had lied to him when we met. I told him I was here over a misunderstanding, a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he had believed in me; so much so that he didn’t question it.

“Why would you keep this Brad?” Spencer asked me as he picked up the newspaper clipping. Spencer turned to me, confusion and a touch of anger in his eyes. The article that I read every single day, disgust him, the story of how that man had taken the lives of twelve women, how he had ripped them to shreds, first psychologically, then physically. It told of how he was cunning and charming, luring in his victims with chivalry and accolades. How he kept everything in impeccable condition, verging on obsessive compulsive disorder, how he was the guy next door on the outside, and pure evil on the inside.

The words seemed to sparkle when I read them, glowing outlines surrounding each letter as my eyes pranced down the page with excitement. Spencer couldn’t see the beauty, the art, all he saw was devastation, such a negative outlook he had about it. Such a shame, but that’s why he would never survive the world. Spencer, number thirteen; he could not understand that being free was more than just the freedom to do as you wish; it was the absence of fear, the absence of apprehension. True freedom wasn’t just having the freedom to do, but the fearlessness that grants you the ability to act on those wishes.

I could see the few, scattered rays of sun peeking through the small window cut into the concrete of the wall as I sat down on the bed. These walls may change some people, but not me. Yet Spencer had changed me; he had unlocked my full potential. I tilted my head slightly, looking directly into his lifeless eyes, but I saw nothing, felt nothing. He lay still on the floor now.

How long would it be before the hourly rounds brought someone to the doorway? How long would I have with him? Spencer would never leave me, he would always be with me, and no one could take him. Even within these walls, even with only my bed, and my desk, no one could stop me.

Now they would finally see; they would see that no matter what bars they put up around that great man, the man who newspapers wrote about, the man who was feared, and respected by the masses, was more than a grain of sand. Even though they tried to lock him away like a precious treasure, he was what everyone strived to be. He was free.

12

Fairytale

Fairytale Francesca Havre

Once upon a time there was a very important man. This man had theories of tiny magical beings called germs.

He cared very much about his hard work. He was a “physician,” one of the first, and he lived, delivering brand-new babies, to the people who lived in a mysterious and old city.

One day he noticed that people were getting very, very sick. He looked, and he searched, and he sought out- all the reasons and “contributing factors.”

No one knows quite what that meant, but it sounded very important and magical. What did cause all this bad and evil feeling to all the people in the mystical city, where he traveled around “practicing” ….? -And what was it exactly he should call what this professional man did and what he sought to contribute to the magic people?

He called it Physiology. He would be a physician. One of the very first. He, would look for reasons people got sick.All the people in the very, very old land, were waaay up in the mountains in a snowy wooden village, in houses that looked like the hilltops themselves, with swirly fairytale shapes carved into the corners of the roves, and lots of green and yellow and wonderful colors.

But…. the very important man knew more than anyone in the whole city that there was something very evil secretly creeping around through the streets and into the magical people’s homes and schools. ( –They even had schools for children!)But, there was something secret he hunted in his own mind everywhere he went. One day he noticed –in the houses of the magical people that very cluttered and messy the secret cause for the people to get so so sick kept sneaking in somehow –and in the clean nicely picked up houses the evil curse was found hardly ever! Was there something to this? –he wondered.

Then he thought what if I, am carrying tiny invisible bad things from the dirty messy houses –everywhere with me, everywhere I go when I treat the sick? Well, he didn’t think of that before! Oh no! –he thought, There are a lot of people who deliver babies- there are a lot of people –physicians, who fix broken bones and sick people and they might not know they could catch the tiny beings on their clothes and then touch people.

So, being the good man that he was, he got together all the people who worked on the sick people and told them- ! They- should wash their hands before they touch people. But they didn’t listen! So, he just did it anyways to test it out!

Everywhere he went people were less sick and healthy citizens of the town seemed safer from the evil “germs.” So he though- What if there are tiny germs on everything? What if they have their own lives just like people and they grow too and have babies and don’t know they are hurting people? This seemed so magical and amazing it could not be untrue. These tiny beings, “germs,” grow and are happy everywhere….? Dirty! They love the dirty places –that’s where they live! They weren’t evil at all! They were tiny tiny beings just being carried around to new places by him and his friends -and all the people of the mystical city. He knew he could not tell people this, they would be frightened and feel threatened.But, he could tell his physician friends to wash their hands and get the people to clean places, to treat the sickness, the germs caused.

Finally everyone listened, and sickness –which wasn’t ever “evil” at all- was kept to tiny areas it already lived, and he and his physicians could treat that sickness, and make it better! And they all lived happily ever after. This man’s name was Ignaz Semmelweis and he was knighted the Savior of Mothers. And even today sick people are still happier!

13

Death Rattle Michael Weymouth

Theresa’s mother was a collector of old things. She was in love with vintage, whether it came in the shape of a blown glass lampshade, a set of fine china plates, or wind-up toys. When Theresa had her first child, Deidre Collins went on a shopping rampage in search of clothes and accessories for her first grandchild. She brought Theresa to the Old Port, where they shifted from aisle to aisle, moving from store to store, enjoying the pleasant, early Spring weather, eating ice cream and cooing to each other over how precious this child would be. At a little past two in the afternoon, after strolling, ironically, down Autumn street, Deidre had her attention caught by a faded sign above a weathered door. ‘Driscoll Antiques’ the sign said in worn and weary script.

“Oh, Sweetheart, this way!” Deidre tugged her daughter along, arm-in-arm, across the street and toward the shop. A bright yellow Volkswagen sputtered at the crosswalk as they glided by. Deidre smiled at the driver, who in turn raised a hand in greeting. Theresa burped politely and gave a wave to the driver as well, then let her hand rest on her protruding belly. “I do so love finding treasures. Why, did I ever tell you about the cheese grater I found, that was owned by Louis the fourteenth?”

Theresa smirked at her mom, gray at the temples, crows feet at the corners of her eyes, creases along the sides of her mouth where her smile fit perfectly. “Mom, you know it wasn’t King Louis’s.”

“I know no such thing,” the woman replied, sniffing. She turned a humored eye to her daughter, broke into laughter and stepped up onto the sidewalk. “Come on, Darling. We have treasures to find.”

When the two women climbed the first step, they could see writing on the door, also faded, in white, chipping, outdated: ‘Closing. Everything MUST go.’ The door was a burnished copper, intricate gild work at the edges in a pattern of coursing ivy and roses. The handle was a vine, the thumb latch a leaf, once detailed with veins, now smooth and discolored. Deidre opened the door and stepped into a dimly lit room full of glass display cases, a faint layer of dust covering every surface. Within were an assortment of items without rhyme or structure. The porcelain doll with the wiry blond hair, now brittle and sticking crudely from the tiny, grungy bonnet she wore, sat haphazardly against a cracked wooden rocking horse. The paints of the horse were faded, worn through, nearly invisible. The wood had shrunk and split, a gash like an ax wound in the muzzle of the stallion. Goblets and plates set among folded blankets. Silverware by the handful lay on the same shelf as flower baskets filled with metal flowers, paper flowers, paintings of fruit bowls and flowers. Deidre glided along, leaving Theresa to pore at her own pace, when the old proprietor shuffled out from behind a drab black velvet curtain. He was dressed in a white button down shirt with a handkerchief in the pocket, blue jeans, brown loafers and a pair of small wire spectacles. Most of his hair had receded. What remained was silver, slicked back. He had dark eyes, knowing eyes, as though they had seen too much and now cared too little. He wiped a gnarled hand over his mouth, his lips too full, too shiny. Theresa looked at him and a shiver ran through her.

The baby gave a kick and fell still.

“May I help you?” His accent was thick, his voice too sweet for such a trembling baritone.

“Oh, my I do hope so,” Deidre Collins gushed. “You have such an amazing collection here! Mister Driscoll, I presume?” She stepped to him and offered her hand, palm down, as if she were royalty. Without pause, as if this sort of greeting occurred every day, he took her hand and drew to to his mouth. Plump, slick lips pressed down against her skin, leaving a wet mark.

She smiled, a breath of throaty satisfaction escaping her. Theresa recoiled slightly, imagining two slugs on his face rather than a pair of lips.

“You presume correctly, Miss,” he replied. “A pleasure.”

“Ooh, and likewise.” Deidre blushed, something she had not done in more than thirty years. When she took her hand back, she held it to her chest.

“What may I do for you precious ladies on this fine afternoon?”

Theresa could say nothing. She wanted to wipe her hands on her shirt, as if the sluggish secretions were on her as well. Her mouth had gone dry, her tongue stuck, like cotton mouth after a hangover. She could feel her heart beating faster, a throb of blood rushing through

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the thick vein in her neck. The old man turned to her, studied her shrewdly for a moment and turned back to her mother.

“We’re here for something wonderful,” Deidre explained. “I’m expecting my first grandchild, a darling little girl,” she whispered conspiratorially with a wink, “and I would just love to find that something special.” She stated it as if he knew precisely what that particular something was, and leaned back, satisfied. The rest, she knew, was up to him.

Old Driscoll rubbed his chin, scrunched his face in a mockery of deep contemplation, and then those lips pulled up. Slugs meeting for a kiss as they slid up his face. “Hmmm,” he teased. “Perhaps, a doll for the young one.” He stepped around the counter, brushing lightly against Deidre as he went toward a display case in the rear of the room. Within it, a doll with two missing fingers and rose-colored cheeks waited. He withdrew the doll, straightened its dress with deft fingers, and passed it to the older woman. She reached up to take it, but paused, squinting.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“No,” he repeated. He peered down at the fractured doll and nodded slightly. “You’re right. This just wouldn’t do.” He replaced the doll, closed the display, and gave again that look of contemplation. After long moments, he snapped his fingers. “Ah. Perhaps. Just perhaps.”

He moved down a row of cases, a bit of dust swirling in the beams of sunlight coursing through the grimy front windows. “Perhaps,” he muttered with plump, wet lips. “Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...” With each repetition, the sounds Theresa heard with each puckering ‘P’ were like popping pustules. She shivered again.

Driscoll stopped before a display, stopped to slide the door, and withdrew a dress, snapping it once so that it unfolded. It was trimmed in lace, a white sash across the front, two ties of thin fabric in the back. “Perhaps,” he said again, holding it out to Deidre.

She made a noise of approval and moved to take it from him, but stopped. There was a spot, dark, a scrubbed out brown, just near the neckline.

“Oh, dear. There’s a stain on it.”

Old Driscoll frowned and turned the dress toward him, studying it. He draped the tiny dress over the top of the display, getting it more dirty than it had been originally, and leaned over it. He put a finger to his mouth, pressing those puffy lips, and then scratched at the stain.

“Hmmm. Dear me, it appears that it does.” Standing upright, he huffed, looking around, that look of deep thought once again creasing his weathered face. He turned, glancing around the room, his eyes pausing for only the briefest of moments on Theresa and her plumping form before moving on. She cringed, her gorge rising. She fought to swallow it down, bile burning the back of her throat.

And then the look faded. It was replaced with a mischievous sparkle that only helped to make him seem ghoulish.

“Ah,” he said, holding up a finger. “One moment. I believe I do have that, one, particular, special something.”

Deidre could not keep her eyes from him. She smiled, childlike.

“Do you? Do you really?”

Driscoll pointed toward Theresa, through her.

“In there. Yes, of course. In that case there. See for yourself.”

The older woman turned to see while the younger woman curled away from the pointing finger, cradling her stomach.

“Yes. Why, yes. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before,” the old man was saying.

“It is just perfect.”

Deidre touched Theresa on the arm as she neared, studying the display case, searching for that purported, perfect item, when she saw it. Nestled beside a folded flag, a curve of stars over a span of blue, was a rattle. It was had a handle seven inches long, with a vine of embossed flowers. The head was round, forged metal, with intricate swirls. She gasped when she saw it.

“Oh, Sir. Oh, dear me, I do... I think you are right. It is just beautiful!”

“Reserve the ‘sir’ for strangers,” Driscoll cooed, sidling up beside her. “I believe we are far from strangers here.” When she turned to look at him, he smiled, those sluggish lips curving, as if salt had been poured on them. “And if we are... Well, there’s time to fix that, now isn’t there?” He put a hand on the small of her back and she visibly wilted. He gave her a wink and bent to retrieve the rattle from the display case. Placing it in her hand, he let his fingers brush against hers. She felt cold fire.

Theresa, watching, continued to fight the urge to vomit.

“Give it a shake, then,” he told her. “Go on.”

The old woman feebly shook her hand, distracted by the depth of his dark eyes. A

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slight scratching sound came from the metal ball on the end of the stick.

“Oh, I bet you can do better than that,” he teased.

She straightened up at the challenge, smiling, and shook the rattle like a maraca. The beads rolled in the ball.

Theresa recoiled. She imagined that’s what bones sounded like.

“See?” The old man drew closer to Deidre. “I knew you could do it.”

She gave the rattle another shake, harder this time, enforcing his point.

“So, would you like that gift wrapped, or should I just put it in a bag for you?”

“Oh, don’t you worry the bother about wrapping it,” she said. “It’s fine the way it is.”

He leered at her.

“So it is.”

The two moved to the back of the store where the old register sat. Theresa held her stomach and turned toward the door, mouth clenched tight against the possible torrent that threatened to rise up and out of her. When the rattle was paid for, a single twenty dollar bill, Deidre opened her purse and gently placed the rattle inside. She shared a few more words with the old man, who returned her words in kind, and then she turned back to her daughter.

“There, Sweetheart. I think it’s time we moved on, shall we?” Theresa said nothing.

Only held onto the handle of the door, waiting, fighting the urge to throw up. When her mother saw her, she was shocked. “Tessa! What’s the matter? You look dreadful!”

Theresa shook her head, her hair sweaty, hanging in heavy damp locks.

“I just need some air.” She tried to open the door, couldn’t, her slick hands slipping over the wrought metal handle. Deidre stepped beside her and put a hand on her back.

“Here, Sweetheart. Let me.” She opened the door, a rush of sweetly scented spring air washing over them, and Theresa bounded down the steps to the sidewalk, where she bent at the waist, hands on her knees, and threw up her late lunch of Caesar salad with grilled chicken and ice cream.

Deidre rubbed her back, cooing. “It’s all right, Sweetheart. It’s all right. Just breathe.”

Theresa retched a final time and wiped a hand across her mouth.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Really. I’m okay.”

She looked at her mother and offered a weak smile.

“Can’t seem to keep much down with this kid pushing up against my insides constantly.”

Her mother gave her a reassuring smile, patted her back and looped her arm through Theresa’s.

“Lets go,” she said, and the two were off, walking slowly.

Through the heavy leather of her bag, Theresa could hear the faint scrapes, as of bone in a glass.

Old man Driscoll watched them leave through the grime of his display window, the smile gone, dark eyes empty.

It was Spring again, more than two years later, when Abigail Worth was nearing her second birthday, that her grandmother took her for the day. Nana Dede, in her glory, could not help but cherish the child, cuddling her, rocking her to and fro from room to room, singing to her in whispers as she fell asleep. Being a widow, Deidre spent many of her days with her daughter and son-in-law, a young man by the name of Bernard Worth. Bernard was a lawyer, always fighting the good fight against industrialists and the like, and that was fine with Deidre. There were so many men who barely supported their families in America, but Theresa had fallen for a decent one. He could certainly have been home more often, spending time with his wife and child, but under the circumstances, and with the hefty bank account to soften the blow, Deidre found herself to be in great appreciation of the young man who bestowed the lovely Abigail within her daughter.

It was nearing noon, and Deidre was in the kitchen preparing lunch for herself and her cherub-like granddaughter. The television was on CBS, and Drew Carey was presenting the showcase to his contestants, when there was a noise behind her.

She turned to find Abigail waddling across the room, shaking a rattle.

It was metal, woven with ivy and flowers.

“Oh,” she said, startled. It had been years since she had seen that old toy, having bought it, brought it home and placing it in her spare room. After the day in the Old Port, she had entirely forgotten about it.

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“Sweetheart. Baby Gail, where did you find that?”

The child made some noises, talking in the gibberish only known by children, and shook the rattle. It sounded strange, and sent a rash of goose flesh across the old woman’s arms.

“Here,” she said. Give me that old thing. It’s time for Baby Gail’s lunch.” She took a step toward the child, reaching for the rattle. But Abigail pulled it away.

“No,” she said. The first word she had learned three months ago but barely used.

“No?” Deidre was shocked for an instant. Never before had her grandchild said no to her. Part of her was happy that she understood, and was talking, but another part was irritated.

Children were not to be disrespectful. Especially not to their grandmothers, who cared so much for them. “Oh, you darling rascal. Here. Give me. Give to Nana Dede.”

Again, the child said, “No.” She shook the rattle some more, the filling within the ball sounding eerie. The old woman cringed, the noise as horrible as nails on a chalkboard. She could not recall it making such a noise when she bought it. In fact, she couldn’t remember buying it all.

“Come, now, Baby Gail. Give Nana Dede the toy. It’s time for your lunch.” This time, she reached down and took hold of the toy, ready to remove it from her grandchild’s grasp if necessary. The sounds coming from the metal ball were disturbing, and she didn’t want her to have it any more.

Abigail was not impressed with the idea of losing her treasure. With a screech, she pulled at the rattle, unable to take it back from her grandmother. When she realized this wasn’t going to work, she leaned forward and bit the old woman on the hand. Startled and in pain, Deidre recoiled, stepping backward and into the kitchen. She made a sound of disgust and shock, the teeth of her granddaughter having bit deep, and she lost her footing. Slipping, she fell, trying to steady herself as she toppled. Her hand, bloody, came down on the cloth she had draped beside the sink, her drying towel for dishes.

The knife she had used to cut up the celery and carrots for her salad rested there, glistening with drops of wash water. As the cloth was yanked to the floor with the falling woman, the knife, bowls and silverware came with it.

Abigail had a moment to laugh before the knife fell, slicing the old woman across the face, cutting her eye. She shrieked, flailing at her dripping face. The falling bowls smashed on the floor, and she laid her hands into the shards as she tried to get up. Porcelain cut through paper-like skin and thin flesh, severing arteries, sending a spray across the face of the cupboards.

Deidre cried out again, and again, her voice shocked into a whispering gasp.

Abigail giggled at the show her grandmother was putting on for her. Blood spattered on the front of her dress.

The old woman thrashed and moaned, crying out in a voice that could no longer be heard, attempting to right herself while continuing to cut her frail hands, forearms, shards jabbing into her elbows. She rolled and a crescent moon of flower print porcelain stabbed her in the side. A pool was growing beneath her, a mixture of blood and urine.

The child shook the rattle, the sound of bones against metal, scraping, scraping.

She chewed on her fingers, the blood of her grandmother on her lips.

Unseen, unnoticed by the dying woman or the oblivious, enthralled child, the spots of blood upon the rattle diminished, dissipated, soaked through the metal as if it were cloth. The sounds within grew thicker, heavier. More bones for the collection.

When the form of Nana Dede grew still, Baby Gail turned away and waddled to the living room, waving the rattle like a magic wand.

17

Family Ties Joshua Phillips

Do you know what it is like being below your siblings? To have them praised for their abilities while you have none? I have felt this it is an all consuming jealousy, and it brought me to great lengths. Being seventeen I am the oldest of my siblings, but the weakest. My brother Danoth is fifteen, and he has air powers. I have twin sisters Danick and Janick, they are twelve and have super powers as well one has ice, and the other water. My father, the King of Kingdaria, has many super powers, and is known as the most powerful King to rule Kingdaria. He had many expectations of me, but I was not born the gifted one, that right went to my siblings. I work hard though I need to be able to beat them, to show them that even though I’m not gifted, I’m still special.

“Hey Joshen, you think you will be able to keep up with me this time?” Danoth taunted as we entered the training room. It wasn’t a rare occasion for me to join Danoth with training, but that day would be a rare occasion as I planned on killing him.

“Just worry about yourself, don’t let your arrogance be your undoing.” I responded playfully, as was usual. He turned and faced me, removing two sleek green daggers from his belt.

He often used his speed to overcome me, as he was two feet shorter than me, and not my equal in strength. I charged him, removing a short sword from its hilt on my waist, and swung low at his waist. He nimbly jumped over the blade and flipped over my head. He landed and spun, slashing my back with one of his daggers.

“I could say the same to you.” Danoth replied with a smug smile before he dropped back from me. He often times managed to hit me, but I had learned to take his hits and use them as a driving force to make me fight harder. I charged and jumped, bringing the sword down towards his head. He sidestepped and thrusted forward with his right hand. I was forced to break the attack and block his counterattack with my left gauntlet. When I had landed I stabbed across my body to my left and at his head. He ducked underneath my attack and stabbed forward with his left hand, aiming for my ribs. I easily smacked the blade away with a backhand from my left hand. I followed up the block bringing my sword downwards towards his exposed body. He simplied dived out of the way of my attack, a feat that any normal person would have not been able to accomplish since my sword would have been in a blind spot.

Another attack failed. He had basically one hundred percent vision­being able to feel the air means all of my movements were given away. I unsheathed my main sword from my back, a longer and broader weapon that my secondary sword that I attach to my waist. I charged him I knew that I had a trick up my sleeve to finally win. I brought my right hand up to my left ear, and slice diagonally across my body aiming for his neck. He moved downwards and slightly to the left, my sword missed his green hair by less than an inch. He punched forward with his left hand and hit me in the gut. Luckily I am still stronger than him. I keeled with the punch anyways, thats what I needed to get my left hand to his side. I click the button, and hear the knife leave my gauntlet and catch him through his ribs.

I heard him groan as he fell to the ground. He looked up at me, fear filling his green eyes for the first time since he found out he was superior to me. I stood back to my feet and kicked his smaller body to the ground. I placed my boot on his chest, pinning him to the ground.

I put my sword at his neck, and smiled at him.

“Now you know what it’s like to feel inferior.” I said, ending his life with a quick flick.

I cleaned my blade off on his shirt and left him in the training room. Once I exited the room I felt something, something inside me. I stopped, and turned around to see Danoth laying on the floor. The thing I feel inside me, it turned to pain suddenly. I fell to my knees, putting one hand on the floor, the other hugged my stomach. The pain in my gut intensified, doubling, then tripling in pain. The pain was too much for me to even scream. I passed out shortly after the pain had reached its peak.

I awoke, saw the ceiling, and instantly recognized it as the hospital ceiling from my many visits. I sat up straight in bed, and looked in the mirror on the opposite wall. I don’t look sick, but there is something different. I got out of the bed, and walked across the bland room to the mirror. I looked closer in the mirror, and examined my changed face. What used to be two perfectly brown eyes are no longer, my left eye has green swimming in the iris. I next looked at

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Family Ties

my brown hair, and noticed green hairs mixed in, the same as Danoth’s hair. I didn’t understand how it was possible. I took a couple steps back, it must’ve been my imagination playing a trick on me. I punched at the mirror and watched as the glass splintered into a million pieces all around me.

My hand was undamaged. I didn’t even remember hitting the glass. I smiled, and looked down at my hand. Could it be, that I am no longer as ordinary as I had thought? I turned and saw another mirror across the room. I punched my fist forward, and felt an air current had left my hand and shattered the mirror. I closed my eyes, remembering what Danoth had done to “feel” the air.

I didn’t know what went on in his head. I just kept focus on the bed, and hoped that if I could “see” or “feel” the bed through the air then I could just continue like that. After a minute or so it worked, I could see the outline of the bed. I widened my view to feel the entire room. I could see the outline of the few things in the room the bed, the heart monitor, the tv hanging on the wall.

At that point I couldn’t help but smile I had never been anything but hard working, and now it seemed I had gained my reward. I left the hospital room, and went to the throne room, in hopes of finding my dad. He wasn’t there, just Janick and Danick.

“We heard what you did.” Danick said in a stern voice. I knew it was Danick because of her dark blue hair in a never ending motion, as if a water fall.

“And we don’t like it.” Janick finished using the same voice as her sister. Janick’s hair was lighter in color, and appeared to be frozen solid. If it were not for hair and eyes they would look exactly the same.

“Where’s dad?” I asked, not wanting to deal with them.

“We don’t know.” Danick started.

“But you won’t get to see him anyways.” Janick finished, as always.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“You should make time.”

“For your superiors.” Janick finished, and they both smiled malevolent smiles. They both probably were relishing the thought of finally killing their eldest brother.

“You two are not my superiors, just like Danoth wasn’t.” I said sternly. “Now where is dad.”

“Dad says that the powerful are always superior to the normal.” Danick said, as she moved around to my side.

“Thats why he regrets Danoth’s death, but not your own.” Janick finished, as she sent an ice spike at my head. I jumped to the side, and closed my eyes. I landed at the same time I gained my new vision. A wave of water was coming my way from where Danick is. I threw up a quick air shield, blocking here attack.

“How can you?” Danick stammered.

“You are inferior.” Janick screamed.

“I am no longer the weakest link.” I said with a smile. “But soon, there will only be one link.” Janick threw more ice spikes at me, I guide them around me and towards Danick at the same time I threw darts at Janick to distract her. She dodged the darts, but lost her focus on the ice spikes­ which nearly impaled Danick. Danick side stepped the spikes, but I had thrown three darts her way as well. Two of them had missed, but the third hit her in the shoulder.

“Ah!” She screamed, making me smile. My siblings had been a pain in my side far too long, and soon I would remove them. I sent an air wave towards Danick, it knocked her over, and kept me from needing to focus on her for the time being. I charged Janick, unsheathing my sword. She threw ice spikes my way, but I simply had to cut them down. Once I got closer than she liked an ice wall formed, blocking me from her, or so she thought. I threw my sword up and over the wall, using my new powers I moved the blade. I almost killed her, but she saw it at the last moment and dodged, taking it in the shoulder instead.

“Ahhhh!” I hear her scream, in a sharper voice than Danick had used. The ice wall melts away, which left me clear access to her. I walked up beside her, smiling ear to ear.

“I’m glad my siblings had super powers, they drove me to such lengths as this.” I whispered in her ear, her eyes widened with fear. “But I’m also glad you’re arrogant, otherwise I never would have succeeded.” I finished, slipping my wrist blade through her ribs, and ending her miserable existence. I remove the sword from her shoulder, and turned around to face Danick.

“You killed her!” She shrieked at me.

“Yes, and now it’s your turn.” I charged her, underestimating her anger. I stopped half way there, but it was too late. A large wave of water blasted from her hands, and hit me in the chest knocking me across the large room and into the throne. I stayed in my downed position, feeling how many darts I had left in my pocket. I smiled, throwing all ten darts in the air and separating them. She threw up a water shield around her, blocking the darts from hitting her, but

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giving me time to recover. I had just got back up when water sprung forth from her cover, like tentacles from an ocean. I knew my sword would have no effect on the tentacles, so I needed a new use for it.

I dodged around the tentacles, able to keep track of all of them at once made it easier.

I kept away from them long enough for me to get my shot. I sent a powerful burst of air towards her, but condensed it and kept it sharp. Right behind the air I threw my sword. She didn’t care about the sword flying at her, because she didn’t know the air was coming before it. I continued my dodging for another second, before I won. The air had cut through her water shield just long enough for my sword to get through. The sword struck her, killing her. The water dropped to the floor all at once, and I wasn’t able to dodge the flood that occurred from it. I felt the same pain as when I killed Danoth, but this time I accepted it, and even smiled through the pain.

I pass out with the pain again, but this time I stayed unconscious longer, maybe a day or so. It must’ve been from the combined kill. When I looked at my appearance this time my hair had traces of dark and light blue in it. My right eye was one third brown, one third dark blue, and one third light blue. My left eye was mostly brown, but had traces of blues and green in it. I felt so ecstatic I was actually shaking. I had never felt so excited before in my life. I formed a water ball in my hand, and moved it around through the air. I watched it form different shapes, and flow through the air as if it was in an ocean. All at once I turned the water into ice, turned, and threw it into the wall behind me, watching it shatter. An applause came from the door to the hospital caught me by surprise.

“Well done my son.” My father said as he entered. I looked at him, and saw his smiling young face. “I have wondered if you could possibly be a disappointment or not. You were not, in fact, any such thing. You have proven to be the greatest child I could ask for.” “You’re not mad at me then?” I asked him, wondering if it was all a ploy or not, so often the words of my father were. He could, and would, spin a web of lies and deceit to trap whomever he pleased.

“No my son, not at all. To tell the truth you would have died in a couple years at one of their hands anyways. Living is not for the weak, and you have proven that your siblings were weak. I congratulate you on your new powers, and hope you put them to good use in the future.”

“I want more.” I said, feeling my courage increase with my power. My purpose had also increased, I’m not meaningless at all, but the greatest of my father’s children. I suppose that me being alive showed that well enough.

My father laughed a deep throaty laugh. “I bet so, but all in due time. You must learn patience my son.”

“Patience, I don’t have the time to wait for years and years.” I said, growing angry.

“Yes, yes you do. You have heard of the Velvish, yes? The immortal beings of Quoath. We are just like them, our powers grant us extended life. You have a thousand lifetimes to grow strong, and thus you will.” He said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I will have more children, and they will grow and develop powers, just as your siblings did. After they have grown to their full potential you will test them, and either gain their strength, or be killed by them. But, you must promise me that you will wait for them to mature before you kill them.”

“Yes sir.” I said, upset that I must wait so long. But if I have a thousand lifetimes, then I would grow to rule all of Quoath.

20

Poetry

21 Poetry

Where We Live Between

Austin Ludorf

H

ow cruel the motion of the clock Is this how a life be measured In nothing more than ticks and tocks And not in hopes fears and pleasures Why Chronos laughs, I cannot say Between the rise and set of sun We live in minutes hours and days Not a life of moments, but a single one As if our eyes could never see The moment which we now reside Content it were, that we should be As we rot in homespun besides What clockwork then should tell a man The time, the life, that he should plan

T

Noon

Ryan M. Higgins

hey got you wrong and for a while it ate me up We spent our endless days smashing pumpkins I could be wrong but if we paint a saint, and remember those who vanish young, by how well they could shoot threes, their steals and rebounds, or their percentage from inside the paint, then I’m not worth much which is fine, given my language is inadequate at least to bother correcting them

S

Pantoum

Calvin Michaud

even Dragons that rule the skies, Match the seven lords that reign the elements.

The Noble Knights with

lights shine so high, Aid the Mages to protect many enchantments.

22 Poetry

Match, the seven lords, that reign the elements, Teach the Shamans to

master the big four.

Aid to the Mages to protect many enchantments, The Druids, and Centaur of nature.

Teach the Shamans, to

master the big four, Help the noble knights of light.

With the Druids, and centaur of nature Battle the demons in a great fight.

Help the noble knights of light The humans try so hard to win.

They battle the demons in a great fight Yet in darkness are their seven sins. .

The humans try so hard to win, But manifested; Greed, Lust,

Gluttony, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride.

Yet, in the darkness are their seven sins, And it is from the seven that

doom the humans to die.

Calendar Girl (Sonnet)

I

Austin Ludorf

met a woman one year ago
 She said her name was January I was gentle and tried to be slow By then she went by February March was a beauty, and April cried Because I loved her so much in May June quickly left, though I truly tried To get July and August to stay We both laughed when she was September Sweet October was more than enough Her coldness was in November December pushed me away, real rough But still the calendar will always unfurl Another year with my January girl

An Epistle Of Enid Michael Weymouth

G

Dear Grace, On those long darkened eves, Destruction before us, And victory our banner.

race, With great tidings, And a bursting heart, With news unlike any other to be heard, I sit with quill and parchment in hand, To bring you the peace of the Afterland.

Many have come to claim, Fighting to overtake, Working during the daylight To wreck that which we build In Shadows.

It is written in the annuls, Somewhere in the past, There was one who knew the secret, And as I am sure you have heard, All of his knowledge was considered false.

And all have fallen, As yet too weak, To remove from us the Core, Which provides all life, To those who have not borne.

Yet it has come to my attention, Dear Grace, One has come from the

depths of our histories, Bearing forth a confrontation, A witness to the truth of your release.

Meanwhile, Dear Grace, I know in your heart of stone, There beats a longing, For more than the granite and obsidian Of our Forebears.

The Counsel has come to quiet discussions, Considering such actions as

war and banishment, The strongest of us ready to take up arms While the others choose to

readily stay silent, Hidden amongst the pillars

and the stones.

Though the loss of power is considerable, Our loss of flight a mean disgrace, Being once again able to

view the true sunlight As one with flesh to appreciate, Being human could be once

again an adventure.

Yet the unrest in the talks grows stronger As we consider the considerations; Are we to give up our essence Or endure the ongoing existence Of darkness and strength of stone.

I recall our many talks, 23 Poetry

It is with peace and strife, These words I write, For you and your beating heart, For the love I bear you in mine, That I tell you these things.

It is soon coming, This confrontation of the masses, Who will dictate the truth As they see fit, And build or destroy us with it.

I have not the knowledge of the Counsel, Nor the spite of our enemies, Nor the confusion of humanity, Nor the darkness of our living night, For I find myself torn by all.

Not as much as you, Dear Grace, Not as much as you, Who stares into the void of night As though seeking a sun.

I live as one given unto this life,

This living as another While built of mere stone, Soaring high over what I did not build And resting only... When only....

These words are a surprise, My Dearest Grace, Your voice a memory from the Fade, Speaking of such hope and light, That I find more to write.

It is said by the Men, “You cannot squeeze blood from a stone.�

Yet here I sit, quill in hand, The pages absorbing, Tears squeezed from the

stone of mine own eyes.

For I remember the night, When you were taken from us, Dear Grace, Smashed in the moment of your slumber, Beholden in the moment of the dawn.

The battle was far from over, The night had come to its close, And despite the height of your standing, By the cudgel of the Forsaken, Disposed.

Dear Grace, I will undertake flesh as you would have.

The light of day nears, now, Dear Grace, That which will solidify me.

Before the first rays settle upon me, I must destroy these words to you.

Fire will consume them, As fire once consumed your heart, For freedom and release were your dream, And as they disperse into the wind, So, too, will my granite tears.

Dear Grace, Friend and confidant, Dreamer and warrior and light. To you, and for you, I live.

Signed, With a love that endures as stone,

Enid

Hands

M

Wohlfeil

y hands are like Lucifer.

Once an angel but now the devil.

When I was younger they would bring I held you in my hands, Food to my mouth that Dear Grace,

would make me smile.

Friend for years uncounted, Now they keep the food away which Pieces and fragments and shards, Brings a pained smile to my face.

The life you once held gone in the flash of These hands of mine caress my lover. sunlight.

The same hands that allows

the razor blade It is folly to believe you can see me, To caress my skin. In short quick strokes, And more to continue these words, These hands holding razor Yet with pain in my stone-forged

blades can bring heart Me a moment of happiness.

I release the gravel of your death,

Then they bring As I decide to follow your heart.

A night full of tears. These

hands open the bottle It does not matter, Full of aspirin. These hands The decision of the Counsel,

of mine can be what Or the actions of the one who knows.

Brings me to my death.

24 Poetry

The Russian Revolution of 1917

That Old House on the Bay

Sean Hadley

T

he February Revolution of 1917 around Petrograd, occurred because the Russian

workers and soldiers were mad.

The people who chose to rise

up against the Tsar, were poor and hungry as a

result of wars fought afar.

On the bloody paved streets

of that great city, Lay dead, Bolshevik protesters slain

without pity.

The Bolsheviks led by Vladimir

Lenin, failed in its attempt at first, to take over the country when

it was at its worst.

Based on the writings of Karl Marx,

Lenin spread communism, which led to Russia and its people

to suffer a great schism.

In November, after Lenin led his

revolt against the régime, the Russian civil war

began to gain steam.

The reds and the whites fought

viciously until 1923, so that the suffering people of

Russia could be finally be free.

The civil war had ended with a

myriad of blood and tears, and was to be remembered

for a great many years.

Upon Lenin’s death, the Russian

people shed a tear, then Stalin rose to power and

ruled the country with fear.

25 Poetry

T

Cassidy McNerney

hat old house on the bay, It stood masculine on the

shore line from near and far.

It is there where our hearts lay.

The old rope swing starting to fray.

We used to drive along the

back roads with our car.

That old house on the bay.

We’d sit on the porch together and sway.

Remember the candy in the jar?

It is there where our hearts lay.

The wind would force the ocean to spray.

Flooding the hot summer tar.

That old house on the bay.

Do you remember our old

horse that hated hay?

She was a good horse that, Star.

It is there where our hearts lay.

Well now our hair is turning grey.

How about we go and reminisce at the bar.

That old house on the bay.

It is there where our hearts lay.

The Lions Misogynistic Cocaine But my passion is quenched

by your stretching white Safari stripes. My passion for you is opposed

I

Zachary Kostusyk

t was strange seeing her there, sprawled across the floor, her charcoal body

accentuated by the white lines we traced on her, they

made her resemblance to that of a zebra, as opposed to a dignified, elegant woman.

Alas, it was my safari of delight.

for you no longer deliver delight.

You’re a used and abused woman Bearing nothing but the distant resemblance of a majestic being from far across

Delight did I in your stripes so White.

Across my nose, I was never opposed.

Woman not beat? I resent the resemblance.

That night the beast inside

me filled with delight, her body so enticing, my mind ran across two decisions, to indulge in this woman, or, snort her stripes, our coke was snow-white.

Dehumanized she lay, I opposed this woman’s animals like resemblance.

My mind made up, with ferocious resemblance of a Lion, devouring the Zebras delight.

There she laid lifeless, she was not opposed of my choice; her stripes.

The coke spewed across the room, turning our mystic

zebra to a white stallion, this thrill only

comes from a woman.

I had devoured the zebra, this woman had no more an arcane of resemblance to an African beast, a black and white beast of great intoxicating delight.

Instead, she was now a woman If she is not animal, I am opposed.

Why to this charcoal girl am I opposed?

She was no more a fascinating woman.

Instead, she was bland, mundane. Only

if across from her body lay I bearing the resemblance of a gorged lion, filled with delight from my last trek, consuming

cocaine so white.

26 Poetry

Rise Up

R

Samantha Fecteau

ise up! Compatriots it’s time to fight Grab your things we leave tonight As the sun sets we meet at the mill We march in the morning,

we head for the hill One more time I ask you to rise For this is the moment we cut our ties The crown has hurt us but we won’t stop Not until we are heard all

the way to the top Rise up! Colonists the time has come Time to send these redcoats

back where they came from For this will be our last

stand, oh yes it will We fight for our freedom on top of that hill Hear us now George while you still can We will win our freedom, even

if it takes every last man

Photography

Untitled

Jessy Butler

28

Untitled

Taken at the Morrison Center

Kaila Magliozzi

Summertime Carol Kutz

Intro to Digital Photography- Depth of Field

29

“Photography is an art of observation. It has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them.”

Elliot Erwitt

“Untitled.”

Shelby Pratt 12/2014

Lulu

Orwin Santa-Cruz

30

Clown Vertical

Orwin Santa-Cruz

31

Class Picture

Heather Magee

Ducks

Eva Sockabasin

As I was taking pictures for my assignment at the graveyard, these ducks followed me everywhere. As I was taking a close up of the reflection in the water, these guys came right up to me, so I decided “Ok I will take your picture�. Sometimes the best pictures are the unexpected ones.

32

Changing Seasons Edner Mae Fago

This photograph is a compilation of two images that fulfilled an assignment for the class Photoshop for Photographers. One image was taken with a GoPro camera, and the other with a Canon digital camera. The two images were processed using Adobe Photoshop.

Little

Shelby Pratt

33

Photoshop Projects: DGD 113

Overlay Greyscale Assignment Troy Devoe

This was a wallpaper I downloaded and turned to grayscale in Photoshop.

I then used multiple techniques to colorize it with all new colors..

Portrait/Pen Assignment Rachel Umphrey

34

I created this self-portrait using a photograph of myself and Photoshop’s pen tool.

Untitled

Jonathan Whitney

This is a composite of two pictures I took in Acadia park and a sunrise picture I took in Kenduskeag.

Earl Sweatshirt Brianna Sickles

35

The Earl Sweatshirt illustration was for Photoshop, where we had to create an illustration portrait of someone using the pen tool to create paths.

Drama

Nothing Is As It Seems Wohlfeil

SETTING: The play takes place in an asylum room of a patient during the 1960’s. The air of the room is incredibly gloomy and neglected. There are obvious old stains of human waste on the bedding, walls, f loor, etc. In the room there is a metal framed bed with old white sheets.

There is also a few raggedy stuffed animals, plastic tea sets, and a barred window that is the secondary source of lighting for the room. On the walls there are rather beautiful pictures inspired

by Lewis Clark’s Alice in Wonderland. Stage left has a door that has a small barred window as well.

CHARACTERS

Alice: 17 year old girl with long black hair and pale skin. She is bubbly and content with being alone in the Wonderland she created. When people try to break up that reality though and influence negative effects on it though, she goes into hysterics. Often she muddles Wonderland with reality and has an extremely hard time telling the difference between the two.

RABBIT: a man who is a bit older than Alice and dresses is a suit with rabbit ears poking out from his top hat. He is very polite and doesn’t take to bad manners. For him everything has to be prim and proper.

NURSE1: An older man who is more on the heavier side. He is dressed in a white uniform that would be typical for asylum uniforms of the 1960s.

NURSE2: shares similar features as Nurse 1.

RATS: they are all visibly dirty as well as their clothes. Their clothes are raged as well. Each rat has a thin tail that comes out of the back of their pants.

RAT1: Tall and scrawny not the brightest RAT 2: Medium height but is the better fed out of the three RAT3: short and round. He is a very greedy rat CERASINUS: Has dark red hair and lips. She is in her mid-30s. She has a nice full figure that makes the dress she wears lovely looking. Cerasinus is also Alice’s step-mother and has been since Alice was a child.

(Lights fade up center stage to reveal ALICE talking to RABBIT.) ALICE: (looking around) It is time for tea, but where is the tea Rabbit? It’s getting awfully late!

RABBIT: Maybe the Tweedles are being extra troublesome?

ALICE: (Sadly) Oh dear…but it’s my Unbirthday again today !

(ALICE and RABBIT continue to talk as NURSE 1 enters from stage left.)

NURSE 1: (is annoyed and can’t see RABBIT) Knock it off Alice. Quit talking to your raggedy old rabbit.

RABBIT: (offended) He just spoke ill of me! How dare he speak such rubbish.

ALICE: You insulted Rabbit! You’re lucky he isn’t the Red Queen or it’d be off with your head! (giggles crazed like) NURSE 1: Enough. (Lights go off. RABBIT exists and a stuffed toy rabbit takes his place) It’s time to take your medication. Now be a good girl and don’t fight me.

(NURSE 1 holds out a paper cup that contains some pills. ALICE’s eyes widen and quickly backs away making noises of protest.)

ALICE: (screeching) You can’t make me take them, I refuse to! They’ll come back if I take them!

(NURSE 1 scowls and pins her to the wall. He opens her mouth causing ALICE to thrash around, and NURSE 2 enters and helps hold ALICE still as NURSE 1 force feeds her the pills.)

NURSE 2: Always a fighter, that one. Why again didn’t you try to reason with her better?

37 Drama

NURSE 1: She always says that if she takes her medication, that the rats grow to the size of people.

Which then supposedly will lead to them eating her (rolls his eyes).

NURSE 2: (sneers) If only, she’s the most troublesome one in this Hell hole.

(NURSE 1 and 2 exit stage left. ALICE begins pounding on the door they left through.)

ALICE: (screaming) What have you done?! Rabbit save me! (becomes hysteric) I hate those tweedles, I hate the(ALICE is cut off by the sound of scurrying. She grabs the plastic food tray of food an throws it towards the scurrying noises. The food tray breaks. RATs 1,2,3 enter from off stage.)

RAT 1: No food for us Alice?

RAT 3: What did we say about you not leaving us food?

ALICE: (whimpers) Y-you’ll e-e-eat me.

RAT 2: Exactly! (smiles cheerily) (ALICE runs to the door and pounds on it. No one responds to her.)

RAT 1: Hold on now, no need to be rash.

RAT 2: We have decided to let you live! (Claps ALICE on the back) RAT 3: (rummaging through ALICE’s things) Today, someone is here to see you or something like that.

ALICE: (puzzled) What has that got to do with anything?

(NURSE 1 opens the door and enters.)

NURSE 1: (suddenly nice) Alice, look who is here to see you!

(ALICE’s step-mother CERASINUS enters. ALICE runs to her for a hug. CERASINUS jumps slightly but hugs back. NURSE 1 then leaves.)

CERASINUS: (Forces a smile) Hello Alice.

ALICE: (curtsies) Hello your majesty, the Red Queen! What made you visit me here today?

CERASINUS: I’m not part of your silly fairytale, Alice. Remember what I said to call me.

ALICE: Sorry your majesty. I’ll try to remember to call you Cerasinus.

(RATs begin to move closer to CERASINUS and making menacing motions. ALICE shifts from foot to foot nervously. CERASINUS isn’t able to see the RATs.) ALICE: Y-you should probably get going.

RAT 2: Now that’s no fun!

RAT 1: We deserve to see her.

RAT 3: After all we did spare your life.

(ALICE looks frantically at the RATs and CERASINUS looks at ALICE funny.)

ALICE: (Sudden realization hits her) No! You’re not allowed to harm the Red Queen!

RAT 2: (Strides up behind CERASINUS) Too bad because we decided to spare you.

RAT 3: In return for us sparing you, due to the fact that you didn’t provide us with food, we get to eat her!

(Alice rushes over to where the food tray broke and picks up a shard. Rushes over to CERASINUS and RAT 2. Pushes them against the wall as she brandishes her weapon.)

ALICE: I said no!

38 Drama

(Lights off. RATs exit. Lights back on. ALICE is now pinning CERASINUS to the wall, strangling her.)

CERASINUS: Alice stop, you’re scaring me!

ALICE: (Yelling at RAT 2) You can’t eat the Red Queen! It shall be off with your head now!

(NURSE 1 and 2 enter. They begin to pry ALICE away from CERASINUS) NURSE 2: Alice stop, you’ll kill her if you don’t stop waving that around!

ALICE: No, the Rats are trying to kill her! I’m killing the Rats!

NURSE 1: Enough Alice! (Takes her by the waist and pulls her off which knocks the weapon out of her hand).

ALICE: You don’t understand Tweedle Dee! The Rats are trying to eat her!

(NURSE2 takes CERASINUS out. ALICE keeps yelling about the RAT’S. NURSE2 returns and sedates ALICE. Her screams fade. Lights off. Scurrying can be heard along with ALICE’s whimpers. Lights up on center stage. ALICE is now in a straight jacket. RAT’s enter, circling ALICE.) ALICE: (pitifully) G-go away!

RAT 2: (patting ALICE’s head) Now now, after all we did spare your life.

RAT 1: Isn’t that what you wanted?

RAT 3: We couldn’t let our dear friend leave her Wonderland now could we?

RAT 2: We couldn’t risk there being the slightest chance of you ever getting “better”. If you ever got better, you’d leave us alone in the Wonderland you created and we can’t have that!

(RATs cackle as ALICE whimpers. Lights fade.)

THE END

Someone Is Here To See You By: Michael Weymouth

CHARACTERS NARRATOR ASSITANT: 25, female, efficient secretary BARRY THE BRUTE: 50’s, father of Henry GEORGE: 45, a shabby visitor

SETTING: The “home office” of a man a few years after his prime. The home is in the shadow of Mt. Katahdin in Maine.

TIME: July 14, 2015, late morning NARRATOR: (Imagine an office, in a great home of log and sweat. Behind a great desk of mahogan spans a window, facing North, the breadth of Mt. Katahdin stretches, awash in the maelstrom of autumn. Behind the desk sits a man in his golden years. It is later in the morning, and Barry Harders, also known as Barry the Brute to those who knew him during his college football years, has much to do. He stares out of the massive window at the grand mountain of color and sunlight, and knows there is much to do, but has found a moment when he just cannot remember what. His assistant enters.)

ASSISTANT: “Someone is her to see you, Mr. Harders.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Is that so?”

ASSISTANT: “Yes, Sir.” NARRATOR: The big man pauses to think for a moment, taking in the wonder of the mountain, and 39 Drama

slowly nods.

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Well then, show them in.” (more to himself) “Show them in.”

NARRATOR: In walks a man without much favor. He is dressed in tatered jeans and a flannel work shirt. There is sawdust on his shoulders and cuffs. The rings of sweat beneath his arms show of the beginning of a hot days work. His voice is even, deep, and respectful.

GEORGE: “Mr. Brute, how are ya?”

NARRATOR: The burly man behind the desk slowly turns in his swivel chair. He is not smiling, but he is not frowning, either.

GEORGE: “You look well.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Well, I don’t know why I wouldn’t. It’s a...beautiful day.”

GEORGE: “How did you sleep? Quite the storm last night.”

NARRATOR: The big man squints, thinking. He takes a moment before answering.

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Yes.” (confused) “The storm.” (He pauses, turns to look out the window for a moment, then back to the man.) “Bah. Anyhow. What brings you back? As it seems, you’ve been coming here for weeks. You need something?”

GEORGE: (holding up a Burger King bag.) “I’ve brought an early lunch.”

NARRATOR: George pulls up a chair and puts the bag on the desk. As he removes items from the bag, a couple orders of french fries, a bacon cheeseburger, a box of tenders and container of sweet-nsour sauce.

BARRY THE BRUTE: (quietly) “Henry used to like that place.”

GEORGE: “I know.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Bah. You wouldn’t know my Henry. He’s just a boy.” (He eats a french fry.) “He used to be a ball player like his old man.”

GEORGE: (smiling) “Was he as good as Barry the Brute?

BARRY THE BRUTE: “He tried.” (as he eats another fry, his face darkens.) “Damn kid has no respect, though. He left home...long ago. I thought I heard him in the yard the other day, but it wasn’t him.”

NARRATOR: George says nothing, but unwraps his burger and begins to eat.

BARRY THE BRUTE: “What’s your name again?”

GEORGE: (lightheartedly) “George. Now eat your lunch before it gets cold.”

NARRATOR: The two of them sit quietly and eat. Barry chews slowly, thinking. He knows there is much to do today, but cannot recall just what. He looks at the man across the desk from him.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “So, what do you want?”

GEORGE: “I just wanted to see how you were, Brute.”

NARRATOR: Barry sits up straighter and brushes a hand down the front of his shirt.

BARRY THE BRUTE: “I’m perfectly fine. I don’t need anyone checking up on me.”

GEORGE: “Never said you did, Brute.”

NARRATOR: Barry looks closer at teh man across from him.

BARRY THE BRUTE: “I thought I heard Henry in the yard yesterday. Do you know where Henry is?”

GEORGE: (shaking his head) “Sorry. Haven’t seen him.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: (looking disappointed) “No. No, you wouldn’t. You don’t know my Henry.

HE was a good boy until he left home.” (he stares at his food, scowling) “But he hasn’t come home.”

40 Drama

GEORGE: “That happens sometimes.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “And what would you know of it? You don’t know my Henry.”

GEORGE: “He used to have that motorcycle, didn’t he?”

NARRATOR: Barry pauses, thinking, his face scrunched.

BARRY THE BRUTE: “He left on that machine. His mother hated it. Says it took him away from us.”

GEORGE: “It’s alright. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “How do you know? What do you know of it? Do you know my Henry? I heard him in the yeard yesterday, bu he won’t come inside.”

GEORGE: “Maybe he had something to do?”

NARRATOR: Barry thinks about this for a moment, and nods. He eats another french fry.”

GEORGE: “You shouldn’t worry about it, Brute. Just enjoy the beautiful day.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Don’t try to tell me what to do. Who are you, anyway? Why do you keep bothering me?”

GEORGE: “I’m George.”

NARRATOR: Barry curls his nose, forgetting the fries on the desk.

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Bah. George, you say.” (he looks at the man skeptically.) “You’re nothing like my Henry. Henry was a good boy.”

GEORGE: “Yeah, I bet he was.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Nothing like you.” (he notes teh man’s dirty clothes.) “My henry was a good boy. Not like...” ( he raises a hand to indicate the man before him.)

NARRATOR: The good mood Barry the Brute was in has passed. Now he sits sullenly.

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Damn that kid. He hasn’t come back. I thought I heard him in the yard yesterday, but...”

NARRATOR: Big, burly, Barry the Brute begins to tear up.

GEORGE: “Hey. Hey, it’ll be alright.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Bah! What do you know? You don’t know my Henry.”

GEORGE: “Who says I don’t? Maybe I know just where Henry is.”

NARRATOR: This gets Barry’s attention, but he’s skeptical.

BARRY THE BRUTE: “You do, huh? Well then, where is he? Why hasn’t he come home? Can you tell me that?”

GEORGE: “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Bah. You don’t know him. You don’t know my Henry!”

GEORGE: “I’m sorry, Brute.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “’Sorry,’ he says. ‘Sorry.’’

NARRATOR: The two men look at each other for a few brief, tense moments.

GEORGE: “Tell me more about him. Henry. Tell me about him.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Why?” GEORGE: “I don’t know. It’ll make you feel better?”

41 Drama

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Bah. I won’t feel better until my son comes home. I want to see my boy. I want my Henry.”

GEORGE: “I’m sure he wants to see you, too, Brute. I’m sure he does.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “And what do you know? You don’t know him. You don’t know my Henry.

You wouldn’t. I don’t know you. Who are you anyway?”

GEORGE: “George, Brute. I’m George.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Pffft. George. I don’t know why you keep bothering me. Why are you here? Why won’t you just go away?”

NARRATOR: Barry the Brute pushes himself away from the desk and turned bck to the huge window and the mountain beyond.

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Just go away.”

NARRATOR: George could see that the meeting was over. Barry had shut down again. So he stood up and gathered the remains of their lunch.

GEORGE: “I”ll come back and see you again.”

BARRY THE BRUTE: “Bah. Don’t bother. You aren’t like my Henry. He was a good boy.”

NARRATOR: With a sad smile, George threw away the trash and left the office. (dim lights. Change scene. As the lights grow brighter, we find George stepping out of a large room and into a hallway. Just a few feet awa, a nurse stands behind a counter, pushing buttons on a keyboard. She looks up and sees the man approaching.)

NURSE: (smiling) “He was doing well this morning.”

GEORGE: “Yeah.”

NURSE: (sympathetic) “You know, Henry, I admire you for coming to see him so often.”

GEORGE/HENRY: (shrugging) “Not that it does me any good. He hasn’t recognized me in over three years.”

NURSE: “Alzheimer’s is a terrible disease.”

GEORGE/HENRY: “I’m just glad Mom isn’t here to see him like this.”

NARRATOR: The nurse puts a hand on his arm.

NURSE: “Will you be alright?”

GEORGE/HENRY: (in a whisper) “I miss my Dad.” NARRATOR: Henry grunts as he wipes a single tear from his eye.

NURSE: “Would you like to go in again?”

GEORGE/HENRY: (nodding) “I’ve got a couple more hours before I have to get back.”

NARRATOR: With that, the nurse steps around the counter and makes her way down the nursing home hallway, pausing before the room with old, brittle, Barry the Brute inside. She sighs, knocks, and steps in.

ASSISTANT/NURSE: “Someone is here to see you, Mr. Harders.”

THE END

42 Drama

Critical Writing

Sean Hadley

English 101-05

Depression in Combat Veterans

My knowledge of this topic:

I know that a rising number of our military personnel are suffering from various forms of depression. Many veterans have experienced some form of combat related stress or post-traumatic stress due to the pace of operational deployments during the last thirteen years.

This is one of the reasons veterans have difficulty re-adjusting to civilian life. The nature of these issues leads to different outcomes for each individual.

Each veteran is impacted differently by combat; some have no impact and others have serious impairment. This may cause them to have difficulty re-adjusting to civilian life.

Most are able to adapt and overcome, but sometimes certain individuals may resort to extremes in order to find resolution. The rates of suicide among veterans is alarmingly high. Early detection followed by treatment can often be the difference between life and death for veterans who are suffering from depression.

There are many different treatment options available now for veterans with depression. Medication, counseling, and therapy are the most common resources available. These treatments have proven to be very successful but not 100% effective. I know as a veteran, we strive to leave no one behind on the battlefield. Therefore, we should not leave any of our veterans behind at home. Our veterans have sacrificed so much in a time of war. We should never allow those who have fought in war to suffer in a time of peace.

What I want to learn about this topic:

There is a rising number of military personnel suffering from different forms of depression. I know that depression affects combat veterans in different ways and that there are many factors that contribute to its impact upon them. Part of my research will concentrate on the specific data and statistics on combat veterans. What are the different reasons why a deployed veteran suffers from depression during and after their tour? I would like to acquire more information about the many ways that depression affects the veteran and their family in both the short and long term.

It is important to explore the diverse treatment options available specifically for combat veterans living with depression. These veterans may need different treatment methods than the average civilian. They may need longer treatment or more specialized care in relation to their experiences. One of my goals is to research the probability of recovery from depression and the ability of a veteran such as myself, to continue in military service.

I feel an obligation to study this topic due to my personal familiarity with depression.

As a combat veteran, I understand the importance of continued research and development of new treatment options in order to improve the outcomes of veterans diagnosed with depression. My hope is to use this project as a guide through writing and research as part of my individual treatment plan to assist in my recovery from depression.

The Search:

Depression is defined by the Oxford Dictionary as severe despondency and dejection, typically felt over a period of time and accompanied by feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy. Depression is a very common medical diagnosis in the general population, but it is also becoming more prevalent in combat veterans since the events of September 11, 2001.

Numerous studies detail the statistical data regarding depression in veterans. Understanding these statistics, the causes and factors of depression, and how it affects a veteran and his/her family will help to tailor specific therapies for each individual. This will ultimately improve the recovery outcomes in veterans, their quality of life, and their ability to continue to serve in the military.

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There are multiple causes and factors of depression, but a single cause has yet to be found. Some of the causes of depression may be related to environmental, biological and psychological factors (Duckworth 1). Veterans are more at risk of depression due to length and number of deployments, nature of the conflicts being fought, time spent away from their family, and many other reasons (see table 4.3).

Table 4.3 Rates of Trauma Exposure in OEF/OIF (N=1,965) Type of Combat Trauma

Weighted Percentage

95% CI LL

95% CI UL

Having a friend who was seriously injured or killed

49.6

45.7

53.6

Seeing dead or seriously injured noncombatants

45.2

41.3

49.1

Witnessing an accident resulting in serious injury or death

45.0

41.1

48.9

Smelling decomposing bodies

37.0

33.3

40.7

Being physically moved or knocked over by a moving explosion

22.9

19.6

26.1

Being injured, not requiring hospitalization

22.8

19.2

26.3

Having a blow to the head from any accident or injury

18.1

15.1

21.1

Being injured, requiring hospitalization

10.7

8.2

13.1

Engaging in hand to hand combat

9.5

7.3

11.6

Witnessing brutality towards detainees/prisoners

5.3

3.3

7.3

Being responsible for the death of a civilian

5.2

3.0

7.4

NOTES: CI = confidence interval; LL = lower limit; UL = upper limit.

The risk of developing depression may vary among veterans based on factors such as upbringing, marital status, socioeconomic status, and inherited traits. The National Alliance on Mental Illness stated: “Scientific research has firmly established that major depression is a biological, medical illness. There is also an increased risk for developing depression when there is a family history of the illness.�

A recent study showed that there were approximately 87 percent more mental disorder-related hospitalizations in 2011 than in 2000, with depression hospitalization rates rising by 66 percent (Armed Forces Health Surveillance Center 3). These statistics may show a link between depression and suicide risk. According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness; one study found that the suicide risk in U.S. veterans with depression varied in many ways from the general population. Notably, in the civilian population, suicide risk commonly increases with age, but in the veteran population, the population at most risk if the younger veteran. A considerable number of older veterans experience depression which is associated with substantial suffering, disability, suicide risk, and decreased health-related quality of life.

Each veteran and their families cope with the deployment and post-deployment lifestyle differently. A 2010 survey showed that greater than twenty seven percent of veterans suffered from symptoms of depression. (Armed Forces Health Surveillance Center 3). Additionally, repeated and longer deployments are very stressful for the veteran but also for their family, causing spouses to be at an increased risk of depression and the children to be at risk of developing emotional and behavioral problems (Kerr). A survey completed by SAMHSA on National Drug Use and Health (NSDUH), showed the differences in rates of depression based on the age of the veteran (see bar graph).

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Percentages of Past Year Major Depressive Episode (MDE) among Veterans Aged 21 to 39, by Age Group: 2004 to 2007

Some veterans may resort to violence, withdraw from normal life activities, or have marital issues due to their depression. One mental health evaluation of a group of veterans found that seventy five percent of veterans with companions described problems with readjusting to home life with their family after returning home from a deployment (Kerr). There are many consequences and outcomes of depression in veterans after combat (see figure 5.1).

Figure 5.1 A Model of the Consequences of Post-Combat Mental Health and Cognitive Conditions Experience of a post-combat disorder Resources/vulnerabilities - posttraumatic stress disorder - major depressive disorder - traumatic brain injury - other mental health disorders

Immediate Consequences

Biological:

- family - physical symptoms

Psychological:

- preexisting problem

* psychology

during/after

the event

* reaction to

stress - coping techniques - trauma severity

- co-morbidity - health - deterioration - drug use - relationships - employment

Emergent Outcomes - child outcomes - divorce - wealth - crime - health - homeless - suicide - mortality

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Social:

- social support - life/identity transition - socioeconomic status - treatment availability and seeking

Multiple barriers exist for those in need of mental health services. A Rand Corporation survey displayed a list of barriers to treatment in combat veterans (see table 4.9).

Table 4.9 Barriers to Care among Those with a Possible Need for Services (N=752) Type of Barrier

Weighted %

95% CI LL

95% CI UL

Logistics It would be difficult to get daycare or time off of work

29.3

23.0

35.6

Mental health care would cost too much money

23.1

16.7

29.5

It would be difficult to schedule an appointment

15.9

11.8

20.1

I would not know where to get help or whom to see

15.9

10.6

21.2

It would be difficult to get a ride to treatment

6.6

2.6

10.5

It could harm my career

43.6

37.0

50

I could be denied a security clearance in the future

43.6

37

50.2

My coworkers would think less of me if they knew

38.4

32.2

44.7

I do not think my treatment would be confidential

29

23.1

34.9

My supervisor might respect me less

23.0

17.4

28.5

My friends and family would respect me less

11.5

7.6

15.5

I could lose contact or custody of my children

9.3

5.7

12.9

My supervisor has asked us not to seek treatment

7.8

3.4

12.2

My partner would not want me to get treatment

2.9

1.0

4.9

The medications used have too many side effects

45.1

38.1

52.2

My family or friends would be more helpful

39.4

32.7

46.11

I feel inadequate if I cannot handle it on my own

29.1

23.3

35.0

Religious counseling would be more helpful

28.8

22.9

34.7

Even good mental health care is not very effective

25.2

18.7

31.7

The mental health treatments options are poor

24.6

18.3

30.8

I have received treatment before and it did not work

18.0

13.5

22.6

Institutional and Cultural

Beliefs and Preferences for Treatment

NOTES: Possible need is defined as having at least mild depression or subthreshold PTSD. CI = confidence interval; LL = lower limit; UL = upper limit.

A veteran may feel that he/she will become a burden by admitting depression and appear weak if choosing to seek help. The family may feel helpless and not know how to support their family member. It is crucial to educate the entire family to recognize the symptoms and behaviors associated with depression in order to sustain family relationships (Souza).

Various treatment options are available to assist veterans diagnosed with depression.

These include medication, counseling-group or individual, cognitive behavioral therapy, and other methods including combinations. These treatments provide variable results. Some veterans use one treatment method versus another for reasons such as cost effectiveness, privacy concerns, stigma, lack of time for counseling, and fear of side effects. Based on the National Survey on Drug Use and Health, the percentages of veterans who sought clinical help were higher than that of medication alone (see figure 3).

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Figure 3. Percentages of Type of Treatment Received for Depression in the Past Year among Veterans Aged 21 to 39 Who Experienced Past Year MDE and Who Received Treatment for Depression in the Past Year: 2004 to 2007

One of the primary methods used to treat depression is the use of medication. The way that medications work is by regulating the levels of hormones called neurotransmitters in the brain at the synapses to keep more of these hormones circulating. This has been shown to decrease depressive symptoms. Different classes of medications work on different neurotransmitters and each veteran may respond in a different way to each medication (Sue, Sue, and Sue 379-380). Unfortunately, medications may take up to four weeks to start working and become effective as the hormones get into a person’s system. Older medications have more side effects than some of the newer ones and this may play a factor in which medication is chosen (Townsend 321-322). One study found that up to one-third of depressed older veterans did not regularly fill their antidepressant medication during course of treatment for reasons such as side effects, cognitive impairment, and beliefs that are culturally influenced (“Major Depression Fact Sheet” 2). Tracy Souza, a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and counselor stated during an interview that “Veterans/Service Members will be hesitant to explore the medication aspects of treatment for Depression. If they are a Service Member, there will be concerns of repercussions to his/her career and concerns about a waiver process.”

Another very common method of treatment for depression in veterans is counseling. There are two different types of counseling used-group and individual. A veteran may choose group or individual counseling for one reason versus another and may have varied results based on which method chosen. When engaged in group therapy, veterans feel that they are able to develop and enhance their coping skills by working together towards a common outcome. Veterans may use local Vet Centers for group counseling, as there is a bond among soldiers as they share an understanding that civilians cannot relate to. In regards to counseling, during an interview with Tracy Souza, LCSW, she stated that: “Depression treatment is similar with Civilians and Veterans. I think the difference is the terminology used, such as coping skills versus strategies.

Using terms that are strength based reduces stigmas in veterans. Veterans are focused and want results. When a veteran seeks counseling, he/she is ready to make a change. When a civilian seeks support, they may not know where they are in the changing process. Some civilians like to be nurtured throughout the treatment. Most veterans would prefer solution focused homework that is concrete and results that can be measured.”

Individual therapy enables veteran privacy and they are able to learn many coping skills from the counselor. However, “the feeling of being unlike non–veterans—in terms of the experiences with combat and loss—can hamper individual treatment” (“Major Depression Fact Sheet” 2).

Cognitive behavioral therapy is a form of individual psychotherapy commonly used to teach the individual to control abnormal thought processes that are considered a factor in the development and persistence of mood disorders. The results of some studies show that in

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some cases cognitive therapy may be equally or even more effective than antidepressants, but it is commonly used in conjunction with medications and other therapies for the best results (Townsend 320). There are several parts to cognitive behavioral therapy, including exposure therapy, cognitive restructuring, and stress inoculation training (“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)”). A CBT study printed in Reuters Health showed some statistics on a group of 764 veterans, ages 18-64, who enrolled as part of a CBT training program. The study showed that 63 percent of the veterans who enrolled, completed 10 or more CBT sessions and 5 percent finished early due to symptom relief. This showed significant outcomes and improvement in quality of life (Douglas).

“Cognitive Behavioral Therapy is beneficial, along with the homework that is assigned. There are other types of therapies, such as Interpersonal Therapy and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy with mindfulness techniques” (Souza).

Other less commonly used treatment methods that may be used for some veterans are electroconvulsive therapy and trans-cranial magnetic stimulation. Lifestyle changes, herbal remedies, exercise, and diet, may be beneficial in addition to cognitive behavioral therapy, counseling, and medications (Harms et al).

Persistent depression raises concerns about the probability of recovery from depression and the ability of the veteran to continue serving in the military. The outcomes of depression in veterans can be improved through different means such as education for the veteran and their family, improved training for the civilian and military mental health providers, and increased research, resources, and public awareness. Providing training to mental health and primary care providers about the military culture, the process to get a waiver for a mental illness diagnosis, and the process of attaining a medical discharge is essential. There needs to be more emphasis on education for the veteran and their family to recognize the early symptoms of depression and to learn ways to manage it. Better access to timely, consistent, and affordable treatment, having adequate support groups, and increasing the number of providers who accept Tricare insurance, will enable more veterans to seek help (Souza). There are many research studies being conducted on depression. This will help to increase public awareness to recognize the common depression symptoms, know how to guide a veteran to appropriate treatment, and to create more resources available for veterans. If we are unable to increase awareness, resources, and depression treatments, we may continue to see rising rates of depression and suicide in our military veterans.

Depression has been a major mental health issue for combat veterans, but there was not enough research to understand the causes and effect of depression in years past. This has led to misdiagnoses, as well as a lack of awareness and access to necessary treatments. Over the recent years, the causes of depression in veterans are more clearly understood and newer treatment methods have been researched and improved. Unfortunately, the frequency of deployments in recent times of war has led to increasing rates of depression and decreased quality of life. For some veterans, suicide becomes the only option. Our veterans are a crucial part of our national military defense. It should be a national priority that we provide adequate access to care, increased funding for research and treatments, education to families and veterans, and improvements in the training of those who are closely associated with their care. This will enable our military to improve and maintain the mental health of veterans with depression and allow these brave veterans to continue their military career.

What I Learned:

After researching depression in military veterans, I have learned that there are several factors and causes for depression specific to a veteran. Research showed rising depression statistics in combat veterans. It also details how depression affects a veteran and his/her family, and the successes of the various utilized treatments. There are many different and newly developing treatment options available to veterans that I have found while studying this topic. As I inquired about the causes and treatments of depression in combat veterans, I realized that there

49 Critical Writing

needs to be more research done to improve outcomes in veterans like myself. We as a society need to raise awareness about the issue of depression as it is a leading factor of the rising rates of suicide in the military. Choosing this topic to explore depression has empowered me to use the knowledge I have learned to improve my quality of life. The biggest thing I can do with the information I gained from this project is to assist my fellow veterans who are battling depression. This could ultimately save the life of a veteran who may be contemplating suicide.

Abstract:

From September 11, 2001 to the present day, the United States has been in a constant state of conflict around the world fighting a Global War on Terror. The military has been experiencing higher rates of depression and suicide in veterans returning from these conflicts. This is inhibiting the quality of life and outcomes of some veterans. The purpose of this research paper is to discuss depression in our combat veterans and explore the causative factors that contribute to their risk of developing it, in relation to these events. The statistics are alarming when comparing depression in veterans versus civilians. The author of this paper is hoping to educate the reader, through this research, about the signs of depression in veterans and how best to guide them in their recoveries. The primary goal of the author, is for the reader to understand how depression affects the veteran and his/her family and to learn the latest treatment methods and services available, that can be used to improve a veteran’s quality of life and outcomes.

Bibliography Armed Forces Health Surveillance Center. “Mental Health Issue.” Medial Surveillance Monthly Report 20.7 (2013): 1-28. Print.

Booth-Kewley, Stephanie, et al. “Predictors of Psychiatric Disorders in Combat Veterans.” BMC Psychiatry. Biomed Central, 7 May 2013. Web. 7 Nov. 2014. <http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-244X/13/130>.

“Depression.” Oxfordictionaries.com. Oxford University Press, 1 Jan. 2014. Web. 7 Nov. 2014. <http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/english/ depression>.

Douglas, David. “Cognitive Behavioral Therapy Tied to Depression Improvement.”

Medscape.com. Web MD, 27 Nov. 2013. Web. 7 Nov. 2014. <http://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/815136>.

Gardner, Amanda. “Depression, PTSD Plague Many Iraq Vets.” Health.com. Cable News Network, 7 June 2010. Web. 7 Nov. 2014. <http://www.cnn.com/2010/ HEALTH/06/07/iraq.vets.ptsd/index.html>.

Harms, Roger W., et al., eds. “Depression (Major Depressive Disorder).”

Mayoclinic.org. Mayo Clinic, 21 Feb. 2014. Web. 7 Nov. 2014. <http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/depression/basics/definition/ con-20032977>.

Kerr, Michael. “Depression and the Military.” Healthline.com. Healthline Networks, 29 Mar. 2012. Web. 7 Nov. 2014. <http://www.healthline.com/ health/depression/military-service#2>.

“Major Depression Fact Sheet.” NAMI.org. National Alliance on Mental Health, 1 Apr. 2013. Web. 7 Nov. 2014. <http://www.nami.org/ Template.cfm?Section=Depression&Template=/ContentManagement/

ContentDisplay.cfm&ContentID=88939>.

“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).” National Institute of Mental Health.

National Institutes of Health, n.d. Web. 7 Nov. 2014. <http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/ index.shtml>.

Souza, Tracy LCSW. Director, 101 ARW Psychological Health Program. Personal Interview. 16 Oct. 2014 Substance Abuse & Mental Health Services Administration. Department of Health and Human Services. The National Survey on Drug Use and Health Report.

N.p.: Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA), 2008. Print.

Sue, David, Derald Sue, and Stanley Sue. Understanding Abnormal Behavior.

Boston: Houghton, 1994. Print.

Tanielian, Terri, and Lisa H. Jaycox. “Barriers to Care among Those with a Possible Need for Services.” Table. Invisible Wounds of War Publications and Testimonies. Rand, 1 Jan. 2008. Web. 22 Nov. 2014. <http://www.rand.org/multi/military/veterans/publications.html>.

Townsend, Mary. Essentials of Psychiatric Mental Health Nursing. Philadelphia: F.A. Davis, 2005. Print.

Rodriguez, Stephanie, et al. “Impact of Stigma on Veteran Treatment Seeking for Depression.” American Journal of Psychiatric Rehabilitation. 2nd ed. Vol. 17. N.p.: Rutlidge, 2014. 128-46. Print.

Steven Santerre ENG 112 01

Historical Rivalries and Cultural References in The Cask of Amontillado

Edgar Allan Poe is well known for the mystery and horror genre and The Cask of Amontillado is no exception. What sets this story apart from the majority of Poe’s other works is that it’s primarily a story of revenge. Montresor apparently suffered a level of insult by Fortunato, expressed in the beginning of the story, “The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge” (218). These thousand injuries are a key element to the story, and very well connected to the real life culture and an event of Poe’s life.

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In this one-sided story, Montresor revealed to an unnamed listener about the murder he committed fifty years ago. This story seems to be a reflection of a rivalry between American Authors Edgar Allan Poe and Thomas Dunn English. In English’s book 1844, or, The Power of the S.F., he included a character named Marmaduke Hammerhead who was the famous author of the fictional story The Black Crow and used words like “nevermore.” Poe saw this as an insult and seems to be the historical inspiration for the story.

Culturally, Montresor seems to imply “Count of Montresor,” meaning that the main character is a French count. It’s expressed that he has servants, “There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in honor of the time” (219), and much of the story takes place in the catacombs of his family. Furthermore, Montresor’s family coat of arms depicts a foot crushing a serpent with a Latin phrase meaning, “No one insults me with impunity” (220). This simultaneously solidifies Montresor’s family as an established family and continues to demonstrate the key phrase “insult” that this story is built on.

Fortunato, is actually an Italian word for lucky or fortunate. This is a hint that Fortunato’s family was not wealthy in the past and that he has quickly climbed the social ladder in more recent times. Further hinting is done through dialog, “My Fortunato, you are luckily met.

How remarkably well you are looking to-day” (219). He is described as wearing a Jester’s outfit and being a drunkard. The insult that Montresor is inflicted by is Fortunato’s rise to power, and his existence as an equal is not something the proud Montresor can agree with.

Montresor looking down upon Fortunato is similar to Edgar Allan Poe looking down on Thomas Dunn English. Poe looked for revenge against the insult that English published in his novel, and did so with a threat through this short story. Montresor hatches a simple plan to murder Fortunato, using Amontillado to lure him into a trap, and through dialog Poe shows that he thinks English is full of himself while looking down on others, “Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry” (219). Poe also seems to be implying English is a gullible fool who is easy to manipulate when Montresor is repeatedly telling Fortunato to not go because of his cold, to which Fortunato replies, “Let’s go nevertheless, the cold is merely nothing” (219).

Fortunato’s love of wine has the better of him and he is unable to see the trickery in Montresor’s guidance in the descending of his family catacombs. Poe seems to be showing the two characters are both connoisseurs of wine, but Fortunato is clearly more of an alcoholic who takes himself too seriously.

1844, or, The Power of the S.F. was a novel about secret societies, and within The Cask of Amontillado Poe has written in reference to this. Fortunato expressed a celebratory gesture with his flagon, “He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand” (221). Montresor was not a member of the secret society, the Freemasons, but swore to Fortunato that he was. This is a parallel to English’s novel of secret societies and revenge, representing showing Poe’s reference to the event of English and Poe’s friendship failing.

Poe also describes Fortunato as wearing a jester’s outfit for the festival, complete with bells and a silly hat. After Montresor has lured Fortunato into the chains and started to wall him up, there is a jingling of the chains from inside, but as Montresor gets closer to finishing it, it becomes the ringing of the bells on Fortunato’s hat that Montresor hears, filling him with satisfaction, so much so that he “ceased [his] labor and sat upon the bones” (222) listening to the ringing bells. In this time, it was a common fear to be buried alive. It grew custom for tombs to feature strings and bells to help make noise outside the tomb so that people could come to allow the person out of the tomb. This the horror in Poe’s story, that Montresor can hear the bells ringing, but he is getting satisfaction out of it instead of fear. Poe is threatening English with the common fear of being buried alive.

The fallout between Edgar Allan Poe and Thomas Dunn English is an important event that happened between two famous authors, and these stories of revenge between the two of them are clear parallels to this real life event. It seem that Poe and English both thought low of each other and were both proud of their work. It’s important to study this rivalry because it helps us better understand their culture at the time of writing these stories like The Cask of Amontillado and 1844, of, The Power of the S.F. We can see into the past, understand lives that are now gone, and reason that good literature sometimes needs aggressive inspiration.

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Illustration

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Minecraft Monopoly Game Board

As a final design project for the class DGD220 Illustration, the above Minecraft Monopoly Game Board utilized a majority of skills taught thought out the semester. It was a pleasure to create, though difficult, because I was able work with my 11 year old son during the research stage. He is the experienced game player, not I.

Edner Mae Fago

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Edner Mae Fago

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Artist Monopoly

As an artist, I thought it would be fun to try Artist Monopoly.

I used my own art as a background, Famous art and artists in the cards, and created other drawings and elements with Illustrator.

Carol Kutz 55 Illustration

Darth Vader Face

I made this in Paint Tool SAI for my dadâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s birthday.

Samantha Higgins

Bottle and Stars

I made the bottle and the stars in Adobe Illustrator after an assignment of making a 3D bottle

Samantha Higgins

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Experimental Writing

Film Review 1 Francesca Havre The Roman Empire: Fall of Roman Empire, wow. Ok so, Rome, nobody likes Rome who cares about the alphabet, nobody likes it- really. So Fall of the Roman Empire, great flic. Everyone thinks they know a few things about Rome but for the purposes of this review, lets go over a few things. Now I’m going to admit, I’m going to have to follow a guideline written by my college for this -here we go.

So there are the Romans which are the Spartans, and the…? I have notes! I have notes, hold on… Athenians! There is Egypt. And that movie with Elizabeth Taylor… that has nothing to do with this. -Mesopotamians, Macedonia, Greece, Mycenaean, Peloponnesians…? Ok here, I‘ve got “My notes,” -jeeze why didn’t I just read these?!

These are great we’ve got Mesopotamians, -What’s the Persians?! Athenians-Sparta wars, “Persians,” ‘Persian Wars”…? Gangus Khan -the coolest Khan of them all! (except for the Star Trek Khan.) What are the Persians? I’m confused.

So, what I think this says is, there are the Persian Wars -Athens and Sparta, two really cool cultures, Sparta has great fighting and women’s rights -way back when, and Athens, where they had education, wealth, and democracy governing their people so they did have peace, Sparta fights Athens. Athens wins because Spartans became stagnant, spending too little time conquering, and too much time subduing their slaves. Who they were terrified of apparently, the big bullies. So that’s Greece, Athens conquers Sparta and uses their navy ships to trade after the wars- no!

Ok I’m going with the school reading. This is so nice. She wrote it all out for us and I didn’t even use it. Ooo fun! I am a really bad college student apparently. (I’m going to get back to the movie here, bare with me.) Athens was eastern Greece [Peloponnesus, Isle of Greece] they had ships with one unidirectional sail, “the best wall of defense are the walls of our ships.” Power came from the rowers unlike the Chinese who had multidirectional sails -and they were the first and you should that because that is cool. Oh no- no Chinese, what am I doing? Sparta was Western Greece [I love history! History is so cool! Rome was great -what was I thinking?!]

Spartans were warriors as I said and that’s great. I would be a Spartan, but I’m a women so -obviously.

By the way -Spartans won the Sparta-Athens wars, but Athenians ruled Greece afterwards because they had better relationships by with other countries, (the ships.)

Rome, was the result of the Persian Wars. The Persian Wars, were between the isles of Greece and partly the mainland, and Persia -a different thing -not Greece, (“Greece” is Sparta, Athens. -Or! -or or or, MACEDONIA!) Battles like Thermopylae (ooo we all know that word! I like that word I’ve always loved that word!) -the Persian Wars, were fought between Mesopotamia and the rest of Europe. Alexander the Great and his father Phillip, united Athens and Sparta and marched all over Europe with the exception of India and China (-and then Gangus Khan the CHINESE/Indian guy with the bloodiness and the horse went through Rome eventually and BOOM done Rome!

Ha ha I knew you weren’t cool. Yay China.)

So now there’s ROME which stretches across some of Egypt, Turkey, Israel, and 58 Experimental Writing

the Middle East. Rome is huge and cool. Alexander The Great just ruins cities if they don’t join him and peace and wealth of the great resources and power make Rome a pretty great place to be -and then….

Here we are, at the movie -finally.

Noooooooo!!! Oh no the handout says Greece and Rome were different places.

Oh my goodness. Really?! I think there were some other movies I was supposed to be perusing, (hey I wonder if that’s from the name Persia?) Alexander the great did unite Greece, however it was not he who conquered Eastern Europe. He expanded from north of Greece, into Isreal, Iran, and Pakistan. Rome took over Europe.

Rome near Tuscany, took over Etruria when Etruscans encountered the Greeks.

Once out from under the Etruscans who’s king had totalitarian control, they prospered and formed a republican “government” to keep it that way. I’m really foggy here on the area of the civilization -my notes only have two maps, I don’t professionally draw maps. But ROME was the one who took over EGYPT France Spain Germany and England. They took over the remainder of Northern Africa by way of a Spanish Carthaginian city where the battle leader had his home, (Carthage= North Africa) the army was left without a leader, while Lady Bug flew the bleep home.* Rome got fat, rich and lazy, their gluttony taking over their better instincts for battle readiness. You never want to lose in a word fight either, but mostly the Romans spent their time torturing their minorities, like most people did in that time. Unfortunately, Rome’s disrespect -or luckily if you’re anything but a white supremacist, lead to their utter destruction by Scots, French, and THE CHINESE [actually Mongolian] HUNS!!!!

(Gangus K-HAN-HUN Yeah! Boom!) *Lady bug Lady bug fly away home, your house in on fire, your children will burn -is a nursery rhyme for very sick depraved children apparently. I know it somehow what’s wrong with my parents?!

The Romans went crazy, after about 1,000yrs the people just went nuts. Their leaders who once took over the world, suddenly were bred into crazy weirdoes, possibly because of lead poisoning. People went way further then torturing the ones they didn’t respect -their leaders all out raped kids and slaves in public. One dressed in drag while trying to get picked up by peasants, and the nicest one converted them to Christianity to finally unite them again. You know why it was rumored he chose Christianity? “He murdered his son and had his wife suffocated in a hot steam bath.”

[Fall of Rome.] -and every other religion flatly refused him forgiveness. Wooooooow Constantine, you make Keanua Rieves look so much less pointless in your movie now. You were a total idiot crazy pants.

The movie, we were talking about at the beginning somewhere, is about The Fall of Rome. Its crazy. Crazy good. You should watch it. post. scripture.

I love school. Whoever invented school was the coolest! I thought I loved moviesif you love movies, you’ll love school it teaches you all about them.

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Timepiece Austin Ludorf The phone rang at midnight. At one in the morning there was crying, and then some more at two. She went back to sleep with a wet pillow at three, and woke up again at four. At five she paced and kept asking questions she would never have the answer to, by six she was blaming herself. At seven in the morning she decided it wasn't her fault, but she ran out of tissues at eight. She came back at nine with more tissues and bourbon, both of which were gone by ten. The police knocked on her door at eleven. They left at twelve, followed by more crying, more phone calls, and more bourbon. She left at one in the afternoon and did not come back until three. At four she decided to stop trying to stop her mascara from running. She stuffed more tissues in her pockets, made sure her black veil was straight, swallowed some more bourbon, and left at five. It was nine in the evening when she lurched back in, her face covered in alcohol and salt. Her house was empty and dry at ten when she went upstairs to the closet and took out the small box. She sat on the couch, squeezing her hand around the rubber grip til it hurt around eleven. At midnight she tasted a metallic tang on her tongue mixing with the bourbon. A single, long, culminating chime rang out while her brains dripped from the wall at exactly one in the morning.

ENG 172 Assignment: Experimental/flash fiction prose piece

Ten ways to show that you love them Asia Wohlfeil 1.) Give your partner an STD. Its the gift they will always remember you for.

2.) Tattoo their name within a heart some where on your body. Nothing says I’ll love you forever like a creepy tattoo after three months of dating.

3.) To show your loved one that you care deeply about their safety, buy a human sized hamster ball. Enforce the rule that they have to be there in all times.

4.) Buy them lots of stuffed animals. Before you give them the stuffed animals though, make sure to put your face on each one so they’ll know you’re always be watching over them.

5.) Want to forever be with your partner? Put some of your DNA in their food so they’ll absorb you into their body system.

6.) To make sure your loved one knows they’re always on your mind, text them every half hour to hour. If they don’t respond within five minutes, call them until they pick up. They could be in danger.

7.) Got a smartphone? Screen shot all of your conversations and make a scrapbook of you two’s sweetest moments via text.

8.) Have crazy wild sex so even the neighbors will know how much you love your partner.

9.) At 3am, throw pebbles at their window. If they don’t wake up, throw a rock to break the window. Once they’re awake and screaming at you, begin to blast an 80’s love song and sing along to it.

10.) Take them out to a spot you two have a lot of memories. Unpack the picnic that you made by hand and star gaze as you two share little sweet memories you’ve shared.

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Non-Fiction

Letter from Birmingham Jail Sean Hadley

ustice cannot be blind while injustice reJpastor mains visible. Martin Luther King, a black and civil rights leader, wrote a letter about the black community’s struggle to end the injustice of segregation, while serving a sentence for protest without a permit in the Birmingham, Alabama, jail. This was in response to a public statement of concern by eight white religious leaders from the south.

These leaders were referring to concerns they had with the nonviolent anti-segregation protests that were occurring in Birmingham in 1963. Martin Luther King posits that justice, which upholds the dignity of the human spirit, should be moral and without delay, while remaining objective, equal to all, and blind to prejudice.

Law and morality cannot be seen as separate pursuits or areas. If, as St. Augustine eloquently stated, “An unjust law is no law at all,” then a just law is a man-made code that must square with the moral law, or the law of God. Martin Luther King puts this in the terms of St. Thomas Aquinas; an unjust law is a human law that is not rooted in eternal and natural law. He believed that man-made segregation laws are unjust laws that are out of harmony with the moral law, separating the law of God from the laws of men. Segregation is separation, and using the words of German American Theologian Paul Tillich, “Separation is sin.”

Silence and inaction in the face of injustice will always delay and deny true justice. Martin Luther King knew that “Justice too long delayed is justice denied.” He also recognized that the use of the word “wait,” which was told to the black community for years, was meant as a tranquilizer, to temporarily give false hope to the segregated, while being used to delay or deny justice by the segregators. He understood the need for action in the fight against segregation. Through experience, he learned that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.

Justice upholds the human spirit while injus-

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tice works against it. Martin Luther King uses the words of the Jewish philosopher Martin Buber when describing segregation as an “Iit” replaced by an “I-thou” relationship, which ends up relegating persons to the status of things. He said that this relationship, which gives the segregator a false sense of superiority while giving the segregated a false sense of inferiority, had distorted the souls and personalities of many in the black community.

He further details how segregation laws have drained many in the black community of a sense of “somebodyness,” while forever fighting a degenerating sense of “nobodyness.”

He briefly summarized that segregation laws, passed by the legislature of Alabama, were unjust, because they were inflicted upon the black community by the elected representatives of the majority, which did not allow the minority, the unhampered right to vote for a representative democracy.

Justice has been interpreted differently by groups who are advocating for fairness in social, economic, and, environmental purposes.

Martin Luther King knew that justice for the black community came from just actions that would bring about the end of segregation. The actions that were taken were not meant to humiliate the majority or make them the minority, but to seek equal treatment as a positive reaction. As justice cannot exist without injustice, then justice can never truly be blind.

Personal Essay Sarah Monahan

the nineteen years I have been on this Ithenearth, there have been many moments from past I’ve desired to recreate. Sometimes, when it’s silent and I am alone, I like to lie still and just play a memory in my mind. My brain seems to do this as though it’s playing a home-movie; I can see every detail, remember every word of the conversation or situation, and hear every background noise. It’s often magical when I reminisce in this way; similar to my own personal, live-action memory book. Once in a while, a memory seems

to nearly leap into my mind of its own accord.

For example, there was this one instance of that a scene unfolded in my mind almost as clearly as if it had occurred the day before. In it, I recalled the day I learned a very important skill and life-lesson- overcoming one’s fear of something is a critical component of a happy existence.

At around the age of ten, I had developed a strange category of phobias, ranging from communicable diseases to an extremely horrific and terrifying creature- squirrels..

The fear of squirrels was so intense that I disdained even to venture outside in the wintertime- I was certain that the squirrels in our humble, densely-wooded neighborhood in Kenduskeag would have the urge to feast upon my young flesh, due to their apparent lack of any other food supply that frigid January. This phobia had grown seemingly overnight, after I had watched a documentary on man-eating squirrels on a popular entertainment channel. These squirrels in the footage were no ordinary creatures, for they attacked and murdered a large man in Russia sometime during the year of 1976. They had been starving to death, and had displayed no sign of hesitation. After I had discovered this awful story, there was no denying it- squirrels were wired to kill. The fact remained to be seen if the little devils in our neighborhood would attempt to maul me to death, but my courage would be put to the test when the time came.

My little sister, Jessica, was a very adventurous child. One day, she got it into her young mind that she needed to venture out in the forest to find the “perfect branch.” Why she needed this branch so desperately has yet to be revealed, all these years later, but at the time, it did not matter. She was determined to find that branch. Like any diligent adventurer, she set forth with nothing but a bottle of water and the clothes on her back. The bright July sun beat down on the dry, dusty earth as she started out into the woods. I, of course, was designated by my mother to keep a close watch for her. However, I had not forgotten about the squirrels, with their gnashing yellow teeth and sharp black claws. Jessica did not care about any of that, and kept on walking.

We traveled through the thick undergrowth for

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what seemed like forever.

Suddenly, she shrieked in delight. There, in the middle of the clearing, was a Maple Tree.

And on that tree, near the very bottom of the trunk, was the “perfect branch.” The leaves swayed gently in the warm breeze, as though it was beckoning us forward. I inhaled sharply as I moved towards it. There, in a branch directly above me, sat a squirrel. A tawny little being with a beady gaze and twitching nose.

Jessica motioned to it, but her attention was quickly brought back to her ideal stick located in the exact place I had no interest approaching. Her deep blue eyes pierced my very soul as she pleaded silently for me to reach the branch she so desperately desired. Like any big sister, I mustered my strength and ran for the tree. The squirrel watched me the whole time. I could have sworn it was a ninja waiting to spring on me. The thought of deadly squirrels hit me like a brick, but I didn’t care. The stick was in sight, and I was going to get it for my sister. I felt the rough bark graze my fingers as I gave a quick yank. The stick came off the tree in a flash. Jessica squealed with glee as I sprinted back to her side, stick in hand. She hugged me, and thanked me with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen. I looked back at the tree in the clearing one last time, where I could have sworn I saw that squirrel wave at me evilly.

In the end, the best way to assist the ones we love and be a good example to others is to conquer our fears. I shall be the first to admit that my irrational phobia of these critters was strange, if not hilarious. But even so, I felt like a hero that day as I watched the joy on my sister’s face. If overcoming my fear can create such a light in someone’s life, why not do it more often? Humans all too often let fear be the guide in their life, not motivation and bravery. Fear is the force that holds us back, and makes us forget who we can truly become. I learned that day that a little animal with a furry tail can’t control me. The love I had for my sister, and the desire to be a good example and role-model was the force that did. One can overcome anything they encounter- even a little squirrel.

Personal Essay II Zachary Neptune

all have had our own individual life exWeperiences and learned invaluable les-

sons from them, and everyone has tremendous amounts of influence on others while the same is true for the converse. Although, I do believe that the individual is the only true learner of these lessons. I will discuss one of the most important life lessons that I have learned and continue to cherish and apply to my life to this day. The days of my childhood, as a young observer, was when I learned one of these lessons. One of the most important lessons that I have learned in my life, I feel, is to value every relationship and cherish the memories and moments with the people that I hold close.

This came to me as a young child, firstly when I was informed of my cousins passing. I was at school, playing lacrosse with my classmates on our playground on a cool, overcast afternoon. I was running around, playing with my friends and having a blast, when I noticed a member of the faculty walking down the path to where we were playing. She pulled my teacher aside and talked with her for a moment. My teacher then pulled me aside and told me that I was to go to the office. I had no idea what for, I was scared that I was in trouble. The thought of something terrible happening hadn’t even crossed my mind. I sat down in the principals office, and I realized that she hadn’t bothered to flick on the lightswitch. She began telling me that I was not in trouble, and told me that, in fact, something terrible had happened. My cousin, Lindsey, was killed in a car accident with her significant other. They were backing out of his driveway when a cement truck came flying around the corner and collided with their vehicle. My principal, of course, did not elaborate on such details at this time. I remember feeling shocked and unsettled. She inquired if I felt I should go home, and I declined. I returned to the lacrosse field. I remember sprinting, lacrosse

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stick in hand, running as fast as my little legs can take me, thinking to myself how much I just needed to score one goal. I just needed to score a single goal for her, that would have meant I did her justice, in some strange, childhood sort of way. With the still-fresh information of Lindsey’s passing racking through my fragile, young little mind, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride and commitment to uphold my loyalty, and show my love to my family.

Upon having this epiphany at such a young age, I now hold everyone I meet and interact with with care and compassion. Somewhere between fortunately and unfortunately, I have been close with death and it has taught me a great many things. I won’t go into any grisly details, but with my very first girlfriend’s passing, my cousin, my great-grandmother, and my grandfather all passing within the span of the last ten years, I can proudly say that I live my life in happiness, not woe or grief, to honor them and their memory. The friends and family that surround me are the people that I hold closest to my heart, of course. But every single person that I see throughout every single day is another human being who is loved and cared for, who loves and cares for many other people, with hopes and dreams of accomplishing something with their lives. The mere inkling of a thought that no matter what happens, every single person is going to die brings me a feeling of not fear, or anxiety, but hope. I hope that everyone can realize this, and with this realization, they can choose to better their lives and, ultimately, better the lives of everyone around them.

With this level of awareness and realization, I choose to lead the life I live with honesty and careful consideration. In every interaction, whether it be with my significant other, or some random customer that I serve at my work and will never see again, I always attempt to be positive and show compassion. For it is just that, the strong possibility that I will never see that person’s face again. Although, I do believe that the people I meet every day will remember the good deeds they receive, and the individual who provided them. These sorts of things that I have learned are merely the tip of the iceberg, so to speak, in relation to how much knowledge I have gained while en-

during hardships or championing accomplishments. Not even exactly accomplishments, more so bountiful gains of knowledge of positive influence on others. A solid example of this: I work at Dunkin’ Donuts as the assistant manager. I wake up at the crack of dawn, drag myself out of bed, and my wonderful, amazing, and spectacular girlfriend so graciously drives me to work. While I am there, of course, I have to maintain a shining example of positivity, because I know that every single person I greet is also miserably awake before the sun even rises and would much rather be sleeping in their bed. My influence on them could make or break their entire day, coworkers and customers alike. So, I always try my hardest to be a positive influence, anyone I meet could be having the worst day of their lives and could just need that one person not to to snap at them or shrug them off.

It is with this proud realization, that I continue to live my life with care and kindness. For most people are not aware of the sort of impact they have on others, and what sort of impression they leave when they are gone. And once I am gone, I can only hope that I will be remembered as a good man. I hope that people will celebrate my life, rather than mourn over my death.

Personal Essay Blake Johnson

he world isn’t small or simple—it’s bloated, T large in scope and inhabited by billions of souls who, on a daily basis, love, hate, live

and die. But in a dim room lit by a small lamp and the eye-searing glow of my laptop screen, I sat unaware of the wideness of everything, eyes transfixed on the whiteness of the word processor. My seventeen year old existence only consisted of me, myself, and a few armloads of baggage from the past year.

My fingers danced across the cheap plastic keys: the break-up, the move, the pastor’s guttural admonishments—if I could not face

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these things in reality, then I would bury them under pages of prose. And each time I pounded the enter key and began a new paragraph it felt as if a nail had been hammered into the coffin where my burdens of the past rested.

Each story was fictitious, fantastical, and shunned the world as it was—but the conflict, the struggle: that was real. And at the end of each of these tales the conflict was resolved.

The ending was neatly packaged and the darkness had been driven to a place where it could not touch me. I reveled in this unreal catharsis and gained real strength.

But old haunts never stay empty for long— they hit the housing market hard and fast, and are usually occupied within the week by something worse than its previous tenants.

Though I could not see the cancer inside her, I watched it—watched it slowly gnaw at her body, leaving nothing but frailty, disillusionment, and the pale smell of musk and death wrapped in satin sheets. The inexplicable emotions I felt at her passing shriveled me up like one of my grandmothers dying plants, unattended due to her absence. So I led the grief into the dimly lit room and introduced it to the word processor.

But, in a strange way, death opened my eyes.

Suddenly my world had grown. I spent a lot of time treating life as a production in which I was the star—how would our brooding hero overcome this week’s challenges? Look at how he navigates the pressures of the twenty-first century! But after witnessing first-hand the effects of the loss of a loved one, I began to see that the struggles I often brought to the dimly lit room weren’t unique to me. Death, perhaps man’s greatest antagonist, is a stone dropped in calm waters. The spontaneous tears of my mother, the lost look in my cousin’s eye; the ripples touched everyone in the family.

Time passed: a month, a year. The cheap plastic keys, the harsh glare of the word processor, and the dimly lit room have become constant companions. I still bring many of my own struggles to this sanctuary. But after seeing the largeness of the world and having been introduced to the pain of others, only exorcising personal demons wasn’t enough. I see people in the trenches: fighting, clawing, laughing, living. I want to capture concepts

and struggles we deal with in all of its slimy pathos and chilling ecstasy. Perhaps through writing, I can guide people toward the catharsis which I found in the dimly lit room. At the very least, I would like to provide them not only a reprieve from reality, but a safe place to face it in. In order to do this, I need tools and instruction on how to better myself as a writer. That’s why I am in creative non-fiction this semester.

In with the tides, out with the toes.

Joanna Robidoux

erhaps one of the most important lessons P I’ve learned in my life that I still apply to every living moment, is that it is important not to get destination fever because the journey to obtaining goals has much to teach us, and enjoying the ride is just as important as arriving at your destination. This realization, though I had heard much ideology before the full understanding, never fully connected until I experienced it firsthand.

It was a hot a summer’s day in Trenton Maine.

The sun was high in the sky as it beat down relentlessly on Oak Point, a small peninsula off the inland of Mount Dessert Island. The breeze off the ocean was cooling, and brisk, as it balanced the heat of high noon, bringing with it with the scent of salty, calm sea. This day, like most days during my summer break, was dedicated solely to keeping me from going completely insane. I had just recently picked up running as a new pastime. It kept me busy, while exerting my energy, and was a good way to just plain-old get out of the house. Over the passing weeks I had begun setting goals for myself, attempting to run further every day. Eventually by summers end I had hopes to complete the three mile loop that covers the small peninsula on which I lived.

At the time, however, I was experiencing a plateau of sorts, a block, if you will. A physical manifestation of writers block had set up shop in my occipital lobe and was metastasizing its paralyzing toxins into my parasympathetic

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nervous system, ultimately causing my drop in motivation to complete my goals. I was failing myself, physically, emotionally, and most of all mentally. You see on several occasions before this day I had attempted to complete the half way milestone I had set for myself.

Appropriately 1.5 miles into the point, marking the end of the 1.5 miles was a seemingly giant hill, which I intended finishing full sprint.

Each time I attempted the run I fell shy, failing to complete the milestone. I would constantly make excuses in order not to finish. These we my main three; I would convince myself half way through my run that simply because I was tired and that there was no need to finish, or that I better not push myself to hard because if I were to drop half dead to ground surely wild animals would find me long before any person would, or try hard the whole way only to meet the bottom of the hill and the geeky, chubby,14 year old, me would arise from the deepest, repressed, corner of my conscious being and scream at me to stop. In other terms I was, “Psyching myself out,” both literally and figuratively digging my heals into the dirt. I began to think that I would never finish my 3 mile goal, let alone this half way mark.

This day was different though, I awoke with sense of ease, and felt little anxiety to meet my pending goal. Leading up to this day I had been in habit of taking time to prepare for my run, charging the my mp3, searching for my favorite running shorts, locating matching socks, and various household chores before embarking. I had developed a ritual of sorts making sure to complete my run just before the night sky consumed the Oak point. But on that day, when I awoke I found that most everything that usually consumed my daily schedule was done. My sister charged my MP3, the most time consuming of all tasks, my socks were already matching, as I had taken the liberty to match them the day before, and there was no need for house work.

I was good to go. So I laced up my old mud stained trainers, tied back my hair, plugged ears into the head phones and off I went.

Mid-day, the sun was shining, the pine trees casting their shadows, providing me with shade. I ran steadily keeping solid pace, chest up, tummy straight, feeling excited about get-

ting out so early for my run. I continued into the point, turning a sharp left off of Nutting Lane, on to Old Oak Point Road, now running parallel to the ocean shore. The tide was coming in, I took my head phones off for a moment to listen to the wave’s crash against the rocky shore, beautiful. Then I heard myself breathing deeply, I felt my lungs begging to ache.

Then I began to study not the ocean beside me but the road ahead of me. I was so excited to be running I hadn’t even noticed how far I had come, I was almost to the start of the hill that marked my pending mile stone. For a moment I almost freaked, the 14 year old chubby girl began to bubble up inside me, I felt her grip. Instead of stopping, I took a deep breath of ocean air, I put everything out of my mind, and truly experienced the moment, and for the first time separated my anxiety and pain, and let my body go. I could feel myself moving of course, but it was somehow miraculously different, it was almost as if I was gliding across the dirt road. Around me, I could see the great pines stretching, striving sky ward, and hear the ocean swishing and swelling against the rocks. Nature was my symphony, the sea a metronome for my breathing, in with tide out with toe. My legs carried my faster as the hill began to incline. In with tide, out with toe. I was almost to the top of the hill when body and mind came crashing back together at light speed. I yelled, dripping with sweat I pushed feeling every ounce of pain, I pushed again for one last sprint, left leg in front of right leg, and there I was at the top of hill, 1.5 miles, right where I was supposed to be.

I kept running slowing down easily, I felt the exhaustion setting in. I reached the bottom of hill, where I eventually slowed to a walking pace. I turn back looking at hill. Immediately she was somehow smaller, it was if somehow my defeat tamed her great height and extinguished all intimidation the hill had once held over me. I never once stopped my walking pace on my venture back to my house. On the walk home I contemplated my defeat, the rays of the sun immersed me as the ocean breath chilled my body, basking in my glory, I relinquished a weight off my shoulders that afternoon that had been carrying with me through my adolescences years for far too long. I felt my block begin to shrink into remission, and

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the paralyzing toxin that had once consumed my mind and body fade away and I arrived back at my house long before the dusk.

The rest of that summer brought with it much success as I did complete the 3 mile goal I had set for myself. Those three miles taught me many things that summer, most of which I incorporate into my life today. But that day, when I defeated the halfway milestone of my journey, I learned perhaps the most useful lesson. Not only that struggle is essential to success, but that enjoying the journey and taking lessons from it is just as important as completing said journey. If I hadn’t found it in myself to let go of my anxiety and just be I would have never completed the three miles. As I grow older I realize just how important this lesson was, whether it be stress with school, or work, I have had to relinquish stresses and anxiety many times throughout my life. I know that it without that lesson I learned on the hill that hot summer day, I wouldn’t be as good of a person as I am today.