Inscape 2021

INSCAPE Celebrating the Arts at Central Methodist University

Inscape ©2021 by Inscape, Central Methodist University’s Magazine of the Arts.

Inscape is one of the creative endeavors of the students, faculty, and staff at CMU. This unique publishing opportunity is one of many educational experiences that CMU’s Department of English, along with Sigma Tau Delta, provides. They have a distinguished record of placing students in graduate and professional studies as well as in education and other professional fields. The Mu Lambda Chapter of Sigma Tau Delta is an opportunity for students to share their love of English with one another while participating in campus activities, conferences, and publishing of Inscape. If you would like more information about Sigma Tau Delta, please contact:

Dr. Travis Johnson

Associate Professor of English

411 Central Methodist Square

Fayette, Missouri 65248-1192 tjohnson@centralmethodist.edu 660-248-6308 Or visit www.centralmethodist.edu/ academics/ english for more information about the Department of English.

The Inscape staff and Sigma Tau Delta wish to thank the staff at Modern Litho, Jefferson City, Missouri, for their assistance in producing and printing this issue.

All CMU students, faculty, and staff are invited to submit their creative work for possible publication in Inscape. Please, contact the editors at inscape@centralmethodist.edu if you have any questions or are interested in submitting for the next issue, which will be released in the spring of 2022.

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Inscape 2021

INSCAPE Central Methodist University’s Magazine of the Arts A project of CMU’s Mu Lambda chapter of Sigma Tau Delta.

Issue 46/2021 Editors Sara Ratliff Grace Stumbaugh Faculty Advisor Dr. Kavita Hatwalkar

Inscape was founded in 1975 by Central’s Tau Tau Tau honorary fraternity Mu Lambda chapter of Sigma Tau Delta (the International English Honor Society), and the legendary Scribblers and Scrawlers.

Inscape is funded by CMU’s Student Government 3

Table of Contents Front Cover........Creation of Adam by Hannah Redding Note from the Editors.....................................................6 About the Editors............................................................7 Editorial Team Biographies............................................8 Inscape Defined...............................................................9

Poetry

First: Seasonal Carousel..................Gabriel Walker Second: The Fall of Love....................Callie Henson Third: The Street.............................Keagan O’Riley The Lane Not Taken.....................Brooke Hackman Hindsight................................................Sarah King A Lesson from High School..............Janie Leathers Birthday Card..................................Keagan O’Riley Gaslight Ghosts.................................Samantha Cox Who’s Home........................................Callie Henson

13 15 16 17 18 20 22 24 26

Nonfiction

First: A Love Letter to Society ...........Toni Randle 29 Second: Breakfast at the Governor’s................................. .........................................................Marius Unnvik 32 Third: The Story Behind My Favorite Meal.................. ...........................................................Callie Henson 38 The Purr-fect Connection...........Grace Stumbaugh 42 My Friend.....................................Hannah Redding 46

Art & Photography

First: Firehole Falls..........................Will DiStefano Second: Natural.............................Hannah Redding Third: Chasing Pheasants................Janie Leathers Bryggen........................................Grace Stumbaugh 4

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The Golden Rays of Autumn..................Sara Ratliff Printed on the Corner.......................Janie Leathers Skipping Rocks............................Grace Stumbaugh Watercolor Teddy Bear.....................Janie Leathers Point Guard........................................Skylor Turner Pen and Ink Flowers.........................Janie Leathers A Smack of Jellyfish....................Grace Stumbaugh Hidden in the Woods.........................Will DiStefano Steve McQueen.......................................Sara Ratliff B Dubs LOL.......................................Will DiStefano What Are You Looking At?.............Janie Leathers The Spirit of the Mountains.................Sara Ratliff Creation of Adam.........................Hannah Redding Fly.................................................Hannah Redding Inner Beauty................................Hannah Redding Groundhog Painting........................Janie Leathers Turkey Time....................................Janie Leathers Behind the Trees.............................Janie Leathers Cloudy Reflection............................Janie Leathers A Mother’s Love....................................Sara Ratliff

57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76

Fiction

First: All the Stars in the Sky........Keagan O’Riley 79 Second: The Most Genuine Thing........Sarah King 94 Third: A Reimagining of Jamaica Kincaid’s “Girl”........ ..........................................................Michelle Miley 98 Monsters...............................................Sara Ratliff 100

Screenplay

Camping With Millennials...........Keagan O’Riley 117 Contributor Biographies............................................125

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Note from the Editors The editors of the 2021 issue of Inscape would like to sincerely thank everyone who took a part in this year’s publication. We especially want to thank the Inscape editorial team—Elise, Sarah, Keagan, Hannah, and Tyler—for all the work they put into building the 46th issue of Inscape. We also want to thank Sigma Tau Delta and its advisor Dr. Johnson, the director of the Writing Center Dr. Woldruff, Inscape’s faculty advisor Dr. Hatwalkar, and all of this year’s amazing contributors for their submissions.

None of this would have been possible without all of you and your support for Inscape.

This year was a unique year in Inscape’s history. Because of safety concerns in the light of the COVID-19 pandemic, we met exclusively online for both the fall and spring semesters. We all had to adapt to the new environment we found ourselves in. There was a learning curve when it came to collaborating via cameras and chatrooms, and we missed being able to speak to each other without awkward interruptions caused by a lagging connection. It is in times like these, however, that we can truly appreciate the unchanging value of art and literature, along with its ability to bring a little normalcy back into our lives. In an age of social distancing and self-isolation, we could all use a reminder of those special meals shared with teammates, of lessons learned while conversing with curious strangers in a bank, and of those hilarious camping trips with friends. It is the words and images captured by talented poets, writers, photographers, and artists that can remind us of what it means to be human—all the beauty, challenges, joys, heartaches, 6

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and celebrations that connect us all no matter how distant we may be.

Thank you again to everyone who contributed to Inscape 2021. We truly appreciate the stories, emotions, and lessons you shared. It is our hope that anyone who reads this edition will find someone or something to connect with. We also wish that Inscape always remain a place for creativity to be expressed, despite what the current year may hold—even if that’s a global pandemic.

Sincerely, Sara Ratliff & Grace Stumbaugh

About the Editors Sara Ratliff Sara is a junior History and Sociology major from Higbee, Missouri. She is a member of Sigma Tau Delta, Alpha Lambda Delta, Omicron Delta Kappa, and Pi Gamma Mu. She loves to read, write, draw, watch movies, and spend time outdoors with her two dogs. After graduation, she hopes to pursue a career where she gets to use her creativity and her love of history. Her dream is to one day write and publish a novel.

Grace Stumbaugh

Grace is a senior Professional Writing & Publication major and is also on the volleyball team. She loves to hang out with friends, bake, pet cats, and travel.

After graduation, she’d like to work in a marketing department or work with writing in any capacity. Her hope is to one day travel the world with her soon-to-be husband, Marius, and make cute babies with him.

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Editorial Team Elise Hardesty - Elise is a senior Communications major and plays on the volleyball team at CMU. In her free time, she loves to read, go hammocking with her husband, and find cute dogs to pet. In her ideal world, there would be no such thing as too much caffeine and musical theatre would be considered cool.

Sarah King - Sarah is a Sophomore EnglishSecondary Education major. She is a part of the Cross Country/Track and Field team and the Conservatory Singers. Her favorite genre is poetry. This is Sarah’s first year on the editing team of Inscape and her second year having her work published in Inscape.

Keagan O’Riley - Keagan is a sophomore Professional Writing & Publication major from Hopkins, Missouri.

She is a member of Sigma Tau Delta and the CMU Softball team. She enjoys reading, listening to music, geeking out over video games and Marvel movies with family and friends, and writing whenever she has a free moment.

Hannah Redding - Hannah is a sophomore Psyhcology and Criminal Justice major from Kansas City, Missouri. She is a member of the Envy dance team and the National Society of Leadership and Success.

Tyler Vicars - Tyler is a Professional Writing & Publication major from Harrisburg, NC. He plays on the baseball team and considers himself an avid writer. He spends a lot of time watching anime and fishing. His favorite Disney character is Goofy.

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Inscape 2021

in • scape / in-skeip/ n.

Word coined by British poet Gerard Manley Hopkins for the individual or essential quality of a thing; the uniqueness of an observed object, scene, event, etc.

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Poetry “Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.”

– William Wordsworth

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First Place

Seasonal Carousel

Gabriel Walker

The leaves start to wither Crimsons, ambers, and sunburst oranges paint the horizon The air is brisk, giving our lungs energy The sweet aroma of pumpkin pie permeates the kitchen We all gather for our traditional feast The cold air violates our warm exterior shielding The ground is painted white with powder Trees stand naked and bare The fire radiates heat that slowly crawls throughout the home Outside is lifeless, a tapestry that we gaze upon Thunder roars like a lion, shaking shelves in our home Trees begin to redress and flowers bloom with beauty People flood to beaches in swarms Morning dew coats the grass Rain haphazardly drizzles down the window The air is dense and heavy, feeling like a heavy wet blanket Sunlight relentlessly sears us, showing no mercy The smell of freshly cut grass wafts in through the windows The salty taste of sweat on our lips reminds us of the heat The nights long for memories to be made 13

The leaves start to wither Crimsons, ambers, and sunburst oranges as far as the eye can see The air is brisk, giving our lungs energy The sweet aroma of pumpkin pie permeates the kitchen We all gather for a traditional feast

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Second Place

The Fall of Love

Callie Henson

I lay awake watching you as you sleep, My fervor for you is so deep.

So weak, So vulnerable, Like the dreary rain above.

I’m falling in the shallows of your love.

As my wondering hands crawl upon your skin, I feel the beating of your soul deep within.

It’s a matter of time thereof, I’m falling in the shallows of your love.

The warm sun peaks above the trees, And your wholesome eyes open, My mind is at ease.

Their sweet shades remind me of, Dripping honeycomb garnished by the bees.

I’m falling in the depth of your love.

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Third Place

The Street

Keagan O’Riley

I walk along an empty street The pavement cold beneath my feet And wonder, as the silence rings, Just where this road has taken me With listless sighs and quiet toes I’m drifting down this path of woes That once upon a time I’d known To lead me safely back to home.

Where did it go wrong I wonder?

On this path of life I suffer?

Somewhere I’d been torn asunder And cursed into an aimless wander.

Was it you who brought this fate This darkness that I can’t escape?

Or is it I who takes the blame, Who failed to win this hopeless game?

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The Lane Not Taken

Brooke Hackman

Two lanes diverged at the yellow arches, And sorry I could not go through both Long I sat as my throat parches Thinking of my order, filled with starches I must pick one lane and take an oath; While waiting, the other looks just as good, Considering my lane had become busy, My lane looked nice as it should; But the wait times I clearly misunderstood, Within ten minutes, I’m in a tizzy Beforehand, both lanes equally lay Empty pavement, for me to choose Oh, I kept the first for another day!

But the terrible service had led me to sway I definitely left some bad reviews.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere, an employee should get fired Two lanes diverged at McDonald’s, and I --I took the one less traveled by How did those idiots get hired?

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Hindsight

Sarah King

You asked me if I was ok When I had seemed A little off You really seemed to care And want me to get better You believe I can be better He wanted me to be better He looked down on my choices And where I came from You make me feel like an equal I do ask you for your opinion But you don’t act like an ass He kissed me Before he asked me You asked me Before you kissed me He caught me by surprise I was completely prepared for you You want to do your job He wants to have the title You and I have a friendship built He and I have pure chemistry 18

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When I first thought That I wanted you I knew I knew that if I caught you I’d have to keep you.

He didn’t want to keep me He threw me back in while I was still on the line Told me to mingle with the other fish in the sea But still told me he loved me You You mean what you say I don’t even want to sing songs to you Until I know I mean them Because what we have has to be true I need to be completely over him to love you And I really think I do …

I called you Darling Just in passing, Jokingly Laughing But it felt so easy We feel so easy It feels so easy When I’m with you I want to tell you all of my secrets I want you to know every part of me I want to tell you why

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A Lesson From Highschool Janie Leathers Jealous people can twist and turn a person’s words and even make them up.

Embarrassed people can pretend a person did something corrupt.

Desperate people can try to ruin a person’s name by spreading lies.

Scared people can attack a person’s character and family pride.

A coward will crack and do anything to save their hide.

Like give up and blame the person they once stood beside.

But a strong person will defend themself.

A righteous person will stand up for the truth.

An honest person will prove their accusers wrong.

And a brave person will look their attackers in the eye until the

cowards look away.

Because even though their words are twisted, actions fabricated, family insulted, and character attacked, 20

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A smarter person will stand their ground, No matter how many times they are told “You’re wrong.”

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Birthday Card

Keagan O’Riley

It was winter when you came into the world A cold January meeting A joyful winter greeting Is something we have in common I still have the cards you sent that always wished me happiness Strange, how I could never guess these would be more precious than any other gift I’d get It’s funny, now this simple piece of paper painted Tainted with all these happy colors and all these memories of you It’s funny, how the greatest joke I’ve ever seen is one that was never meant to be I trace your wishes with a careful hand, remembering that summer day Remembering the things I’d say And I wish I had known to say more.

I wish I had known.

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Then again, maybe knowing is a curse Like the tragicomic memories you abandoned here A missed punchline that you left behind and never bothered to deliver I let this paper fall away, Slipping Drifting Dancing like a lonely snow flake through the air.

And I remember it was winter.

It was winter when you came into the world.

A magical January greeting A beautiful winter meeting Was something we had in common.

Fitting, I think how it was summer when you whispered goodbye world And there was no one there to hear it.

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Gaslight Ghosts Samantha Cox

Ghosts that fly away not to be seen Ghosts that fly to trivialize Ghosts created from denial of some kind Ghosts created to take into non-reality I have seen many ghosts I have seen people turn reality into ghosts It takes time to realize these ghosts exist It takes one to see a lot of ghosts When you notice it The world becomes clear to see A lot of my past has been turned into ghosts Most people use a gaslight Some have the ghosts of their cruelty to haunt the host “I didn’t hit you, you’re just imagining things” “It just depends on the way you see things” Their cruelty becomes ghosts But when it’s not clear “I’m not calling you a crybaby. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel when you get upset about these things?”

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“I never said that you hurt people, I think you have anger issues” Why would these people turn your past into nothing?

Ghosts that fly away not to be seen Ghosts that fly to trivialize Ghosts created from denial of some kind Ghosts created to take into non-reality No matter what the reason is Be careful with people who use a gaslight No matter the intent The results make you into a ghost

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Who’s Home

Callie Henson

I miss when the only thing relevant to us was our imaginary game, Or what mom was making for dinner.

It was simple.

Easy.

Now it seems every decision pulls us further apart.

We contemplate everything and it all has underlying complication.

I miss the children we were, They grew up too fast.

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Nonfiction “Creative nonfiction writers do not make things up; they make ideas and information that already exists more interesting and often more accessible” – Lee Gutkind

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First Place

A Love Letter to Society

Toni Randle Dear Society,

I fucking hate you. Like really despise you! Yet the heartbreaking thing is that I wouldn’t change a thing about you. You’re crazy, wild, untamable, and downright ruthless. It is pitiful the things I let you do to me. I crave you in so many ways, but I won’t let that stop me from leaving you. Beloved, I need you to understand that everyone loves differently.

Baby, you took everything from me. I want you to accept me. Do you know how hard it is for an adolescent girl to be shot down? I don’t understand why you do this to me… Honestly, I’ve tried putting myself in your shoes, which are massive shoes to fill. Asking myself questions like, “What am I doing wrong?” “What do I need to change?” “Will I ever be enough?” Why do you deny me, my love? I’m starting to lose hope in your love back for me, and I want you to understand why.

Baby, I was in Masterson Elementary when I realized I wasn’t your type. You liked all the little girls with long, blonde ponytails that swung really, really fast. Ohhh, or the boys who ran so quickly on the playground, that came back from recess covered in sweat. The little boys and girls went home to a mommy and daddy every night. The ones who brought their lunch every day, the car riders, and the ones who were good at cursive. I could never be that for you.

Mommy and daddy fought so much I didn’t bother 29

them with making my lunches or helping me with my cursive. Maybe I should’ve got the hint then.

You rejected me again multiple times in middle school. When all those little boys and girls grew up they became exactly what you wanted. The little girl who wore the same jeans every week wasn’t enough for you, huh? She grew up to be confident, you know.

Before that, though, she got lost trying to get you to love her. She started to hang around the boys and girls you loved. She desired to fit in. She craved your approval, which she never got. You’ve broken her. She lost herself. She was belittled by her peers, no matter where she went.

My love, it’s me. I am she. She is me. I desired you so much I stopped loving myself. Why was I not enough for you? It’s killing me. I still don’t understand.

Maybe I never will. I stopped trying, honestly. In high school, I found myself again. When I stop chasing you, you secretly sought me out. The way you did it was unattractive. You loved and wanted me after those little girls and boys started to live the life I was already living. You made my love tolerable when those little boys and girls began to live like me. When they listened to my music, talked the way I did, and made my lifestyle popular.

I think that’s when I truly started to hate you. When I realized I’d never been enough for you.

No matter what I did. So I started doing whatever I wanted. I smiled at the things you frowned upon. I laughed with the people you also rejected. I have never been happier. I became you in a way, wild, untamable, downright ruthless, and unapologetic. That’s why I love you, my love. It’s been a very bumpy and toxic 30

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ride, but without you, I wouldn’t be me. You love hard, my love, so thank you.

Yours truly, Toni P.S. I know I am not the first to love you; the competition for your underlining desire is high. I know I won’t be the last to love you either. I’m not asking you to change but remember, my love, be kind.

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Second Place

Breakfast at the Governor’s Marius Unnvik

Through error you come to the truth! I am a man because I err! You never reach any truth without making fourteen mistakes and very likely a hundred and fourteen.

– Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment We crossed over the last four-way on North Madison Street in Jefferson City. It was a splendid February morning, the sky was crystal clear, and rays of sunlight shone through the naked trees in the garden of the Governor’s Mansion. In the distance, one could catch a glimpse of the capitol building with scaffolds surrounding its dome. The bitterly cold wind pierced through my thin suit jacket and my teeth chattered as we approached the central event of the Missouri Governor’s Student Leadership Forum, namely breakfast with Governor Parson. We stopped right outside the mansion—a hundred students were lined up and eagerly waiting to enter. By my side were two friends and Pastor Ken. Pastor Ken is a humble man in his fifties, and he works in the Jefferson City Correctional Center, where we had just visited the preceding day. I inquired about his job and his thoughts on prisons and those 32

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who inhabit them—specifically I wondered whether prison life was as brutish as the movies portray it.

“No,” Pastor Ken replied with a hint of amusement.

“Most of these men are just normal guys who made some bad mistakes.” He added that we would soon meet a few felons again and that they were in fact making and serving our breakfast that very morning.

As we passed through the giant metal doors, I had a strange sensation that Ken had said something quite remarkable that could teach us all something about personal growth. Normal guys…

Upon entry, I was distracted from the important conversation. As I oriented myself in this exciting mansion, it immediately struck me how open the hall was and how high the ceiling was—it must have been almost twenty feet high! There were people everywhere around me and it was difficult to think clearly with all the cheerful clatter circulating about in the empty space above our heads. It was lovely to be embraced by the well-heated atmosphere. After the first moments, I noticed Governor Parson standing close to the entrance. One might have expected him to be a bit taken aback by this torrent of ambitious youth entering his home, but he handled our arrival gracefully. He shook many hands and welcomed everyone in with an agreeable grin and a rather affable look.

Before long, the Governor withdrew into the back of the hall and hushes spread from lip to lip— the clatter quickly died down and a solemn silence manifested itself. The First Lady broke the silence.

She offered her greetings and formally introduced the Governor. Parson stepped forth and shared with us 33

his compliments for being a part of the conference, and in so many words told us that we were a good bunch.

He then encouraged us to be exemplary going forward in life and as citizens—and always to bear in mind Jesus of Nazareth and his teachings of humility and leadership. Finally, the Governor closed with “God bless you, God bless the great state of Missouri, and God bless the United States of America.”

An even more cheerful clatter arose as everyone looked for their tables. When we all had found them and settled down, we noticed that there were fresh buttermilk biscuits placed in a little willow basket for us, and next to it stood a handsome jar of honey.

The food was passed around, and it was marvelous to see the honey dripper spinning the golden, tacky substance softly onto the biscuits. A sweet aroma radiated from the honey, and the flavor was simple and delicious! This experience reminded me of my favorite Norwegian song called “A Taste of Honey,” which exalts simplicity over an excessive pursuit of material wealth.

We sat until it was our turn to go to the serving room. As we approached the serving room, I suddenly recollected what Pastor Ken had said about the felons serving our breakfast. There they were! One would not have known who they were based on mere observation. While they served us, I thought back to the day before when we visited the correctional facility. Ken walked by my side most of the time, and all the time he enthusiastically greeted the felons he had known for years. He treated them just like he treated everyone else, namely with dignity and deep humanity. We strolled through the workshops, where 34

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the felons literally build courtroom furniture—what an idea! Indeed, this was where Ken had first told me that these felons “were just normal guys who made mistakes.” And now many of these normal guys are part of a program of restorative justice, which offers offenders—some of whom made abysmal mistakes—a little chance to perhaps give something back and maybe to one day be forgiven for their transgressions and re-enter society.

Before I knew it, I had walked back to the table with my breakfast. Every member of our group was now seated, and we all began eating. My group consisted of nine men. We had all become quite close over the weekend. The main themes of the conference were to allow oneself to be weak, or humble, with openness, and servant leadership. Even in the first few minutes together we began to share stories about our lives. I was the first to share my story, but I focused on a particularly terrible moment, in fact the worst moment of my life—the worst mistake I ever made. To share such a story with a group of strangers sounds humiliating, but it is rather the first feeble step toward humility, which allows us to see above the walls of our pride, and to grasp the truth about who we really are and what we are capable of.

The conversation we had that morning was just a continuance of a two-day long conversation. One man had talked about a terrible attack by the Taliban on his base in Afghanistan, another man—with brave tears which he diligently tried to hold back—told us about how he came to accept his homosexuality, another about how his work made him too busy, which led his wife to cheat on him, and how he subsequently 35

forgave her and changed his ways. Another man told us about the death of his father and his journey to understand his role in the world without his guidance.

As we enjoyed the simple country breakfast, which was quite good, we proceeded to share our stories— the peaks and valleys of our lives. Everyone openly declared their support, respect, and compassion for each other.

At one moment during the conversation, I had a stirring realization about my own life. Coincidentally, the conference was almost exactly two years after I first read Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky, a book that inspired me to cling faithfully to a good path instead of a bad one. Along with some other influences, it forced me through its narrative to open my understanding to the beam in my own eye, and to accept that I can never find any truth in life without seeing how often I want to protect my ego by believing prideful falsehoods and rationalizations about who I am. The truth can be found where we least want to look, namely at who we really are. We are all just normal guys. We all make mistakes, and all have something to work on.

At the end of Crime and Punishment, I remembered, the main character Raskolnikov walks up the stairs to the police station, ready to confess his crime. He goes up but walks back down again— desperately hoping to avoid responsibility for his own vicious mistakes. He looks out the door unto the street, yet turns around and step by step ascends once more, and finally confesses. Raskolnikov ended up in prison, like the felons who served our breakfast. My mistake too led to me spending a night behind cold metal bars, 36

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looking out in utter agony—burning to free myself and to ignore what I had done. My mistake was to spoil a family vacation by getting too drunk and thrown in drunk arrest for being excessively noisy in the hotel.

At the time I was in a terrible and destructive mental state, but this mistake forced me to see where I was headed. I had to humble myself to learn from what had happened and how I had acted. For two years I have found much truth “through error.”

Unexpectedly, I was released from my reverie, or from being captivated by this realization, because breakfast was over. It was time to leave. We got up and once again passed through the giant metal doors, back into the freezing morning winds and the sharp sunlight. I glanced over at the naked trees in the garden. The combination of the bitter feeling of the wind and the beautiful sunshine seems to me an apt symbol of what it means to admit and learn from our many mistakes. It hurts like the piercing wind, but like the naked trees are dependent on the powerful sunlight to grow and blossom, so is our personal growth dependent on the truths we discover from humility. We will never grow without allowing the light to illuminate our mistakes.

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Third Place

The Story Behind My Favorite Meal

Cheyenne Withrich

Walking into Bucca di Beppo for the first time is something I will remember forever. Before arriving, I had no idea what to expect, or even what food they served. This meal, though, is something I will cherish forever. It was my last time seeing the seniors that I danced with since I was in fifth grade. I never realized how much it would affect me. It might not have been the most delicious meal, but it has been the most special. I never have had that many emotions running through me at once. I still think back on this meal all the time.

I started dancing when I was only two years old.

I had no idea what I was doing, but my mom thought I would look cute in a tutu. I could hardly walk but she still wanted me to dance. I have now been dancing for seventeen years. Today, I think she regrets her decision because of all the money she has thrown away from it for me to continue to do it. I am, on the other hand, so grateful for her decision. I still remember that my first dance costume was a green and black little dress. I will never get rid of it because it is so special to me. Ever since I could remember dance has been my priority. I was the only person from my high school who went to a studio to dance. I played softball and basketball all the way up into middle school. When I got to high school I had to make a decision. I had 38

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to decide whether to dance or to play multiple other sports. To some people it might have been hard, but for me it was simple. Dance won easily and I quit playing softball and basketball.

In fifth grade, I finally convinced my mom to let me try out for the competitive team. I was so nervous for the tryouts because I wanted it more than anything. When I made the team I was so unbelievably proud and happy. I went from dancing two nights a week to almost every single day. Since that day, dance has been my safe place. Dance has gotten me through so much in my life. Through all my highs and lows, dance has been there for me. When I dance, I forget about everything else, and get in my happy place. In high school, I spent more hours at the studio than I did at home. Now you can see why this meal was so special to me.

The ride to Kansas City with my four best friends was nothing but laughs and screaming our lungs out to our favorite songs. We always loved car rides during our breaks during dance where we all rode together to get food. When we arrived, we waited for all eleven of us to get there before going inside.

Bucca di Beppo is a nice Italian restaurant and when we entered, we went all the way to the back to a room they had reserved. At first it was a little awkward because nobody knew what to say. I believe it was silent because we meant so much to each other, we just didn’t want it to be real.

After we ordered our drinks and got breadsticks and salad as our appetizer, we all started talking.

We talked about all the funny moments, the good moments, and especially all the embarrassing 39

moments. We all had nothing but smiles and laughter at this time, just looking back at everything we had gone through together. Our teacher passed around cards for all of us and we all opened them at the same time. In the card, she wrote us all a personalized letter and gave us a hundred dollars. Soon after, my chicken alfredo arrived with a side of mashed potatoes and green beans. The food was delicious, I am a sucker for pasta. We were too busy eating, so none of us were really talking.

After we got done eating our main course, we ordered a sundae for fifteen people. It was seriously the biggest dessert I had ever seen! As we all started digging in, one of my friends started tearing up. How are you supposed to say goodbye to people who you have seen every day for as long as you can remember?

Every single one of them meant so much to me. We were a really special group of seniors. One of the girls had cancer when she was eight and danced with a prosthetic leg. One other girl our senior year had a stroke one night after dance. We had gone through so much together, it is insane.

After we got done eating and my teacher asked for the check, my real sadness kicked in. Having to hug each of them not knowing when I was going to see them again was really heartbreaking. When my teacher walked up and hugged me, I lost it. The next thing I knew I had streams of tears rolling down my face. She was like a second mom to me after all of these years. I will always remember what she said to me. She said, “Don’t ever stop dancing, because you are so good and special at it.” I hadn’t decided if I was going to continue dancing in college, but after hearing 40

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that, I knew I needed to.

After we said all of our goodbyes, we all headed back to the cars. We gave one more hug to everyone and departed. The ride home was a lot more quiet and sad. We played sad songs and tried to hide all of our sniffles. I will never forget the seniors or how much they meant to me. I can’t wait until the day we can all get back together and share all of our memories. Here I am in college, now dancing. I’m so thankful that my teacher told me that I needed to. Even college dance has helped me get through so much. I have new dance friends here, but none of them will replace the seniors.

I look back on that night all the time just to remember all the good. The meal I had that night wasn’t the best, but it was definitely the most special to me.

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The Purr-fect Connection Grace Stumbaugh

We are drawn to things and other people that we relate to. It’s a simple fact of human nature. Have you ever tried to be friends with someone who did seemingly everything the opposite of how you would do it? Or have you ever tried to read a book about a ridiculous situation that you’d never find yourself in?

You might have decided very quickly that you didn’t like that person or you weren’t going to finish that book. It is this very notion that leads me to believe that I am a cat person. While I obviously prefer them over dogs and any other animal, and I adore their cute little ears and their darting tail, there is more to my cat obsession than loving the way they purr in my ear and knead things like dough. I’ve found a connection and similarity with cats that ultimately explains why I love them so damn much.

Annoying as it may be, I have a tendency to be less inclined to do something if I know someone wants me to do it. For example, if I suddenly feel like doing the dishes without being prompted by my mom, but then as I am on my way to the kitchen she asks me to do them, all my interest in doing that task goes out the window. The same attitude can be seen in felines.

Have you ever seen someone chase a cat? All they want to do is pick it up or pet it and give it affection, but the cat won’t give them the time of day. It’s as if the cat knows how badly the person wants it and that’s what’s driving it to resist. Only after the person has 42

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accepted defeat will the cat decide to hop on their lap to be pet.

There’s a reason that “cat nap” has been coined as a term. Those things love to nap. Their naps range anywhere from 10 minutes to multiple hours. On one hand, my cat will often run all the way through the house a couple of times, lay down for a brief nap, then get up to resume her activities. On the other hand, I’ve witnessed my cat lay motionless in one spot for hours on end. They’re unashamedly lazy and will nap anywhere and anytime. One of my cat’s favorite napping spots is the middle of the kitchen. If I almost step on her and she gets woken up, she acts as if I am an inconvenience and she is simply where she belongs.

This is yet another way in which I relate very closely to cats. Napping is one of my favorite activities, and I’m not particular about my length of naps. College has introduced me to the world of power naps. If I have 7 minutes to lay down in between classes, you bet I’ll set an alarm for 7 minutes to fit a quick snooze in.

While I appreciate those naps, they pale in comparison to the naps that don’t require an alarm and have me waking up hours later to find that the sun has already begun to set, and I missed multiple texts and calls from my friends. I’m also not opposed to napping in odd places. I once took a nap in a ball closet with my friend. We were at a volleyball tournament and we found ourselves getting super sleepy. After scouting the area for potential napping spots, we found a decent sized closet that offered quiet and darkness. There, we took a 30-minute nap. We would have slept longer, but our coach came and woke us up. He was frantically searching for us and thought that maybe we had left.

We were in a bit of trouble, but the nap was totally worth it.

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Cats don’t like to be in the middle of commotion, and they enjoy their time in solitude. Whenever my family invites guests over, the noise always drives my cat up to someone’s bedroom until she thinks the coast is clear. When things simmer down, she’ll cautiously slip down the stairs and peak her head around every doorway until she’s confirmed that the outsiders have left. I, in a similar fashion, will always find an excuse to leave a party early, or not even go at all, just to avoid being in a room blasting explicit music and bustling with intoxicated people.

Cats are small and agile. They were designed to hunt stealthily and move quickly. With this being said, cats are some of the clumsiest and uncoordinated creatures. However, whenever they do something blunderous, they always play it off unbothered, as if it didn’t happen. I recently caught my cat trying to jump from one chair to another. She readied herself for the jump, took an effortful pounce, but missed the other chair by a few inches. Her claws caught in the upholstery of the chair, which swung her around before hurling her to the floor. Instead of slinking away in embarrassment, she simply jumped up on the intended target and began grooming herself. Similarly, I am an athlete, but there are times when I am totally uncoordinated—but I don’t let that stand in the way of trying new things. A couple of winters back, my friend invited me to go skiing. I had never been but was up for the challenge. We took the lift up to a beginner’s hill and I was determined to make it all the way down with no complications. My legs had other plans. As soon as I began the trek down, my skis quickly drifted apart and divided like a fork in the road. In an attempt to bring my legs and feet back together, my ski flipped sideways and I found myself face planting into the 44

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frosty snow. My friend skied up beside me and we burst into a fit of laughter. I didn’t let my blunder stop me from trying again. I absolutely failed at skiing the whole day but I refused to be embarrassed because of all the fun I was having. That’s something cats and I have in common. We try not to get embarrassed by our slip ups, and we move on.

Being a cat person, to me, is literally being a cat-person. Now, don’t read that and think of the kid that we all seemingly knew in grade school that liked to act like an animal--whether it be a cat, dog, or horse. I’m not saying I want to be a cat or that I feel like I am a cat at heart. I simply have some cat-like tendencies that deepens my love for them. If I could not relate to cats as much as I do and perhaps related to dogs more, it’s very likely that I would be a dog person. I think liking cats because of our similarities asserts that I need to have a connection to something to really fall for it. I can initially be attracted to something for how it looks on the surface, but there needs to be a deeper bond to keep me hooked. I’m kind of like a moth drawn to a flame—or in this case—a cat drawn to a laser.

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My Friend Hannah Redding Life.

Just thinking about the word made me automatically envision an array of delicate, yet comforting, warm colorful lights that would flood my mind. I could feel a tender kiss fall upon my cheek as the breeze carried an overpowering scent of freshly bloomed wildflowers that would linger long after it parted. The sun would hold me ever so closely that I would stay warm, but not hot. Creatures among the outdoors, along with people outside, would casually converse—never out of turn—and always perfectly level, so you could still hear your own thoughts with ease. It was soothing.

Life had sculpted an entire universe for us.

Mending the purest innocence with an unconditional love and forgiveness. Tools were used to carve out all fear, hesitation, and violence. Each edge was sanded down and softened with reassurance, trust, happiness.

That’s exactly what Life had wanted me to believe and it’s the only thing I could believe. Without hesitation, I indulged into all the magical fables Life had been feeding me. And every time it left me in a deprivation, forcing me to need more.

The love Life and I shared for each other became infectious, and evolved into an addiction so strong that no treatment could guide me to recovery. Every cell in my body yearned for the sensational moment of bliss in this high, that it fully consumed me. I became so clouded by this high that I no longer saw the truth of 46

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what was going on around me, but I didn’t want to see it either.

Why would I? This was the only true safe haven I could rely on; it was the only thing I could rely on in general. There’s never room for uncertainty in young minds. Any moment of uncertainty leads to total destruction. So, Life provided me with a stability so secure that nothing else could ever come close to measure. Then I couldn’t leave. I’d never be alone because Life will be there to comfort me unconditionally. A mother’s love became unmatched for the feeling that Life gave. This is when our relationship truly became toxic, yet, I still never saw it.

I never saw Life turn on me. Every effort to slaughter my soul simply became dust on my shoes.

Only, the dust soon became a sandstorm.

Frogs are unique creatures. They adapt to their environments with incredible ease. This is remarkable and also terrifying. If I were to place a frog into a pot of water on the stove, and slowly raise the temperature higher and higher, the frog would continue to just adapt to it, allowing itself to become adjusted to its environment. Only the frog never comprehends that the water is actually killing it. The frog adjusts to the temperature and begins to die, but it never tries to jump out or leave the water. It doesn’t know it’s dying, just that the temperature is slightly getting warmer, but at a rate that’s manageable. So, before the frog can fully realize that the water is leading to its death, the frog just dies. It becomes boiled in the water.

I am the frog. The water and the person turning the heat up is Life. Only the water isn’t water for me, 47

and I’m not actually a frog. Instead it’s a repetition of bullying thoughts of I’m not good enough, I deserve to be treated like shit, I’m worthless, ugly, pathetic, a nuisance to everyone and every thing. Time after time, it’d bring me to people that had only ill intentions for me. Bringing me pain, heartache, and suffering all disguised as beautiful moments in time. See, I never believed that Life itself could do something like this to me, to anyone. Life is hopeful, it’s magnificent, it’s love and happiness. It could never be anything but that. So, I thought it had to be me. That was the only logical reasoning for every little mishap in my existence. I had to be the reason for all the suffering. And, yet, just as quickly as I came to blame myself, I saw the true source of my misery.

I’m not completely certain when, why, or how I came to this realization, but I just know that I didn’t do it to myself alone. And just like that, I took all the anger, disbelief, pain, confusion, uncertainty, and hate. I took it all and projected it onto Life. It wasn’t my fault anymore, it was Life’s. No longer did I see the bright colors that once lit my curious mind. Nor could I feel the smitten kiss from the breeze or smell the gifts of nature as it passed me. The sun refused to hold me close. All that was conversing outside became barely whispers. I grew cold and lonely. Lost within my own sense of hate for life.

Slowly my thoughts overpowered my ability to hear anything other than these thoughts. The only time I would ever have real peace would be while I locked myself away in my room. Going anywhere other than my bed felt impossible and horrifying.

There wasn’t anything I wanted to do with Life. We had broken up. My being filled with only revulsion 48

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any time I would hear talk of that once dear friend.

A new image soaked in my mind when I heard or thought about life. One that hid in the shadows. It had no breeze, only a still hefty air that was too thick to breathe and smelled of decaying forestry. The only light was that of the moon occasionally, and it covered me with a lace blanket of vulgar self-thoughts, never once offering me comfort. All the whispers had faded and denied me to know its secrets. The slightest bit of life I once believed in had been murdered. Left in its place was a darkness that devoured me, and slowly took me along with it. Eventually, I too had wasted away and vanished. All that was left of either of us was a piercing memory that most denied to remember.

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ART & PHOTOGRAPHY “Art is not what you see but what you make others see.”

– Edgar Degas

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Will DiStefano

Firehole Falls

First Place

Second Place

Natural

Hannah Redding

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Janie Leathers

Chasing Pheasants

Third Place

Bryggen

Grace Stumbaugh 56

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Golden Rays of Autumn Sara Ratliff

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Printed on the Corner Janie Leathers

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Grace Stumbaugh

Skipping Rocks

Watercolor Teddy Bear Janie Leathers

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Point Guard Skylor Turner

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Pen and Ink Flowers Janie Leathers

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Smack of Jellyfish Grace Stumbaugh

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Hidden in the Woods Will DiStefano

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Sara Ratliff

Steve McQueen

B Dubs LOL Will DiStefano

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Janie Leathers

What Are You Looking At?

Spirit of the Mountains Sara Ratliff

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Creation of Adam Hannah Redding

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Fly

Hannah Redding 70

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Inner Beauty Hannah Redding

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Groundhog Painting Janie Leathers

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Turkey Time Janie Leathers

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Behind the Trees Janie Leathers

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Janie Leathers

Cloudy Reflection

A Mother’s Love Sara Ratliff

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Fiction “Fiction is art and art is the triumph over chaos... to celebrate a world that lies spread out around us like a bewildering and stupendous dream.”

– John Cheever

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First Place

All the Stars in the Sky

Keagan O’Riley

Death stands in the middle of the street and watches the rain fall.

Around him, humans scurry from one sidewalk to the next, carrying their umbrellas like shields above their heads. If one passed too close, a cold chill would shiver down their spine and they’d start walking a little faster.

If they noticed something amiss, they revealed nothing. If they saw him standing in the rain, they didn’t react. No matter how many humans pass him, no matter how close they get, they never so much as glance his way.

There was only one human who had ever noticed him.

Death often wonders about her. He wonders what she’s doing and who she’s with at that moment.

He wonders how many tears she’s shed since the last time they met or if she’s happy. But mostly he wonders if she ever thinks about him.

Death stares down at the puddles collecting by his feet, counting the raindrops as they fall from the sky. The streetlight turns green above his head, but he doesn’t notice.

He is not the only one.

Somewhere in the distance, sirens begin to wail.

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He lifts his head slowly, knowing in his heart that the sirens are too late. They’re always too late.

As Death leads the old man away, he counts the raindrops in the sky. …

It was summer when he first met her. before.

A summer hotter than any they’d ever known

She and her friends decided to escape the stifling heat in the river that snaked its way behind her house.

He remembered it had stormed the night before and the river was full of hidden holes and floating debris. He remembered that one friend wasn’t a strong swimmer. late.

Like with the old man, the sirens got there too

Death heard the call long before the friend got swept under by the raging current. He was watching from the shadows as the preteens frolicked in the water, oblivious to his presence as humans always are. While they played, he counted leaves.

He heard them laughing. He heard them splashing and joking in blissful ignorance. He heard someone climb out of the water and walk his way.

The girl approached, but he didn’t care. He was busy counting leaves. He waited for her to pass, waited for the shiver that would race down her spine as she walked by, but nothing happened. Instead, she stopped right in front of him.

She smiled.

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Time stopped and stared.

“Hello,” she said to him. “My name is Via, what’s yours?”

Death never got to answer her. He regretted not answering her. Perhaps he could have warned her about the danger. He had never thought to warn them before.

Never until now.

As he led the young girl’s friend away, he counted the tears in her eyes—the one called Via. … said.

“Something strange happened today,” Death

Fate merely chuckled and looked at his hands.

“Everything is strange to you,” he replied.

They were standing on a bridge somewhere on the other side of the world, watching the city lights flicker and glitter on a dark horizon. It had been years since the last time they’d spoken and Death found it strange how he had gone so long without realizing this.

How long had he been drifting through his existence in solitary silence? He didn’t know and he was afraid to find out.

“You spend all your time with your head in the clouds,” Fate sighed into the night sky. “It’s not surprising you find the world a strange place to be when you rarely look at it.”

Death shook his head and looked down at the river rushing by below them. Even in this darkness he can see the water churning and swirling around the 81

bridge’s thick stone piles.

“This time was different,” he said softly. “This time a human spoke to me.”

“Oh? And what did you do?”

Death’s laugh was bitter. “What else was I supposed to do? I did my job.” He looked up from the dark swirling water and fixed his gaze on the city lights once more. After a moment, he turned towards Fate and asked, “do you think she hates me for taking her friend?”

“Humans are fickle creatures,” Fate replied with a shrug. “Maybe you should ask her that yourself.”

He had never considered asking her before—had never thought to try. Death turned away from the lights and looked towards the sky, the thoughts in his head swirling around and around like the water beneath the bridge. will.”

“You know what?” He said suddenly, “perhaps I

Death turned to leave and as he disappeared into the night, Fate smiled to himself. …

Death leaves the old man with the other souls he’d collected that day.

As he walks along the beach, he notices something strange about the souls waiting there.

Normally freshly reaped souls band together, finding strength and comfort in larger numbers, but this bunch is different. This group barely looks at each 82

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other, instead preferring to sit alone on the sandy shores. He remembers something someone once told him—how Fear can make strangers out of even the friendliest of people. again.

He wonders if Fear is here wreaking havoc

He scans the beach slowly, taking in the sad faces and confused stares. Perhaps the world had changed while Death wasn’t paying attention. Or perhaps Death had been mistaken about human nature.

Lately, he finds he is often mistaken.

“Do you ever get tired of this?” The old man asks, before Death can disappear again.

The question is one he hears often from the souls he reaps. Perhaps it’s also human nature to wonder about this. Or perhaps not. Death looks at the old man.

“Give me another millennia,” he says. “Then we’ll talk.”

Despite the cryptic answer, the old man smiles. …

“Do you ever grow tired of it?” She asked him, as he leaned against the hospital window.

There was no one else in the room but her and the dying woman. The rest of her family had already said their goodbyes. Via was the only one to linger, the only one to wait for Death to arrive.

It was their third meeting and Via had grown 83

seven years older, seven years wiser, seven years more beautiful than that day at the river. Death still remembered the first time he saw her, dark hair dripping and tangled over two of the brightest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Even then, with her lanky limbs and freckled nose, he’d thought she was beautiful.

Seven years was all it took to transform her into a stunning woman of twenty.

“Well?” She pressed, “do you ever grow tired of it? Of being Death?”

“I don’t know,” Death looked past her shoulder, watching as the woman on the bed struggled to breathe.

She had been struggling for months now. Via had been struggling with her.

Cancer is a cruel, merciless murderer. Death had met many of its victims in his years of reaping souls.

In the end, they always blamed him for their suffering, even when he was the one to take it away.

“I think you’re lucky,” Via sighed, settling against the wall beside him. “You get to travel the world, meet all kinds of people, see all kinds of places and on top of it all, you never have to die yourself.”

Death understood this is how all humans would think of his kind—living a blissful eternity while they aged and died in the arms of their loved ones. He laughed a bitter laugh. it.”

“You have no idea how good you humans have

Via gave him a strange look. “What do you mean?”

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“An immortal existence is a lonely existence,” he told her. Outside, Winter listened quietly, nodding along with his words. “Yes, you humans live and die, but you also have the gift of family. Of friendship. Of making lasting connections with others.”

Death looked out at the dark sky, counting the snowflakes as they melted on the window. Even snowflakes spend their existence with their own kind, he thought. He watched them stick together to create a beautiful maze of sparkling crystal—a bond that nothing but time could break.

“An eternity,” he said to the frozen glass, “is a worthless gift when you have no one to share it with.”

The woman’s breath shortened to gasps. They watched in somber silence as her chest rose once, twice, then no more. Sadness wiped tears from Via’s eyes.

“There is one good thing that comes from this job, though,” Death said quietly, rising from his place on the wall to walk towards the woman’s bed. He leaned down to help her soul stand and watched as she took a breath—the first unlabored breath in nearly two years of struggling.

“I can bring an end to suffering,” he told no one in particular. “An end to suffering and peace to those who need it most.”

It didn’t matter if they blamed him. What mattered was the souls were no longer in pain. This was enough for him. At least, that’s what he told himself.

As Death led Via’s grandmother away, he counted the snowflakes collecting in her hair.

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…

He doesn’t realize where he’s ended up until he sees the house.

For the first time in his existence, Death hesitates.

He knows this place. He’s been here once before.

He finds himself wishing he’d stayed to talk with that old man. As if that would solve anything.

As if it would’ve kept him from following the call.

Eventually Death would have ended up here, he has to accept that.

Death stares up at the old Victorian mansion, noting absently how the eggshell paint had faded and chipped away from years of neglect. He takes a breath, remembering that hot summer when everything changed. Back then, the paint had been bright and fresh and untouched by time. Back then, things had seemed much simpler.

As Death walks through the door, he counts the seconds in his head. …

“What are you doing?” Via’s voice pulled his attention from the window.

It had been three years since Via became a nurse, and Death often saw her. Sometimes it was in passing—a shared look as they met in a hall or a glimpse of her tending to one of the many patients that populated the hospital. Other times, he lingered to talk with her.

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wasn’t completely there in the moment and somehow ended up wherever she was, regardless if the call had pulled him there or not. He hadn’t even realized he’d gone quiet until Via said something. He blinked at her question and looked back at the window.

“I’m counting,” he told her.

Death was always counting. He counted anything and everything he could think of. Raindrops and snowflakes. Leaves and flower petals. Cracks in the floor, in the wall, in the ceiling. The seconds that dragged by when they were apart.

That day he was counting the people that walked by outside.

He counted their smiles. He subtracted their frowns. He divided happiness by the pace of their steps and multiplied love by the light in their eyes.

Sometimes he wondered what it was like. To be human.

He had never wondered that before, had never known that he could long for something he’d never experienced. Never until then. Never until Via. “Why do you count?” Via bent down to check the man’s pulse. From the look on her face, their time together was drawing to a close once again.

Why count?

Death looked at the old man and instantly knew his truths. His lies. His dreams and desires and deepest, darkest regrets. With one look, Death could see the entirety of this man’s life. The memories he sees are not always good ones. If life is measured in memories, Death thought quietly, then he had lived more than he’d ever wished.

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“Why do you count?” Via had asked him.

“To forget,” is all he told her. …

He finds her in the library, tucked into her favorite armchair and surrounded by piles of old books.

In the three decades they’d been apart, Via had added a few grey hairs and wrinkles to her collection. Death still thought she was beautiful.

He said nothing as he crossed the threshold, but somehow Via still noticed.

“I knew you would come,” she says, still staring down at the book in her lap. “How long has it been now, old friend? Twenty, thirty years?”

Long enough to count all the stars in the sky and come up short.

Death still remembered the last time they’d spoken. How could he forget? She’d blamed him for not warning her. He blamed himself too—for not understanding sooner.

For caring about a human’s feelings.

“Well come on in,” Via beckons, with a sad smile. “We have a lot to talk about.” …

That night, Death was counting the stars.

He counted the little ones that struggled to shine through the frozen winter sky. He counted the bigger ones that shone like miniature suns in the moonless night. When the time came, he counted the stars that 88

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fell through the air as the cars collided before him.

One landed on his shoe.

Another floated before his face.

He reached out with a gentle hand and watched as it danced between his fingertips before disappearing into the darkness. Sometimes he wished he could disappear too.

Somewhere in the distance he heard tires squealing. People shouting. Fear laughing and dancing between it all. It wasn’t until he heard his name that he looked up. He recognized that voice and the face that went with it. He remembered the first time he’d seen those tears.

He’d counted them many times in his memories.

“Please,” she cried, “take me instead.”

He looked beyond her at the man and woman who struggled to breathe. Their broken bodies had been laid out on the pavement, but Death could tell the ambulance would be too late. It’s always too late. He didn’t need to look to know who they were to her.

“Please,” Via begged. “Take me, not them.”

He tried to step forward, but Fate held him back with a firm hand.

“No, brother,” Fate whispered. “It’s not her time.”

He wanted to scream that he understood how things worked. He understood there was nothing he could do but watch and wait as Via’s parents drew their last breaths. He’d learned his lesson already.

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It wasn’t his place to save them.

He hated it. Not being able to do anything. He wanted to rage at the unfairness of it all, but mostly he wanted to stop the tears that fell from her eyes.

In the end, he did nothing.

In the end, he lost her anyway. …

When she told him to leave and never come back, he promised himself he’d respect her wish.

Whenever he felt the urge to go see her, he counted.

He knew it was for the best.

Every now and then, he would catch a glimpse of her from afar—crossing a street, driving a car, walking from a grocery store. Sometimes he’d go out of his way to sneak a peek of her life, but he made sure to keep his distance.

He thought it was guilt that made him hope for her happiness.

“I regretted it,” she tells him softly. “All those years I didn’t see you, I regretted the things I said. I wished I could take it back.”

“You had a right to feel that way,” Death says as he sits on the window seat.

Via closes her books and looks up at where he sits, legs crossed, dark eyes searching her face. In all his existence, Death has experienced a multitude of human emotion, but even this couldn’t prepare him for the way Via looks at him now.

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shimmering in her eyes, “I should have been the one to understand. I shouldn’t have blamed you, and I’m sorry. You must hate me.”

“No,” He tells her, “I’ve never hated you.”

Not once did he hold Hate’s hand.

“If anything…” He trails off with a slow smile, remembering their meetings over the years, “If anything, I’m grateful.”

“Grateful? For what?”

“For having the chance to meet you,” he says.

“For having you open my eyes to the world.”

Before, he would never have thought to be grateful for anything. Now, he can’t think about the past without wondering how long he would have drifted through his existence if he had never met Via. Death tells her many things that night.

How he watched her from afar as he ferried souls into the afterlife. How he always wondered about her happiness and never blamed her for telling him to stay away. How even after all this time, he still thought of the little girl who noticed him on that riverbank and changed the way he saw the world. He doesn’t know when it happened, he doesn’t know how it happened, but somewhere along the way he realized that Via was the first friend he’d ever had. The first, and quite possibly the last.

When it’s Via’s turn, she tells him of the years he missed.

“I got married,” She says, her gaze finding focus 91

on nothing and everything in the distance, “I married a wonderful man who truly cared for me and our children. It wasn’t a whirlwind romance like in the story books, but it felt magical nonetheless. In the end, though, I realized he never really understood me. I suppose it’s not surprising that we got divorced, but it was a surprise to me.”

“What went wrong?” Death asks.

He had never understood the human custom of marriage, had never really cared enough to understand it, but he knows the pain of losing a dear one all too well. He’s seen it echo in the hearts of the ones he leaves behind. A broken marriage may not be as severe as losing a loved one, but Death could tell that it left scars just as deep.

When he presses for Via’s answer, she only smiles and murmers, “I wish I knew.”

After her divorce, Via ended up moving back to where it all began. By then, the children were grown and living their own lives. Via spent the rest of her days reading, writing, and wondering about Death.

She wondered how he was. If he was still counting. If he ever spoke to any of the souls he reaped about a girl and a river and a meeting that was never supposed to happen. Sometimes she’d go back to the river.

Sometimes she thought she saw Death counting leaves.

“After a while, I realized I was waiting for you to come back,” she says. “So I could tell you how sorry I was.”

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one had ever had the need to. Death isn’t sure of how to take it, but he’s sure of one thing. He had never blamed her. Not once.

“I think I’m ready,” Via smiles softly. “I have no more regrets.”

Death stands, offering a hand which Via’s soul takes without hesitation. As they leave the house, he notices her staring up at the sky, a soft, peaceful smile pulling at her lips. When he asks her what she’s doing, she simply chuckles and mummers gently beneath her breath.

“I’m counting the stars,” she says. “So I won’t forget.”

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Second Place

The Most Genuine Thing Sarah King

These women were talking about such stupid things. Their stupid lives and their stupid homes and their stupid selves. Anders just wanted to get in to deposit his paycheck and go home to his apartment and get on with his life. He didn’t care about what this lady was fighting with her boyfriend about.

One woman, with red, permed hair and thick, gaudy lipstick was talking loudly about how every time her boyfriend talks to her on the phone, he doesn’t really listen to her. He’s always reading or playing a game.

The other woman has a turtleneck on, which is kind of dumb since its hot and that’s not really the fashion anymore. Something in the redhead’s story seems to cause her to close in. Her eyes glaze over partially.

Anders finally gives up and listens to the conversation so he can at least criticize this lady’s choices.

Turtleneck woman drops her purse.

Anders reaches to get it for her. “Stupid bitch.”

Turtleneck woman flinches. And freezes.

Anders looks into her eyes for the first time. She doesn’t seem to see him; she looks through him.

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She looks at nothing.

Anders regrets calling her a bitch. He can tell she’s been called one before, and he can tell that he hurt her.

This moment of regret doesn’t last though.

The loud one is in his face “What did you just say? She doesn’t need you to pick up her fuckin’ purse!

Get the hell away!”

Turtleneck: “Stef, it’s not a big deal—” The woman in the turtleneck holds her friend’s arm gently. Her hand is not a true barrier, but a suggestion.

Anders is stunned. He backs away. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

Even with the anger in Stef’s eyes threatening to bite his head off, he can’t shake the sadness and fear he saw in the other woman’s eyes.

“Wow you think you can just say anything you want? You think you’re so much better than us?”

Anders could feel all the eyes on him at that moment. But Stef seemed to be focus on more than just him. She was letting out her frustration and trying to be heard.

Anders looked at the woman in the turtleneck.

She was obviously embarrassed, and her brown eyes were widened and looking at the ground. She was still subtly trying to calm her friend.

“Hey.” Anders watched Turtleneck look up at him. “I’m sorry.” That was the most genuine thing he 95

had said all day.

“That’s more like it. Now mind your own business.” Stef turned away.

Anders fought his urge to say something snarky back. It had always irked him not to get the last word. “…Thank you.” A squeak. Barely audible. But Anders heard it.

He wanted to ask her if she was okay, her name, anything. He wanted to, but the entire bank was still staring at the three, so he was silent. The women were at the front of the line now.

Stef was there to deposit her paycheck, like Anders.

“Okay Clarissa, your turn.”

So her name is Clarissa. That’s one answer.

She was there to start an account. She reached in her purse for the cash and laid it on the table.

The teller counted through it. “I’m sorry, our minimum is a little higher than that… Maybe if you transferred from the shared account?”

“No! No, that won’t work.” She rummaged through her purse desperately.

Anders already had his wallet out to take out his paycheck.

“Uh, I think you dropped that.” Anders cautiously pointed at a folded bundle of small bills laying on the ground between them.

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Clarissa gave Anders and the money a surprised look. Stef looked at him with vague sourness.

“Oh! Uh, thanks.” She tucked a piece of her brown hair behind her ear.

Clarissa opened the account and left with Stef.

As they walked out the door, Stef gave her friend a supportive side hug.

“Will you be depositing all of this, sir?” the teller’s politeness was tart.

“No, I’ll take some in cash.”

When he paid the taxi driver later that night, the crisp new bills surprised his usual driver. bills.

He usually paid in a folded bundle of small

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Third Place

A Reimagining of Jamaica Kincaid’s “Girl” Michelle Miley Wash the clothes whatever day you can, but always dry them promptly so they don’t mildew; if the clothes wrinkle in the dryer before you fold them, run them through another dryer cycle; always wear sunscreen on your face – many moisturizers include it now; bargain shop when you must, but remember that high-quality clothes last longer; stand up for yourself when you should and ignore the people who call you a bitch for it; make home cooked meals when you can, they’re healthier than take out; chew with your mouth closed; hold your head high and walk down the street with confidence; this is how you iron a man’s shirt; there is no shame in expecting a man to iron his own shirt; growing your own vegetables is a healthy and relaxing hobby, but a can of green beans will do fine if you lack the time or space to garden; never accept less pay than a man if you’re doing the same job, even if they call you a bitch for it; this is how a man will try to bully you – don’t let him; this is how you bully a man, but choose one who respects you without being pressured or manipulated into it; never, ever smile at a man who tells you that you would be more attractive if you did; skipping a shower for a day is far less offensive than bathing in your own spit or wearing Axe Body Spray; don’t stay in a situation that makes you unhappy – even if they 98

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call you a bitch for leaving; always follow your heart but take your head with you; vote!; run, jump and squat to play marbles – you can have just as much fun as the boys; if a boy is torn between you and another girl, let her have him; don’t be bitter – when it’s over, wish them love and light and move on; always take Band-Aids off quickly and in one pull; shave your legs only if you want to, even if hairy armpits prompt them to call you a crunchy bitch; always trust your gut; never hesitate to call me if you’re in trouble; be a difficult woman when it’s warranted, but never go “Karen”; love whoever you choose, but do so with your whole heart; don’t assume nice people are good people – sometimes nice is camouflage; please don’t tell me after all I’ve taught you that you will still be the kind of woman who embroiders “Live, Laugh, Love” on her throw pillows.

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Monsters

Sara Ratliff

“Thanks again for agreeing to meet with Mr. Caldwell,” the young reporter, Nate Parker, told the elderly man as he slowly made his way back into the small living room of the apartment tucked away in the back of the senior housing complex. “It will be a lot of help for the story about the Laura Taylor case.”

Caldwell silently nodded his head as he sat a coffee mug down on the small walnut table next to his faded green recliner and took a seat. Nate swore he caught the whiff of whiskey in the coffee as the old man responded, “Please… Call me Harry. In all ninety-six years of my life, I have never had a liking for the formalities.

The young man smiled and gave a little chuckle at the man’s insistence. “Well, Harry, it is a pleasure all the same. I was afraid you wouldn’t meet with me because…”

“That is not a time, I reckon, that I very much like to talk about … well… anyway…” Harry cleared his throat, running a shaky hand through what was left of his greying hair. “If I am going to do this Nate, you have to tell me a little bit more about this project of yours. Why are you interested in this case, son?”

“Um… well,” Nate thought to himself a moment, looking around the living room that appeared to have aged as much as its occupant, “I guess the reason that my editor would want me to say is that true crime stories are all the rage today, especially famous cold cases like Laura Taylor’s. He probably agreed to this 100

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story because it brings in readers. But personally, Harry, something about Laura’s story speaks to me.

Before I moved to the city for university, I grew up in a town not far from hers,” the man seemed to stop in mid-thought, rubbing his hand on the back if his neck.

“I don’t know how to really explain it. I… I just don’t know. I know that the case was not solved and there is no way that I can solve it now, but maybe I can look at it in a new light.”

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the silence of the room like a renewing force.

“Well, I guess we ought to get this over with,” Harry sighed, opening his dark blue eyes to look straight at the reporter sitting across from him, almost like he was searching through his thoughts.

Nate, taking the hint, took out his phone and began to record the conversation, reaching into his bag to grab a tattered leather notebook that looked to be as old as the man he was going to interview. “Okay…

Harry, let’s begin with your story. I would just like to know a little more about you.”

“I don’t know how that really matters about the case,” Harry puzzled, his fragile voice cracking.

“Please Harry. You were the lead detective, so you matter in the long run when it comes to Laura’s story. Let’s just start with your childhood.”

“Um. Well, I was born in ‘25. Raised in the Depression. My daddy lost everything and he worked himself to an early grave to support my mom, my brothers, my sister, and I… to pull us up out of it all.

Those years were a big part in shaping who I wanted to become as a man… Who I became. In all that 101

darkness we saw, I always wanted to find the light.

One could have called me an eternal optimist because I had these big ideals of heroism and justice that I could just not reach staying where I was at in life.”

“You came of age around the time during World War II, didn’t you?” Nate asked curiously after doing the math in his head.

Harry slowly nodded, a solemn look on his face.

He began to speak again, drawing out his words like they were hard for him to say, possibly even painful for him to remember. “When Pearl Harbor was attacked in forty-one… I saw my opportunity. Like my Daddy before me, I joined the military just as soon as I could and fought for Uncle Sam. I was a pilot in the Pacific,” Harry paused and sighed deeply. “Those years were long and hard. I… I lost some good friends, and I lost what was left of my youth.”

“What did you do when you came home?” Nate queried as Harry anxiously took a sip of his coffee.

Harry sat his mug back down before he continued, saying, “Well, I came home and the thing that I craved more than anything was order and calm.

For some reason, this drew me to the city police force, and not too long afterwards, I met my beautiful Ellie,” Harry explained, gazing over at a black and white picture hanging on the wall of a youthful woman next to a tall, uniformed man Nate recognized as a young Harry. “She was the peace to the storm that raged inside of me. Thanks to her I was living the life I’d always dreamed of. I had an amazing wife who gave me two wonderful children—a handful of a boy and the sweetest little blond-haired girl you have ever met 102

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in your life—and a job where I felt like I was doing something worthwhile.”

Nate gave Harry a curious look, “Was your job ever overwhelming for you? I know that personally I could never be a cop.”

“Well, son, my time on the force was demanding, especially through the turmoil of the sixties, but it never became too much to handle. I was damn good at it too. Before long, they were calling me a detective, and case after case, I thought that I had myself a job that I could be proud telling my grandkids about.

But…” Harry sighed and ringed his veined hands.

“When the radio call came in that cold and damp April morning I… I… can’t explain it son. I knew deep in my bones that it was not going to be any ordinary case. I don’t much remember the drive there, but I remember pulling my car up into one of the alleys in the old, abandoned part of the warehouse district. I couldn’t get close to the scene because I was one of the last officers to arrive… but I remember getting out of my car and feeling the brisk air slice around me as I lifted the collar of my jacket up further around my neck.

It had to have only took a couple seconds to weave around all the cars, but it seemed like an eternity…

Almost like time slowed down to a crawl… When…

When I finally made it to the center of it all… I don’t know… something in me just broke…

“She was just lying there… a young waitress named Laura Taylor. Her blond hair and sky-blue dress stood out against the muddy pavement, like the world was in black and white. Her body was crumpled up next to the dumpster… discarded like… like… trash. Her face was bruised and the marks on her neck 103

were still visible. She… she…” Harry stammered, a storm cloud building in his eyes.

The young reporter stopped writing and glanced up at the elderly man with concern. “It’s okay Harry, I have read the case files. You can skip all of that.”

Harry began ringing his hands again and nodded his head, continuing his tale, “She was only twenty-two. She had her whole life before her. She came to the city from Oklahoma to be a singer. To try to make it big. She had hopes… dreams. She saw the city as a way out of her life. A new start… only to be beaten down. The life strangled out of her.”

Nate looked at the frail, elderly man before him whose steel blue gaze was focused straight forward, staring at nothing at all while lost in his own thoughts. It was like an invisible movie screen was on the opposite wall, replaying these events that occurred so long ago but still haunted his memories.

Harry closed his eyes, slowly taking in a deep breath and opening them with his exhale. “I want you to know that I had worked many homicide cases before Laura’s. I saw it all on the job. Saw even more during the war. I don’t know what the difference was with this case. It just made me so angry,” Harry’s voice broke as he continued, “Part of me just wasn’t right inside. I didn’t know Laura Taylor from Adam, but I felt like I knew her so well. I saw my own daughter’s face in hers. I saw all that was good in the world in her… like so much else… thrown into the muddy shadows of the city. She represented so much more than a girl from Oklahoma… So much more. I think the rest of the world saw that too, considering 104

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the attention the case got nationally.” He stopped to look the reporter unflinchingly in the eyes before continuing, “The attention it still gets today.”

Both men sat for a second in the silence that drifted through the air like a wild plague. Eventually Nate hesitatingly asked, “Can you tell me some more about the investigation Harry?”

“Oh… um… alright. Because of all the media involvement in the details of the case, two other detectives—Joe Smith and Cliff Fowler—and I worked together in the investigation, but I took the official lead. As you probably already know, there were three early suspects based on her contacts within the city.

One of them—the cook at the diner she worked for— had a credible alibi because he had slept on the couch at a friend’s house that night. The second was an old drifter that lived on the street where Laura and her roommate lived. Joe and Cliff always thought that the blame could lie with him. Robbery gone wrong, they all said… but I just never thought that was the case because the only thing of hers with any value was that missing necklace. It was a silver heart locket with a small blue stone in the center. The only thing we had on the man was the suspicions of a nosey neighbor.

“The third suspect early in the case was the only credible lead at the time. His name, as you probably know, was Jimmy Larkin and he was a young Vietnam vet who had returned home early after an injury to manage a club where Laura frequently sang. He was her boyfriend, and according to many, the relationship was on rocky ground. The missing necklace was also a gift from Larkin and he had left the club early the

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night of her murder. Apparently, he told the bouncer he did not feel good. Motive, means, opportunity… all of our physical evidence seemed to point to him.

Cliff…” Harry began before bending over in a crippling cough.

“Are you alright Harry?” Nate asked, looking up in concern.

Harry gave the young reporter a weak nod and with a shaky hand picked up the coffee sitting next to his recliner. “Yeah son,” He replied weakly. “Never get old. That’s all I have to say to you,” Harry tried to joke but his words never seemed to reach his eyes.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” he sighed, “Cliff and Joe were ready to arrest Jimmy pretty quickly, but I was not convinced. When we talked to Jimmy, he swore up and down that he could never hurt Laura because he loved her. He claimed the fight individuals witnessed was over her friendship with a wealthy older man that frequented the club.”

“William Lockwood?” Nate questioned.

Harry gave a curt nod and continued, “Jimmy that he apologized to Laura on her birthday two days later—just three days before the murder—and gave her the locket. The kid actually broke down crying, telling me he planned to propose to her. Now, son, I know that you must be thinking… Jimmy Larkin was likely a criminal. A liar. Why should I have believed the kid? The simple fact is that I had a gut feeling that Jimmy was telling me the truth. I believed him and I even believed that he had given me a new lead on the case.”

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Harry drew in a shaky breath again, collecting his thoughts before continuing, vacantly staring ahead.

When he finally spoke, he did so slowly, “Lockwood, as you very well likely know was fifty-three at the time and the owner of the development company that practically ran the city… I looked into his visits to the club, and it turns out he was there every night that Laura had sang for the past two months. According to Laura’s roommate, he had even stopped by their apartment several times, bearing gifts for Laura.

Jimmy confirmed it all. He said that William was infatuated with Laura and she just would not realize it. Jimmy eventually had enough and confronted Lockwood about it at the club one night and that is what caused the fight he had with Laura. She always saw the best in people and thought that he was just a lonely man who wanted a friend. I knew that Lockwood was responsible… I knew… I just could not nail down any physical evidence to prove he did it. What little we did find magically disappeared and Lockwood’s attorneys were there every step of the way, making my job that much harder. I even had an eyewitness once, one who said she saw Laura get in Lockwood’s car the night she was killed, but she recanted four hours later. I knew he did it… I knew without a doubt.

“When I went to talk to him, I was even more convinced. That man was cunning, smart, and not even a little bit of the friendly and lonely man that he portrayed to Laura. Every inch of him screamed liar.

He killed Laura… strangled the life out of her… but I couldn’t prove it and he knew it. It was like he was taunting me.”

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“How…?” Nate began before being interrupted.

“How did I get kicked off the case?” Harry asked, closing his eyes and laying his head back on his recliner with an empty laugh.

Nate just gave a sheepish smile.

“I… I messed up one day. I went into his office building to ask him some more questions and when I did… he just smiled at me. I… I… I couldn’t take it. I snapped. I made a scene in his office. Got myself kicked off the case.”

“What ever happened to William Lockwood?”

Nate asked Harry, looking at him from across the room as he still had his head laid back on the recliner like he was trying to sink into it and away from the world. In the ensuing silence, Nate almost imagined hearing the ticking of a clock. “Harry?”

Harry lifted his head and nodded, opening his mouth and then closing his eyes again like he couldn’t muster the strength to speak. Finally, speaking barely above an audible whisper, “The story is that William Lockwood disappeared. He flew his small plane out of a private airport outside of the city. No cameras there at the time. The plane was later found in Mexico.

Lockwood never returned. Nothing was ever proven.

I quit a week later. Laura Taylor’s case was never officially solved. Her case slowly drifted out of the spotlight with all of the events later that summer—the moon landing, Woodstock, the Manson murders. The case was all but forgotten—that is until recently.”

Nate looked long and hard at the small and frail man that was old enough to be his great grandfather 108

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and tried to picture him as the tall, stocky, dark-haired police detective he had seen in the newspaper photos from the case. “Harry,” he hesitatingly opened, unsure of whether to continue, “Why did you quit?”

Harry swallowed hard and stared at the distant wall like he could bore straight through it and gave a small, sad laugh. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I tried as hard as I had ever tried for anything to prove that that monster killed Laura, but I just couldn’t. I have never felt so powerless in my life. I kept sinking… falling deeper and deeper into the case…” Harry stopped to cough again before continuing. “That day I got suspended, I just snapped. I went to his office to ask him about the witness recanting her story… I remember how scared she looked… and… I… I don’t know. As soon as I started talking to him, he… I swear he was taunting me. Generic statements to broad to prove anything, but specific enough to let me know he did it. Comments about Laura… about her necklace… about everything. Saying it all with that poison smirk on his face. He got pleasure from my inability to do anything and from the power he held over me. I don’t honestly remember what I did next, it is all just a blur.

Joe told me later that I picked up a paper weight and threw it into his wall. That I threatened him. Told him one way or the other that I would make the world see the true him. I don’t really remember, but they dragged me out of the office that day and what I saw was a framed photo of the police commissioner and Lockwood on a bookshelf behind his desk. Apparently, they were college friends.” Harry looked up, a fiery storm of anger growing in his eyes. “Like I said… he owned the town.”

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Nate could see the obvious agitation that Harry was under and looked at him, stating, “Harry, look… I think I have enough. I don’t think you need to continue.”

“No. Son… I made the decision when I agreed to this that I was going to tell you everything.”

Harry began to cough hard again had to take a drink of his coffee before he continued. “I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday and he told me I have cancer.

Frankly, after the life I have lived, I am surprised that I have lived this long anyway. The point is son… I am not prepared to take this to my grave. You need the whole story and I need to tell it to you. I need to. It feels like it has been eating me alive.”

Harry looked straight into Nate’s eyes, his knuckles turning red from his steady grip on the arms of his chair. “Please…” he whispered, the desperation on his face making him seem like a caged animal.

Nate hesitated before giving him a small nod to continue, looking back to his notebook, pen at the ready.

Harry took a deep breath and explained, “Lockwood had played a lot of people, but I was his newest victim. He had me right where he wanted me.

Knew what to do to make me go crazy, to lose all my credibility… my ability to bring him to justice… and I played right into his hand with that little scene in his office. I swear he laughed as I was dragged out.

I tried to drop the case from my mind, son… I really did. I tried to go back home to my family and live that life I had before that radio call came in… Oh how I tried! I just couldn’t. I felt like I was betraying Laura’s 110

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parents… betraying my own sanity. I have never felt so damn powerless in my life.

“Apparently, Lockwood couldn’t let my obsession go either. I was a game to him, just like Laura was.

I… I… followed him one night. I guess I got careless because he noticed me. He led me straight down to the warehouse district. To the end of the alley where he left her. Right along the wharf. He stopped and turned around to look out into the water and said, ‘Such a fitting place to die isn’t it. A girl like her. A nobody. In a part of this city that is already practically a graveyard.’ He started to laugh… to laugh!”

Nate jumped when Harry let out a loud, angry laugh, unable to shake his portrayal of the man who had caused him so much grief. He marveled at how the elderly man before him seemed to transform into an entirely different person as he narrated the conversation to him. Harry became younger, almost like his entire demeanor transformed into Lockwood’s at that very moment.

Harry continued his narrative, “I could feel every fiber of my body scream for me to do something, but I was frozen stiff as Lockwood continued to taunt me. ‘Pity though, such a beautiful girl. A perfect China doll in the midst of all this squalor and filth. She could have had such promise.’ He then turned to look towards where I was in the shadows of the buildings, with that eerie white smile of his glowing in the flickering lights. ‘Detective Caldwell, you might as well give up. I make the truth in this city. It is hopeless.

Besides, I have made it very clear to the commissioner that I do not approve of this personal vendetta you

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have against me. I mean really, Detective, you need some help. This is not healthy’ he said with a chuckle that pierced the air like a knife.

“I felt the last few threads of sanity holding me together snap as I stepped out of the shadows and asked him flat out why he did it. I saw him reach into his pocket and pull out a small, silver, heart-shaped locket and twirl it through his fingers. ‘Who really cares Detective’ is all he said as he tossed the locket into the water. Like that… I broke,” Harry closed his eyes and whispered, “As that monster turned around to walk away, I pulled out my sidearm and squeezed the trigger. The city was dark as I took the body away.

I… I… I still knew how to fly, and Lockwood and I were about the same height, so I put on a long coat and cap and flew his plane away. The rest is history.”

The old man turned with watery eyes to the picture of his young wife on his wall. “I was never the same after that night. I started drinking… way too much. Ellie tried her hardest to stick with me, but I… I was a different person. She took the kids and left a few years later. I was destroyed, transformed into something that I didn’t even recognize, while he has parks named after him still to this day. My secret was buried with William Lockwood and it has eaten me alive ever since. It was a cancer that I lived with for decades before I got the medical diagnosis.”

Nate sat silent on the couch, not sure of what to do or say next, nervously rolling his pen through his hands.

Harry seemed to feel the same way, as he began to wring his hands again before he resumed speaking, 112

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“What I can’t figure out is if William Lockwood made me a monster or if I became the monster that I always was deep down.” As a single tear rolled down Harry’s cheek, he reached forward to stop the recording on the reporter’s phone, whispering, “You see, son, two men died that night—William Lockwood and… and me.”

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Screenplay “What has always been at the heart of film making was the value of a script. It was really the writer who could make or break a film.”

– Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.

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Camping with Millennials Keagan O’Riley

EXT. CAMPING GROUND – DAY A group of young adults walk in carrying gear. The camping ground is empty except for two un-made tents that lie in the background and a single picnic table off to the one side.

MR. JENKINS, the coordinator in charge of the business retreat, who was already at the scene, ambles over to the new arrivals with a clipboard in hand.

MR. JENKINS Oh, good. I see everyone made it.

Now we just need everyone to sign in and we can get things rolling.

KATHRINE, takes the clipboard from him while the others begin to set their bags down, still breathing heavily from the walk.

KATHRINE (Frowning at paper) Um, Mr. Jenkins?

MR. JENKINS Yes, Kathrine?

KATHRINE This isn’t the sign-up sheet. This is your wife’s birthday wish list.

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WILLIAM, still carrying several bags on his person, leans over to look at the clipboard. Mr. Jenkins snatches the clipboard from Kathrine before William can read it.

MR. JENKINS (In a quick, nervous voice) Never mind checking in. Just unpack your things and get tents up.

Mr. Jenkins rushes out, exiting scene. JACK, THEODORE and KATHRYN move to set up their tents while William and Kathrine stare after Mr. Jenkins.

WILLIAM What’s wrong with him?

KATHRINE (Smiling mischievously) Let’s just say his wife is FREAKY. (Pauses. Glances back at William) Wait. Who the hell are you? You don’t work with us.

WILLIAM Try telling my sister that.

SAMANTHA, a millennial who can’t detach from technology, walks up to William and Kathrine, eyes glued to phone.

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SAMANTHA Willy, where’s my portable battery pack? My phone is about to die.

WILLIAM I sent it to hell along with my social life, Samantha.

SAMANTHA Oh, quit being such a whiny bitch.

You’ll have another guy’s night some other weekend.

KATHRINE Wait… Do you two know each other?

SAMANTHA Oh, this is William. He’s my twin brother.

(Turning to William) Now where’s my battery pack, loser?

WILLIAM It was in the green bag, right?

Samantha nods, still looking at phone. William sets down all the bags except for the green one.

WILLIAM Here. Go fetch.

William chucks the bag as hard as he can into the distance. Kathrine’s eyes widen in shock and Samantha gasps loudly.

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SAMANTHA Oh my god, William! That had all of my makeup in it too!

WILLIAM I’m sure you can survive one night without putting your fake face on.

Or you could go wrestle the rabbits for your lipstick. It’s really up to you.

Suddenly a loud crashing noise draws everyone’s attention to the background where Jack and Theodore were trying to put up a tent unsuccessfully. Somehow they’ve gotten tangled in one of them.

KATHRYN, the usually quiet and shy girl with glasses, glances up from her perfectly erected tent.

KATHRYN Are you sure you guys don’t need help?

JACK (Agressively) No, Kathryn with a Y. We got this under control. No need for you to interfere, right Theo?

Jack bends down to pick up a tent rod and picks up a stick instead.

THEODORE Um, Jack. That’s not even part of the tent. That’s a stick.

JACK I knew that. I was just… admiring 120

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the wildlife.

Jack tosses the stick aside, acting as if nothing happened. Samantha gasps loudly, looking down at her phone. She taps the screen vigorously.

SAMANTHA No! My phone died!

She starts to hyperventilate while everyone watches.

William crosses his arms and stares at Samantha with a bored expression.

SAMANTHA (Pacing beside William and Kathrine) Nonononono. This can’t be happening. My phone can’t be dead. How am I supposed to live?

(Angrily) This is all your fault William! If you hadn’t thrown my battery pack away my phone would still be alive!

KATHRINE Um, is your sister okay?

WILLIAM She gets like this whenever she’s cut off from technology for more than five minutes. She’ll be fine.

SAMANTHA (Collapses to knees) Please William, please help me. I’ll 121

do anything. Just bring my phone back. Please! The real world is so boring and REAL. KATHRINE (While Samantha is sobbing) Seriously, should we take her to the hospital or something?

WILLIAM I’ve been asking my mother that same question for 20 years.

SAMANTHA (Now lying on the ground) Oh my dear phone, life is meaningless without you. I have no will to live anymore. I’ll join you in the endless abyss of darkness.

Mr. Jenkins renters the scene and walks up to where Kathrine and William stand. They watch as Samantha lies lifelessly on the ground.

MR. JENKINS Kathryn! What the hell is going on here?

KATHRINE Well, you see, sir— MR. JENKINS Not you Katherine. The other Kathryn.

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Kathryn, Jack and Theodore look up from their ruined tent.

MR. JENKINS I’m not paying you to mess around, Kathryn.

KATHRYN (In a flat, monotone voice) You’re not paying me at all, sir. I’m just an intern.

MR. JENKINS (Flustered) W-well I’m paying you in experience. Now get that tent up.

(Turning to Samantha’s scene) Now what is going on here?

WILLIAM An existential crisis.

SAMANTHA A psychological break.

WILLIAM Basically, my sister is nuts and technologically deprived.

SAMANTHA It’s a whole thing.

MR. JENKINS Oh. Well then…

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(Clears throat) Team building activities start in ten minutes. You two deal with this mess.

Mr. Jenkins leaves the scene again. William and Kathrine share a long glance.

WILLIAM S’mores?

KATHRINE Sure.

William and Kathrine walk away, leaving Samantha on the ground. Kathryn, Jack and Theodore walk over and stop beside Samantha.

THEODORE Should we do something about her?

KATHRYN I don’t get paid enough to deal with this shit.

Kathryn walks away. Theodore and Jack stare after Kathryn for a moment, glance at Samantha, and then follow Kathryn from the stage.

FADE OUT

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Contributor Biographies Samantha Cox - Samantha is a freshman at CMU. She participates in CMU’s theater program and her hobbies include writing poetry, writing fiction, making music, singing, acting, and sleeping.

Will DiStefano - Will is a senior Biology major from Harrisburg, Missouri and a member of the baseball team.

Brooke Hackman - Brooke is an English major from Glasgow, Missouri. She hopes to eventually pursue a Masters in Speech Pathology. She has an unapologetic love for cats.

Callie Henson - Callie is a sophomore Psychology major from Jefferson City Missouri and a member of the volleyball team.

Sarah King - Sarah is a Sophomore EnglishSecondary Education major. She is a part of the Cross Country/Track and Field team and the Conservatory Singers. She is also a member of the Inscape editorial team.

Janie Leathers - Janie will be starting medical school at the University of Missouri School of Medicine after graduating as a Chemistry and Biology double major.

She enjoys going on adventures and to antique shops with her best friend Gaverino. She aspires to work as a medical doctor in rural Missouri and to own at least one corgi.

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Michelle Miley - Michelle is a sophomore Professional Writing and Publication major from Lancaster, Missouri. Her hobbies include reading, hiking, and disc golf.

Keagan O’Riley - Keagan is a sophomore Professional Writing and Publication major from Hopkins, Missouri. She is a member of Sigma Tau Delta and the CMU Softball team. She is also a member of the Inscape editorial team.

Toni Randle - Toni is a freshman from Kennett, Missouri and a member of the track team.

Sara Ratliff - Sara is a junior History and Sociology major from Higbee, Missouri. She is a member of Sigma Tau Delta, Alpha Lambda Delta, Omicron Delta Kappa, and Pi Gamma Mu. She is an editor of the 2021 edition of Inscape.

Hannah Redding - Hannah is sophomore Psychology and Criminal Justice major from Kansas City, Missouri. She is a member of the Envy dance team, the National Society of Leadership and Success, and the Inscape editorial team.

Grace Stumbaugh - Grace is a senior Professional Writing & Publication major and is also on the volleyball team. She loves to hang out with friends, bake, pet cats, and travel. She is an editor of the 2021 edition of Inscape.

Skylor Turner - Skylor is a senior Criminal Justice major who is minoring in Psychology. Her hobbies include reading, writing, and drawing.

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Marius Unnvik - Marius is a senior Psychology and History major from Bergen, Norway. He is a member of Psychology Club and Philosophy Club.

Gabriel Walker - Gabriel is a senior Marine Biology major. He is president of Marine Biology Club and a member of the Environmental Science Club and Alpha Chi Honors Society. He enjoys reading books and watching movies.

Cheyenne Withrich - Cheyenne is a sophomore Early Education major and a member of the Envy dance team. She loves spending time with all her friends and members on her team.

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