Chrsyalis Spring 2015

Flee far from the perils of this world my friends

For she is no longer ours to caress

No longer will the warmth of the sun

fall softly upon our faces

as we gaze into the void

No longer shall the songs of life echo

from every valley, and mountaintop

Each flower, every tree washing the world clean with their melody

..No longer

Chrysalis

Fro n t Co v er

Danyelle Fletcher | Sun and Fog, Photo

Dylan Stanley | No Longer, Poem

Ivy Rivero, Design

Back Cover

Jamez Clements | Teenagers DC Living

Chrysalis Literary & Arts Magazine

Ferrum College Spring 2015

Editors

Ivy Rivero, In-Chief

Briana Johnson, Prose Dina Prado, Poetry Katherine Sessor, Art

Sta ff

Dylan Stanley Danyelle Fletcher Marybeth Bond Bailey Cribbs Melva Herron

Ad v i s o r

Dr. Katherine Grimes J udg es

Melvin Macklin, Poetry Marcia Horn, Poetry Danny Adams, Prose Tina Hanlon, Prose Anna Bowser ‘12, Photography Stephanie Perdue ‘10, Photography Leigh Ann Bush ‘14, Visual Art Carolyn Hart, Visual Art

Special Thanks

Integrated Programming Board J.S. Printing

Contents

Poetry

Billie Quesenberry | Where I’m From [1st Place] 6

Dylan Stanley | Summer of My Youth [2nd Place] 7 Lerice Bynum | Together 7

Briana Johnson | What the Living Do 20 Marybeth Bond | They Are 22

Dina Prado | I Have Seen An Angel Cry 23 Dina Prado | My Lineage 25

Marybeth Bond | I Want to Be the Weather 40

Dylan Stanley | Dead Dreams 41 Ivy Rivero | Today 41 Courtney Epps | Free 44

Katherine Sessor | My Guardian Angel 45

Paige Putnam | Ice Queen 48

Prose

Rachel Swyhart | I Saw A Boy. [1st Place] 14 Briana Johnson | Deeper [2nd Place] 26 Katherine Sessor | Another One Bites the Dust 37

Photography

Jessica Colla | Reflections [1st Place] 9

Jonathan Mayo | Jay Jay Says Hey [2nd Place] 11 Kala Brubaker | Shakespeare 12

Addison Schmitt | Summer Sunset 19

Trasean Boatwright | Down by the Lake 19

Dina Prado & Bob Owens | My Mother’s Daughter 24

Devin Wooten | Rachel’s Final Bow 2 35 Ivy Rivero | Surgery Prep 35

Jessica Colla | Black Howler Monkey 39

Danyelle Fletcher | Through the Leaves 42

Jonathan Mayo | Frozen Spring 42

Janna Hite | The Hills Are Alive 43

Paige Putnam | A Sight of Lisboa 43

Visual Art

Michaela Martinez | Forever Wondering [1st Place] 10

Trasean Boatwright | Alicia in Wonderland 12

Bailey Cribbs | Bigger on the Inside [2nd Place] 13 Bailey Cribbs | The Corset 34

Jesse Franklin | Hidden Shadow 36

Jesse Franklin | Faces in Nature 36

Katherine Sessor | Charcoal Skull 46

Michaela Martinez | Love at First Sight 46

Danyelle Fletcher | Black-Eyed Lady in Red 47

“Where I’m From”

Adaptation of George Ella Lyon’s “Where I’m From”

Where I’m from One stoplight functions for the entire 382 square miles of Floyd County.

Where I’m from the cows outnumber the people by a longshot.

Where I’m from Little River flows across the county and in your blood, because that’s where you spend your days in the summer when you’re not working or fishing.

Where I’m from My Momma and Daddy are the best in the world.

They work their tails off so that us kids could have everything we need.

Where I’m from you know everyone in the county. and their brothers. and sisters. and even the name of their dog.

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Where I’m from Your best friend in the whole world has been your best friend since pre-school when You chased kittens together.

Where I’m from you don’t miss church.

And Revivals are a big celebration.

You don’t miss a Revival either.

Where I’m from it’s not the people you would think who get crowned Homecoming King and Queen.

People like me do, Where I’m from.

People like me love with all they got, trust with all they got, respect with all they got, and cherish all they got, Where I’m from.

Billie Quesenberry 1st Place Poem 7

Summer of My Youth Dylan Stanley 2nd Place Poem

In the summers of my youth the fields were all of green and all the flowers and the trees their beauty equal, yet not the same There I spent those fleeting years dreaming countless hours clinging loosely to a time that I once held as ours When I was awoken from that ethereal field of dreams No more sunshine from my youth the world had turned to grey Sadly‌ I now feel compelled to say.. that our lives are all but meaningless if not lived for today

Together Lerice Bynum

Trees are to mountains As mountains are to trees To one it casts shadow Another gives a guise But when all together Combined in such a way Cannot fully attribute The beauty of the day

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9

Jessica Colla 1st Place Photograph

Reflections Canon Mark 5D

Forever Wondering Pencil

Michaela Martinez 1st Place Visual Art 10

Jay Jay Says Hey

Jonathan Mayo 2nd Place Photograph 11

Shakespeare Kala Brubaker

Alicia in Wonderland Trasean Boatwright Marker

12

Bigger on the Inside Clay

Bailey Cribbs 2nd Place Visual Art 13

I saw a boy.

Rachel Swyhart

1st Place Prose

The raven of his hair was blacker than pitch, with deep chocolate highlights; the weariness of his face was as soft and sad as always. His stubble did prick like the hint of manhood draped heavy on narrow shoulders. He walked with vigor, with no hesitation in his stride. Not until he beheld me. My book was close at hand, an ancient one at that, in the middle of the otherwise empty garden. Not only then did he falter.

I call it a garden. It more resembles a creek-broken valley, shallow but rich with life and trees, upon which sat two small ramshackle sheds alongside. There were a few tables on one side of the creek and several on the other.

This place I called sanctuary – for its silence was unbroken save for the occasional short-cut seeker – was fenced on one side by an upwards hill of sloping woods, and on the other the main road which wrapped up to the dorm buildings, and back to the stairs to the main campus.

He came from the direction of the dorm buildings. There were five; three old and downgraded, and two pristine and neat. I like to think he was in one of the broken down ones as I was, as incoming fresh meat, but I knew his style leaned towards the wealthy, ever just so. His building must’ve been a bit behind mine, one of two nicer places to live during the year.

His falter came from spotting me. Toting sketchbook and backpack and large black headphones alike, I knew – because we were of like mind – that he was seeking what I had sought and found. A refuge from the rush of college living. With me there, I know exactly the hesitation and irritation felt from sharing one’s own special, private sanctuary. But he did not glance at me with distaste. He didn’t look away and search for another place to reside, as I may have.

His eyes did not leave me. Even as he walked, rounding the short valley for better purchase to divulge into it, I could feel his gaze in the turn of his head and his silhouette against a fading blue sky. He knew it was me. He knew me. And I knew him.

When we had first arrived, we’d been acquainted in a short, difficult class full of snore-clogged lessons and rituals. There had left little time to speak socially. And now this semester we shared a class in which we shared a passion. Art. He saw me, and I saw him.

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We often swapped glances, polite smiles, and compliments on one another’s work. We were the only two of deep emotional connection to our work. He had taught himself everything, without ever having an art class, and my teachers had tried and failed to teach me much, so I ended up being much the same. But he was precision and I was natural line and ebb and flow. If there was another who shared our depth, they had poor skill in showing it, and the others who had skill had no depth of meaning.

He stared.

I, upon having read a few chapters on my ancient tomb, from a century and a decade before my own time, had paused. I had shut my book. Because - often - overhead had flown two fighter jets. Practicing, their base nearby, they used our mountains as training for the war in Afghanistan. I’ve always wondered what they would call this war. But two had broken the sound barrier in my skull flying low overhead, and I had gotten a striking thought. When would this war end? It had been going on before I could understand why we even needed wars. And here I was, growing into a woman, and still it raged on. I thought then, ‘A man who waits for war to end and peace to reign is lost.’

I was deep in brooding over this thought when I spotted him. I was picking out figures I knew walking to main campus, passing me quite a long way off without a thought to my presence at all. A boy from my class with not-straight tendencies, short and thin with a thick head of black hair and an open face, who was very kind and very theatrical. Lots of ethnics and races, all I admired and held affection for. A few sour faces I did not recognize.

Now, understand, I always admired this boy I saw. I loved him with the heart of an artist. He drew beautiful, painstakingly detailed pieces of beautiful women and the like, and gallivanted with the socially disgusted.

Not to insult them, they were all handsome and dedicated. Just not entirely American in their ideas or body.

And this boy that I loved, I sought out for in all the crowds of the campus we share. I longed to see his handsome face everywhere I looked.

So when I spotted this figure of him, I dreamed at first that it really was him gazing at me and not some stranger which I thought it was. And as his stare became more and more lengthy I realized, it was actually him.

My heart thundered. Blood did rush to my cheeks. I felt a stake to it then, and lowered my eyes, tears pushing at the corners of them. My heart was sewn neatly to another boy. And even as he let me do as I please to live out my young years without fear of cheating, I could deny him nothing. I find myself still hopelessly lost to his arms. He is a good man, a pure man, but a man of great instability. It scares me to think someday my life

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carefully, and he had already walked tumultuous paces along the road with his eyes on me, almost blocked out by the Spring-blooming canopy of a sapling in my vision. I put my head down and blushed cradled my large phone desperately for a distraction. I fiddled with it, responding to the messages of an old friend I missed dearly, and when I raised my eyes again he was there. Right there.

Well, not right there. He was across the creek that broke the valley jaggedly down the middle, long ways. It had a sharp incline of two feet before the shallow water began to rush passed the smooth rocks of its floor, and the only way across was a narrow bridge off not too far to my left. My table was against the trees – in shade, for it was a warm day and only that and the breeze did save me – probably twenty paces from the creek, and the table he had chosen was only ten paces from the creek on the opposite shore. He sat facing away from me, drawing furiously in his tiny sketchbook.

A great relief filled me. For although I loved him, I was nothing special. He was a handsome boy full of sadness and passion. And I was a writer. An artist. A happy, bouncy, fluffy music lover with curses and jokes to spare. I looked at him through my specs and touched the extra around my belly and stared down at my lap. He was right there. Right there. I could get up and put a hand on his shoulder and tease him about being alone on a beautiful day, and compliment whatever he was drawing.

I could sit down on his other side and open my book and just soak up his presence. Maybe he would even smile and laugh. I did love his smile, and his laugh was husky, shy but full of genuine joy, and made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

His eyes! I have neglected them. They are blacker than black. More pitch than eyes. They are drops of tar on white canvas. They are smashed charcoal, ground fine, peppered into satin and mixed with the very energy of emotion. Black as night. Darkness. Beautiful, open, unshielded darkness. When he looks at you he is guarded, his lips parted just so, but when he laughs the guard shatters. He keeps his eyes on yours to secure his small moment and make sure it is not unprecedented. And he laughs.

It lets you glimpse the boy beyond. The heart. The lover. But before you know it, he is shy, and glances away, and the bitterness in the way he bites his lip and his eyebrow sinks low indicates he is jaded; troubled; that happiness is a luxury he may try and avoid, just because being that high makes it much more painful to fall. Or maybe just that he remembers how unhappiness is so much more common to him than joy.

There he sat. And there I sat, dumbfounded. He was so… close. I bit my lip and I laughed to myself with a fever. Here I was, reading a love

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story about a bold boy asking a childhood sweetheart he had not seen for ten years for her hand in marriage, and here I was too shy to make my affections clear to a boy across the way with whom I shared six hours a week with our art stools a foot away. I laughed bitterly at myself and watched his shoulders move, his head dip low to allow his eyes to pierce the canvas. I loved him, but I was not in love with him. I never would be.

He was not what my lover was. He lacked the awkward confidence and the cheeky roar of his sweet voice. I could not be in love with a man who was after my own heart. He had to be my heart, and that my man was.

This boy is not.

And then I looked at him a while longer, picturing how easy it would be to rise and cross the river to him. A few steps. A shy greeting. A polite smile and a few awkward words. I have an extensive vocabulary, and he was foreign - although he knew English very well - but it would stunt our conversation when I said something he did not understand and I had to explain it. He got very self-conscious, and embarrassed, and did not speak after that. So we spoke little. His accent was so muted you would need to know it to hear it. And I, having taken Russian a semester and a half, know it. It lives in my teacher when she makes us repeat to her, and in myself as well when I mimic her. I could ask him if his parents had it too.

But I did none of those things. I sat, and I thought about why I did not move to befriend him. And then it hit me. I was selfish. My lover gave me the comfort of his body and his heart, and had for the past three years. I was unable to place that deep, unbreakable bond aside, for even a moment to consider being friendly with a boy I desperately wished to be romantic with. I knew I was not in love with him. I knew I may never be.

But I want to be. I could try.

The deep creek between us represented the chasm of separation between he and I. In breaking my long term relationship with my lover to be free at school, a chasm was created in my heart. A bottomless chasm on which I kept shoveling affection and physical love into, from the one who had created it. Until I learned another way to patch the chasm, or to overcome it, I could never give my affections to another boy. No matter how much my heart bled to think I may never share such familiar space with him again, after this class we shared ended, and summer began. I wanted him now. I loved him now. It broke my heart to think it was me keeping any sort of friendship of ours apart – let alone the slim possibility of romance. I was hopeless, and broken, and despite my success in life, lost.

I needed to grow so much more before I let another trust me with their heart as my lover trusted me with his. But a broken heart does

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not heal when you pretend it isn’t there. Even if I knew how to heal it, it would take time. And it would take another. Without knowing how to fix it, how would I ever find another to help me fix it, and me fix theirs? In tears, I took my book under my arm and retreated in silence, up through the foot path in the trees to my broken dorm building. I left him behind me and regretted every step and my heart ached with every thought of him – possibly – turning around and –possibly – feeling abandoned, or let down, or lonely without my intrusive presence. But I left.

Because my hope is lost.

But he is in his first year, as am I. We have three years left to run into each other again. Maybe I’ll figure it out before we’re parted for the heat to take up four months between us. Maybe we can bond while he goes home to his country, and I to my hometown. Maybe I can text him and call him and talk about his country and his art and his family and his loves and weaknesses, and mine. That is the only hope that I have left now. Because I know seeing him in my later years may weaken my love of him, and I need that in order to yearn for him as I do now. I don’t know if the respect and admiration for a person and their passions, I call love, can fade. But I’m scared that it might.

So I went back to my stuffy dorm room lacking air conditioning, and I threw off my shoes and I sank onto my bed, weary of heart. And I write.

And as I write my roommate returns to our dorm room and I tell her in shorter, much less deep terms – with much joking and casual glances what has conspired. She points out feverishly and with much swinging of her hips that his spotting me and ‘waltzing’ down anyway to share the distant, but still shared space, with me was done on purpose. That he does hold affection for me. She knows little of the hurt in my heart, but her folly lightens it considerably. I don’t cry easily. Not ever. With her to stabilize me, I find I’m no longer in tears over the subject.

I saw a boy, and he saw me. And we knew it was the other.

I only wish I knew the workings of his mind, so that I can either: rush my duct-tape fix on my chasm-fractured heart, and let his wish for friendship inspire my recovery, or; allow his flat thoughts of me and his lack of care at my presence let me know he is not the man I believe he is.

Then I could brood forever.

But his worn black and white converse and his ruffled hair and the flexing tendons of his knuckled hands as he draws and the purse of his lips and the headphones that lay beside him on the table, unused, while his ears perk to the sound of birds nesting in the wood... All of this does instill a confidence in me that he is indeed who I think he is.

And I am often right.

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Summer Sunset Addison Schmitt

Down by the Lake Trasean Boatwright

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What the Living Do Briana Johnson

Oh, no, my dear mademoiselle, marriage is no de jeuner sur l’herbe.

Especially when her eyes that once danced,

Fill with tears like a darkened horizon,

As father time ticks on;

And her face ridges with age

And droops into soggy valleys.

Oh, no, my dear mademoiselle, marriage is no de jeuner sur l’herbe.

Especially when he works all the time

And his back begins to bend at toil’s will

His brightened spark has fizzled

And his eyes can only notice

Her worsening clouds, ridges and valleys.

Oh, no, my dear mademoiselle, marriage is no de jeuner sur l’herbe.

When there’s a lady at work

With bright, dancing eyes

Whose ears listen to his cries And understands his plight

Cuz she ain’t never met father time 20

Oh, no, my dear mademoiselle, marriage is no de jeuner sur l’herbe

Especially because she begins to notice

All his late arrivals

The dinners for two on all the statements

“Twlight Woods” mixed with his scent

His late phone calls go answered in darkened rooms Oh, no, my dear mademoiselle, marriage is no de jeuner sur l’herbe

When his bags are packed

The papers already drawn up

The “other” in his Range

Her clouds are now faucets

As his unbended back turns to her Oh, no, my dear mademoiselle, marriage is no de jeuner sur l’herbe

Don’t fret though

My dear mademoiselle

It is what the living do

Grow apart but never together As father time ticks on Oh, no, my dear mademoiselle, marriage is no de jeuner sur l’herbe

So I plead you never ask again

Are you making the right choice

Cause father time, ain’t kind To the living.

Oh, no, my dear mademoiselle, marriage is no de jeuner sur l’herbe 21

They Are Marybeth Bond

They are Polished counters Spotless floors Glossy pictures Open doors Happy.

Simple Answers Baby girl Window seat And braided curls Love.

I am Questioned Asking why Hard to get to Quick to lie Defensive.

Messy Hair Stubborn start Broken promise Wicked heart Desperate.

Cry for Help The screaming ache Pounding silence My mistake Lost.

But no one comes.

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I

have Seen An Angel Cry

Dina Prado

I have seen an angel cry

Lying alone at night

Staring at the ceiling

Afraid to turn out the light

Drowning in her misery

Thinking he’ll come back.

Have you noticed this woman,

The one who acts like that?

She shudders at loud noises Always looking over her shoulder Hoping he isn’t behind her Waiting for her on some corner

An endless cycle of abuse Was the constant hand she was dealt A happy, beautiful woman Beaten until no pain was felt Staring at myself in the mirror With no clue of what went wrong I couldn’t stop the punches From the man who was so strong Marble eyes shining back Into a haunted pearl face My scars are on the inside A hollowed hurt place The carefree happy girl I once was is dead Her soul buried deep inside a vessel of unknown And now you know why……

I have seen an angel cry.

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My Mother’s Daughter

Bob Owens & Dina Prado

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My Lineage Dina Prado

I am my mother’s daughter Light skinned and freckled faced Knowing how to give, still learning how to take

The image of her mother, Stubborn as a mule Giving up her all, taking none in return

From a line of strong women Willing to stand on their own Raising up their families with sturdy backbones

A bloodline of fierce warrior women Running through my veins I am the product of an everlasting tree Of European blood.

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D

eeper

Briana Johnson 2nd Place Prose

The morning was ready to begin. A bright, milky-yellow sun was beginning to peak from behind the cumulus clouds that spangled the light-bluish sky. There were a few birds out, chirping and making intertwining circles, like jet planes, throughout the sky.

It was cold that day and the morning’s forecast called for snow for later in the week. None of the denizens of the town believed the predictions.

No matter how cold it got in the city, the beautiful, ivory crystals never seemed to fall from the sky.

That’s where she found herself, staring into the sky, hoping that for once, God would answer everyone’s prayers and allow the city to be blanketed by the soft, pretty droplets. A cigarette hung from her lips as she buttoned her jacket tighter and snuggled it close to her…. ….the bus was late again.

The sound of footsteps broke her out of her reverie. Turning her head in the direction she’d heard the steps come from, her eyes lay on a figure she’d known quite well. Short in stature, slightly-broad shoulders, tiny feet and a smile that spread from one ear to the other, it was her best (and only) friend.

“Hey, Nina!” the other woman greeted warmly as she approached the much taller woman, “How goes your day on this beautiful morning?”

Nina rolled her eyes, “It’s hardly beautiful,” she took a long drag of her cigarette, “It’s too cold out.”

“Yeah,” the other girl replied, looking to the sky, “It’s supposed to snow tomorrow.”

“Okay, Skye,” Nina responded with a sigh, “You know it never, ever snows here. But, great show of optimism though.”

Skye grimaced and rocked back on her heels, “What time is it?” she asked Nina, her rocking quickening.

“Time for you to get a watch,” Nina replied without hesitation, “And about damn time for the bus to be here.” She took another drag.

“You should really kick that habit,” Skye told her as her eyes watched the smoke swirl in the sky, “It’s not good for you. Lung cancer and all that.”

Nina shrugged, “I don’t care,” she took a really long drag, “We have all been dying since we took our first breath. I just choose to die better.”

She gave a small smirk, took one last drag and threw the cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with her foot.

“You are insufferable!” Skye joked as she finally decided to take out her

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phone to check the time, “8:24! The bus is 25 minutes late! Some people have to go to work!”

“You were late here anyway!” Nina laughed, “If the bus would have been on time for once, you would have missed it!”

Skye smiled, “Why come out here super early when I know the bus will be late? You should stop doing that yourself, maybe you wouldn’t be so grumpy.” She smiled even wider, “And what, does that mean you wouldn’t have held the bus for five minutes, for me?” she nudged her.

Nina sighed inwardly. She hated when Skye did that; she hated it when it seemed like Skye was flirting with her, “Hell no!” she finally replied, “I have to get to work too you know, and I would prefer to be on time!”

“Oh, ha-ha,” Skye replied, “I am not late all the time.”

“If you say so,” Nina responded and turned her eyes in the opposite direction, the bus finally approaching the stop, “No one has the time to wait for your ass.” The bus pulled up to the stop and opened its doors.

Skye moved passed her, lightly brushing against her shoulder as she did so, “You know you love me.” Her eyes danced as she stuck her tongue out in Nina’s direction.

Nina watched her walk up the stairs of the bus before following her.

Hating herself for the warmness in her cheeks and the tempo of her heartbeat.

“Order up!” the chef ’s gruff voice resonated throughout the small diner, “And hurry up with that!”

“Yes, sir!” the waitress’ voice called back, just as loud as the grumpy chef ’s.

Skye sat at a table in the corner of the diner, her sketchbook lied open in front of her. She was doodling. What, she didn’t know, but she knew that she would most likely trash it later. She didn’t like most of her drawings, and would often rip the papers from her book and crumple them into oblivion.

There was a half of cup of cold coffee in front of her, and she willed herself to finish it. She’d paid two bucks for it after all, and she wasn’t one to waste money. Especially after she’d lost her job, five months prior.

It wouldn’t have been a problem, had the job market not been crappy.

No matter how many applications she filled out, no matter how many interviews she went on, she was still without a job. Soon, her savings dwindled and the bills continued to mount up…..she received a third eviction notice.

She’d soon be homeless.

She struggled to hold it together and no one knew her plight, except Inez, the diner’s main waitress. Skye often wanted to tell Nina, but she

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knew that her friend was depressed and she didn’t want to add to her troubles at all. Besides, she really wanted Nina to think well of her, she needed happiness in her life. She needed a friend.

“Here you go hon,” Skye looked up to see that Inez had placed a somewhat greasy, bacon cheeseburger in front of her. Months ago, Skye wouldn’t touch beef nor pork, but since having to budget her money extremely, she’d eat anything Inez made for her. “It’s the only thing I could make without Andy getting pissed.”

Andy was the grumpy chef that also owned the diner. He didn’t favor the patrons eating without paying for it, even if the employees took it upon themselves to pay for it. She could understand though, he was a businessman. “It’s alright,” she smiled at her friend, “I appreciate this so much!”

Inez sat across from her, “Still too stubborn to go home?” she asked her, taking a sip of the drink she brought with her.

“I can’t go back there, to those people,” she replied with a sneer, “I wouldn’t even entertain the thought.” Inez shook her head, “But you need to do something. Have you told that friend of yours?”

Skye took a bite of the cheeseburger and shook her head, “Why add to her troubles?”

Inez continued to shake her head at the younger woman, she was definitely stubborn. Reaching into her apron, she pulled out a few crumpled bills and sat them in front of Skye, “Here.” She said solemnly.

Skye stared at the money on the table then allowed her attention to go back to Inez. Pushing the bills back, she replied, “I can’t take this.”

“It’s not a whole lot anyway, just enough to take yourself out.” Inez responded, pushing the money back in Skye’s direction.

Skye cocked an eyebrow at her, “I’m broke! Should I really be going out with this money? Shouldn’t I be using it for something constructive?” she took one last bite of the burger, “Besides, who goes to the club on a Tuesday?”

“People who need it,” Inez replied and sighed when Skye shook her head in response, “Just take the damn money!”

Skye jumped at the boom in Inez’s voice and grabbed the cash. She looked at the bills in shock until Inez snapped her out of her daydream, “And don’t worry about your bills; I’ll help you handle it.” Skye’s head snapped up, “I know you don’t like people helping you, but I’m going to.

And I don’t want to hear anything about you declining my offer…..”

“Order up!” The chef screamed, deciding that Inez’s break was over.

Inez stood up and cracked a smile at Skye’s facial expression, “Thank me later.” She told the girl before taking off.

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Skye watched her a bit before counting the cash. Smiling widely, she decided to see if Nina would go with her. Standing from the table, she threw the coffee cup into the trash can behind her and grabbed her sketchbook.

She sent Nina a text and took off for the diner’s door, waving at Inez on her way out. She hoped the night would be fun.

Nina crushed out her cigarette and read the text that Skye had sent her.

It was nearing the end of her work day and she decided to take a short break. Reading the text once more she grimaced, “Who goes to the club on a Tuesday?”

She wouldn’t have much of an issue with spending time with Skye.

She was starting to realize how she felt whenever Skye was around and it scared her.

She took out another cigarette and lit it. Taking three drags she felt herself begin to shake and she tried to convince herself it was from the cold air. “Get it together, Nina!” She told herself, “You know it’s wrong, you know you shouldn’t do this shit!”

She wanted to hate Skye. The girl was the exact opposite of everything she liked in the world. The girl was bubbly, happy and she smiled like a damn clown. She was always cheery and entirely too optimistic for her tastes.

“I hate her!” Nina said as she took three huge puffs, “I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!” She crushed the cigarette with her boot and pulled out another, “I hate her!” she whispered and dragged on her cigarette.

She wanted it to be true, she really wanted to hate her. She knew the way she felt about Skye was wrong and she didn’t need to recall all of her grandmother’s lectures or pastor’s sermons to know that it was.

But, as she crushed that cigarette and read the text once more, thoughts of her friend circulated in her mind and she couldn’t deny that she….had feelings for the girl, and she didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She replied to her, “I’ll meet you there.” That way, if she lost heart, Skye wouldn’t be showing up to her house to coax her into going.

She exhaled, looked to the sky and prayed that the night would go well.

Skye sat at the bar and ordered another shot. She’d been there for almost two hours and Nina had yet to show up. She’d started to get the feeling that Nina didn’t want to be around her. Hell, Nina probably didn’t even like her.

“Think about it, Skye,” she slurred to herself, “She only tolerates you because we stand at the bus stop together!” She continued to chastise herself. She began to think that she should just give up. She joked around with Nina a lot, but there wasn’t any evidence that Nina cared for her. It was disheartening.

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She wanted Nina to have a friend, but it seemed like she was just one more person that Nina didn’t want around.

As she continued to sulk and down shot after shot, she didn’t notice that the object of her thoughts had walked into the door. “Aren’t you drinking just a little too much there?”

Skye’s head snapped up and her eyes followed the direction the voice came from. She eyed Nina up and down, and admitted that she looked really good. At least, better than she currently did with slanted, red eyes and the smell of vodka on her breath.

“Maybe,” she smiled, “But this is supposed to be a fun night out, and I’m having fun.” She motioned for the seat next to her, “Go ahead and sit, order anything you like.”

Nina nodded and sat next to her. She ordered a Malibu Red Margarita and swiveled in her chair, her facial expressions mirroring how uncomfortable she might have felt. “This isn’t really your scene, is it?” Skye laughed as she slid the bartender the payment.

Nina shrugged and continued to swivel. When the bartender handed her the drink, she placed the skinny straw inside it and began to sip it.

“No, I don’t go to clubs often,” she continued to sip, “This is really good though.”

“Yeah,” Skye sighed and she downed another shot. She glanced at Nina once more and felt her eyes lower. The older, taller girl really did look good. “You know,” she started, “I was thinking that you were going to stand me up.” She laughed.

She saw a faint blush taint Nina’s cheeks before the other woman replied, “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t think you care for me too much,” Skye replied, ordering yet another shot, “That’s what I was thinking, before you walked in.”

Nina had lit a cigarette, “No, I don’t feel that way,” she took a long drag, “I don’t care too much for people, but you’re one person I do care for.”

It was Skye’s turn to blush, “Oh, really,” her voice was slurred.

“Yeah,” Nina crushed out the cigarette and went back to tending to her drink, “I do.”

Skye watched her, looking better than she’d ever seen her. Maybe it was because she was drunk, or maybe it was because she was tired of denying it, but, for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why the Prince Song, “Diamonds and Pearls,” played in her head.

She leaned closer, knowing that her breath smelled of cheap vodka and a hint of toothpaste. And when Nina looked at her, confused at first, then relaxing, she took her cue and crashed her lips against hers. Her mind circulated through her rolodex of songs and when Nina kissed her back,

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her mind screamed, “You make me feel like a natural woman!”

She knew it was wrong, she knew she should stop. Skye didn’t really want this and had the girl not been drunk, she wouldn’t even be kissing her at this very moment. No matter how attracted she was to the girl, no matter how beautiful the girl was, Skye didn’t want her and she, Nina, hated being led on.

So, why was it, that when her mind screamed that everything she was doing was wrong, her heart screamed the opposite? Why was it that her arms wrapped around the smaller woman with ease? Why was it that she was kissing her back?

Soon, her mind interrupted her heart’s wishes and she grabbed the other woman and pushed her away violently, “What the hell, Skye!”

The other woman looked at her, “What?” she questioned.

“You’re drunk, that’s what!” Nina’s voice boomed and the bar’s other patrons looked in their direction. Feeling uncomfortable, she grabbed Skye and stumbled into the night air. Standing the other woman up, she looked into her cinnamon eyes, “You don’t really want this.”

“You can’t tell me what I want or don’t want!” Skye yelled, “You can’t tell me how I feel!”

“You’re drunk!”

“Drunk men tell no tales!” Skye replied easily.

“It’s wrong!” Nina yelled, “It’s wrong to do this!”

“Newsflash, Nina,” Skye began, “It’s 2015, no one cares anymore! How I feel, how you feel, there isn’t shit wrong with it! If you want this and if I want this and if we’re wanting this at the same damn time, how other people feel shouldn’t matter!”

“That’s not the point!” Nina yelled.

“Then what is the point, tell me what it is!” Skye screamed, “Tell me why how I am as a person is wrong. Tell me how I was born messed up!”

Nina didn’t reply, she didn’t know how to. She stared into the shorter woman’s eyes, she didn’t have any words for her.

“So that’s how you’re going to leave it?” Skye stared at the older woman, “Then fine.” She attempted to stumble away before running over to the bushes and vomiting, violently, into them.

“Shit.” Nina rolled her eyes before going to help her friend. She wanted to run away. She wanted to go home and lock the doors and never see her again. She wanted to hate her.

“C’mon, Skye,” Nina cooed, “Let’s get you home.”

She waited for the other woman to stop retching before standing her up and holding onto her tightly. They took a few practice steps before stumbling off towards Skye’s home.

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Nina was going through her things, that much was certain. She sipped the water from the glass in front of her and prayed that she wouldn’t have a hangover the next morning. She watched Nina move around her home, organizing things and throwing trash away. She’d never seen Nina act that way before. The girl seemed calm.

“This seems to be your thing,” Skye said, her voice no longer in a slur, “I should hire you to be my organizer.” She smiled.

Nina smirked, “You don’t have the funds for that!” she laughed.

‘If only you knew,’ Skye thought to herself, “You don’t know that!” she laughed along.

Nina smiled lightly and continued about the apartment, putting things back in order. “You’re so messy,” she called to Skye. She organized some papers on the kitchen counter. Skye continued to watch her and shook in alarm when Nina stopped on a specific paper and read it.

“What’s up?!” Skye questioned her.

Nina walked into the living room, slowly and methodically. She looked from the paper, to Skye and back to the paper. “You’re getting kicked out?” Nina questioned her.

Skye looked at her and sipped her water, “Yeah-“ “I thought your job paid you well?” Nina continued to question her.

“It did,” Skye sighed, “Until I got fired a few months ago.”

“Why in the hell didn’t you tell me?!” Nina yelled, “You were just going to get kicked out and live on the streets!” Nina stared at her, “You weren’t going to tell anyone, go back home or anything?!”

“To hell with going home!” Skye yelled back, catching Nina off guard, “I hate those people! I would never, EVER go back there!”

Nina’s face softened, “So what are you going to do?”

“Another of my friends is helping me,” Skye replied, “I think I’ll be okay for a while.”

Nina nodded, “That’s good.”

“Yeah, so don’t you worry your pretty, little head.” Skye laughed and Nina began to blush.

“Listen, about tonight-“ Skye began.

“Don’t worry about it.” Nina replied.

“I meant every word.” Skye told her, “It wasn’t because I was drunk.”

“Your parents shamed you, didn’t they?” Nina question, “About how you are?”

Skye gulped the last of the water, “My sexuality does not define me, there’s so much shit inside of Skye Reynolds other than sexuality. That’s a part of me, but not all of me.”

Nina pulled out a cigarette, “You know, I’ve never talked this much with

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anyone at one time about anything important.”

“Well, I’m glad to be the first.” Skye smiled, then leaned forward and when Nina didn’t pull away, she pressed her lips to hers again. This kiss wasn’t like the one in the bar, where smoke, booze, lust and sweat swirled and danced with each other. It was soft and the most passionate thing Skye could muster while coming down from her drunk-induced state.

It was a mixture of cinnamon and vanilla, light and darkness, black and white, yin and yang, the power of opposites.

“You make me feel like a natural woman!”

Nina pulled away and a small smile spread across her cheeks, “I’m not ready for all of this.” She told the younger woman.

“I know,” Skye replied with a smile, “What, did you think that I would think that we would kiss a few times and all of a sudden we’d be in a relationship?” she chuckled, “What do you think this is, some goofy teen romance novel?”

Nina laughed, “I happen to like those!”

“I didn’t take you to be the type.” Skye replied, wrapping her blanket around her tighter.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” Nina crushed out her cigarette.

“I would like to know more things about you.” Skye replied easily.

“Maybe I’ll let you,” Nina winked causing Skye to blush, “One day.” She stood to leave and Skye followed her to the door, her blanket pooling at her feet in the process.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” Skye leaned against her door frame.

“You should look forward to kick your drinking habit…” Nina smiled, “You alcoholic!”

“And you, your smoking habit!” Skye replied, “Before you get lung cancer!”

Nina laughed and walked off into the night air. Snow crystals had drifted from the night sky. “Son of a bitch,” she thought to herself, “Skye was right!”

She walked into her home, and into the bathroom. A half bottle of pills was open on top of the sink. Picking them up, she dumped them into the sink.

She decided that she liked her new potential enabler a lot better than those pills. And, if she was lucky, the feeling would never end.

She hummed to the tune of “Natural Woman” and went around the house, in search of everything she was willing to leave in the past before trudging into her future.

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The Corset Clay

Bailey Cribbs Top Right

Rachel’s Final Bow 2

Devin Wooten

Bottom Right

Surgery Prep

Ivy Rivero

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35

Hidden Shadow Jesse Franklin Digital Art, PicsArt

Faces in Nature Jesse Franklin Digital Art, PicsArt

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Another One Bites the Dust

Katherine Sessor

How dare they mock me? How dare they call my story a bluff?! They shall pay for their words! I will prove that I am a vampire of the night.

Then they all will pay for their betrayal! Marie laughed as she stumbled through the old abandoned graveyard. It’s been years since this place has been visited by the living. Even the trees that over-shadow the graves were upon death’s door. The sun was already setting beyond the mountains making it the perfect time to come and put her plan in motion.

She could still hear her so-called friends calling her a liar. “Marie, you’re not a vampire. Last week it was werewolves, when will the stories end?” They’d tell her. How dare they belittle her? They think they’re better than she is. They’re just humans, stupid inferior humans that will pay for their words. They betrayed me. After tonight they will pay.

Marie was going to spend all night here in this haunted place to prove that vampires exist, and become the creature of the night as she promised. That will shut her friends up. How dare they not believe her? I don’t need them. Who needs backstabbers like them anyway?

Marie shivered as the wind sliced against her pale skin. The air became moist, and the sky kidnapped the rising moon as a storm approached.

It only storms when the nightmares are near. She flicked on her flashlight as she stumbled more through the huge cemetery.

Rain began to fall as thunder roared. She ran for shelter underneath a huge tree, but the leaves failed to stop the water. “Stupid Rain, when I become a vampire this will be nothing.” She smiled as she saw shadows dance within the blade of light. After a while the storm let up with only the thunder left to fear. Marie walked deeper into the darkness with only her flashlight as her guide. She approached a small circle of

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tombstones with dying grass lay between the broken stones. A smile spread across her lips as she found her destination.

Marie approached the circle, but stopped as something moved behind her. Turning around she met darkness. Her flashlight flickered on and off. “Hello? I’m Marie.” She spoke to the darkness as the shadows moved.

“Come out!” The sky crackled as lightning struck a tree nearby.

Marie laughed. “Yes, they’re here. Come and take me with you!” She raised her arms to the sky in praise. “All mighty ones! Make me one of you! Give me your power!” She spun around as a waving humanoid shadow caught her attention. Her eyes widened, her breathing sped, and her heart pounded as excitement took over. This is it. This is what I’ve been waiting for. I’m going to prove those idiots wrong. They will now pay! Marie kept laughing as she stepped closer to the shadow.

Reaching out she tried to grasp it, but her hand was pierced and she fell. The thunder stole her scream.

Dawn arrives, lighting up the graveyard filled with police. The captain shook his head in disbelief as a young girl was pulled out of the empty grave in the middle of a tombstone circle. “When will these kids learn to stay out of here? This place isn’t safe. Many forgotten open graves that are easy to fall in. Another one bites the dust from careless midnight exploring.” His squad looked at him as he headed back to his police car leaving the rest to his men.

“Marie Narson, local high school girl. She goes to school with my daughter. A strange girl, said my Lizzie in the past. Running around on a stormy night in a graveyard, that has to be some sort of stupid.

Luckily, she had her cellphone strapped to her ankle, or we’d never have found her in this place. Poor girl would’ve stayed out here forever with a broken neck without any trace left. Better go call the parents.

Shit, I hate this part of this job.” Sighed one of the other police officers as he snapped more pictures of the crime scene. There was blood on a sharp rock by the grave where a small slender tree had grown through the years. Most of the branches had broken off leaving only a few on top and one on each side that would sway whenever the wind blew.

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Black Howler Monkey

Jessica Colla

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I Want to Be the Weather Marybeth Bond

I want to be the weather – Expecting to be changed Openly accepted, And different even when the same.

I want to make the winds blow In a frantic, frenzied twist To tangle hair and brighten cheeks With each abusive kiss.

I

want

to

in clouded skies; explode

To bring the darkness, the breaking the command

to be heard

But I want to warm the world With my light Give loving hugs And tire myself out by night I want to be the weather.

I want to make a difference.

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and feared.

Dead Dreams Dylan Stanley

I can see clearly from underneath grey curtains The pale orange glow from dripping street lamps Illuminating the cold dreary sidewalks and alleyways Their sweet melody echoing off the empty walls of my room I have watched the stars float softly above this concrete bed As restless dreams of childhood innocence die slowly in my head Under these street lamps I roam cold beady sweat dripping from my bones I am a monster hiding in dark corners A coward running from the truth A murderer killing myself slowly I am you‌ a product of dead dreams

Today Ivy Rivero

Today I took the walk that I’ve been dreading To the place we fell in love In the dark Your soundtrack played Through the smoky air With your arms around my waist Today I sat alone Baking in the sun I could hear myself think I could breathe And I was free Today I fell in love 41

Through the Leaves Danyelle Fletcher

Frozen Spring Jonathan Mayo

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The Hills Are Alive Janna Hite

A Sight of Lisboa Paige Putnam

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Free

Courtney Epps Free?

Can I be?

Can I truly be, free?

I stand here today, Shackled in every way.

My feet are rooted to the ground, My lips quivering with every sound.

Free.

My hands are trying to cling to hope, I will be.

My heart is begging only for the rope.

I will always be free!

My head is dropped low, My life is not yours, My faith hung in tow.

I will heal these sores.

Can I truly be, free?

I will lift my feet from this fate, Can I be?

I will fight against this world of hate!

Free?

I will hold tight to this resounding hope, I will throw away all thoughts of rope.

I will lift my head to the coming days, I will never again stray my gaze.

I will always be free!

I will be.

Free.

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My Guardian Angel Katherine Sessor

With a smile that soothes the soul You wrap me up in your warmth, Protecting arms holds me close Whisk away my weeping.

You keep my sanity safe Shooing away the loneliness lingering, Your kind eyes full of sympathy Showering me with affection I desperately need.

Feathered wings taking flight Clinging close you take me higher, Whispering softly you inform me “You’re safe while underneath my wings.”

Your golden aura engulfs me Giving me the courage I crave, My protector, my supporter, my savior, You are my guardian angel.

An Illusionary image in my mind Drifting throughout my dreams Becomes physical arms protecting me As you live within those I love.

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Black-Eyed Lady in Red Oil Pastel

Danyelle Fletcher Top Left

Charcoal Skull

Katherine Sessor Charcoal

Bottom Left

Love at First Sight

Michaela Martinez Pencil

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Ice Queen

Paige Putnam

She lived in a palace A palace all alone A queen made out of ice Upon a snowy throne The cold seeped through her skin The cold seeped through her bones The cold winds froze her heart The cold made her its own

But cold won’t last forever And snow will always flee So one day they came calling And told her who to be To her icy mirror she turned And asked, “What should I do?”

Her reflection simply shrugged and said, “Your lips are turning blue.”

Her skin glittered like diamonds Her skin glittered like glass So she danced the devil’s masquerades And donned a flaming mask

Her heart was frozen solid And ice sculpture of youth And so she froze the rest of her So they couldn’t see the truth She meant to stay frozen The cold was all she knew But she heard the human laughter And wanted to laugh too

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Nobody can love you For if they gave you their heart The heat would be too much; you’d melt It would drop and break apart You knew this, didn’t you ice queen?

So you built a snowy wall You perched on top to watch flames dance And swore you wouldn’t fall

So wear your fiery mask, Then the heat won’t last for long You’ll freeze it dry or melt away Your icy palace gone So run back to your walls Your castle and your mirror Let the cold freeze you again And you’ll have nothing left to fear

You silly snow white queen Pathetic little thing Don’t you know your mask of flames Will melt your ice-cold skin?

The tears you cry are snow The cold keeps you alive That’s why you froze you heart, remember?

In the heat you can’t survive

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