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Volume 5 2017

Northeast Texas Community College

DISCOVER LAGNIAPPE Lagniappe (pronounced lan-yap) is a Southern Mississippi and Louisiana word meaning “an extra or unexpected gift.” The word derives from New World Spanish la ñapa meaning “the gift,” and ultimately from Quechua yapay, “to give more.” For the Northeast students that contributed to this magazine, lagniappe is best defined as a little something extra, from us to you.

Within these pages we hope you find your little something extra as you explore the extension of our feelings and thoughts through our writing and art. Lagniappe is a collaborative effort of the Journalism department and Sigma Kappa Delta English Honor Society. The literary and visual art works that are featured in this award-winning magazine come from the many students that make up the Northeast community.

Lagniappe is dedicated to Professor Tom Lynch and his group of student writers, “The Lynch Mob,” who continue to inspire creativity among the Northeast campus community. May their legacy live on. A special thanks to Jim Swann, Jodi Weber, Delbra Anthony and Mandy Smith for their constant support. Each one of you has played an integral part during the creation of this magazine, and without your guidance and support, this magazine would not have been possible. This little something extra is for you.

FROM THE EDITOR Q A

: Can you describe the time when you first realized that creating was something you absolutely had to do?

Daniel Yanez Lagniappe Editor

: To start, let me say that I am a design junkie from my earliest school days. I have always been that person obsessed with the smell of old newspapers and the different textures on magazine covers. Technology is efficient in delivering content to our desktop screens and mobile devices, but I would much rather explore the feel and look of a matte covered magazine. While there’s only one of me who understands that feeling, there are others out there with a mutual understanding. There are those who still like to thumb between pages and still appreciate design on a physical canvas. Don’t get me wrong, growing up alongside technology and the digital age has its perks, but for me there’s something special about the finished product, being able to hold it and then sharing it with others. Maybe it’s reminiscent of my childhood days with Crayolas, finger paints and drawings on the refrigerator, there’s just a certain pleasure, unexplainable, between inception, creativity and the designer.

Layout & Design Staff Na’Chyna Rogers, Nubia Sanchez, Kenzie Messer, Jessica Drumm and Maria Ramirez Lagniappe is the literary magazine of Northeast Texas Community college. Northeast is an affirmative action equal opportunity institution.

TABLE OF CONTENTS WRITING TABLE OF CONTENTS

Allow Yourself to See by Jillian Brooks

The Last Picture by Jillian Brooks

The Sound of Silence by Daniel Yanez

Non-Believer by Tony Sterling

12-13

You Didn’t by Will Dawson

e(ART)h by Daniel Yanez

Fly Away by Vanessa Navarez

8-9

Florence by Daniel Yanez

A Note to Love by Vanessa Navarez

The Battle of the Bull by Kenzie Messer

16-17

Senses of War by Maria Ramirez When The Ocean Meets the Sky by Maria Ramirez

They Will Arrive 25 by Jillian Brooks Into the Woods by Jillian Brooks 27-28 Searching for God by Kali Campbell

Cancer, Cancer, Cancer... by Na’Chyna Rogers

Dear Momma by Na’Chyna Rogers

ART TABLE OF CONTENTS Nature by Morgan Thompson, 4 Night Life by Morgan Thompson, 5 Tangled by Daniel Yanez, 6 Breaking Free by Maria Ramirez, 8-9 Invictus by Maricela Hernandez, 10 Ocean Waves by Stephania Juarez,10 Bridging the Generation Gap by Steve Corbell, 11 At the Doors by Desiree Verastegui, 12 Tree by Daniel Yanez, 14 The Brain by Daniel Yanez, 14 Boy Meets Girl by Daniel Yanez, 15 Boot Scootin’ by Amy Efurd, 16 Ol’ Bob by Steve Corbell, 17

Cherry Blossoms by Maricela Hernandez, 18 Obession by Maricela Hernandez, 18 The Color Ways by Maria Ramirez, 18 Pink Winter Landscape by Morgan Thompson, 19 Lying Mouth by Aram Alvarado, 19 Oushlyy by Dontae Telles, 19 Whistle While You Work by Megan Haddox, 19 Fairytale Forest by Morgan Thompson, 19 Sign of the Times (photos) by Daniel Yanez, 20-24 Well I’m Not Perfect by Maricela Hernandez, 25 Are We Out of the Woods by Morgan Thompson, 26 Light vs. Dark by Morgan Thompson, 29 Waves of Color by Daniel Yanez, 30-31

Front Cover Art Memories by Maria Ramirez

By Jillian Brooks

Reach up and out, Beyond this cage of muscle and bone Beyond the physical limits Of the mundane Sever the body from the mind, And embrace the brilliant thoughts of Surpassing this world, abandon the Known and dive into the new Leave your five senses to the depths Awaken your mind inside Cross the line, transcend in time Inhale, exhale, breathe new life Feel the wind pass through you Grip onto the swirling spiral, For you may end up Where none have been Open your eyes, one two and three Allow yourself to see So much more beckons For you to step forward Allow yourself to see

Nature | Digital Art | Morgan Thompson

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Nightlife | Digital Art | Morgan Thompson

By Daniel Yanez

For those days that seem Like the wars we fight aren’t won, There’s nights that we’ll Brave the scars We bare inside our chest, Buried beneath the skin, Within the heart, But we hide the shame Down in the valley Floating down rivers of whiskey, As the sound of silence Reminisces on our sins, Far from the shore, But we’ll never make it to the sea Running away from A couple of rights and A couple of wrongs A shot of whiskey, one too many, Chased by what we can’t deny Drowned by the weakness And the sound of silence You could take a chance, But can’t make the move Northeast Texas Community College | 2017

The air lingers with the Smell of your shared cigarette The smoke like a river flows, Filling the room A space by now, empty of life, In the dust lay a lifetime of memories Cheer and a time more lively, But liquor, like a cancer kills Immortal but surely, slowly dying For those days that seem Like this isn’t over For those days when The sound of silence Is more deafening than A cry of mercy, Your days are counted, Your time unknown You’re one step closer Than you were before Reaching past echo sounds And hollow noises, Broken promises and The sound of silence 5

Tangled | Digital Art | Daniel Yanez

Lagniappe Magazine | Vol. Lagniappe Vol. 55

By Will Dawson

Remember that time I accidentally put diesel in the lawnmower? I thought you’d kill me, But you didn’t. And do you remember When I spilled tea on your dress shirt? I thought you’d yell at me, But you didn’t. Oh yeah, and remember the time I threw a ball through our window? I thought you’d hit me, But you didn’t. And remember that one time I got into a fight at school and got suspended? I thought you’d kick me out, But you didn’t. I’ll never forget the time That I got drunk and threw up on our floor. I thought you’d disown me, But you didn’t. There were so many things You didn’t do, But you cared for me, And raised me to be The man I am today. There were a lot of things I wanted to Make up to you when you Returned from Iraq. But you didn’t.

Northeast Texas Community College | 2017

Breaking Free | Mixed Media | Maria Ramirez

Lagniappe Lagniappe Magazine Magazine || Vol. Vol. 55

A short story by Vanessa Nevarez

The young girl perched on a rooftop had black hair, fair skin and long legs that dangled tentatively over the edge. Many people said she was a living tragedy. While they say her smile was a beacon of light so bright that it lit up even the darkest of places, more often than not her mind wandered to those dark places. Her eyes held the universe; her veiled galaxy of words falling from space. Once in a while, however, asteroids would collide with her world and corrode her sanity until she was nothing but a spiraling star hurtling toward the void. No one knew her name or where she came from; all they really knew was that delicate wings stretched out from her back. One set of wings was made up of pure white feathers, the color of a dove. The other the color of a crow, midnight black. Those of the superstitious kind believed the feathers indicated either a blessing or a curse, a fact the girl bearing the wings knew too well. Sometimes a feather would fall and the wind would carry it away. On those occasions, she supposed it had something to do with people. Every day when she complimented someone or smiled at a stranger walking by, one of the black feathers fell away. But every time someone angered her or did something to point out one of her many flaws, she was unable to control her temper. That’s when a soft white feather fell from her back. A star seemed to blink out of existence when she let dark thoughts get the best of her. She

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thought about the colors of each of her two set of wings, but she rarely looked in a mirror. One day, she had the sudden urge to see what they looked like. She lifted her eyes and saw her reflection on a window from the building opposite of her. Despite having feathers fall off every day, the wings were unchanged. It seemed that new ones were growing in its place each time one fell away. She had always hoped that the wings would eventually disappear and that she would become a normal girl. But, suddenly a thought she never had occurred to her. If she tried, could she fly? Both doves and crows fly after all. Deciding to forget the struggle to control her emotions and actions for a moment, she stood up. Standing on the very edge of the roof, she looked down and fear set in. But, she was tired of overthinking everything and she slowly let go. It was a long way down and the street below seemed to be getting closer as she fell. In one quick motion, she spread her wings and the unimaginable happened. She soared and the sky greeted her. Among the clouds she thought about the colors again and realized for the first time that the wings were a part of her. One might be black and the other white, but it didn’t matter. The wings told the story of who she was, and to her they were a blessing not a curse.

By Maria Ramirez

Death smells in the air Souls fight, Fear covers their faces, But bravery colors their eyes Blood runs into the rivers of pain Weapons killing lives, But not justice Suns and moons come and go Without a solution to the problem Invictus | Water Color | Maricela Hernandez

By Maria Ramirez

When the ocean meets the sky You will realize You are with the wrong soul When the ocean meets the sky I am going to steal you away I am going to fight massive Tsunamis and the intensity of Thunderstorms to have you When the ocean meets the sky I will no longer be chained To the abyss of rightness but to The wrongfulness of coveting you When the ocean meets the sky, Waves will crush time And space against their will; Water will weather my sanity Away, and storms will darken My soul with selfishness When the ocean meets the sky You will be mine But with a heavy heart I know The ocean never meets the sky

Ocean Waves | Oil | Stephania Juarez

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By Jillian Brooks Melissa wraps her arm around her daughter as they stand silently in the rain. Her little girl clings to her side, refusing to shed a tear. Momma Joe, Melissa’s mother, died three weeks ago. Abby still isn’t completely sure what’s happening around her, but she comforts her mother every time she gets that look on her face; glossy eyes, slack jaw, wet cheekbones. That’s how she’s looked every day since her grandmother left. Abby often wonders when she will come back, but Momma tells her that she won’t be here for a long time. “Are you all right, Lady?” Melissa squats down and brushes a strand of wet hair away from her daughter’s face. She nods, looking toward her pink sneakers that are coated in mud. Her grandmother always called her Lady, and Abby was fond of the nickname since it made her feel womanly and mature. “Come here, little Lady!” She would call for her, and Abby would always come running from wherever she was. Their relationship was something quite beautiful. That’s what a man said at Momma Joe’s funeral, and Abby thinks she knows what he was talking about. The way they would cook together, eat together, walk, talk, and even clean together; they were like the same soul trapped in two separate bodies. Their love for puppies and sunflowers showed through everything they did, and her grandmother loved her very much. Since she left, Abby has felt slightly lonely, which is something all new to her. She and her mother stride toward their car, holding hands and looking at the ground. Abby rides silently, staring out the window as the radio sounds out around her. Her mother strokes her long, wet hair, and she nearly falls asleep to the sound of the rain. When they park in their driveway, Abby is slightly

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Bridging the Generation Gap | Oil | Steve Corbell

hesitant to leave the car, but she doesn’t show her mother. She hops out and follows Melissa into their small home, walking past a row of pictures. Abby stops and retraces her steps, stopping in front of a photo of her and Momma Joe. It’s the last picture they ever took together. Her smile is wide and joyful, the same as Abby. She looks so very happy, and Abby wishes to see her like that one more time. Perhaps when she comes back to see her loving granddaughter, they can walk through the garden. The young girl would love to ask her all sorts of questions about her trip that she took. “Go clean up, Lady. We have to meet your father in twenty minutes,” Melissa says, and her daughter nods and hops up the stairs toward the bathroom. Abby is unaware of this, but ten years would pass by within the blink of an eye. She would pick a college to attend, break up with her second boyfriend, and have her own dog in the span of those short years. She would walk past that picture every day on the way to her room, or perhaps after an argument with her mother, or on a particularly harsh day, she would stomp by instead. Through the years, it has grown a thick layer of dust, as Abby has completely forgot about her loving grandmother. It has been a long time since she realized that Momma Joe wasn’t coming back, and that cancer enjoys striking down the loveliest of people. On rare occasions, she will stop in front of the picture and swipe away the dust to see Momma Joe’s wonderful smile. She will sigh and get the look on her face that her mother had each time she saw the photograph: glossy eyes, slack jaw, and wet cheekbones.

At the Doors | Graphite | Desiree Verastegui

A Short Story By Tony Sterling

About seven o’clock, almost dark this time of the year, came a knock upon my door, a kind of professional-sounding rap that gets your attention. The plain-suited man at the door said, “I hope I didn’t wake you...” he motioned toward the “Day Sleeper” sign on my door. “No, no, you’re fine,” I said with a wide, distinctive yawn. “Please, c’mon in.” The large man stepped in, and looking at his clipboard asked, “You’re a...um...Mr. Jepperson, z’at right?” I sleep-stretched my arms over my head and answered, “Yes, and you are...?” The man gave a friendly smile and said, “I’m Arthur Fluney, but folks just call me Art.” 12

I returned the smile. “You may call me Jep,” I said. Art said, “Mr. Jepperson ...uh...Jep...pardon me but let’s get down to business. As you may have guessed, I’m with the “Unexplained Phenomena” department of a very large organization concerned with phenomena like, for instance, UFO’s...” Art paused and chuckled a little, “As if there were such things, I’m kind of a non-believer, if you know what I mean,” he winked. I winked back and chuckled, “I know what you mean.” Art cleared his throat,”Um , but, um, anyway, you called yesterday about a possible sighting?” I nodded, “Yes.” Art looked intently at me. “Just between you Lagniappe Magazine | Vol. 5

and me, our organization believes this is some kind of UFO hotspot, as secluded as it is and all, and with there being some history of sightings around here.” I scratched my head. “Really?” Then I quickly asked, “How many people believe that?” I grinned and Art smiled back. “Oh, not many, basically just my interdepartmental team, about five of us.” Art winked again. “But as I said, I’m the skeptic!” I pointed at him and jokingly replied, “Right you are.” “Well,” Art said, “the thing for me to do now is investigate and try to find some physical evidence to support this sighting...or even an actual landing.” He then produced several technical looking devices. “These can tell me if just about any kind of atmospheric or physical anomalies have occurred around here recently.” I winced at the devices. “That is pretty scary,” I remarked. “Please, don’t tum them on until we have a look about, okay?” Art nodded his head, “Sure. But they’re harmless to us.” I cocked my head and slowly said, “Well, maybe.” Then I added, “Shall we go to where I saw this uh...UFO?” Art said, “Lead the way.” Then he chuckled again and said, “Take me to your leader.” I laughed out right. “Okay earthling, “ I jokingly said. “You got it.” And off we went to the wooded clearing behind my country estate. When we arrived in the clearing, the gloom of late dusk gathered about us. Art began fiddling with the antiquated devices he held, as if to tum them on. But, before he could do so, I blurted out, “Art! Do you hear that?” He stiffened for a second, listening intently, then said excitedly, “I do! I do hear somethingodd!” I pointed up at a piercing light that suddenly appeared in the darkening sky. “Look at that!” I cried. Sure enough, it was a spacecraft. “Oh my gosh!” Art exclaimed. “I see it!” Then I cried out, “You can see better here...” I beckoned Arthur Fluney forward. He jumped several paces toward me. Northeast Texas Community College | 2017

“No , no!” I yelled, “two steps back and one step to your left!” Arthur seemed confused. “What?” he called out. “Just do it!” I yelled. And he complied, as people will often do in a moment of indecision. Art, now standing on the target spot, was immediately immobilized by the tractor beam emanating from the hovering spacecraft. A doorway opened on the bottom of the craft and Art, helpless as a kitten, was pulled into the waiting arms of my extraterrestrial comrades. “Nosh goben azrack adish!” I called to my friends, who now had Arthur Fluney firmly in their grasp, which translated means, “Another one we don’t have to worry about.” My leader looked at me around the head of the non-believer-yet-suddenly-believing Art Fluney. “My leader, as you wished,” I said as Art, who stood somewhat aghast, suddenly disappeared into the ship’s interior. My leader queried, “Ouz earthemok conis conscripta?” which means, “Are they onto us?” I quickly transmitted, “Sish canna conscripto” translated “Others know about us.” Then I transmitted (translated to English) “Honorable Leader, please pick up the earthling’s automobile at my station house. I think you might pawn it on Alpha 9 for funds to help fuel expenditures through space/time. As well, maybe you will dump the earthling on Centauri X-111 so he can at least breathe. He’s not a bad guy.” My leader responded, “Uz soss ma dinas, Jepas-assuzi. “ which is translated “you’re too soft, son of Jepper.” And then the craft was up, up and away, gone into the silently waiting night of space and time, taking with it the non-believer who, along with his team, might reveal things we prefer they did not. The next afternoon there was a knock at my door. When I opened it, the nicely dressed earth woman said, “Mr. Jepperson? I hope I didn’t wake you.” I yawned and sleep-stretched. “No, no, you’re fine,” I said. This would soon be two down, three to go. Or maybe more. The earth woman said, “I’m looking for my co-worker Art Fluney. Did he come by here?” I answered, “Nope, haven’t seen him.” “Is anyone else with you?” I casually asked. 13

e(ART)h By Daniel Yanez

The land baren of trees, grass, shrubbery Plain The rhythm of the hills and the waves in the grass The sky, empty of clouds, sunshine and life Dull The color of the sunset, the shades of red And values in hues of purples and pinks The seas and the oceans drained to a dust Dry Gone are the tides and the lines in the sand, The harmony between the sky, the land and the sea Imagine the world without art Boring The balance between what lives and what’s dead, Broken

Tree | Digital Art | Daniel Yanez

FLORENCE By Daniel Yanez

Run fast from the bullets Run fast for the hills and the cover of the forest Like a jaguar your fears are lurking in the darkness Sit still for the night It’s always darker before the dusk Listen to the heartbeat of the stars and the moon Let it lead you from the shadows Let the brightness free you from the darkness You wish it would disappear But even the light brings out the perfect pitch of black Before the sunrise Your imagination runs idle But don’t be afraid, don’t be discouraged Even when you can’t run away From what you created in your own head The Brain | Digital Art | Daniel Yanez

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By Vanessa Navarez

This is said to be the pulse of life How they seek this and fear losing this It is remarkable when a piece of the whole is given in hope Some are afraid of finding this Inability to keep this makes them run Spoken too often to be true, these words held dearly Loneliness they prefer, to avoid this until it is too late Others risk it all and leave it to fate Value and cherish this they say Everyone and everything around us has some form of love Girl Meets Boy | Digital Art | Daniel Yanez

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Boot Scootin | Oil | Amy Efurd

By Kenzie Messer

As the dust dances across the heated plain, an old cowboy sits quietly in his rocking chair. In the distance, he can see the younger generation gathered around a fence watching one another practice for the upcoming rodeo. Suddenly he is transported back in time and a smile spreads across his face. He closes his eyes and remembers his first battle with the bull. The lights glare into the dusty arena, as a young cowboy hesitantly walks up to the rusted iron gate. On the other side, a black bull stands with his eyes

shooting daggers into the cowboy. The young man slowly nods and begins to realize that only one of them will reign victorious. The cowboy knows that he is about to endure one of the biggest battles he will ever fight. He slowly eases onto the bull’s back, and despite the roaring noise of the crowd, the only sounds he hears is the thundering beat of his own heart as it dances in rhythm with the enraged snorts of the angry bull. Trembling, the novice slides his right-gloved palm

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under the rope and raises his left hand into the air. Beads of sweat form across the cowboy’s top lip. The rider blinks hard one last time and takes the deepest breath he has ever taken in his life. Without a thought, he quickly nods his head. The gate shoots open, and the bull flies through the air as the cowboy’s hat crashes into the dust. With his heart pounding within his chest, the cowboy grabs the rope as tight as he can. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a bright red number one flash across the timer. The cowboy lets out a sigh of relief, knowing that he has only seven seconds left. But, the battle has just started, and the bull suddenly begins to kick and hurdle through the air even more aggressively. The cowboy realizes that the first second was only a warmup for the coming storm. The beaming number three flashes on the timer, and the cowboy thinks, “Only five seconds left.” He lets out a small, yet arrogant grin. Suddenly the beast jumps and kicks as hard as it can flinging the rookie to its bulging side. Surprised at the animal’s sudden move, the cowboy clamps down harder on the rope. Glancing down at his gloved right hand, he sees spots of his crimson blood form along his knuckles. But, the cowboy stiffens his grip even more.

Northeast Texas Community College | 2017

Hanging off the side of the massive animal, he attempts to heave himself back onto its back. But, the bull aggressively whirls around and kicks into the air, sending the rider back to the animal’s side. Considering defeat, the cowboy loosens his grip, but suddenly, all of the troubles and hardships that he has overcome in his young life begin to rapidly flash through his head. With the motivation from all those memories, the cowboy seizes the rope and jerks himself upright onto the bull’s back. Squinting through the cloudy arena, the cowboy searches for the timer. Suddenly, an earsplitting alarm echoes throughout the crowded arena. The cowboy springs off of the bull and dashes to the side of the crowded stands as a slow honky tonk melody dances through the air. The cowboy embraces his wife and family and with a vast smile beaming across his face, he raises both Ol’ Bob | Steve Corbell | Oil arms triumphantly into the air. Letting everyone in the arena know that he has won the fight between him and the bull, and more importantly he has conquered his fears. As the dust dances across the heated plains, an old cowboy sits in his rocking chair and with a tear streaming down his prideful face, he remembers overcoming one of the toughest battles of his life.

Cherry Blossoms | Watercolor | Maricela Hernandez

Obsession | Watercolor | Maricela Hernandez

The Color Ways | Mixed Media | Maria Ramirez

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Pink Winter Landscape | Colored Pencil | Morgan Thompson

Lying Mouth | Colored Pencil | Aram Alvarado

Whistle While You Work Colored Pencil | Megan Haddox

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Oushlyy | Colored Pencil | Dontae Telles

Fairytale Forest | Acrylic | Morgan Thompson

right now becomes history as soon as we pass it photographs by daniel yanez

Northeast Texas Community College | 2017

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Northeast Texas Community College | 2017

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By Jillian Brooks

It can be hard to be lonely. All the times you’ve spent Will they attempt to hush you or tell you to stop talking? hours in your room by yourself, wondering if anyone would Or will they join in and fall in love with your blazing come along. And, if they did, wondering if they would stay passion for these subjects? with you. Will they see the intense adoration in your eyes at a Wondering if they’d stick around for your emotional concert as they watch you bob your head and shamelessly outburst, random spouts of useless facts about musicians and scream the lyrics? They might join in, or at least smile dogs, and your unhealthy and help you video when yet uncontrollable love for you can’t resist the urge to fictional characters and jump to the heavy beat. mashed potatoes; not to Well, I can’t answer mention the sheer amount these questions for you, but of dank memes and empty I can tell you something Diet Dr. Pepper cans that should give you hope they’ll have to handle. through your loneliest days But in the back of and helpless nights. your mind, you always When you are jealous of wonder… will they stay other couples, wondering by your side? what you are doing wrong, How will they be there wondering if you should for you when your anxiety change your appearance spikes for no reason? or attitude, wondering why Shaking, wheezing, crying you can’t be happy, just over something irrelevant; remember, your person will they comfort you? will come. During times of peril The person who will or family tragedy, will learn everything about you their tears fall along with simply because they are yours? curious, only to fall in love How will they learn to with your quirks. deal with things like you They will take care of losing your phone when you when you are sick and it was in your hand while blast your favorite song you both turned the entire even if they’ve heard it 700 Well I’m Not Perfect | Watercolor | Maricela Hernandez times that day. house upside down for no reason? Your person will be the light Or when you forget to close the door all the way and a in the darkness, the rainbow after the disastrous storm, and spider invades your home, and it’s now their responsibility the one to pick you up when you fall; or at least demand to kill it because you refuse. that you not give up and drag you forward. Or perhaps you are on a rant about feminism, or heavy They will be the one to love you no matter what. All I metal, or how Superman truly is better than Batman, and ask is that you find your patience, however much you may your voice is loud enough to wake the neighbors. You don’t have, because they will arrive. notice, but will they get annoyed? I promise.

Northeast Texas Community College | 2017

Are We Out of the Woods | Digital Art | Morgan Thompson

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A Short Story By Jillian Brooks

“Zanna?” Ben calls through the darkened forest as he steps over fallen trees. His large boots sink into the wet mud and he sighs. “Come on, Zanna!” The large man tugs at the collar of his winter coat as rain begins to fall. “It’s freezing out here! If I get sick because of this, I’m gonna’ be pissed!” Ben rubs his bearded face and shakes out his wet hair. His breathing is heavy, and he begins to shiver. He briskly rubs his gloved hands together as his teeth chatter loudly. He slowly slides down the large trunk of a tree and rests at the bottom. He sighs, feeling the rain pelt against him. The city’s militia will soon come looking for him; it isn’t normal for the chief to disappear for so long. Ben sits up abruptly after seeing the bushes across from him shift slightly. “Zanna?” He whispers her name, slowly placing his hand on his gun. Although the female faerie is quite opposite of what he was taught about the creatures, he is still wary of any sound he hears in this dense forest. A tall woman steps forward, her body thin and slender. Black lines trace down her pale white arms in the shape of tree branches, and her raven hair drapes down her shoulders and over her face. Her dark lips curl into a grin, and she tugs at her skintight leaf dress. “Humans are quite impatient.” Zanna croons, and Ben rolls his eyes. He stands, still shivering a bit, and Zanna raises an eyebrow. “Are you cold?” “Yeah, just a little bit.” He answers sarcastically, crossing his arms over his armored chest. “What took you so long?” He asks as Zanna snaps her fingers, creating a small but warm flame. Ben holds his hands up to it after stripping off his thick gloves. “I had some issues with Duran and Puck—” Zanna starts, but Ben steps forward. Northeast Texas Community College | 2017

The flame in the faerie’s hand puffs out as Ben almost growls, “Those two again?!” “Calm yourself, Benjamin!” Zanna scolds, and Ben’s jaw clenches tight. He notices that roots have begun crawling up her legs and wrapping around her protectively. “They did nothing. You have my word.” Ben squints at her then waves her long hair out of her face. She shuts her eyes and scowls, but doesn’t move against him. Ben gasps, seeing a bright orange bruise covering the left side of her pastel face. Her jaw is tight and her fists are balled at her sides. “I have your word, eh?” Ben asks, staring at her. Those two faeries have been hurting her since before Ben even knew she existed. They are soldiers of the faerie’s military that fight against the humans in this raging war. Technically, Zanna is supposed to capture Ben for information, and Ben was ordered to kill her a long time ago. But neither of them could bring themselves to obey their superiors. “Please, don’t intervene.” Zanna begs, the roots slowly falling back to the earth and disappearing. “I can handle it.” “You don’t deserve this, Zanna!” Ben takes her hand, and she slowly looks up at him. Her dark eyes are red as she begins to cry, and a purple tear slowly slides down her face. The man slowly kisses her hand. “Just because you are different doesn’t mean you deserve to be treated like that.” Zanna smiles warmly at him, bringing him close and pressing her lips against his. Ben’s skin is warm and soft, while hers is ice-cold. “You are always so nice to me, Benjamin,” Zanna whispers, looking into his eyes. They press their foreheads together and shut their eyes. “I don’t deserve that either.” 27

“You may be a traitor, but at least you speak the truth.” Duran’s snickering voice floats toward them, and they both spin around quickly. Puck stands beside his brother, looking quite disappointed. “I knew you were partial to the humans, but not this partial.” He loads his thick arrow into his large bow, and Duran holds his sharp spear tightly. Ben gently takes Zanna’s arm, resting his hand on his gun. “Please, both of you, stand down!” Zanna holds her thin arm in front of her, tree roots expanding across the ground toward the two male faeries. “We don’t take orders from you, Malum!” As Duran shouts Zanna’s Latin name, she quickly waves her hand toward Ben. A wave of thick bark and roots creates a shield for him, wrapping around his body tightly. “No, Zanna!” Ben yells, beating his fists against the tree that now surrounds him. “Please, no! Let me help you! I can fight!” Zanna slowly turns around toward the two faeries standing before her. “I cannot allow you to be injured, Ben,” she whispers quietly, the grass and slight breeze taking her words straight to him. “I wouldn’t be able to go on without you.” He is silent as he stops resisting her protection, and Zanna coils her fists. “Traitor!” Puck yells, releasing an arrow toward Benjamin. Zanna scowls and whips her hand through the air, a steady line of water slicing the arrow in half. The liquid falls back to the ground, splashing loudly. Zanna slowly looks up at them, seeing a slight change in their confidence. She smiles. “All humans must die!” Puck releases another arrow aimed at Zanna. She gently raises her hand, and a thin vine catches the arrow inches before it hits her face. “At this rate, you’ll simply run out of weapons.” Zanna’s voice is hushed as she stares at them, loving the slight fear that crosses their features. Duran inches backward, but his brother persists.

Each arrow that launches toward her perfectly shreds before it gets close. Zanna quickly grows tired of the fight, and she feels Ben fidgeting in his protective barrier. The female faerie slowly raises her hand, taking dew and rain water left from the storm into the air around her. The water creates a small sphere in her hand, and she catches the men staring at it. She slowly smiles as it moves forward, bobbing up and down in the air. The men watch silently, afraid to move. She looks up at Puck and flicks her fingers toward him. The sphere of water turns into large spikes as it flies toward him. The water cuts straight through his throat and face, and the ground swallows him whole. Duran stares at the empty spot where his brother once stood, and he slowly looks over at Zanna. “Too far,” he states, his jaw clenching tightly. “You’ve taken our plan too far.” Zanna steps forward as Duran begins to sink into the ground. He doesn’t fight against it, and it slowly stops at his neck. He breathes harshly, staring up at the dark faerie in front of him. “We were here to kill him. Nothing else.” “I didn’t forget.” Zanna kneels down and runs her hand through his tussled blonde hair, and he shakes himself away. “I just changed up the plans a bit.” Duran is silent, and Zanna smiles. “I’ll take the humans apart from the inside out. Simple, yes?” She asks, and Duran takes a deep breath as the earth crawls up his face. “I thought so, too.” He disappears, and Zanna turns toward Ben. She quickly rakes dirt down her arms and face to signify a brawl, then she slowly waves her hand over her shield. It crumples away, and Ben comes out running. “Zanna!” He calls for her as she collapses into his strong arms. She cries heavily, holding tightly to him and hiding her face in his shoulder. Ben quickly looks around, but the threat is gone. “It’s okay now, Zanna.” He whispers, running his hand through her long hair. Zanna slowly smiles as she pushes her head into his shoulder. “Everything is going to be okay, I promise.”

“You may be a traitor, but at least you speak the truth.” 28

Lagniappe Magazine | Vol. 5

By Kali Campbell

I never knew how it felt to be in Heaven I never knew if God is real or fake I never knew that the demon inside me Has taken control over my body To the point where I feel as if, As if God doesn’t love me at all He will abandon me here and Throw me into the bonds of hell God help me please, Show me that you are real Help me to trust you, And chase the demons away from me But, I am slowly beginning to tear apart I am slowly feeling that you are fake You reached other people but not me Why not me? Why can’t I hear from you? Is it the demons that tell me lies? Are you shy or hiding from me? I need answers I want to know if you are real I don’t feel anything nor hear anything I haven’t heard from you, Or at least I don’t think I have There’s a battle that I am fighting I go to church to learn about you And yet, you don’t reach out to me I am angry! I am so lost! Just help me, please Why won’t you help me? Why aren’t you answering my prayers? God help me, answer my questions. Are you real? Or, is this all just a lie?

Northeast Texas Community College | 2017

Light vs. Dark | Digital Art | Morgan Thompson

By Na’Chyna Rogers

Why my mom AGAIN? I’ve never been so angry before She’s already sick She can’t take it But, she fought until She couldn’t fight anymore Then, the red and white Lights started flashing Here I am In another hospital room Holding her hand And playing with her hair She doesn’t have enough Energy to even open her eyes A few hours passed And her numbers Started to decline My aunt went over and moved Her head into a straight position Because we knew it was that time I began to cry a little But then, my mom moved Her head, and looked right at me Then BEEPP……………

Waves of Color | Digital Art | Daniel Yanez

Lagniappe Magazine | Vol. 5

By Na’Chyna Rogers

Since you’re gone now, I regret not telling you some things I miss being able to talk to someone I regret taking that for granted I miss your chubby cheeks That I used to squeeze I miss watching basketball games with you There is so much that I took for granted And now that you are gone, I wish I hadn’t Since you’ve been gone, I’ve missed you more than anything I love you, Ma I pray that I can see you again

Northeast Texas Community College | 2017

NORTHEAST TEXAS COMMUNITY COLLEGE