Remus 2013 by Remus LitJournal

Remus VolumeVII 2

Remus

Volume VII Spring 2013 Editorial Supervisor Lisa Colletta Student Editors Adrian Petrilli & Rory Westerman Layout & Design Caely Rose Hibbits & Ayse Zeynep Ozbay Remus Publications Department of Communication and English The American Univesity of Rome Via Pietro Roselli, 4, Rome, Italy, 00153 Email: remuslitjournal@gmail.com https://aurcom.wordpress.com/remus-literary-journal/ Cover Design Caely Rose Hibbits & Ayse Zeynep Ozbay Remus thanks the AUR Student Government and The AUR Department of Communication and English ÂŠ 2013 Remus Publications.

In This Issue Poetry

Collective Poem If Only Google Could Make the Rain Stop Kaleidoscope The Procrastinator Madiba Untitled Lost Code

8 10 13 14 16 17 20 22

AUR Creative Writing Course 2012 Caely Rose Hibbits Zoe Pedulla Randi Rowe Jade Cass Jade Cass Matt Pudnos Kristen Hook

28 32 34 36 40 44 46

Rory Westerman Olga Carries Randi Rowe Federica de Giorgi Joshua Gehret David Samulski Lee Henderson

Fiction Excerpts from Cry of the Seasons Lost Love The Old House Surreal Agent Tip #1 Just One Dance 8th Grade Dance

Screenplay Why Canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t We All Get Along 50 Daniel Yeatman

Artwork Basta Untitled Untitled Untitled Eternal Humanity Metamorphosis Postcard Perfect Untitled The Imposter Cardboard Men

7 9 13 19 21 27 33 39 49 77

Veronica Crociani Quinton Farina Alexis Bishop Wayne Abbruscato Kiana Nakagawa Caely Rose Hibbits Adrian Petrilli Melanie Pisano Adrian Petrilli Ayse Zeynep Ozbay 4

Poetry

Basta

Veronica Crociani

Collective Object/Nonsense Poem Creative Writing Course 2012

I feel lost without them, unable to see, And if I lose them, oh woe is me. Elevators, escalators, something that moves, Anything is better than climbing in shoes. By the time I look at the empty frame, I believe it’s insane. Unconventionally rhyming, No set of beats or timing. Watch out for the push-ups, What you see is a lie. My watch’s hands move ever so slightly out of time, Falling behind the seconds that pass by. How is it that we, so stuffed with pasta and fish, Are plagued with every good man’s wish? She wasn’t poor or rich, Yet her clothes missed a stitch. Then you find your iPod under a book on your desk And you just stare at it. Son of a bitch. It would not have bothered me so deeply If I didn’t look at it each morning. Lookin’ for that brain food, No nasty fish, no tofu. The fuzz, like charcoal moss, grows on and on, Masking the mandible since pubescence. You make love to me in winters, When you crave all my warmth. Of course, it’s not just a couch, anymore than the Table is a table.

R 8

Untitled

Quinton Farina

If Only Google Could Make the Rain Stop! In imitation of Jonathan Swift’s “A City Shower” Caely Rose Hibbits

From somewhere not far, the thunderclouds roll. I hop on my scooter-work is my goal; Beating the rain or the rain beating me? I ride past the gypsies, who camp at Termini, Pork chops for supper with green beans, “I’m bored;” Facebook is calling it can’t be ignored. The love lost are weary, the rain pouring down; On the bridge by the Tiber a beggar, a clown. What have I come to? I must pay attention Ann Coulter is tweeting, too ugly to mention. They are fishing in waters so filthy it seemsTheir shelter has toppled it’s washing down stream. Mush in my head but it’s not from the rainPolitical jargon and all things mundane, Will Taylor go wild? Will Grandma bite heads? Will Mario Monti persevere or be dead? Information in pieces, a shot at a time, News casting, media like watching a mime Comes at me like hail in sputters and spurts. There’s Facebook, there’s Twitter, I’m kept on alert. Ride by the chapel, culture galore. Much more important: Mizz Tropicana’s a whore! According to MySpace it’s all obsoleteMove on to blogging, it’s beginning to sleet. The rain’s falling faster my scooter is skidding; Bank fraud, embezzlement you’ve got to be kidding? They learned it on Google, just check it and seeTo suffocate simply, a bargain, a plea. 10

What’s become of society and social mores? So much to follow, so much to say; Technology and social media, far too advanced! Think for myself and leave something to chance? What happened to morals, kindness and grace? Somehow all deleted into the trash basket space. Not so far in the distance the thunder does crash My thoughts try to conjure my teeth start to gnash! I know there’s a brain somewhere tucked deep within; I just haven’t used it when Google’s kingpin. Try to find shelter away from the torrent Whip out my iPhone an answer does warrant. There’s Remus and Romulus they started Rome, But all I can think is “I want to go home.” I click my boots harder than Dorothy did Watching the traffic and Carabinieri skid. Stand in the downpour with ropes in the road, Unsuspecting drivers reaping what’s sowed. Times are a changing I know it is true; For Dylan and Dickinson, they always knew. Far from a library newsprint no more, Reading a subject most have come to abhor. It’s too late to turn back; we can’t give up now; Less thinking involved so this we allow! Google and Yahoo and Twitter and Bing A whole other world where the sleet doesn’t sting. Humanities missing, we don’t give a damn; Times are degrading, the world is a sham. Deep in this city while the rain tumbles down; Nowhere to hide, old ladies slosh to town Mud trampled in, shop keepers close, No need for business, rain does impose. Bangledeshi vendors with umbrellas out front, They’ve made it so easy, one won’t have to hunt. Hurry now, quickly, lets try and stay dry Push to be first so babies won’t cry. Nowhere to move, the sidewalk is crammed 11

Traffic on sidewalks, the roadway is jammed. Scooter light flickers, a doc appears in a hurry Rides on the walkway, he decides with no worry. No time for a red light, on his scooter he hops Up the walk he careens, ignoring all stops. A jumble of wet folks as he zig zags away Around them in circles avoiding the melee. Just then the path clears and out of thin air An old man, a gentleman appears from nowhere! What happens next? A resounding thump Smash, crash, and crunch; a horrible bump. No time to worry just a man’s broken limb. Doc might be late, the outlook is grim. With no other choice the Doc loads his prey An old man, a gentleman he’s a pale shade of grey. The Doc has lost minutes he rides even quicker Sloshing through puddles the roadway becomes slicker. Pulls up to the hospital and deposits his victim Simply he says and pronounces his dictum! It could have been, should have been, scored as a zero But, physicians are Gods so the Doc must be a hero. Yes indeed, we have a moral to this story! If you’ve learned one thing; it’s how to gain glory. Perhaps in the future when traveling in rain, Don’t drive a scooter instead choose the train. It’s simple you see, in these days of Google, Don’t make a move you can’t trust your noodle. R

Untitled

Alexis Bishop

Kaleidoscope Zoe Pedulla Crimson and vermillion streak through the sky at dusk, Dense fuchsia, saffron and jade, deep cerulean Azure, indigo, sapphire. Two eyes watch the colors And murmur their marvelous names to the fading lights. Two lovers sit in each otherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s warmth Watching the colors darken into the velvet depths. The thick scent of grass clings to their noses until A fragile rain descends. R 13

The Procrastinator Randi Rowe

The weekend’s here, It’s time to play, My mom and dad said, “We’ll work all day.” They gave me a job, The day went on, I was feeling ill, And I had a cough. The day went on, And I felt better; I sat right down To write a letter. My dad said “Wait, Did you finish the job?” I said “No,” then Started to sob. I was sad. My friend moved away; So I wanted to call her Sometime today. I ran to the phone, The job can wait; If I don’t call her now, It’ll be too late. 14

I went back to work, But started to eat, I guess the job Can wait till next week. My parents are mad, I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t get it done, They nicknamed me The procrastinate one.

Madiba Jade Cass

A man, a hero, father to a nation A saint, a brother, a global sensation Our leader, our friend, our freedom-giver Our Shepherd, our example, our redeemer You inspired a country. You moved the world Your dream: oppression deterred Equality replaced And differences, celebrated and embraced Such simple, seemingly intrinsic notions of equality Spear-headed by your passion and refusal of atrocity Madiba, my man, Madiba my star So grateful, respectful, joyful we are That your persistence and determination Restored our nation. Now to continue this legacy, A challenge already faltering amid negativity Forgetting the pain of our past Pursuing a future, filled with scars that last. Necessity to alter our direction A necessity that calls for reflection Remembrance of years of injustice Should jolt us into action towards justness 16

We cannot ignore our drifting path from equality. A choice that will increase calamity, A choice that will plunge us back into what was fought against, A choice that will cause distress. A choice that must not be made A choice that we must trade Swap it for one that unifies cultures, classes and creed One that is not concerned with individual greed. R

Untitled Jade Cass

Rest in peace and stay still An innocent killed. No longer here â&#x20AC;&#x201C; taken. The shadows of death engulf family and friends. Time stops. And each breath is an effort Inhale Exhale Weep Wail. Your heart is sliced. Your head throbs. Understanding and comprehension dissipate, They hide in the dark corners of your mind. 17

There is no light. The good memories - murky because of the painful reality You cry because you are thinking the unthinkable Lost Emptiness engulfs. An untimely, unfair, unkind loss You allow your thoughts to travel through relationships Through regret Through love. Stomach-ache from crying, Vision blurred by tears, A pain so powerful It stings. Slowly, purposefully -but without purposeThoughts linger on the shattering realizationThe sensation of emptiness that fills you Relentless grief. Body and blood, Where did you go? Spirit and soul, Why did you leave?

Untitled

Wayne Abbruscato

Lost

Matt Pudnos

It doesn’t have to be important like a passport, Or irreplaceable like a life, but it has to matter Just enough for you to know it’s gone. It begins with small things; It’s probably in my desk—but it’s not. I probably left it on my girlfriend’s nightstand—but I didn’t. You can still function because it’s not like you forgot to turn the stove off. It’s just ‘medium level’ important. But that little lost something continues to buzz around in your head, Like a fly against a window pane. It’s probably not in the pantry, but I can’t say for sure that it’s not!—It’s not in the pantry. Maybe I left it with my keys—but I didn’t. You stop looking because you have things to do today, But you start looking the minute you get home. Before you know it, it’s been two hours and you’re periodically looking up at the ceiling For no logical reason. Goddamnit it has to be in this house. Things get lost behind toilets all the time, right? (It’s not there and I’m losing my goddamned mind.) Your muscles ache and you don’t know why, You’ve given up the hunt, completely incapable of caring anymore. Then you find your iPod under a book on your desk And you just stare at it. Son of a bitch.

R 20

Eternal Humanity Kiana Nakagawa

Code

Kristen Hook

Clear out the inbox. Empty recycling. Erase hard drives. Press delete and delete… We are hiding, you see. We are hiding our ghosts. We are Savonarola, Burned our own amoral art, watched embers drift away, flaming flutters breezed out into a night of scattered ash, of new voids, of new fragmented displacements. Displaced our progeny; our patrimony. I’ve heard it said that things float around out there. Weird things. Strange things. Space dust, space sludge piles of somethings, The thrown-out things that linger in the surreal, cybertime paradigm. Things like sea monkeys. Things like God’s liquid limbs. And so I picture you floating in some sort of laboratory fluid. Electronic elixir, PC-penseive à la Harry Potter, floating in the not-sovisible Not-So-Void, a smoky wisp of cloned soul Coalescing. In limbo, in petri dishes. A cyber crumb of something strong that skips, unconscious, through No Man’s Land: wordy warrior. An unknowing, unthinking mini-mind, mini-Mercury messenger, a 22

robotic vessel offering art prints, door to door, in a heavy accent Depicting foreign, spirit-y landscapes in weird colors. So I think of you there, in the Where?—the Where? you went after the prints were shredded, the invisible synaptic gap in the network nerve endings. In some whirling vortex, like the tornado montage from the Wizard of Oz (a twist-a! a twist-a!) The place the Zuckerbergs of the world congregate to drink coffee and gaze at skyfulls of number-y shooting stars through telescopes—unconnected, impersonal, accessible playthings strung together with lots of 1s and 0s. Unknown stars, unsentimental stars… And it’s surreal to think there’s another Me shooting across that sky, separate from the concrete Her generating these words right now, but embodied and alive in another set of struggling, little, typed-out morphemes. Double motherhood. Some surely space dust by now; more shredded prints, whole class sets. Sliced and scattered in this name; made in its owner’s image. And then there’s the Generator You. The engine of it all, sparking architect (you and your pondering pistons!) The self-machine unseen beyond the screen, while Nero burns down Rome, Rome, Rome—the firewall. And then: a Kismet-ed collision? Klimt-ish kiss? No: pixilated pivot. The error and the eradication, encoding m e s s e d up. The system and the glitch, the glitch. The Big Bang folding in on itself like a soggy, origami paper cup Retrograde cherry blossom budding itself back to obscurity; to dark Reclusion 23

where there is no sound, no stirring. Or maybe not. Maybe they’re swirling around together somewhere—the coding and the coding and the Coding Intertwined. Yours and mine, wordy DNA Coils sifting and drifting side along side. Where they’ll consolidate, mix and brew (double, double) like ingredients in a cauldron, like two adjacent Bodies in the garden graveyard plot to make up for a lost biology.

Fiction

Metamorphosis

Caely Rose Hibbits 27

Excerpts from Cry of the Seasons Oream the Old Mountain Goat Rory Westernman

“Ah you have come to Oream”, a small shriveled mountain-goat appeared from out of no where, and he was completely white except for the extremely long silver beard hanging from his chin. “You know, it is rude to let old Oream wait so long”. “I got here by accident,” The Kid replied. “Accidents happen for a reason”, Oream chuckled, “even thinking about doing something before you do it, you thought about doing it for a reason. That you will follow me now also happens for a reason.” Oream walked off chuckling as he did so. The Kid did not intend to follow but strangely enough followed Oream deeper into the cave anyway. After having walked for over an hour and having had to endure the constant chuckling of the mountain-goat, the Kid was fed up. “Where are you taking me?!” the Kid asked annoyed, “we have been walking for way too long.” The old mountain-goat ignored the outcry and kept walking and chuckling. That angered the Kid even more and forced out a hateful tantrum. Oream ignored this as well and kept to his chuckling as the Kid threw one insult after the other at the old mountain-goat. Oream suddenly stopped and said: “We are here annoyed one.” The Kid looked passed the old mountain-goat and only saw a way out of the cave. “That is what you wanted to show me? The way out?” The Kid asked annoyed. “You walk out and you see reason.” Oream replied. The Kid did as Oream suggested but gave him a scornful look. Once out of the cave, the Kid had to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness of the light from outside but when they had settled a horrible scene lay before. A great land stretched out farther than the eye could see but it was not beautiful, it could have been and once probably was but what the Kid was seeing now left the tongue speechless. Fire upon fire and black on black covered nearly everything. Smoke was rising from defeated trees and 28

those fighting for their lives, as metal scraped wood, let out a scream that ended with a loud thump as countless tree carcasses hit the ground. The Kid could not believe it and turned around to see the Oream with great sadness in his eyes. “Now you talk with Oream,” he said. “You will give me answers.” Oream said. “I don’t have answers”, the Kid replied confused, “only questions.” “No, I question, you answer.” Oream said sternly. “Now, what are you?” “What am I?” The Kid asked utterly confused, “what kind of question is that?” “Simple one.” Oream replied, “So, what are you?” The old mountain-goat sat on his hind legs and remained so staring intently into The Kid’s eyes whose face showed utter confusion. He licked his lips and snorted still waiting for his answer. Utter silence was met with the quiet whisper of a small breeze than turned into a howl any wolf would be proud of as it echoed through the cave. “I am…” the Kid started. “Uhuh… you are…” Oream said in expectation. The Kid could not come up with an answer, however, and Oream sighed as he sagged his head into his shoulders. “Slow brain it would seem.” Oream said chuckling. The Kid took that as a great offense and immediately responded with an answer believing it to be the right one. “A member of Remus’ wolf pack and family to Remus himself.” The Kid said proudly smiling with teeth showing fully as he stood straight with chest protruding. “Wrong!” Oream replied mimicking the Kid’s smile except Oream had barely any teeth to present save for those two very large ones that resembled those of a rabbit. The Kid’s smile quickly disappeared and contempt for the old mountain-goat was steadily growing. “What you are now part of, yes. Not what you are.” Oream explained. “I am The Kid.” The Kid said frustrated. “Wrong! That is what your name is not what you are.” Oream explained again. Out of frustration the Kid threw answer after answer at the old mountain-goat in quick succession but each answer was met with more “Wrongs” and a lot of chuckling and sometimes very lengthy explanations. “A great climber!” The Kid almost shouted. “Wrong! That is skill, yes but not what you are.” Oream explained chuckling as he did. The Kid was finally fed up as it seemed that the old mountain-goat thought this was a fun game but the Kid was not amused. The Kid stood up rashly nearly knocking over Oream and stormed to the edge of the mountain overlooking the devastation that the old mountain-goat showed him earlier. “What are you, what are you?” Oream sang annoyingly at the Kid all the while chuckling. 29

“I DON’T KNOW!” the Kid finally shouted. The words echoed through the cave and seemed to carry across the whole mountain. When silence caught them again Oream finally spoke. “That is best answer given yet and more true.” The old mountain-goat said in all seriousness and without chuckling. “Now Oream will answer for you, follow and he will show you.” The old mountain-goat waddled into another crevice that the Kid had not noticed before. Reluctantly the Kid followed Oream. “What did you tell Oream your name was?” The mountain-goat asked. “The Kid.” He replied. “No, no that is no good.” Oream said thinking. “Nofur, is much better.” “Why Nofur?” The Kid asked slightly annoyed. “Because, No-Fur…” Oream replied jokingly. “Get it? You have No-Fur? Clever is Oream.” The mountain-goat smiled a crooked but happy smile at the Kid who could not help but smile back. Nofur sounded good to him as well, despite the joke behind it. They entered yet another large cave but it was much more lit than the others and a waterfall flowed beautifully through a large oculus in the roof of it. Oream awaited Nofur at the edge of the pool of water gesturing to move in closer. “Look into water.” Oream said nodding. Nofur looked at the water surface but the ripples created by the constant flow of the waterfall made it hard to see anything. “I don’t understand.” Nofur said confused. “Wait and you look.” Oream replied as he lightly tapped his hoof onto the surface of the water. The ripples faded and the surface cleared creating a mirror image of Nofur. What he saw was no wolf, or bear and thankfully no mountain-goat but nor was it anything he had ever seen before. Nofur backed away slightly disturbed. “What am I seeing here? What am I Oream?” Nofur asked somewhat frightened. “Bully.” Oream replied.

Nofur spent the time he got before the battle honing his skills and practicing with his ‘walking stick’. He went over the routine countless times, relishing the fact that it centered and focused his mind. He was so focused that he did not notice he had a small spectator in the room. His weapon had become an extension of his mind and body, and he became an extension of it. He was still puzzled as to what his ‘walking stick’ actually was because its material remained a mystery to him. When he stopped 30

his routine to examine his weapon he suddenly noticed his quiet little spectator sitting in the corner. It was Haas’ daughter. She sat there smiling radiantly at Nofur with hopeful innocent eyes staring at him. Nofur smiled back at her, walked over and kneeled before her. “Hello there.” Nofur said kindly. She just continued to stare at him all the while smiling. “Can’t understand me huh? He asked. She simply nodded. “You can?” he asked again. She nodded again. “You can’t speak yet I see.” He understood. She nodded sideways and then switched her stare to Nofur’s ‘walking stick’. Nofur noticed her interest in his weapon and smiled. “You like this thing huh?” he asked. She nodded smiling brightly. “Well then, we will have to find you one.” Nofur said standing up. He looked around for a twig or stick that could be hers to use. He found the perfect stick wedged into the chamber wall and pulled it out. He walked back to her and handed it over. “Come on, I will show you how it’s done.” She stood up with the biggest smile on her little face and hopped up and down excitedly. Nofur spent some time teaching her the routine and was surprised to know how quickly she picked it up. Before he knew it, she was moving nearly as well as he was. He joined her in the routine, and they moved in sync to one another. Nofur now fully understood what Mother meant when she said that the younglings were the future. Whatever happens they will have to live with whatever is left behind by those before them. R

Lost Love

Olga Carries

He doesn’t know that I’ve been watching him. The large crowd permeates the small space as they scramble to sit on the edge and dare to sink their hands into the cold water. One of the carabinieri obnoxiously blows the shrill whistle as a warning. I can’t tell if the roar is from the continuous water flow or if it’s from the tourists as they look on with excitement at the world’s most beautiful fountain. All they see is the “taming of the waters” and all I see is him. He doesn’t know I see him. He doesn’t know me at all. I’ve kept myself a secret as I learn all there is to know about him. I side step another Bangladeshi as he offers to take my photo that will only cost five euros. I lean against the railing as I watch him look for me. I chuckle to myself as he sighs with frustration. Clearly he’s imagining what I might look like since the letter I had delivered to his office was anonymous. He looks at his watch then runs his fingers through his freshly cut hair. I smile as he fixes it. That is the fifth time he has done that since his arrival. Apparently he is worried about his appearance but he is everything I wish him to be. Many have tried to take his place but I don’t want or need a substitute. I want a love only he can give me, the comfort only his embrace can bring, the peace and safety only his voice promises with every word he speaks. I watch as he unfolds my letter addressed to him and checks the time again. He thinks I’m late, he thinks I’m standing him up but I’ve been here the whole time. The one fear I had was the disappointment I would have felt if he didn’t come. Now it’s the uncertainty about what will happen if he doesn’t want me. What ifs continue to flow through my mind as I watch him walk away from the fountain and up the stairs. I quickly push off from the railing, dash through the maze of people as they enjoy their cups of gelato. My feet aren’t quick enough to match his long strides. I call out to him.

“Dad!”

He stops.

R 32

Postcard Perfect

Adrian Petrilli

The Old House Randi Rowe

Randi hears her cousin yelling at her to come with him and explore the decrepit old house on their grandmother’s farm. It had been built in the 1850’s by a man that had no real experience in construction. It housed her great-grandparents, her grandparents, and then the eight children they had, including her own father, the youngest. During her father’s teens, a fire burns down half the house, but they rebuild and live in it until the 80’s, when all the children had moved out. Her grandparents move across the yard and into the new house, but leave the old one to decay. As the grandchildren grow, it becomes a game between them, sneaking into the house that is supposedly haunted. Randi meets her dad and her cousins, Logan, and his older brother Michael outside the old house. There is only one way in and one way out, the front door. The lure for the two younger ones, Randi and Logan, is the “true” Michigan basement. Right across from the entranceway, rickety and cracked two-by-fours lead the way down into an 8’x10’ hole in the ground. It has dirt walls and floors and is lined by shelves filled with jars that has who-knows-what in them. The poor foundation of the house means that the slightest bit of wind or change in weather makes the house creak and a moaning sound will escape through the lowest floorboards and into the basement. The older cousins make it a test to see who can get all the way to the basement and touch all four walls before the “ghost” would get them, or before they would just get too scared. Randi herself does not believe in ghosts and finds this game of chicken, that has lasted through her twelve older cousins, to be ridiculous, yet still thrilling. No, no ghost will ever get her, but there is still something wrong about the basement that gives them all the chills. It is cold, there is stuff growing out of the walls, and it makes noises! Basements are not supposed to make noises. As they enter the house, her dad and Michael turn to the right; they have no interest in the basement. Randi and Logan go straight and start their descent. They practically race halfway down and then they hear the noises. What makes things 34

worse than being totally engulfed in the darkness is that they are halfway between ground level and being buried under the two broken down antique china cabinets that surround the ledge outlining the hole where the stairs are. They are full of dishes and always seem to be ready to topple over and crush whoever still lingers on the stairs. The house has its own way of telling them to go quick or to not go at all. Four steps to go, now three. They are a foot away from hitting the dirt and then a muffled groan echoes. Logan looks at Randi and he sees in her wide and frightened green eyes that he is about to be betrayed. She turns her back and sprints up the stairs. She shuts the door to the basement behind her, and for extra precaution, she locks it. No one will really miss Logan anyway, he is a troublemaker. She hurries into the main part of the house and finds her dad and Michael crouching over a vent in what used to be the living room. They did not hear her come in, and as she sneaks up behind them, she hears them making noises similar to the ones that had just caused her to retreat. They hear a loud crash and Logan screaming as she witnesses her dad and Michael scurry to their feet, trying to cover up what they were doing. She knows now though, it was all a hoax. Wavering on the stairs, thinking maybe ghosts did exist, her decision was now as firm as ever, there are no such things as ghosts. R

Surreal

Federica de Giorgi

Posters were coming down saying “Surrealism: The Art of Salvador Dali” with a picture of him, wide-eyed, holding a cat. Curious, Camilla walked up the stairs. Since her major was philosophy and art, it was normal that she was attracted to everything regarding the topic. She entered the main hall and walked towards the people behind the long desk. “Hi...how much is the ticket for the exhibition?” she asked. “Are you a student?” “Yes.” “Then it’s four Euros. Can I see your student card please?” The maroon color of the LaSapienza University card was on the top right next to the blockbuster card. She handed it to the man along with the four Euros. “Excuse me, can I also see another document?” he asked. “Is a driver license okay?” “Sure” he said while also nodding with his head. Camilla re-opened her wallet. Trying to find her driving license from the bunch of cards was as challenging as a “007 mission impossible”. Blockbuster...tessera sanitaria...Zara gift card...debit card... The man seemed to lose patience, visibly noticeable from his hand waiting for the card slowly getting floppy on the desk. “Here it is!” Camilla said unconsciously out loud. The man went back up straight and got the driving license from Camilla’s hand. He studied carefully the document then handed it back to her together with the University card and the museum ticket. Camilla shyly smiled to him. “Thanks”. She walked through the glass doors. The large white space was covered by colorful paintings. Camilla stepped forward without knowing where to start her tour, the place was enormous. 36

She remembered when she went there for Stanley Kubrick’s exhibit a few years ago. It wasn’t this big! I don’t even remember there being a second floor... she thought looking at the end of the room, where there were white marble stairs. She started walking unconsciously, going basically nowhere. People around the place where staring at paintings; some even discussing them. Groups of either curious adults or bored students headed by a guide were getting the background and history of the different artists and their paintings. Camilla reached the bottom of the stairs and her eyes focused on the museum directions. The Surrealists artists were on the second floor. Camilla was also curious to see the works of art of the other Surrealists painters such as Miro’ and Magritte, but there was an inexplicable and intense desire to go straight to Dali’s dedicated space in the museum. While walking up the stairs Camilla slowly took off her scarf and coat. Still following the directions, as soon as she reached the top of the stairs she went to the right hallway. At the third room she finally turned left and reached the room. When she walked in she had a weird sensation, as if she was in a “parallel world”. An intense smell of coffee and cigarettes reached her nose. Mamma mia! She thought almost nauseated by its intensiveness. She turned around to see where these where coming from, but no bars where around and of the few people present in the room none was smoking, also because there was a huge sign saying “NO SMOKING”. Overwhelmed she tried to not think about it and she walked toward the very first painting on her left. A curious painting of a gun pointing at a naked lying woman; and that same gun was coming out a tiger’s mouth that, in turn, was coming out from another tiger’s mouth that was coming from a goldfish’s mouth that was coming out from a pomegranate. Sogno causato dal volo di un’ape intorno a una melograna un attimo prima del risveglio the sign next to the painting said. Camilla was perplexed. She kept on reading the few lines below the title. Il quadro rappresenta le sensazioni provocate dall’improvvisa puntura di un’ape mentre l’artista stava dormendo. “Mmmm” Camilla mumbled. She leaned her head on the right still staring at the painting. I didn’t feel this way when a bee stung me... he must have been taking drugs, as every teacher tells you in high school when it comes to study Dali... She walked on to the next painting. A blond well dressed woman was looking at it from a greenish couch. Camilla sat next to her. When she relaxed a little on the couch, the smell of cigarette and coffee was again reaching her nose. She turned her head left and right twice. When she tried to turn again the woman next to her was now looking at her with an air of doubt. Camilla reddened and turned to face at the painting. There wasn’t much to see in this painting. She even felt disturbed by the deformed image of what it seemed to be a lady even if it looked more like a monster. Camilla remembered very well this painting. Premonizioni della guerra civile was the title of this painting. The painting was done at the very break out of the Spanish civil war and Dali’ wanted to depict and show what atrocities the civil war was going to cause. “Beautiful...isn’t 37

it?” the woman asked Camilla without looking at her. Camilla was actually disgusted, especially by the suffering face of the woman, but she didn’t want to disappoint the lady so she limited her answer to a so called ‘white lie’ and she said “Yes”. After few minutes, then, she got up, smiled at the woman and she went on to see another painting. While walking she saw two art students who were seated on the floor with a pencil in their hands and a huge sketchbook on their knees. Camilla skipped a series of paintings, giving them just few glances. No more than that. Camilla now could hear a soft music coming from some scattered speakers. She was still glancing at the paintings on both the left and the right side when she stopped again. A painting just caught her interest. The persistence of Memory was the title of the painting. Camilla was hypnotized. She moved close to it in order to study it better. She tried to analyze the title in relation to the actual painting. Memory...watches... passage of time...No one was around now. No sounds but silence; then a sort of weak sound of waves crashing on the beach started to get stronger. She felt like she was in that parallel world again. Incredibly Camilla again smelled the cigarette smoke in the air. She felt like she was dreaming. She was confused, dizzy. Maybe I’m fainting?! She thought. She sat on the couch just in front of the painting, she closed her eyes, rubbed them, and when she re-opened them she couldn’t believe to what she was seeing. A sense of fear and confusion was growing in Camilla, while her legs were shaking nervously. Then she stopped and tried to focus. She was at the beach; and the fresh, salty sea air filled her lungs, the gentle sound of the waves breaking on the rocks, the warmth of the far away sun, and the romance of the atmosphere calmed her instantly. Now, she was able to use her mind and think. She waited a few minutes, hands on her hips. Then again the smell of cigarette was intense. She tried to ignore it, and she started walking toward what seemed to be a tree. While walking the smell of cigarette was definitely getting more and more intense. “This is frustrating! Where the hell is this smell coming from?!?” she shouted. When Camilla realized that the tree was on a sort of “cubical hill” Camilla gasped but didn’t stop walking, and as soon as she was right at the bottom of it, she was exposed to weird figures and objects. She tried again to rub her eyes thinking she would finally wake up from what it had to be a dream. But nothing. She then gave up and decided to solve this mystery. Maybe these are clues and I have to find a solution to get out of here!! She stepped toward a sort of floppy and pale object with a melted clock on it. She turned around it. “Weird, weird, weird. Okay...what are you? ” She asked it. R

Untitled

Melanie Pisano 39

Agent Tip #1 Joshua Gehret

I’ve shadowed Timmy Crenshaw for five blocks. Right now, he has Nannaw’s cookies in his hand, but he hasn’t eaten them yet. Before the cookies he ate Jake Bergeron’s pudding, and before that he ate Mindy Clark’s M&Ms. He hasn’t seen me, but scum like Timmy Crenshaw wouldn’t be perceptive enough to notice a master of stealth like me. I am, after all, Agent Ninja Turtle. The acronym for that is ANT, which sounds lame, but did you know that some ants can lift ten times their own weight? I’m like that. You do not mess with Mark Davies,.. I mean… the ANT. Agent Tip #9: Never reveal your secret identity. When I’m on assignment, I don’t refer to myself by my real name, because if my enemies find out my true identity then Mommy, Dad, and my hamster Buttons would be in danger. I was in disguise, of course. I couldn’t risk being identified as Mark Davies in case anyone I knew saw me. Mommy never lets me wear sleeveless shirts, because she doesn’t want my shoulders to get sunburned, which is precisely why Timmy Crenshaw would never suspect me since I’m wearing one now. I’m pretty sure no one knows what my shoulders look like, so none of my enemies can identify me. I also wore the red sunglasses I got from Rite-Aid and a blue cap with the monkey from Dora the Explorer on it. I hate it, but Auntie Geraldine says I’m a “cutie-pie” when I wear it, and no one would suspect a cutie-pie of being a secret agent. Someday the civilians will know it was me by my signature colors. Red and blue, just like Superman. Timmy Crenshaw paused by a trashcan to throw out the pudding cup, and then he glanced behind, right at me. I dropped to the ground so fast my sunglasses fell off my face. I pretended to tie my Nikes, keeping my head close to the sidewalk so he couldn’t see my face. Act natural. It was hard since my shoe wasn’t really untied, though. I was convinced he’d heard the sunglasses hit the ground, and undoubtedly he could hear my pounding heart. Had he seen my face? If he had it was over, and I’d lost the cookies I’d made for Nannaw’s birthday forever. I forced myself to stare at the cracked concrete for a bit longer, then glanced up as discreetly as I could manage. 40

Timmy Crenshaw was half-a-block ahead, walking with the same cockiness that he’d had when he grabbed the cookies from my tray at lunch earlier. Good one, ANT. Once I’m more of a pro my nerves will bother me less in the field, but this is only the third time I’ve tailed someone. From now on, I’ll be more careful. Agent Tip #14: Learn from your mistakes. Timmy Crenshaw turned down Mulberry: the location of his hideout. It’s important to know where your enemies’ hideouts are, so when they steal something you know where to look. I tailed him and waited until he’d entered his house—I mean hideout—and then I ambled up the oak tree across the street effortlessly; I’d climbed it dozens of times when I’d done my stake-outs. It was a cookie-cutter house, which was a good strategy because a lesser spy might get his hideout confused with the other look-alikes around it. Timmy Crenshaw’s hideout was in worse condition than the other ones though, which was no doubt reflective of his villainous spirit. The ashy yellow siding was falling off, the lawn was overgrown, and the left first-floor window was shuttered. Why doesn’t Timmy Crenshaw’s dad ever fix the place up? But then, I’d never seen Timmy Crenshaw’s dad. I’d only ever heard his Mommy yelling whenever Timmy Crenshaw got home. I suppose if my Mommy yelled at me a lot, I might be angry all the time too. From my perch I could see the light come on in Timmy Crenshaw’s room, the second window on the top right. It was always hard to see when the light came on because the window was so dirty, but I’d camped here enough days with my binoculars to be able to tell. Now I had to decide how I’d get in. I wondered if Timmy Crenshaw had the cookies with him, or if he’d left them in the refrigerator. Nannaw’s cookies weren’t meant to be kept cold, but I doubt Timmy Crenshaw knew that. I’d spent all day yesterday making those cookies for Nannaw’s 73rd birthday. (Well, Mommy might have helped, but I did all the hard work.) Now, it was the ANT’s job to retrieve them. They were peanut-butter cookies, with white chocolate chips in them. I was supposed to take them to Nannaw’s house after school today, but after Timmy Crenshaw took them, he needed to be paid in full for his atrocious deed. He needs to learn that justice is sweeter than cookies. I stayed at my perch for a little while, still and silent, my pocket binoculars trained on the house. Agent Tip #22: A good Agent doesn’t move from a hiding spot, even when it gets boring. The sun was setting when Timmy Crenshaw’s light went out. I needed to make this quick, because my normal-boy alter-ego isn’t allowed to be out after dark. I could hear, even from across the street, Timmy Crenshaw’s Mommy yelling. Their front door banged open. Timmy Crenshaw and his Mommy walked down the dirt path from their front door to the sidewalk. Timmy Crenshaw’s eyes and face were a little red, and he kept rubbing them with his sleeve. They walked down to their Chevy Celebrity, which had scratched gray paint, a huge trash bag taped over the back passenger-side window, and a Hello-Kitty bumper sticker on the dented back bumper. 41

I heard Timmy tell his Mommy that he was hungry, but his Mommy told him to shut up. They got in the car. The engine started with an unhealthy sputter. I could still hear yelling as they drove away. This was my chance. I’d had plenty of experience scoping out hideouts, but I’d never had to break into anywhere to complete my mission. This was the moment of truth. Nannaw loved those cookies, and her birthday wouldn’t be the same without them. I descended the tree, crossed the street looking both ways, and advanced up the path. I tried the front door handle, but of course it was locked. Even if it was open, I wouldn’t have gone in. Agent Tip #28: Take the back way in, because the front door is always booby-trapped. I slipped around to the backyard. I’d known from previous canvassing of the hideout that there was a screen door in the back, but I had no idea if it would be locked or not. It wasn’t. Somehow, this felt wrong. The hideout was dark. It had the same musty scent that Timmy Crenshaw always smelled like, the floors were dirty, or the shabby maroon curtains. I was in a breakfast nook attached to the kitchen. There was a gaunt tabby cat sitting on the off-white plastic table staring with intense green eyes. This might be Timmy Crenshaw’s minion, and if that was true I had limited time. Still though, I couldn’t hurt the cat. That would be breaking the very first rule of being an Agent: Never allow an innocent to come to harm. I swept over to their fridge, like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. I opened the door, and instead of the light piercing the dark house and a blast of cold air there was nothing. No light. No cold. No food, except for two cans of Campbell’s potato soup. I stared at the soup for a minute, not really comprehending. My mind flashed from the ANT in Timmy Crenshaw’s hideout to Mark Davies in my classmate’s home, a classmate who woke up here, came home to this, and didn’t have Kool-Aid in his fridge like all my other friends. Timmy Crenshaw suddenly seemed less of the type to sit in his hideout and dream up machinations and more of the type to sit in his home and dream of food. There was a soft thump of padded feet hitting the cold floor. I froze, snapped out of my thoughts. I turned slowly, expecting to see Timmy Crenshaw standing behind me pointing the death ray, I’d always suspected he possessed, at my head. Then I exhaled slowly. The tabby had jumped off the table and was sulking along the edge of the wall. A shiver shot through my body like cold lightening. I needed to get out of here. Focus on the mission. Nannaw needs her birthday present. I shut the fridge and ventured further into the hideout. The stairs were by the front door. I glided up them, avoiding a spider web on the way, and found the room with the second window on the right. Dirty Pac-Man sheets were on the bed and a threadbare quilt lay on the floor. The clothes Timmy had worn to school yesterday were hanging in his closet, wrinkly and smelly. My eyes were drawn to the nightstand, from where the perfectly blended scent of chocolate and peanut butter permeated the hazy room. There were three cookies; two less than he had stolen from me. Nannaw loved these cookies. 42

If I didn’t give them to her today, would she think that I’d forgotten her birthday? I loved Nannaw and all I wanted was for her to have a happy day. For a minute I slipped back into Mark Davies. I saw the dirty towel hanging off the foot of the bed. I saw the discolored stuffed Pikachu on the pillow. I saw the picture of Timmy and his Mommy and a man I’d never seen before. Timmy was smiling. I’d never seen him smile, and I’d never seen him with teeth that white. Agent Tip #32: Always trust your instincts, even if they don’t make sense. Timmy Crenshaw left hungry, and I had a feeling he’d return hungry. The ANT left the house the way it had been, just like a professional spy. The cobweb was still in the stairwell, the tabby hadn’t escaped, and I even sprinkled some dirt on the handle of the back screen door, so if anyone checked they wouldn’t see the outline of my fingers where I’d grasped the handle. I walked over to Nannaw’s house on Azalea Road. I promised that I’d make cookies for her tomorrow, and she laughed and called Mommy to tell her I was on the way home and that my shoulders were a little sunburned. The next day, when I went to school, I had two extra cookies for Timmy Crenshaw. Timmy didn’t smile when I offered him the cookies, but the ANT trailed Timmy to the boy’s room shortly after, where he was shoving the cookies in his mouth and licking his fingers eagerly. Maybe Timmy Crenshaw wouldn’t be as hungry that day. I felt good inside, like I’d done something right. Heroes have to stick to their code, after all. And of course, Agent Tip #1 is first for a reason: Never let an innocent come to harm. R

Just One Dance David Samulski

Itala sighs as she looks around the church-turned USO. This is isn’t exactly what she had imagined when Father Toomey first asked her and her sister to give singing lessons to the recruits from the nearby military camp. Jazz reigns king over the Sacred Heart Church, which permeates with a haze of cigarette smoke and shimmying GIs. The discarded sheet music, in the seat next to Itala, remains the only testament to the original intent of this impromptu shindig. Itala smiles at her sister, Theresa, who lounges comfortably amongst a throng of young men all begging for a turn on the dance floor. Theresa thrives in the affections of the cooing suitors, coyly denying and encouraging each in turn. From her place along the wall Itala can’t help but be impressed. Theresa’s natural aptitude for this game of cat and mouse is astounding; given their father’s disposition to keep his daughters from the influence of American vice. As he was want to remind them, “Mussolini be damned, I’d rather you be back picking vegetables in Potenza than out with one of these American stronzi!” Locals gravitate towards the church in a steady stream and Itala can’t help but berate herself for actually thinking that she was going to give a music lesson tonight. Everyone else, her sister included, seems to know what kind fun goes on at predeployment parties. Suddenly self-conscious, Itala straitens her Sunday dress, which feels out of place next to the swanky getups of the other girls from town. “You’re not dancing tonight?” Jumping at the unexpected voice Itala turns to her left. Looking up, she spies a sheik man with dark hair and vibrant eyes standing next to her, hands clasped professionally behind his back. His stoic demeanor and immaculate uniform give him away as the captain of the longue lizards crowding up the dance floor. Realizing that she has been staring Itala quickly diverts her eyes back to her hands and replies, “My sister is the performer, I just accompany her on the piano.” “Well, we can’t have a pretty dame like yourself spending her night sitting 44

against the wall.” Turning, the captain signals towards one of the soldiers meandering nearby. “This lady finds herself lacking a dance partner. I want you and the boys to make sure she doesn’t find herself sitting again.” “Yessur, it will be my pleasure.” Doing her best to hide her shock, Itala lets the new man whisk her towards the dance floor. Glancing over her shoulder she catches a wink from the swanky captain. Though he doesn’t move, from his place against the wall, his eyes follow her around the room as if she was the only thing there. True to his word, Itala finds herself the Queen of Sheba at the party, dancing with every one of the new recruits for the remainder of the night. As the last song fades into the background Itala breaks away from her latest partner and makes her way back to her previous seat. Collapsing in a flushed heat of waning adrenaline she turns to see the Captain watching her with bemused vigilance. “Enjoy yourself tonight?” he coos, gesturing towards the GIs with a flick of his head. “Very much, thank you. Seems that I have danced with just about everyone here, aside from you of course,” she answers, leaving the invitation to his discretion. “Sorry miss, don’t dance. Two left feet and all. But, I don’t really need my feet to see a movie, if, by chance, you find yourself available tomorrow night?” With a kiss to her hand he seals his proposal and looks hopefully into her hazel eyes. A slight, “Uh-hmm,” startles the interaction back into reality and Itala grudgingly lets herself be dragged off by her older sister. Upon reaching the door she turns back to her future husband, gives him a wink, and heads off into the night. 1940s Vocabulary: Dame- A Woman Lounge Lizard - a horny man Sheba - A woman with sex appeal Sheik - A man with sex appeal Swanky – Ritzy USO - United Service Organization

8th Grade Dance Lee Henderson

There she stood a mere twenty feet away, beaming beauty out of every pore as she twirled her strawberry blonde hair between her dainty digits. Her rubescent cheeks underlined almond-shaped eyes that oozed with warmth and curiosity, twinkling across the dance floor as she tilted her head slightly and peered from under her eyebrows with innocent curiosity. Her arms and legs swayed sweetly back and forth in unison while her feet remained on the ground, those entrancing eyes focused on Jack. Her knee-length dress was a shimmering scarlet that sent flashes of flames through his body each time she twirled the bottom with her hands. Jack’s feet quivered in his size 7 jet-black penny loafers, and his knees threatened to collapse under the weight of her allure. From across the room he could feel Sarah’s gently enticing him, sending heat through the bottom of his soles, while cool chills spiraled down his neck. Those eyes. Jack’s heart hurdled into his throat and his stomach plunged towards the floor as he became more aware of his quickening heartbeat. Sarah’s fluid frame glided through flickering disco balls and meandering dancers, reflecting shades of crimson that winked around the walls. Jack plucked the red rose pinned to his jacket pocket, clasped it in his hands in front of him and smothered his panic with the most poised pose he could muster. She was coming. Sweat beads invaded his forehead like polka dots, and the red rose he clutched slipped loosely in his perspiring palms. Sarah sauntered nearer, and with each step Jack strived to compose himself but with minimal success. Her final strides were accompanied with a playful smile dotted with two perfectly placed dimples underneath periwinkle eyes that burned holes through Jack’s pseudo-composure. The unfamiliar smell of fragrant perfume enveloped Jack in a stupefied trance. He tightened his grip on the flower in his hand, and stretched out the rose toward Sarah with a sheepish look of boyish confusion. R 46

Screenplay

The Imposter

Adrian Petrilli

Why Canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t We All Get Along by Daniel Yeatman

INT. APARTMENT - DAY A cramped home office. Shelves are lined with large books. JEAN, 27, is typing rhythmically at her desktop. Binders and folders are neatly piled up in large stacks around the room. Jean stares transfixed at the screen. The clacking of keys fills the air. An academic treatise is slowly materializing. JEAN So... if I write five more pages now, I›ll only have to write three more pages on the «Anthropomorphization of the Natural World» for tomorrow... She glances at her novelty cat wall clock. 6 o›clock. She leans back from the computer, keys falling silent. Sighs. JEAN Jerry›s on kitchen duty today, yeah. Jean contorts her way out of her chair, making sure not to knock over anything. Her tablet PC buzzes, startling her. She knocks over a large stack, sending a binder crashing down on her foot. JEAN Ahhgh! Whitney! I told you this would happen! Just let me use some of your space, she’s all, “I’m allergic to paper...” She reaches over to the tablet, pained expression on her face. WHAT TABLET? 51

JEAN Yeah, sure, update, whatever. She presses the ACCEPT prompt, and a file starts downloading. She walks out her door, closing it firmly. INT. GROUND FLOOR - DAY JERRY, 19, snores loudly on the couch. His shoes are still on. Jean glances at him with frustration as she crosses the room. The kitchen isn’t clean. She turns around. JEAN Jerry! A non-committal groan comes from the couch. Jean walks over to the couch. Jerry’s still asleep. JEAN Jerry!! Jerry wakes with a start. He pulls his hands down his face. JERRY Jesus Christ, I heard you the first time! I said I was awake. JEAN Well, you’d better start with the dishes. I have to make dinner soon and I can’t cook with everything like this. Jerry stumbles to his feet, confused. Heads toward the sink.

JERRY Fine, fine, you’ve got it. (sarcastically) Thanks a lot, Jean. JEAN What? You know that everyone has to carry their own weight around here. Jerry rolls his eyes and reluctantly starts washing assorted dishes piled in the sink. He’s not doing a very good job. Jean moves like she’s about to say something. Thinks otherwise. Goes and straightens out the couch. WHITNEY, 63, comes in the front door. She looks grumpy in her vintage leather jacket/blue jeans combo. WHITNEY ‘Sup people? Doing a bit of spring cleaning? Jean shoots a look at Whitney, moves back over to the kitchen and starts wiping off countertops. JEAN Funny you should mention that; one of my binders fell on me earlier. Whitney takes off her jacket and shoes, and plops onto the couch. WHITNEY So? You’ve got plenty of those things, I’m sure you’ll be fine.

JEAN I am fine, but I need you to just let me keep some of my work folders in your closet or something, since you’ve got so much empty space. It’s much too cramped in my office as it is. Jerry turns away from the sink, starts walking towards the stairs. JERRY Done, enjoy. Jean looks at the sink and sees the dishes have only been cleaned crudely, with all sorts of stuff still stuck to them. JEAN Oh no you don’t, you come back here right now!

The progress bar fills on Jean’s tablet. A scan of an ancient stone lithograph fills the screen, covered in odd diagrams and ritualistic markings. A segment of the tablet becomes illuminated, as lines snake their way ever so slowly across the surface.

Jerry faces Jean, arms crossed. JERRY Look, I’m busy, okay? I’ve got better shit to do than wash your dishes all day.

JEAN My dishes? It’s your job to get those done! If you weren’t so lazy, you’d see how important getting your work done is. WHITNEY Listen, Jean, stop whining so much about the goddamn dishes! JEAN Easy for you to say, I haven’t seen you clean in a while.

Muffled arguing is heard as the picture of the tablet seems to take on a three-dimensional nature. Suddenly, pulses of multi-colored energy start pouring out of it tablet or computer?, warping and twisting the surroundings.

Everyone stops bickering as a brightly coloured pulse of energy gently passes through them. WHITNEY Everybody else saw that too, right? Not just me. Jean and Jerry nod, as pulses start pouring through the house at increasing speed. JERRY You see what’s out the window?!

Everyone gathers to see the outside world churning like the ocean in a storm. A mounting cacophony \ drowns everything out as the apartment starts shaking violently. JEAN Get down and grab onto something! Before anyone can react an immensely bright light floods the room. ON WHITE A sound like God’s zipper rips the air. Mad cackling, distorted yelling, and other disconcerting sounds echo. INT. GROUND FLOOR - DAY Jean, Jerry and Whitney open their eyes as they lie sprawled on the floor. Disoriented, they shakily rise to their feet. JEAN Everyone okay? JERRY We’re fine, thanks for asking. Anyone know what the hell just happened? Whitney approaches the window: it’s fogged up. She peers out. WHITNEY No, but we sure aren’t in Kansas anymore. She flings it open. The outside world is a patchwork quilt of different biospheres, with deserts running into rainforest, flowing into tundra and temperate hillsides. The 56

area around them is a sparse forest of evergreens. Whitney points out a small cabin that lies some distance away. WHITNEY You think we should go say hello to our new neighbor? JERRY Shit, with our luck it’s a bear. Or a witch. JEAN Jerry, please be quiet. JERRY ...a witchbear. A humming noise catches their attention. They turn to see Jean’s tablet floating at head height by the couch. JEAN When it said it had to update, it wasn’t kidding. She grabs it, and observes its screen intently. A neat map is pointing towards an orb labeled “Omnipotence.” JERRY What does that mean? JEAN It means power over everything. Let’s put it to a vote: who wants to search for ultimate power? Everyone raises a hand. 57

JEAN All right, let’s get ready to head out as soon as possible. First stop; that cabin in the distance. Maybe they can explain what happened to us. JERRY (sarcastically) Yes, fearless leader, whatever would we do without you. EXT. FOREST - DAY The three venture forth, backpack, jackets and pockets full of available supplies taken for the journey. The day is bright, the forest pleasant. WHITNEY So... what’re we doing if we get to this power source? JERRY I’ll tell you what I’m not doing: I’m definitely not going back to the way things were. Might have a new planet just for myself, I don’t know. Something fun. JEAN Jerry, that’s just plain irresponsible of you. We should just put things back the way they were and clean up this mess the best we can.

WHITNEY I actually agree with Jerry. JEAN What? WHITNEY Not on the whole power trip part, but imagine: a world without politicians, or stubbed toes, or... dishes. JEAN Let’s just decide once we get there. EXT. CABIN - DAY The three arrive at the cabin they had seen. It’s quaint, and obviously inhabited. Jean knocks. The door opens. MANNY, an odd creature with the body of a handsome man and the head of a cat, greets them. MANNY Hello hello travelers! Such a welcome surprise. Come on in, why don’t you? He beckons them inside. Turning sideways, Manny’s forked cat-tail becomes visible. JEAN Oh, wow, you’re a cat... WHITNEY Yes, he is! Whitney shakes Manny’s hand vigorously.

WHITNEY We’d love to come inside. INT CABIN - DAY The cabin’s interior design does not match with the exterior. Traditional Japanese carvings hang on the walls, with an exquisitely ornate tea table dominating the room. A roaring fireplace sits in the far wall. Jerry and Jean take in their surroundings while Whitney exchanges pleasantries with Manny. WHITNEY What a lovely place you’ve got here. What’s your name, sweetheart? Manny winks slyly at Whitney. MANNY My name’s Manny. Been living here in this forest for the past, oh... one hundred and eight years, I think. Please, do sit, everyone. Everyone takes a seat at the tea table. JEAN Not to be rude, but... we’re new to this whole world, and we’d appreciate it if you could tell us a bit what’s going on here. JERRY Yes, what she said. Where are we anyway? And why are you part cat?

While Manny speaks, he pours out tea for everyone. MANNY It’s painfully obvious that you didn’t come here on purpose. You really don’t know where you are? JERRY We wouldn’t be asking if we knew. WHITNEY Oh, shut up Jerry. Manny sips his tea, chuckles. MANNY Just like the good old days. Put in simple terms, this is where all of your discarded mythological creatures go when they retire. Unicorn, talking coyote, hydra, myself included, we all get a severance package and a plot of land to call our own. Jerry downs his tea in one gulp. MANNY Used to be more visitors, but I suppose I can’t blame you for your overactive imaginations. Humans are always dreaming up something bigger than before. Jean pulls out her tablet, puts it on the table for everyone to see. 61

JEAN Can you tell us what this “Omnipotence” is? Manny’s eyes narrow as he inspects the map. He goes silent for a few moments. Whitney refills everyone’s tea. MANNY You do realize that everybody and their grandmother are going to try to beat you to it, right? It’s the one thing none of us have here: imagination. WHITNEY Are you saying you don’t have an imagination, Manny? Manny flashes a dashing smile. For a cat. MANNY Yes, that is what I’m saying. Long story short, any one of us that gets there first will be able to dream, invent and create as humans do. Manny hands the tablet back to Jean. Stands up. MANNY Since none of you are wizards, your best shot at getting back home is to get there first. I’d advise you to leave as quickly as possible. Everyone else gets up, thanks Manny, goes to the door. 62

WHITNEY Why don’t you come with us? JEAN Yeah, it would help us so much to have a local guide. Manny ponders. Shakes his head. MANNY It has never been my place to go looking for trouble. If I leave, someone else could come and take my land, and then there wouldn’t be anybody to help out travelers such as yourselves. Jerry motions for them to leave. JERRY It was good meeting you Cat Man! MANNY Likewise! EXT. NATURE - DAY SERIES OF SHOTS In a montage, Jean, Jerry and Whitney continue their trek towards the “Omnipotence.” This lasts a few days time. They encounter many traditional mythological creatures; a sphinx, who asks the old riddle whose answer is “Man”; a small Norwegian troll, whom Jerry drinks under the table; golems who learned to play chess. END OF SHOTS

EXT. PRAIRIE - NIGHT The group has successfully built a fire for the night. Everyone’s getting comfortable as they gaze up into the alien night sky. A tin of beans is being warmed on the fire. JEAN You know, I never really got to go camping when I had the chance. WHITNEY How so? JEAN I was always so wrapped up in my studies, school clubs and such that I just didn’t go out much. It’s kind of funny how my parents supported my anti-social tendencies, but hey, I was happy back then... Jerry looks pensive. Grabbing the tin of beans with a couple sticks, he pops it open and takes a bite. JERRY It’s so surreal to believe that just a few days ago we were all doing normal things. WHITNEY Do you miss it? JERRY No, it’s not really that. I just never gave anybody the time to get to know me better. I’m sorry for being 64

such a douche to you, Jean. You didn’t really deserve that. Jean looks up, concerned. JEAN Really? Who replaced our Jerry when we weren’t looking? WHITNEY Yeah, no kidding! Everyone laughs. JEAN Yeah, and I’m sorry for being so harsh on you. It’s hard to remember what it was like to still be so young and carefree, I just let myself get wound up by work. Crickets chirp in the darkness. JERRY I still want to make my own world when we get the power. WHITNEY Jerry... JERRY But I’d be fine if you two tagged along. Jean rolls over onto her side.

JEAN That’s very sweet of you... I think. Good night everyone. Rainbow aurorae dance against a sea of heavenly constellations. WHITNEY G’night. JERRY Night. EXT. PRAIRIE - DAWN A slight haze drifts erratically low to the grass. It coils purposely towards Jean, Jerry and Whitney. Faeries emerge from the mist, dozens of them, ugly man-shaped creatures dressed in plants. They descend silently on the campsite. Start whispering to one another. FAERIE #1 What of these baern, ye ahogath? FAERIE #2 We mighty ought to nick their belongings fore they stop their mammen. FAERIE #3 Aye, unbelimp upon them fer mammen aboot in our agenland. The faeries effortlessly lift up Jean’s bag, like an ant lifting a log. The tablet falls out as they rifle through it.

FAERIE #4 Crivens! Swith magicks hasten; box o’ lies. Jean’s eyes open slightly. She doesn’t move as the faeries continue to raid their possessions. FAERIE #5 Don’t bother wit’ tha deofolscin, ‘elp me’ carry o these bursan. Jean bolts for the tablet. Grabs it, holds it close. JEAN Stop taking our stuff! FAERIE #6 Wala, run fer it! Alas! The faeries flitter away into glints of sunlight, carrying most of the group’s stuff with them. Jerry and Whitney awaken, startled. JERRY I swear it wasn’t me! Whitney reaches for her bag, grabs nothing but air. WHITNEY Who did this?! I’m gonna rip them a new one! JEAN Pixies or something... at least they didn’t get the map. Jerry holds his head. 67

JERRY Oh, fantastic. Hell of a job. JEAN Let’s just get out of here in case they come back. EXT. GRAVEL PITS - DAY The crunch of gravel follows the three as they walk miserably onwards. WHITNEY Who would want to live in a stinkin’ gravel pit, anyway? Jean motions to stop. Nothing lies in sight for miles except gravel pits and mounds. JERRY Don’t tell me we’re lost now? JEAN No, I’ve got good news. Finally. We’re practically right on top of the signal. Everyone looks around. The landscape is as barren as before. WHITNEY What, here? That can’t be right. JERRY Yeah, let me see.

Jerry takes the tablet from Jean, turning it at every angle. The blip on the map doesn’t waver. JEAN It could be... well, below us. Underground. WHITNEY And I didn’t even bring my shovel. JERRY No, we’ve got to look harder. Maybe it’s smaller than we thought. JEAN Comb every piece of gravel for a thing we’ve never seen before? JERRY Well, if you’ve got any better ideas then keep me posted. I’m going to look over that mound over there. Jerry jogs off. Whitney and Jean crouch down and start sifting through the gravel, white and grainy. WHITNEY I love the kid, but damn does he get on my nerves when -*SHHKKKSHSS* Whitney and Jean share a look of apprehension. They turn to look at Jerry. Gone. They rush to a sinkhole in the gravel where Jerry used to be. 69

JEAN Oh god, oh no! WHITNEY We can’t just go in after him, what if there’s no way out? JEAN Then we’ll make a way out! We can’t just leave him. Jean prods the gravel with her foot. Sure enough it shifts loosely underneath. Jean jumps in, only to be instantly swallowed up by the earth. Whitney adjusts her jacket. WHITNEY He damn well owes us for this! She covers her nose with her hand and jumps into the gravelly vortex. INT. CAVERN - DAY Jean tumbles out of sinkhole covered in white dust and grit. Lands on a huge capped mushroom, crushing it. As dust falls from the ceiling she quickly rolls away, letting Whitney cushion her fall the same way. Jean and Whitney get their bearings, and gawk at what they see. An enormous cavern sprawls out before them; Jerry lies prone before an enormous rainbow sphere. The tablet floats in front of it, a tube of light connecting the two. JEAN & WHITNEY Jerry!! While rushing towards him, a viscous, sickly red substance pours from the tablet into the sphere. 70

Horrible visages shift and turn inside it. Jean cradles Jerry’s head. JEAN Wake up already! Jerry’s eyes flutter. Open slowly. JERRY Jesus Christ, I’m already awake. WHITNEY Guys, something’s wrong with the thing. The colours of the sphere swiftly fade away until all that’s left is deep red. Jerky and unnatural face coalesces on its surface. JEAN What in the name of... SPHERE Si-lence hu-mans. You have done well in aid-ing my arr-ival. The sphere’s voice chills to the bone, a silent cacophony of emotionless spite. SPHERE Know this: you shall be the last to per-ish. Jerry sits up straight. JERRY What unholy THING are you?! 71

SPHERE I am your new Lord. Fear, hate, corru-ption. I was bid-den into exi-sten-ce through your friv-olous beh-avio-ur to your companions. Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re shocked. WHITNEY Because we were mean to each other? What kind of a reason is that? SPHERE Si-lence. A whip of light slaps Whitney across the face. She crumples. WHITNEY Ahhh! Son of a bitch! SPHERE Your tec-hnol-ogy eased my arr-ival. I have no further need of you. EXT. GRAVEL PITS - DAY The sphere of hate bursts through the ground. Gravel and sunlight pour into the cavern below as the three look on in horror. It grows larger by the minute as its tendrils extend in every direction. Its expansion darkens the sky. Lightning strikes hit the earth as its influence grows. INT. CAVERN - DAY Jean, Jerry and Whitney hug.

JEAN I’m just glad you’re all okay. JERRY Yeah... I can’t believe we’ve been duped. WHITNEY We were so close too! Jean meanders to where the sphere rested. JEAN I guess this is it. We’ll never get back home. JERRY All because we don’t have this stupid “power of imagination” crap. Jean and Whitney turn to Jerry, mouths open in shock. JERRY Uh, what’s going on? JEAN We’ve been total idiots this whole time! Why’ve we been risking so much to get here? We’re already human, we have imaginations! (they haven’t imagined this whole time?) WHITNEY Ditto! 73

JERRY You mean if I imagine a giant fire-breathing flying Ferrari itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll just -A giant fire-breathing flying Ferrari appears a few feet away. JERRY What. We could have just imagined anything all this time? JEAN Well, Manny did say that this is where mythical beings go to rest... If you think about it, they were all dreamt up by people at some point. WHITNEY Yeah yeah, enough with the explanations, letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s get out of here and stop that thing! EXT. SKY - DAY Volcanoes spew ash into the air, tornadoes ravage the land, and all sorts of disasters follow the sphere in its wake. Suddenly, a giant black marker appears in front of it. Draws a big smiley face on its surface. SPHERE You ann-oy me. Vanish. The marker continues to scribble. The sphere sprouts bubble-blowers. Bubbles fly across the land.

SPHERE What is this chil-dishness? The three fly up in their giant fire-breathing flying Ferrari. JERRY Let’s see you do something now, asshole! A bubble encases the sphere, constricting it in a ball of force. It decreases in size until it’s the size of a paperweight. Jean reaches out of the car window and catches it. JEAN Don’t underestimate human ingenuity! WHITNEY Yeah, that. The land gradually shifts back to its regular state. The three of them watch, satisfied. SPHERE (high-pitched) Rel-ease me, vile beings, lest I unleash my fury upon thee! WHITNEY Not gonna happen, sweetheart. JEAN Ready to go home? JERRY Yeah, this place is 75

overrated anyway. The Ferrari revs its engine. It speeds off into the sky, leaving a rainbow trail until it vanishes in a burst of white light. EXT. APARTMENT - DAY The apartment still stands in the forest where it first landed. The burst of light brightens the sky.

JERRY(V.O.) Hey, we forgot our house. THE END

Cardboard Men Ayse Zeynep Ozbay