Crest 2008

CREST MMVIII

A word from an editor...

Hello. How are you?

Tha I guess. ) s t good,

Itt been one of those years, you know the kind: you struggle to make your way towards the finish line, that glorious state of being we call summer vacation, only to realize you've arrived much quicker than you anticipated. This year I came in with a short list of things to do: find a staff, get submissions, and make a layout. I'll admit, when we met for the first time, I doubted I would ever see the culmination of all our efforts. I guess you could say I'm a fatalist.

Yet here I am, writing an editort note. Go figure. It has nothing to do with me though. No, it's all thanks to the editorial board, those people on the page to the left, right below that lonely, multivoweled name. 'Without them, there would be no Crest, without them, there would only be that lonely name and some emPty Pages.

So read, enjoy, and thank one of those people on the page to the left.

-A.dy Heriaud, Editor-in-Chief

Interview with a Bomb

Dear Mom Apartment on Austin fut Imagines Untitled The Precious Stitch Untitled Quiclailver Melody In Class, Offthe Dome 'Wyoming Hold My Hand Thane

Hardcourt Kings and Snowflake Queens Loves No Sin

My New Refrigerator

Rusty Music Box Interlopers Among Men Easy Divisibility Thicks The Forest of the Dead Tiees Fat Cat Caroline Cardboard Boxes Photo

Guadalupe Fur Seal Introspective Haiku Paper Doll \What He Said Raindrop Races Untided CIock Untided Found Photo Photo Photo Photo

Dan Sterrett

Milton McKinney III

Novana Venerable Connor Stratton

Thnjenika'l7illiams

Jordan Gamble Erica Dunn

Zettie Shapey

Sam Slattery

Frederick McCulloch-Burton

Anthony Gulley

Maggie Schurr Isabelia Herrera

Gehring Miller Philip Sparks Max Garriry Brian Healy Andrew Adamczewski Nicole'\Telindt

Eric Hallman Marrana Yoder Beth Gaskill

Jackie Soro Thbitha'Watson

Hannah King

Kendall Velch

Caroline \7ood

Sophie Johnson

Andy Heriaud

Kerstin Larson

Rebecca Johnson Ranisha Milton

Gehring Miller

Brian Healy

Alexandra Rey-Talley

Andy Heriaud

Ixtla fuceo-W'itzl Marit Lovaas

Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Loose

Holy Picture Show Court with \Vhite Lines One in Twenty-Three Untitled futistic Influence Untitled Rhinoceros Crikey Untitled Untitled I Believe The Inevitable Changes oh sweet refugee why do you run? Untided In the Ending

52 53 54 55 56 57 58 60 6t 62 63 64 66 57 68 69 7t 7) 74 77 77 78

Andy Heriaud Hannah King Georgia Hunter Rachel \7hite Marit Lovaas Grace Stofler Adam Adamczewski Tim Martin Maryann Kwakwa Christian Harris

Caroline Vood Kelly Reuter Connor Stratton

Jordan Gamble Rachael Vilson fuia Calcagno

Keenan Smith Dan Sterrett Lilly McGee Tim Martin Grace Jolicoeur Maranna Yoder

3 3 IJ] d tq F z

Fat Man will be with you in one moment Mr. Smith

Thanks, said Smith Smith Shuffied his papers preparing For the interview he d been waiting

So long for Fat Man came in Hello, said Smith extending his hand Fat Man didnt move He only nodded Vell my first question is, how is the war going? Boom, said the Fat Man Boom? Asked Smith Many booms, said the Fat Man

How does the next few months look?

Big boom, said Fat Man How long before this huge boom?

Many booms from now, said Fat Man

How has Little Boy helped the war effort?

Monumental boom, said Fat Man

How do you respond to the thousands of people killed in last weekt raid?

Fat Man fell quiet He shook his head And was carted away Smith sat there quiedy He'd expected that answer

For Fat Man did he work But he hadnt pushed the button

I'm sick of your untrusrworthy Sadam bombs./ This is war and my heart's streets cant remain calm/ Book of psalms held close, the bible was a harness/ And a rope as I climb dme and try to rewind whar we had/ How come every time we talk you wanna slander my dad?/ And true enough, he wasnt knee pads when I fell/ But like pork to a Muslim you stayed on the shelf/ Youte bad for my health and it hurts to say that./ And if you walk out them rehab doors and relapse/ You cant take them 12 steps back into my heart/ Itt like running life's race and going back to start./ Every time you take a hit, your mind foats with the stars/ You've been locked behind bars way too many times/ I was nine when I first saw you push snowplows in your nose/ Pause and then dose, Iean back and wipe your nose/ As you long pretty hair drapes over your head broad/ For seven years that memory has been on record/ I try to fast forward just to get pa$ the thought/ I thought you was my super Momma fying in the clouds/ Till I heard you in the bathroom crying out loud/ I need money, oh Boobie I need money/ So to feed the snow covered monkey I gave you money/ Now I feel like the evil that let Delilah cut your hair/ Now you got to fight like Samson to get up out of there/

November 22,2007

Dear Mom, S(hy is this war still going strong/ I tried to rewind time but my clock was wrong/ I m past the book of psalms, now I study with proverbs/ And since last year I ve gotten better with my word/ There's so many words to define my fathert verbs/ Yet I cant define yours-that's why sream exerrs from my pores/ Salt is thrown through eyelids hoping to melt snod I just sled around your snowplows like them Charlie Brown Christmas shows./

z o F z IJ.] = tl

&

There are always sirens outside her place, the cement windows rusted like over used water pipes and the building always seemed to lean to the left. A stone made bench lurked outside your condo perched liked a crooked face, we lived on the first foor.

The mango skinned buzzer never worked and a window in the door was cracked, broken into on Austin, stole everything but your big screen w and furniture. Everyone with a grudge knew you worked nights

The condo door was painted white Iike a three year old sock washed every week the walls were the 49ers and the hallway carpet was rough like tangled hair and everything you had no room for piled onto the shelf like children.

The apartment smelled of alcohol, bad food and body odor mixed like margaritas. You would always ask me to mix your drinks, measure liquid with the width of my 9 year old fingers.

4 Sweet Vermouth, 2 gin, 2 tonic and 1 lemon juice.

I remember sometimes I would wake up, and see you smiling at us,

watching us sleep.

I would wrap my arms around your sunken stomach like tissue paper and you would kiss my forehead, tuck me into top bunk and wrap me into knots with blanket.

By the time I was 10.

I was your wife, your daughter, your mother, you best friend, and you were bitter. I would feed you chicken soup when you were sick kiss your forehead to see how bad your fever was.

Hey do you remember when I was 12? the prison guards maced you, fell asleep on your back, gas trickling down your throat. You woke up screaming for me and I walked you to the bathroom cleaned your eyes with cold water and put you back to bed.

\7ell, Im 17 now, and we never speak. I wish I could tell you how much I miss you sometimes, wrap my arms around your sunken stomach Iike tissue paper tell you that I love you, how much I need you to be my pappachi again know that I have a boyfriend who loves me

But I guess you're too busy rusting like cement windows to notice that your baby girl is awoman and that pretty soon your memory will be buried under boyfriendt kisses and mine will stick to you like you 4 fingers vermouth, 2 gin,2 tonic and I lemon juice.

Imagine: Crimson notes faring

Unrelentless magenta solos wailing, blaring Spiraling sparks of pitches Key switches, chord changes His range is a bounty of bonfires Red cheels scavenge for a score ofscarlet bars, measures; Pleasure emanates from a dated-rusty saxophone... tVhat an artist.

Imagine: Blue brushstrokes blazing

Pure azure setting scenes Painting, remaking Vhirling and swirling of canvas The handt pace, feeling sight His light is burning of yearning Sapphire seeds aspire to rise higher to scaffolds of 6re, embers; Remember vision listens to faded-dust paintbrushes... 'Vhat an artist.

Imagine: Emerald words spoken Releasing nonceasing green poems Flowing, unbroken Fluctuating fames of voice Word choices, Het a rhyming riffer

To differ is to bound past the bonfires fu beatbox smocla meet to shock us with the smudge of shamrocks, nature; Stature of imagery is 'nsync to plated-trusty microphones... 'What an artist. \Vhat an art.

F z D

First day ofhigh school

Misspelled welcome sign

Slightest concern on first day

Body detector, book bag scanner

Last minute bell beat me to l" period

Sticly tag temporary ID s for l" timers

Girls trying to put the coolest lean

In strolls down hallways

Saw vision back on streets

Fresh steak ready to be tossed

Swallowed, spit you out if taste isnt right

Powdered white gym shoes stood out from Pale cream walls, over crowded class

Room space wasrit an option

Teachers taught lessons bounced off Crumble papers out windows

Permanent marks drew graffiti on Bathroom walls, plastic wrapped

Pizza heard through stomach aches

After 5e period lunch gossip placed you '\7ith cliques linked towards attitude

Dreams faded by lunch time free sryling, After school jukeing

Emergency drills kept peace during class time Informed through loud speaker box

"Attention all teachers and faculry please keep all Students in class until further notice"

Channel seven news greeted me through front door

Mama sat motionless in front of television fu they retold how freshman girl palm press blade pass

Senior boy rib cage forcing Westside communities

To believe Marshall Commandos were a threat to sociery Mama her final decision

Her faith kicked and pulled to new life

'W'anting daughter to live for tomorrowt dreams Never to be mistaken as a crime scene.

byJordan Gamble

Thread

Threading the bobbin

Threading the needle

Presser foot

Eye contacr with the tlread as needle rises and falls mimicking short and paced breaths

It takes all of this to get the precious stitch.

Technique, pattern, design

\)7hat people seem to take for granted

The time spent on a garment, is the time you spend looking for the perfect shirt 'S7ith the precious stitch

All different colors and pafterns

Your stitch, the precious stitch is born.

photo

I run upstairs, my feet not moving fast enough.

I'm away now, away from the yelling, the crying, the hitting, the anger

The sounds are muffied, and I sit on my rug in front of the dollhouse, The pink ruffies almost claustrophobic, filling me with mild surprise

That this dainry bedroom could be a part ofsuch a hate filled house.

Their voices rise again and I hum a lullaby

The one my mother used to sing to me when I was a baby.

I open my dollhouse and look at the dolls

Perfect posture, perfect smiles, perfect family.

I play with them for a few moments

The mother makes supper

The children play tag

The father reads the paper

And then the daughter falls

And she chips her porcelain face on the bathtub.

I gasp, because she continues to smile through her crack And the family sits down to dinner and

The dolls pretend like nothing has happened. And when I am done, I go downstairs and Mom is making dinner and Dad is reading the paper and I do my Homework and

In that unspoken way, we all know Their fight, it didnt happen, like the dozens before it And I know to erase it from memory because Like Mama says, "you must have just made it up, honey."

I raise the clarinet to my lips and blow

Music as dark and bright as the sliver/black horn Flowing up, around

He stops playing and looks at me, eyes bright and mad "Key signature!"

Music dancing again through the little den of rhe basement Ricocheting offthe posrers and admiring the orange-yellow lights

His voice breala the sound with a "NO PUFFS!"

Music marching in patterns of rhythms Notes in their soldierly files

"Tell me what you did wrong" "I was too slow" "Tell me watch you did wrong!"

The sound of the r',vo clarinets sails through the room, down the hall to the train layout

Songs riding the rails like the trains in the pictures on the walls of the coal-black

KEYSIGNATRE!

The calm cool sound dances around and TELL ME \rHAI YOU DID TRONGI

A fitting note trills above the deep tone of FASTER! Ticking metronome lashes a whip spurring on the

NO PUFFS!

I blow and blow the deep melody of NO PUFFS!

I blow and blow the deep melody of

I look at the floor and see a crack

Mryb. the crack will turn into a fissure that swallows the class

I hope we dont fall into the lava '!7e will have to use our desk as rafts

Can rafts Bo over waterfalls? fue there waterfalls in the rainforest? '!7hat if a spider monkey attacked a rourisr and gave him Ebola! The tourist would give it to his son, Jeremy.

I have a friend Jeremy. Now I have Ebola.

Quarantine would suck. It reminds me of a cold detention room.

Now securiry has Ebola. Now the school is a zoo.

People would visit us and kids would laugh and point. Vell until the terrorist attacked the zoo. They dont like Ebola.

And from the ashes I would rise, just to spread it again. The invincible virus raises an army of the unwilling. Kind of like the Spartans, only they were willing. But we dont have a Persian army ro fight, only medicines. Now that the Eartht unable to keep me interested, I'll move on to Mars or something.

M"yb. I'll attack the sun.

I can take the heat.

I dont want to tan thought.

I burn too easily, and sunscreen is sticky.

I cant stand it when I'm sticky.

Thatt why I dont fuck with glue.

I just use tape when I have to stick things together.

I bet Siamese twins wish they had tape instead of skin.

I was watching this cartoon, and there were rwins who could fuse and unfuse.

It was raw as hell. They got killed though. Someone attacked them on a cellular level and they couldnt fuse anymore.

Like Ebola.

Ebola attacla on a cellular level, I think.

So how are we supposed to fight the sun...on a cellular level.

And even if we managed to defeat the sun, it would self-destruct and take us with it, Thatt so lame!

I hate when things self-destruct.

I hated Koffing,'Weezing, Voltorb, Electobe, Golem, and other Pokemon like that.

Every time I got to them to like, five percent health, they would self-destruct. 'Well it wasnt always that bad.

I would always have Pokemon left over.

Usually poison types.

\7ould rat poison kill a Rattata?

Probably not as fast as Eboloa.

Ebola kills everyt}ing!

Muahahahahahaha!

\Vhy dont evil scientists use Ebola?

Theret no such thing as an "Evil Scientist"!

Mryb. a mad scientist though.

I want one to invent speed amplifying cleats. Then I d be so much faster on the field. I would juke the shit outta people!

Vhy is it cdled juking?

That's sorta gross, it should be crossing.

I wanna cross the genes of an eagle and a human. '\fings would be awesome.

But birds have Ebola because it's airborne.

I hope I dont fly into Ebola birds.

She moved to'Wyoming when he was in seventh grade.

Yellowstone sits atop a broken hearted limle boy, as one half of his heart sweats red Lovesick stories of their youth, the other half lays with men in the bed of a rusted white bronco.

She tells tales of lasting friendship, But turns to leaves in the wind -When he tries to get close.

Her lies of love ennvine his fantasy Of the perfect life with her, But all it is is lust and broken dreams.

Lide boy into man found searching for Love doesnt venture to Yellowstone

o

o Fti

I reached for her small hand deftly with my left one as I stared down the street into headlights.

"Hold my hand." I said, not demanding, but not needing to ask permission, either.

She placed a miniscule fist against my palm, and I sighed. I stretched my fingers in the cold air and tickled her wrist lightly as I pried her hand open, interlocking her fingers with mine in the process, closing my hand around her infinitesimal one more tighdy once they were intertwined.

In dl her worry she had forgotten how to hold hands.

"Are you ready?" I asked, my body tensing as the light a block down from us turned red, stopping traffic fow from one direction.

'We were going to run for it.

"No."

In all her worry she had forgotten how to lie.

"'W'e're going to go." I assured her, my hand grasping hers more firmly now as I took a risky step offthe curb and into the lane of currently empty street. She took a precautionary step backwards; I dragged her to my side.

In all her worry she had forgotten how to take risla.

"Ready?" I asked again. The cars were still coming from the other direction but I took another step forward. I could feel the cars going past me, inches in front of me. I could feel their motion. I took another step forward, bringing her with me.

In all her worry she never answered my question.

I shouted, caught in between cars speeding towards a stop, all of them rushing

to be still for a moment.

"Run!"

In all her worry she followed me.

photo by Isabelia Herrera

E] z il F

So many notes you wonder would they like some paper with that ink?

That strong mouth never spoke a single work traveled with Miles for miles.

You can feel the notes before they're there like steady eyeballs.

They called himTrane.

The past 17 months I have been living with Hardcourt kings and Snowflake queens

Through Facebook

\Jfhere l7-inch screens display 17 stories of two people who know whar to resr for in life

Even as I wake mine away

The King dunks so high I wonder if he knows the biggest withdrawal comes nor from poppy fields

But basketball courts

The Queen spins So light So soft

You can hear a boys tear in Sudan drop King is so menacing If I didnt know him since NBA jam was hot I d turn around if I ever met him in a parking lot

Queen so sweet

You could shoot sugar through her hips It would dilute her Raw sugar tastes like lemons

King tells me his plan through 56 kilobit cords

HeU rather not play ball Does anyway stay true to orange and blue Queen tells her dreams of dancing 17 years 'With Broadways crowds

Thies to let go ofher fears I sit

Read about hardcourt kings and slowfake queens

On 17 inch screens 'Wonder when itt my rurn to be b-ball captain or nutcracker soloist

To text back stories on cell phones

To show them that my life is wortl visiting

Those 17 inch screens look back at me like I m Cinderella when she kept house

Dreamt of the wishes her heart makes

Only unlike Cinderella

I do not house keep mirrors end 17 inch screens

That tell me how life

Passes me by

As that basketball used to pass me by Instead,

I let hardcourt kings and snowfake queens Merge

Tell each other of their romantic defeats

fu they dazzle 56 kilobit cords

Recite victorious feats

Create entirely new words

They give forceful voice to which I dont interject

Hardcourt kings and snowfake queens Inspire a poet

Lying here for 15 years

I see the end coming But itt been coming for 5 years

As I lay here only able to hear the clanking ofchange I grip refrigerator and Chiquita banana Cardboard

Making less money than 2 children ar a lemonade stand fu I listen I fear what besides police will come for me Death walking around me and all I can visudize Is my sweet little daughtert eyes

She would be 19 But I can only remember her face ar 4 She was taken away by the one I loved And

I knew the courts werent on my side repeating, "The custody goes ro Ms." "Son of a bitch" I would say repeadng it just for play saying goodbye ro my child not knowing it would be the last time with her then I put up the good finger to Ms. Then whispering in her ear, Youd had better raise her right, or else I'm gonna come back and give a reason to shed tears."

Now wer're back to me on the ground

Lying here with no one but death around Then I think it musr be ime

Its death I figured we're going to hell

But our feet leave the ground

\Veie fying now still thinking of how much I love my daughter Realize lovet not a sin

I m going to see angels in heaven And see my daughter again.

o Ii k & rJ] U d IJr r! & 3 II z

I am very dissatisfied with my new refrigerator. It hums and purrs. I bought a new refrigerator, NOT A CAI! I wrote the refrigerator company requesting they refund my money and they told me to "chill" out. I told them this was no time for levity as I had been living on fresh produce for a straight week and was becoming rather ill. I wrote them a very angry letter, this time DEMANDING they return my money. They wrote me back, casually telling me to "cool" down. That was the last straw. I called them and told them I did not appreciate their jokes and that I wanted my money back. The man over the phone agreed to give me my refund as long as I agreed to have a friendly dinner with him. I did not see the harm so I accepted his offer.

It was a week later and I was getting ready for dinner. I had not tdked to the man since that phone call we had seven days prior. I was wearing a suit with a purple polka dot bow tie. I thought it was srylish and said, "Hey, I'm your friend but I can also be your dad." One time a waitress asked if she could borrow my bow tie for a few minutes during her break. I said no.

=

I walked into the restaurant and started scanning the tables for this man who I had agreed to dine with. He said he d be reading Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss. After a few minutes of searching around I found him. He was wearing a transparent body suit with accentuated nipples. I asked him why he was dressed like this and he simply answered that he was just coming from the set of a movie he was filming. I knew he was lying because his mood ring was yellow. Neither of us said anything. For the next hour we both remained silent. \7hen the waiter came we just pointed to the menus.

After dinner we walked (silently) around town. I bought a dry erase board so I could communicate with him in a nonverbal way. I started writing. Using the board, I asked him if I could have my money back now He shook his head and leaned in for a kiss. Needless to say I was fabbergasted, as we had agreed this would be a friendly dinner and nothing more. I got up and walked away as rears fowed from his face. I still have the devil fridge that purrs like a cat. I am still very dissatisfied.

Itt an ugly little thing

A miniature replica

Of an abandoned shack In the middle of countryside

An old barn or shed Too pathetic for a goat

The roof is sharp and dull \Vhere water would slide Dust forms

Next to it is a doghouse Facing the wrong way Instead ofsheltering a dog It covers a motor

Break the latch of the door

An empty car trails And sharp music breala Familiar but cracking melody The wheel will not stop Screaming notes

Until the car finishes its course

'\Ufhen it does Latch it back up Loose silence

Still looking ugly '\tr7hat a great keepsake

"'W'olves." Ulrich said with a shaking voice. There was white pallor in his face and his eyes were wide with shock.

Georgt expression changed drastically. "No!" he said, his voice rising in protest, "It cannot be!"

"No, those are not wolves," the other man disputed, squinting at the distance.

"Yes they are. And they are coming right toward us. Just look. It is them." Ulrich said in a deadened, unemotional voice of resignation.

Georg refused to comply with the order; instead he tried to shake his head. He was not looking at the distance. "Thete are no wolves around. You are seeing things."

"Am I?" the other man asked, starting to cackle wildly. "You think I am going mad?'\7'ell perhaps I am. But I'm not seeing anlthing that is not there. Do you not feel that?" he asked, indicating the faint reverberations from the running beasts.

"No...no...no..." Georg repeated as he too felt the ground move under him. He forced himself to look at the animals, and could no longer remain in denial. The wolves were coming.

And they were coming fast, their feet pounding against the ground, shooting dirt up into the air behind them. The dirt setded on their hair and in the foliage around them. The dust created a large shadowy figure which could barely be distinguished from the darkness ofthe forest itself. It looked like a leviathan, a giant beast, and it was coming for the two men.

"How ironic, really." Ulrich's demented laugh rang though the forest. "\7e shall be killed, both of us, in the same night, the same place, and by the same means. \7e will be murdered by wolves! rVolves! And this wretched tree, this tree on the land we were fighting over, will be the accomplice.'We wanted this tree. W'antedit.'W'anted the tree and all of the land as well! At least if one of us had shot the other, one would have suryived."

The other man found it hard to answer. "We...die...friends." He choked out, tears streaming down his chalk white face.

There was a faint rustling of leaves throughout the forest, but the men ignored it. It wasnt going to save them now. It was most likely the wind, or some other animal. They had more pressing matters to be concerned with. The wolves were almost upon the two neighbors, saliva dripping from their bared teen and a rancid stench drifting from their mouths to the polluted, moribund air. Their strides shook the earth, and as the men felt the vibrations growing stronger, they knew their time was ticking quickly away.

Bang bang bang.lhe men finched, afraid that the shots were aimed at them. But it was the wolves that keeled over as the bullets pierced their targets. Blood splattered onto the ground with mighty thuds. Georg's and Ulricht men had rifes, and were appearing from the shadows of the trees, firing at the wolves. In a few moments, all of the wolves lay on the ground. The men fired the nso last shots, which hit their mark.

All was still. The men were too well trained to miss.

U & F T F.l FA (r) R V) rrl

Oftentimes in the world of mathematics, it becomes necessary to determine whether one number is evenly divisible by another, smaller number. Many people already know how to quickly tell whether a number is divisible by 2, 5, or 10, and perhaps also 3 or 9. However, there also exist equally simple divisibility tests for much larger and (seemingly) more complex numbers. As an example, I will here demonstrate how to quickly tell whether a number is divisible by 277.

First, let ubein general the units digit of a number and let rbe the number that remains when the units digit of that number is removed. Thus, if we wanted to know whether 4985 wu divisible by 277 , r would be 498 and zz would be 6 (The original number, then, is equal to l}t + u, as 10(498) + 6 = 4980 + 6 =4986). To determine whether a number is divisible by 277, first find the quantiry t - 83u. If this quantiry is divisible by 277, then 10r + u (the original number) is also divisibleby 277. The proof is as follows:

-Assume that (r- S3u) 1277.

(The vertical bar simply means that the second number is divisible by the first)

-Multiplying (t - 83u) by l0 will not change the fact that it is divisible by 277, so it is therefore also true that (l0r- 830u) | 1-77

-If a number is divisible by 277 and another number divisible by 277 is addedto that number, then the sum will also be divisible by 277. The number 83lu is equal to 277(3u), so 8312 is divisible by 277.

-Since (10r + u) 1277 and83lulz77,ir. is also true that [( I 0r - 830u) + 83tu) | 277

-Therefore, (llt + u) | 277. Thus, if r- 832 is divisibleby 277, then the original number (which, as mentioned before, is equal to 101 + z) is also divisible by 277. To test this trick, we shall use the number 6648. In this case, rwould be 664 and z would be 8. r - 83u + 664 - 83(8) = 664 - 664 = 0. Zero is clearly divisibleby 277, so 5648 should also be divisible by 277. A quick check reveals that 6648 = 277(24), so tle test was correct.

Nevermore in school shall you be at a loss for words when asked to tell whether 83,293 is evenly divisible by 2771 Never again will you be forced to turn to your calculator in shame and humiliation when faced with such deceptively difficult trials! Remember this trick well, reader, and it shall serve you faithfully for the remainder of your life.

they arent dead. th.yr. living in the most technical sense taking in sunlight and using photorynthesis but they are dead.

each and wery branch bur for the most high hacked off, reduced to a stump the breath of life now mereh a whisper one after another, though the whole forest all desuoyed, all dead now eyeless sentinels on watch scarred among the scarred yetinthis oddwry it is eerily beautifirl.

F.l E Itl Fn o F tn

r.l o rl U tn U rl F tn tn

ch

Fat Cat.

The fat cat.

The fat cat sat.

The fat cat sat next to me.

The fat cat sat next to me before the high ropes course.

The fat cat was scared of heights.

The scared fat cat.

The scared fat cat was scared for me.

The scared fat cat climbed up first.

The scared fat cat was my best friend. My best friend was more scared than me. The scared fat cat that was my best friend took care of me.

My fat cat.

My best friend.

My best friend cried at the top of the platform. The fat cat forgot about the back-up nine lives. My best friend couldnt jump without me.

But she did it for me.

The fat cat took a dive from platform nine.

My fat cat. My best friend and me.

The fat cats free fell into nothing, without the ninth life. The fat cat. My best friend. Showed me it was ok. My best friend is gone and now cannot play.

The fat cat cannot come back.

I wish that fat cat would sit next to me.

is all stingy brown hair, defianr in its unbrushed srare, hating to waste precious seconds on combs as I pour milk love streams through her wide eyes like sun streams through the ginkgo trees, dappling the challqy concrere, abandoned games of hopscotch in silver and gold. tiny grubbed hands, nails palettes ofboisterous color thar had undoubtedly seen better days. they clutch my finger, making me wary of the vulnerable mild and making me feel supremely old. hers is a world of a princess in a whirl ofdresses and horses and balls, a prince for every sweet-faced pauper. She runs across the wide street at a pace that makes me quake in rerror for her scrawny legs and arms in imaginary cars in the lane. Unconsciously I sigh in relief when her foot hirs the opposite curb. I want to call her back, away from the cold world and mysterious neighbors, I want to shield her, to protect but all she wants is one more page one more hug, some pizza and her milk, please.

o Eq o & o FA o & U

My cousin moved in when I turned seven His eyes rimmed with astronaut glasses and a rabbit tooth smile that never grinned. For years, he hid beneath Nintendo and race cars his daddy bough him seven months before.

I got a brother for my birthday birthed in front door for fifteen years. Suitcase wired, like his teeth, with belts and key chains hanging from waist like ornaments. His book bag torn like baggy jeans.

He stood quiet in the doorway. Daddy showed him bedroom like hed never been here before helped moved belongings against blank walls but cousin refused to open cardboard boxes. Left them lining walls like bordered secrets as if waiting to go back home but he knew this wasnt a typical visit to Auntiet house. That this time was stained.

I never knew why our new addition arrived stuffed in cardboard boxes, sealed with masking tape and permanent markings so I asked parents why he never visited home back in Indiana on holidays or send paper thoughts to his mama

but when I did room felt empty, voices drowned in questions, and no one answered.

'cause everyone else knew how he dreamed Indiana back into his eyelids before hed whisper aprayer to his parents in heaven. Swearing that he would only return, if they came back withhim.

Andrew, last week we went to visit Indiana. In car, you sat squared in seat with back sdffas if stapled, unbothered, while tires rolled over years ofgravel and road. Too familiar like your mamat face hidden deep beneath those plowed fields. You didnt even glanced over one to plant your daddyt grave spot in eyelids.

Your smile dimmed like street lights. Tooth still too crooked for grins to walk on. Like sidewalks , your mind paved over memories of birthdays your mama threw, parties your daddy gathered and wondered how you ended up in backseat of unclet car in remembrance of your empry home. Silent as the pause after gunshots and lung cancer.

You are grown now with a daughter asking to meet the skeletons ofher grandparents. But youve sealed family ashes inside boxes for too long hoping that if they didnt open your life would be shipped back to Indiana with house stuffed with Nintendo and race cars you Daddy bought you.

But I get it now. How there was nothing to tell when strangers asked why you had to moYe in with Auntie. And while they still wonder why I called you my brother, youd just sit there.

Rabbit tooth hidden beneath lips like Nintendo, whispering prayers to a graveled heaven that one day we would just understand.

But Andreq

I get why you dont mind the cardboard boxes sitting rectangled in back of my Daddyt car on the way to Indiana. How you understand that in order to let go, you have to open boxes and move in, make a new home, That even though they wont come back your whispered prayers keep your family sealed, Iike those boxes.

photo by Hannah Ki.g

Hello I am a Guadalupe fur seal

My very favorite color is teal

I was born before Reeset Pieces

But now I am an endangered species

I live in the big blue sea by the U.S. ofA.

I see a fisherman! Boom Boom! Heeeeey!

rrl ti F U rq Fr V) o & F z lri

I am overwhelmed by the magnitude of my insignificance.

stilemos too much lipstick and last-minute hospitd visits are ordinary as skipping meals while roots like the fingers of a blind man curl tighter in the dark claustrophobic nightmares teach her to judge herself with mirror and weight scale and still she waits she waits for family to drown in sleep a sign to ilrn the earth and let her catch her breath she rips models offof magazines steals calories outra cereal boxes thatt her thinspiration her Secret thrown inside an oversized purse clinging onro almost 94lbs like empty pockets she holds no promises as numbers on scale drop so do her tears accidentally she discovers tlat not even Barbie girls can become paper dolls

finally she learns to give up

From the entrance to the elevator, he said it over and over again. That same thing he said to himself before every new job.

Inside the elevator, the doors closed, giving him a moment alone. He knew it wasnt true, what he said. But it was what he had to tell himself after his first job ended so badly.

He pushed the"7" button. Another job he didnt want, but the money was too good, and he was good at what he did.

He was wearing his best suit: a nondescript black number with grey pinstripes and a srylish but unremarkable blue tie. He felt his face, freshly shaven. Marco had told him years before to look his best before he started a new job, so his clients knew there was digniry in his work.

"In this line of work, the little things matter." Marco used to say. fu the elevator began to slow, he checked his facts. The door opened and he took a deep breath.

He said it again, even though he knew it wasnt true.

The hallway was empty. He tried to walk through it with as much confidence as he could muster.

He walked. He said it again, and walked.

He reached his destinatio n, "7E." He knocked twice on the door. A man opened, he was young and slender, and his hair needed a trim. He looked like the guy from the photo.

"Michael lftamer?" He asked the man at the door. He began to reach into his jacket pocket.

Iesi

"I'm sorry." He pulled out a silenced pistol.

Two shots to the head. He was halfway to the elevator by the time Michael Kramer hit the foor.

fu the elevator doors closed, he said it again.

"This is the last one."

But he knew it wasnt true.

Eyes open to a blue tinted everywhere

Vast fat seas of Midwest and rain

Envelop my c:u window

Depicting a perfect masterpiece Of my serene boredom

A plethora ofraindrops freckle the glass

Gliding across the surface in little strearns Reaching their destination Much faster than me

I pick one to win A prizeless race

And I hope and pray that it places first Because on the drop I made a wish The same one every time That can only come true Ifit runs fastest

And I dont need my fingers crossed '\fhen I see a shooting star

Or to throw a heads up lucky penny Into a wishing well

Or to set a fashing firefy free Flying, floating with fluffy dandelion seed Because I have raindrop races

I was there on my way to Laflin When the 55th and Garfield bus slowed down.

He should have been passed out from excitement like other 10 year old playing football in vacant lots, basketball n sueets, and baseball with wooden sticls.

Instead, on his way to gas station collar bone caught bullet like bleeding with brown mitts. He never made it to first base safe, he never made it home.

I sat there in blue and black CTA seats and I wished that he was struck by a bee bee, paint ball, or tranquilizer gun. But no they just simply snatched back cocked metal and released fire.

He lay there surrounded, face and shaved grass. when his mother wished she could resist what pupils saw. crossfire whiplash punctured neck with a certificate ro prove his end.

She pawed at his white oudine, and wished she could resuscitate son, but when she knew he couldnt breathe Iife she wept.

Malice held on bus and I let my eyes listen to what mothers hated to say was realistic. Blue lights and smudged tears didnt compliment the tragedy

I was stuck to scene because of the caution tape, and the ambulance. The way his stretcher jumped when he was being taken to the morgue.

Pedestrians thought it was over until they fed like

that boys mother when she hard her sons blood had been scrambled on the boulevard.

Policement kneed blasted to chest as they chased for blocks ones who needed to face bars for life.

I kept riding past Halstead, then on to Racine, finally came on to Lafin. Stepped of bus, looked at the bullet whole on the street sign. Then asked what is the purpose ofyou holding head high and thinking you have the right to kill.

photo by Isabel Firpo

A clock clicLs

Like her heels that dont stop Like her mind that doesnt dream

Of a beach with sand

In the hair

She lost when she grew old Books with dust

On the shelves of her home 'Was not where she belonged But in the cheerleading squad, Of police cars Zoom by her Skirt fies up The ball went To her grandma's house Of pancakes With syrup From a maple tree Ofweed

She smokes Too much of it 'Was no good Health was over Time the clock Stops.

It was at Reptiles and Amphibians Day Camp among the Legos and the lizards that I first realized the feeling like being asked to join the Power Rangers

I had a crush 'We were both 5 I could tell by the way she always sat by me and the way she giggled when I waxed comedic that this was the content of cinemas the innards of anthologies the only reason boys would ever wear rings.

She smelled like she smiled in the bathtub I never told her how I ran from porcelain soup bowls like a scared salamander or how hot water and soap made my mind wander.

I held her arm once impeccably smooth clean like the rest of her In the moment our marriage.

Eventually Reptiles and Amphibians Day Camp ended by then her giggles had gone and I knew to be wary of girls with smooth skin and curly hair that encouraged bath time.

Irr

Once lost in a vast desert I happened upon a man cloaked entirely in black. He had been exiled from his country much like myself. Upon meeting each other we made camp atop a great dune of sand, unable to pitch our tents in the ferocious wind. As we ate I made no attempr at conversation, nor did he. Our stomachs satisfied, the kind man treated me to a story.

I remember the reflection of the fire in his eyes as he began to reminisce about times past. I would occasionally interject with a similar srory of my own. There we sat on the great mounrain of sand, swapping stories through the night. fu the night slowly sank away and dawn was upon us the man began what I knew would be the last tale of the night.

He stoked the fire and then began. "I once served in the company of a great king. He was revered throughout his country; a kinder more generous man in the land there was not. Although he despised war, we found ourselves one autumn day in battle for the very kingdom he held so dear. In the midst ofbattle a single arrow pierced his chest. Even still he led his people to victory driving the enemy forces out of the land.

"That night I tended to his wounds. I knew they were fatal, as did he. In the middle of the night when his breathing grew strained, he grabbed my arm and locked eyes with me. I think in that time he musr have looked deep into my soul, for although he knew me nor well his eyes filled with a compassion I have yet to see again.'S7ith a tender tone he said, 'Dear boy who makes death such a comfoft, you may be the last person I speak to on this Earth. I drank nor from the cup of kings but from the cup of my people. I waged no great wars, I built no great monuments, I gave no great speeches, but they call me king. I am but a man with a crown, alone at his hour of death.'

"I saw in his eyes the sting of regret. I assured him, saying softly, 'My lord, you served your people; if that means you're no king then so be it. But as far as men go, you are among the greatest.'

His eyes conveyed his unspoken gratitude. 'I beg of you to grant my one last request.'

'Anything my lord.'

'Bury me not with hoards of treasure and gold. I wish to be buried in a humble casket among common men.'

I looked at him with confusion. Here sat the grearest king I had ever known, asking now in his last hour that all remembrance of his deeds be wiped away. He saw the curiosity in my eyes and addressed it.

'Buried among piles of treasure and gold they will remember me nothing more than another king. Buried with nothing, they will remember me for a man."'

The cloaked man sat back, as if looking at what he had created and approving of it. Vith time slowly passing by we sat leming the silence embrace us.

Soon I saw on the horizon the earl glow of the rising sun. \7e both recognized that our time had come ro a close, and I thanked him graciously for his company. fu the morning crept up on us we prepared o leave. I looked down upon the vast desert before me and saw no signs of civilizarion. I glanced back at the remnants of our campground, seeing him trudging through the sand past the ashes remaining of the fire. Two individuals lost in a vast desert, now found. My sense of loneliness faded, knowing that when the time was right I would find myself again.

Yep, definitely loose

Bottom row, center, right kt me wiggle it Loose

Told you

Vrait till grandpa finds out

I would hardly wait Dinner was ar his house that night As soon as the re-cooked peas and dry chicken disappeared from my plate

I broke the news Hey grandpa! I screamed Forgot all my manners Appeared nexr ro his chair Parted my lips My skinny 6nger pointing Loose? He chuckled Mhm!

He wrinkled eyes narrowed behind glasses "let me see" he said Already inviting himself into my mouth He wiggled it

He grabbed hold and then H. y anked

I felt ripping

Let out a shrill Tasted salty thick liquid My first tooth loose Suddenly gone After initial shock Came anger But all this was turned to Ice cream

Quarters And lisps

Once again grandpa was idolized

d

F U Rr T ol+l Fli

Life in any home is a life in prison Dont just create a window Create an escape 'Walk through the city Make fast impressions Drive by someone and there is a view into a life for an instant Interact and you have entered that life The lonely heart of affection will not jump out of the body And hug people for you And you say to yourself "Mumbly, you have to get out." "Andrew, you have to see the eye full tower." But you wont Yodll ignore yourself Like always And the choir walls by carrying candles singing The First Noel and you think to yell some insanity "its not some holy picture show" and you think show off when a skateboarder jumps across and all the cars are stacked across with a layer of smooth glassy ice covering and a man yells "lay'er down there" instructing a man carrying a painting of a noisy green goose and the light is green so you drive pa$ the Elvis impersonator singing Earth Angel and a man is yelling about angels and judgment day you think "Maybe I will go to Paris" the man selling produce is speaking Spanish making fruit magically foat towards customers "Hola, buenas dias. 2 Cuantos para 29 cebollas?" someone pays with a domino and a man walls away peeling oranges and lemons

and a dog is panhandling shaking change in a mug "Find it in your heart to help the poor" in a hoarse voicr and a police horse's rider gives a ticket for littering mfing the sueets smell like citrus and he rode away and on the road side an engine is overheated and back at home the oven is preheating somebodyt hands are peeling oranges to make lemon meringue honey humble kidney pie

Iq F

3 F t+i F 3 H & -) o U

Some live and die to keep a ball benveen the lines where sweat stains lay sun-dried where a net between two poles is tied and cracl$ form from constant wear skid marls litter the surface, left by screeching shoes yellow fuzz, removed by hard hits. a place where all mental and physical strength is tested a net serves to separate the wills who fightwith pride or maybe just...to survive

She sat in the back, on rhe far left hand side. Her face stuck out like a bruise on powdered skin. The students filled the seats, trapping her in so close ro the wall that she could count her eyelashes in the stainless refection of the open window. The bell panged; the torture began.

Drumming her fingers on the desk, she watched the leaves tumble past her in a gust of wind.

Twisting her bracelet into a knot, she fought to keep her eyes to the ground.

Endless murmurs of oblivious classmates circled the room like vocalized computer chips put on repeat.

Vith every thought, he face grew hotter. Her face hid red cheela under her dark complexion. Above the thunderous shouts ofan exasperated teache! Her hearr pulsated in offbeat rhy'thms; Her veins popped erratically out of her neck.

Lights dimmed Video played.

Scream flashed scenes of police clubs, segregarion and the KKK. Argry, white, southerners waved signed thar read "no coloreds". Pictures showing violent protesr illuminated the profile of a torn American fag. History unveiled a monster.

As the word "negro" slips from the lips of the British narraror, rwenty two pairs of blue green eyes stared expectantly at the only black kid in tle room.

F z D

Itt a cool summer's day driving down the Dan Ryan and The last of the Projects being torn down to "Build NewAffordable Housing"

My Dad starts to talk about Bronzeville. How this area was the only area that accepted African Americans during migration How black businesses were the blood and the heart of the Black community was what we are druving on until... ciry demolition trucla came in like American soldiers claiming all the land as theirs.

Paving the way for new housing and a new expressway Stacking blacks on top of eachother like dominoes

Only after they had been stacked the white dots left And the black dots were left to or. Creating "The Pro.iects" Stunned I lay in my bed later that night thinking about the projects I realize thatt exactly what they were: A Project Only a failed one And I run to my dad and ask him How, how could a city be too childish to see that their LegoJike design was going to end in fallen dominoes, poverty, and eventual destruction Putting thousands ofpeople and the 3 generations ofChicagoans in a hole that they Might not be able to climb out of He quiets me And says they are trying to fix their mistake I say I know the projects fue being torn down And the city is planning new affordable housing But dad \Vho will be around to pick up the Dominos after this "Project" fails?

fu a child, I lived for the chemical smell of wet paint

The swishes of brushes on thick sheets of paper

The bleeding blots of color made when my hand Accidentally slipped

Mudi is an arrist,'We had a special day once, '!7hen I was about eight.

Just me and my grear-aunt. She showed me how to paint berries and leaves Let the autumn-colored watercolors bleed into the paper Outline thin veins with a brown paintbrush

Paint berries in red And leave a small shine spot to make it realistic

'We went out for lunch that day 'We talked about arr, family, and life over strawberry milkshakes. I sat up straight and acted like the young lady I was. She made me feel marure and respected.

Those times together stand out like red berries In the internvining fall leaves.

J F F z -)

Kilrv Rr

Aunty when you were 23 you left 4 kids and no husbands

M"ry

Bared memories of your mother Ieft you with cemented conclusions of abandonment 'Vhen you asked what happened to your mother you said Granny told you your mom went to sleep and never woke up Hypnotized yourself that she did because you new the truth might shrewd you Today you hear confetti-ed versions of why you mom cant be here Alonzo Havent seen you since your mothert funeral and only remember decimal things about you because of you my sister used to suck her thumb and only with dj'd videos

I can look back on pool parties when you mom wasnt on the phone with green zip lock bags

Andrew -When you and Alonzo Ieft to live you your father phone calls never ate up our day like they do now

6 years later paper cranes shipped you back because you dad could onlyonly wanted one less responsibility Even with grandmas chemotherapy she can still support you

Tyrone

your mother spit you out at 14 with only candy coins and no money to feed you you were 8 years old when your eyes were fondued in poison too young to witness moms body naked jungle gyms never brought tears to you eyes like her pretzel body

Mary Alonzo, Andrew andTyrone

You mama traded clothes offyou back to satisry her cravings and blamed stupidity for stealing stroller but she would have never divorced you your mother was found 3 blocls from Congress where you lived Her body stripped decorations to an abandoned trailer dont know exactly what happened but her eyes rolled back drug stamps on her window shields for family to see

Mary, gold blinkys thefted for her only baby girl because your mama loved her one year old her 3 year old her 5 year old her 8 year old but 11 years ago coqrine called her name and she replied I know that drugs would have never replaced auntiet kids but now we we'll never be sure

U o z J.,r &

"More-more-more!"

he says, he said more. 'We move to more.

The groove: ignored 'W'e move to more. Soothe the subtle rhinoceros tooth His tooth, his horn I'm one, we're nvo. How can you move to more, if youre the few?

Charge-.charge-charge!

The rhino-minded barrage Their stampedelike the Mamist mass€e. Block the barage! Barricade iu bar it from the trumpet-roar of clich6 collages that scream Hallelujah. Block the barrageBar rage! Bar rage! Barrage. How can one word make two, if the scripts are so few?

Repeat-repeat-repeat! "Itt so exhausting to carry the weight of my own body about." And concrete feet conform to the floor elites that always ask for more. He leads the charge to t*re avante garde shards that shake

from his own nvo-horned creation.

The rhinos should not have been born. But theret still me and theret still you, still on the charge for more from the few.

Jordan Gamble

Steve Irwin was childhood.

Just like Chas Michael Michaels was figure skating Or how space travel was the future.

Stevet unrefined and mongo explosive love for animals made me the tree huger I am today.

I loved Steve before the masses; I saw his first ever show premiere; when that happened, I was enveloped into the reddish brown world of Australia and its wildlife.

Juiry and crazily foliaged rainforest and endless opportunities for finding goannas in caves is how I will also always think of Australia. Steve was rescuing crocodiles and chasing after wild pigs and holding snakes by their tails with a sort of wonder and new found knowledge that reminds me now of an epiphany.

I remember the names of some crocodiles yes I do, Agro and Monty to narne a few. Thanks to Steve, I had a great Australian accent.

I snuck in that Black Impala SS with you clean as janitor foors Yung Joct bootleg CD vibrated down streets as your palm gripped steering wheel tight as girl blue jeans and my hair blew wild as rides with you now my ears are deaf, from madness Dial turns zipped past max to tone me out my arm marked roadmaps from weight shifted interior, pancake wind blasted me refreshed as face wash to breeze past ignorance fixated on Chicago Avetold you nobody mattered at that moment but you. Difficult to decipher truth over bullet speakers rattled objects in mirror closer than they appear. I shouldve buckled up instead ofcutting eyes

at changing lanes in drivers seat understanding why I hated love

more than steamed seats flushing skin with imprints of argumentative posture so when I left your heart stuck with me while slammed doors kicked feet and concrete watching skidmarla. How it should've been, with your insides drowned under the infuence ofwhat you call ex-girlfriend.

Last time I saw you kissed your round cheela ran my fingertips through your mahogany and told you I Loved you And that I'd see you again Tiuth shared berween rwo long distance cousins

My mom didnt let me revisit the streets ofAtlanta Afraid my job would cut offhighly earned finances

But since the last rime I saw you Our conversations have been as frequent as past visits

Every time I scroll pasr your name in my phone

Knowing how we made a promise to keep in touch unlike our parents I miss seeing your face

Cheap plane tickets are rare like my conversations with God Longing to visit lil cuz, knowing I cant

Knowing I cant take an airplane down a timeline pushing past days when my mom picked comon for copper plated beatings '\U7hile your father sat in loving home choking on a silver spoon

Knowing I can't move Kentucky and Tennessee, and bring Illinois and Georgia closer together

Knowing I cant make them talk Itt not about poverry achievement gap, or GLOBAL\7ARMING, lVhen one family tree is about ro get cut down

Vhat can we do?

Just cousins, Iinked by cell phone connection And Tomt Network of lmil. users.

Hopefully, Next time I see you I want to kiss your round cheeks

Run my fingers through your hair And tell you I Love You Vith my mom standing next to me

I believe in truth

I believe in justice

I believe that sometimes the system fails, Sometimes a bad person gets away

I believe life isnt fair, and never will be

I believe in God

I believe in evolution

I believe that humanity gets the message wrong

I believe every life is worth a chance

I believe some people arent worth my time

I believe some people are oblivious to the world

I believe in taking credit or blame, And accepting the consequences

I believe in the repercussions

I believe in turning the other cheek

I believe in sanding up for yourself, And what you represent

I believe in doing the right thing, always no matter what

I believe that giving back is more than the right thing to do, but the thing to do

I believe in integrity

I believe in respect

I believe that disrespect shows ignorance

I believe in never giving up, never back down, never faltering

I believe that a good attirude is everphing

I believe that a smile will not save the world, But it helps

I believe that peace is not humanly possible

I believe in letting my action speak volumes, and my words sentences

I believe that History is everything

I believe every start has an end,

Just as every end has a start

I believe that pain is temporary, but glory is forever

I believe that nothing lasts forever

I believe that everything is immaterial

I beliwe I'm human, and thus suffer the consequences

Ibeliwelmagoodperson

I believe ['m not perfect

I believe the meaning of life is: the unending pursuit of happiness, Success is unimportant

I believe in death

I believe one day I will die

I believe it will dl be worth it

fu Peter Senge states, "People dont resist change. They resist being changed." In life, change is overpowering. The following two stories not only illustrate the truth of change, but they also vividly reveal the emotions of the characters as the changes take place. Because of the impact of the message through the creation of palpable contraries and word.painting, they deserve to be considered works of art. Both The Birds by Daphne du Maurier and Qualityby John Galsworthy are so deeply moving, and are written with such profound imagery that the redundant melancholy of the inevitable and the fear ofthe unstoppable linger long after one is through reading. Expressing emotion is where Quality truly shines, mixing alnusement with a tinge of overwhelming sorrow. The reader is taken on an emotional thrill ride, exploring the manner in which articles that have true qualiry are soon forgotten for replacements that are more new and modern. John Gdsworthy introduces the desertion of the former customers in the Gessler Brothers' shoe shop when Gessler states, "Dey get id by adverdisement, nod by work. Dey dake it away from us, who lofe our boods. Id gomes to this, bresently I af no work. Every year id gets less-you will see" (121). Throughout the story the business worsens as the world changes until the Gesslers pass away, working until the very end, (124). Their dedication to their qualiry shoes as opposed to the spurious ones made by mass production is heart breakingly loyal. The reader slowly watches as the Gessler Brothers' comPany dies with scant income whereas the boots made by the larger, thriving companies walk out of stores. This story has a strong communication with the soul, and makes one reexamine the impersonaliry and poor quality of the merchandise we own today. It is a war between qualiry and quantity, what is true and what is simply easy to come by, and like all stories of war, it leaves one questioning why the struggle still continues. Galsworthy repeats the verbal irony of the sole and the soul. The sawy customer, who leaves the store with tears of regret for time lost, realizes that mass production is cost effective and that the soul is not. The young man is left wondering if the change that kisses individual qualiry goodbye is inevitable, or if there is some way to keep qualiry alive.

Another tde of inevitability, the powerlessness of the players, and a frightening story of war is The Birds.In the beginning Daphne du Maurier gives clear and beautiful descriptions of nature as the main character Nat Hocken eats his lunch during work. "Great focks of them came to the peninsula, resdess, uneasy, spending themselves in motion; now wheeling, circling in the sky, now seftling to feed" (47). Shortly, the birds' along with the nature they represent, are seen in a new light. Harmless Partners in nature that humans could never imagine to be any threat soon turn on not only Nat and his family, but all of England. Luckily the Hockens realize early on

that in war one can never assume anyone to be innocuous. Nate's power to evaluate a formidable foe more than his instinct to persevere is the reason that the Hockens are able to survive a grear deal longer then their naive neighbors. How long they survive against the forces of nature is not something to which du Maurier is ready to commit. In the story du Maurier writes so clearly that you qrn perfectly visualize the setting. An example of the exquisite detail and lush descriptions she gives to the smallest aspects of nature is shown on page 47t "the rich, new turned soil". It is a simple and small line, but the delicate placing of adjectives makes those five words beautiful. Vith a combination of detailed descriptions and eventful actions, the story is powerfully addictive, and illustrates the need to change the way one lives his or her life.

Both Tfie Birds and Qualiryare stories that keep the reader hooked until the last page, and leave the reader longing for more. Neither have an ending that is simply a point in which the conflict stops, rarher they have ambiguous conclusions leaving one to wonder what would happen in the aftermath. In a way this is unsatis$ring, but not because the endings are poorly written or rushed. It is because they are so incredibly beautiful and intriguing that the readers will wish for more. Both stories take the reader out of a comfort zone ro an inevitable disquietude in which the characters and the readers are powerless. From their placid beginnings to their sharp endings, the two short stories prove themselves truly worthy of being considered masterpieces. Like the devastating unfolding of Katrina and the daily closing of ma-pa srores, these rwo srories illustrate the changes that unexpectedly intrude into our lives, and ask whether we adequately respond for survival, or whether the world changes us over time.

The prolific enlightenment of French novelisr, Antole France, reminds us : "AIl changes, even tle most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we musr die to one life before we can enter another."

a

3 Iq

p

1,400 drovrn in the Gulf of Aden Refugees flee For peace Crossing perilous waters From the Horn ofAfrica To Yemen. \7hat threat would make 30,000 people run?

To leave their homes and werything they know? And take a boat to a foreign land, Praying that werything will be alright. Singing sweet songs offreedom and escape They run from death just to find it.

Boats hit rocla and smash Others capsize

Some will find their war to shore But 1,400 wont.

I do love you grandma, But you're getting old.

You fart when you sit down And put orange juice in your '!7ine.

You have decided that you Dont need to say "excuse me" 'W'hen you bulp because it is natural.

I can see your massive bra

Through your rurquoise and pink shirt

You cannot read this without your firll body glasses.

I do love you grandma, But youte getting old.

E F z

on the first day God rested in preparation of what he was going to do to speak the world out of existence.

on the third day God said "Let the animals of land and of slqy and sea, may they be no more." and they became dust. on the fifth day God said "Let all the vegetation wither and the waters to cover the land." and the vegetation became dust and waters once more covered the earth.

on the second day God said "Let man be no more." and man faded to the dust of the ground the breath oflife taken from him.

on the fourth day God said "Let the lights that govern the sky be no more." and the sun, moon, and stars fell to darkness.

on the sixth day God said "Let there be no expanse between water to water, may they not be separated." and the sky ceased to exist.

on the seventh day God unmade the heavens and the earth once again formless and empty and God said "Let there be no light." and there was no light.

Alexandra Rey-Talley has a primo laugh-to-line ratio.

Hannah King is an impeccably dressed life of the party.

Phillip Sparks is a clandestine swingdancer.

Maggie Schur is a Jess-girl Gehring Miller is co-inventor of the lobster wake-up call.

Brian Healy is a Russian-born Olympic skater-turned writer, hoping to explore the meaning of love.

Jackie Soro is glorious. Erick Hallman is a swimmer and a crack mathematician. Het essentially perfect.

John McGillen pushes the limits of design and photography. Max Garrity is polite.

Maryann Kwakwa her dog bit my dog once. Its name is Bijou. Sam Slattery is endeavoring to buy you a beverage.

Jordan Gamble is a gorgeous-haired photo room maven.

Zettie Shapey Oh my God. Tanjenika rIflilliams is a champagneworthy woman.

Rachael \i7ilson is not from the O.C.

Tim Martin is Tom Petty - esque Beth Gaskill is a Dr. Seuss disciple. KendallttrV'elch is not what we'd expected.

Grace Stoffer had a Menard's commercial filmed at her house.

Maranna Yoder: l7ishes people would spell her name right.

Ranisha Milton enjambment.

Georgia Hunter is queen of the basketball court. She makes the library a well oiled machine.

Anthony G"ll.y really enjoys guitar heroing and life.

Christian Harris is spoken word poetry. Grace Jolicoeur is furested Development.

Frederick McCulloch-Burton does face. NicoleWelindt is an Iditarod Rebel. Andrew Adamczewski is a bespectacled, respectable sport.

RebeccaJohnson botma'd us inro submission

Kelly Reuter is a sophomore thatt proud to be involved in spoken word. Milton McKinney III is our stud. Dan Sterrett does not accept pity; cash and checks are just 6ne. Connor Strattont last bio was serious. So this one will be funny. Isabelia Herrera keeps it offthe wall like Vans logos.

Thbitha\Tatson may in fact have magical powers.

Asia Calcagno moves like a swan. Keenan Smith is my future husband. SophieJohnson is made of sunfower seeds.

Erica Dunn is just getting started. NovanaVenerable is queen of tle dictionary.

Caroline'Wood is addicted to herbal tea.

Ixda fuceo-\7itzl tap dances at the dinner mble.

Kerstin l,arsont birthday is the same as Isabeliat.

Claire Pederson is our moral compass, our shoulder angel, our quiet voice of reason. \Tithout her we are lost...

Ellen Drews has a fine taste in pencils. She whampatizes our whammies every day rt Crest. But Andy disagrees...

Isabel Firpo is a machine. And how! She has an upstanding character, and we won't mention the fact that she's bilingtie. ;Como se dice "charming"?

RachelWhite III, M.D., esq., \7hitey, as we affectionately call her, is our tiebreaker. She has the most glorious laugh. If only we could get into her cardigan closet.

A"dy Heriaud is our fearless leader and the Simon to our collective Paula. But dont get us wrong, het pro-baby, oh baby!

Kelsey Dixon: The queen of knit hats and french gossip magazines; she makes paper snowfakes like no other, and we are very impressed.

LiIIy McGee is a fighter. A fighter for love. Shet a ballerina advocate and a suPerstar.

Z is old and distinguished. Het a spectacular storyteller and a ukulele jamster.