Totem 2021 - Gannon University

POETRY

2021

TOTEM 2021 • POETRY

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TOTEM 2021 • POETRY

2021 Totem is Gannon University’s annual student-produced literary-art magazine containing poetry, short stories, prose, artwork, and photography submitted by the students, faculty, and staff of Gannon University. Totem strives to highlight the creative talents of those in our university community by sampling a diverse range of artistic media and perspectives.

All work is judged anonymously and on the merit of the individual work, and the work of the Gannon students is given first priority throughout the process. Totem is published in early spring of each year and is distributed free of charge throughout the Gannon campus.

Submissions can be delivered to the English Department or the Totem office, both located in the A.J. Palumbo Academic Center, or emailed to totem@gannon.edu by the end of the fall semester.

No part of this magazine may be reproduced without written permission of the artists and writers whose works appear.

Gannon University 109 University Square Erie, Pennsylvania 16541-0001 814.871.5886 www.gannon.edu

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TOTEM 2021

Editor’s Note Different. This year was different. Hybrid learning, remote learning, masked in-person learning: all were different from normal, for most of us. Yet, the beauty of a change in pace, is a change in creativity. I truly believe that inspiration can stem from difficult times and that’s exactly what I’ve witnessed our contributors do. They have created art.

All art takes place throughout history and events. Whether the art relates to the historical moments taking place or it does not, it should be preserved. Totem is a preservation of heartache, observations of the world’s magnificence, storytelling, and above all, the times in which we wrote when COVID-19 took so much away from us. What is truly so touching about this is that COVID-19 did not take away the mind’s ability to create.

In the pages of this edition of Totem is beauty-more, so, beauty in uncertainty. My hope is that those observing this art and these creative pieces find that art cannot die even amidst troubling times. My wish is that it touches the hearts of those lucky enough to experience it.

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- Anna Brink ’22

TOTEM 2021

TOTEM 2021

Credits EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Anna Brink English

ASSISTANT TO THE EDITOR

Adrian English

PROOFREADERS

Adrian sophomore, English Christina Brewer English

Emily Cummings CHESS Student Services, communication

COVER ARTIST Leah Applebee psycholog y

GRAPHIC DESIGNER

Andrew Lapiska University Marketing and Communications

ADVISOR Carol Hayes Teaching Professor, English department

POETRY / PROSE JUDGES

Carol Hayes Teaching Professor, English Department Julie Ropelewski

Instructional Designer, Center for Excellence in Teaching & Learning (CETL)

THE JUDGING PROCESS

Great care was taken to select the written and artistic works that are published in Totem. All work was judged anonymously on its literary and artistic merit. The judging panel for the written work consisted of an undergraduate student, a graduate M.A. in English, and a faculty member, who were not permitted to submit their work to Totem. The authors’ names were removed and each piece was assigned a log number. After reading and re-reading the submissions, the judges met and discussed each submission one by one to choose those that best represent the university. For the art, a mix of students and faculty members scored their choices of work, which also had the names of the artists removed.

Totem is grateful to every artist and writer who submitted their work this year. The submission pool is open to students in all majors, to faculty across the disciplines, and to alumni.

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Poetry 3

Notebooks Allison Joseph

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Origami Petra Shearer

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(Un)Concious Joshua Taylor

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Love wins Jaylen Conley

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Marilyn Monroe Anna Brink

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Cry… Kabila Karabole

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Immersion Echo M. Seiersen Personal Mission M.E.L.

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Wanderneed Jessica Belousov

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Tide Alex Stauff

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Human Life Bhoom

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Mother’s Day Nicole Clement

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The Starry Sky Peter Caulfield

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kumiho Adrian

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Love has many faces Morgan Gilbert

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Summer Job Morgan Gilbert

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Ballerina, Ballerina Anna Brink

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Fat Girl-Part 1 Jessica Belousov

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Fat Girl-Part 2 Jessica Belousov

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TOTEM 2021 • POETRY

ALLISON JOSEPH

Notebooks What good are notebooks?

-Talking Heads, “Life During Wartime” I crave them as if craving something carnal, blankness of pages erotic, clean with sensual possibilities and ready to be dampened by my insistent ink, swirls of language made plain on thin blue lines taut as tightrope. I collect them like other women collect shoes or boyfriends, fingering pristine pages while standing hushed in aisles of bookstores and stationery shops, stroking plush-covered ones with a single finger, loving floral-print ones more than actual flowers, needing another and another until my house is overrun with them, and they start arranging cocktail hours and support groups— for the ones I have not written in grow lonely, and the ones managing the burden of my desperate handwriting need someone to talk to, peers to confide in about these dog-eared secrets and semi-scribbled imaginings, covert half-truths, outright lies.

How they congregate around my bed, waiting for me to pick one up, start another hazy page of scrawls and arrows, cross-outs and restarts, confessions that will never be confessions until I judge them fit for judgment. Sometimes when fate has flattened me with its one hard fist, only the black-and-white composition notebooks of childhood will do, marbled covers unchanged from when I first learned cursive— one letter reaching for the next in the crazy tilting of my untested hand.

Only those wide-ruled lines will do, those patient beginnings.

Originally published in River Styx and reprinted in The Best American Poetry 2011 (Scribner, 2011).

Copyright © 2011 by Allison Joseph. Used with permission of the author.

Allison Joseph appeared as the featured poet at Gannon University’s English Awards Night 2020.

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PETRA SHEARER

Origami

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She was moldable and confident in her beauty Soft caramel clay that melted in your hands She willingly bent to your every whim Opened her heart to be vulnerable You took too much from her Left her empty and flat Like paper folded with sharp edges over and over until it’s too small to be seen by the naked e y e

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TOTEM 2021 • POETRY

JOSHUA TAYLOR

(Un)Conscious Good to see you.

Perhaps.

I truly loathed this meeting.

I see you have not Brought anything to cover your bare filth.

I have YOU to hide.

Don’t talk over me.

You know what.

You. You consider nothing, do without reason, warp the world.

I must conceal you.

One half of who we are.

It is the only way.

I must cast you further into darkness.

Why must you resist?

Everything is in my control.

I can hide it in our present.

I can denounce it from our past.

I can choose it for our future.

But I wish to be without these Emotions.

I must control them.

A master of composure but be only half who we could be.

See me?

Are you insane?

I truly loathed this meeting.

I see you dressed in soft silvery silk, hiding yourself.

I have nothing to hide.

Don’t talk over me.

So what is it?

Me? I speak only the truth, feel as I will, see reality.

I must be seen.

One half of who we are.

Must that be so?

Must you cast me further into darkness?

Because you forget.

Everything isn’t in your control.

When our eyes turn green?

When our hand yearned for the stars?

When our heart cries out for another?

But you wish to be without these Feelings.

Is that the way to be?

Deny, deny, deny and be only half who we could be.

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JAYLEN CONLEY

Love Wins Is it lust or love?

This is the question Was the sex a drug Or was it the connection The way our skin collided I knew you were the one But will we become dark sided?

Or will we always have sun?

Love and lust are different The meanings are intertwined If you choose lust over love It will often leave you blind Men. Get it together Women. Get it together We are here to love The lust is not the addiction It is the spirit that is the drug

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TOTEM 2021 • POETRY

ANNA BRINK

Marilyn Monroe You said you liked my hair short, so I cut it.

Now, I bite my lips till they’re bloodied.

And over the green hedges, where we used to smoke cigarettes, I tore my favorite white dress.

This morning, I recall, I spilt my coffee on the dark oak floor, and I let my feet stand in it, as if it were a puddle of rain.

And the night before, I had a sudden urge, to rearrange my room.

So I got a stool, and I cleaned out the closet, while pieces of furniture stood in the middle of the room.

Because, if I showed the world just how I felt, Antarctica would melt, from the screeching hell that would come, straight out of my mouth.

I love you but I can’t show it.

I’m a mess and I god damn know it.

But every day, I get a little better and I’ve realized, I’m my own mess.

A mess that is no longer yours, to care for.

So, for now, I’ll keep my hair long, only because you liked it short.

I’m a mess and I know it.

I’m a mess but I can barely show it.

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KABILA KABAROLE

Cry…

I am sorry, I am not against the law enforcement I love and appreciate the work and protection Yet, I am tired of seeing the people of my race being Beat, battered, bitten

I cannot take the pain anymore, I cannot watch my fellow people die Just for the color of their skin

Cry, call, connect

It cannot continue I cannot continue to hold the pain in me, It is painful and it hurts a lot, I cannot stand it, Halt, help, heal

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TOTEM 2021 • POETRY

ECHO M. SEIERSEN

Immersion there is a look in your eyes, a delicate immersion the edges of the room have blurred and turned in and somewhere between your breath and mine we have found a foothold to feeling alive your mouth on my mouth, the tender pull of your lips all of my storms have settled in this i can’t see much beyond getting lost in these sheets and your candlelight gaze, flickering so gently on me all i want is to write sonnets on your skin, slowly drawing them out and pulling you in because your drifting fingers have softened my bones, taken my wandering heart and called it a home

Third place prize in the 2020 Gannon University Poetry Contest.

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M.E.L.

Personal Mission I got hurt again.

Just when I thought I had it all.

When I finally stopped comparing myself.

When I finally was at peace with my life.

What I had, what I didn’t.

What I earned, and what I was given.

Who I am, who I’ll never be.

And then in you walked and made a difficult time the happiest of my life.

But when things got tough, You gave up on us.

And while I’m glad to hear you’re doing fine, I ask, “why is the heartbreak always mine?”

Why do I always give my all?

Become so vulnerable, It’s a long way to fall.

Shatter.

Pick up the pieces of my fragmented life.

Keep grinding, pretending it’s alright.

And then grow, and get there But not overnight.

But I’d never put up walls, Block people out.

I’ve been blessed with this ability to feel, love so deeply, for other souls.

I must carry that out.

And no matter how much it hurts, I’ve still served my purpose in each person’s life: To show them unconditional love, support, affection, Give my undivided attention.

So when they find their one, They know what it feels like to fall in love, And be that person for someone else.

And eventually, God will introduce me to my person.

Who will appreciate all I do for them, Love me for me, completely.

And will make my happiness Their personal mission, too.

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TOTEM 2021 • POETRY

JESSICA BELOUSOV

WanderNeed I want to travel Without The burden of needing To find a new home My country For too long Has been for the wrong People.

It was built that way From the beginning.

I want to fight And be outrageous But it will only go so far With too much ignored.

The system is not broken.

It is working very well.

That is the problem.

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ALEX STAUFF

Tide

That night I melted your breath rustling my hair and your heartbeat in my ear the two tides that keep you tied here, with me crashed over my head and I came up spluttering saltwater splashed your shirt and you held me close wrapped in blankets your soft whispers lulled me to the deep to sleep where I dreamt of huge shapes moving in the darkness and you and I suspended in sea as if hanging from the gallows with nothing above us below us around us or within us but water.

First place prize in the 2020 Gannon University Poetry Contest.

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TOTEM 2021 • POETRY

BHOOM

Human Life Silent Smile Peace of Mind Satisfaction from the bottom of the heart Not requiring $, Euro, Rupee Just requiring Open Heart with Satisfaction

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NICOLE CLEMENT

Mother’s Days I wish I could take away your pain.

To not hear you yell or cry anymore.

I wish I could make your days sweet again.

Our long walks around the beach aren’t long enough, To take it away.

Wishing for your happiness back So you can grow again.

Timetime is needed in a place like this.

Feel free again My dear mother.

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TOTEM 2021 • POETRY

PETER CAULFIELD

The Starry Sky In days of youth, the starry sky Held no meaning; I knew not why In ancient times were found connections Of meaningful lines in random collections Of ice-cold specks in the distant abyss.

But now I wonder how I could miss The ancient stories burned in fire In a page than which they couldn’t be higher; The silent sagas told night after night Inspiring in the medium of heaven’s bright light; The terrible tales, for countless generations Blazing in powerful, glorious conflagrations.

So now as I gaze at the star-filled sky I, at last, can comprehend why Age in and age out these brilliant sparks Have captivated men’s minds and hearts.

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ADRIAN

kumiho he showed the world his broken heart he was proud of the scratches and the puckering stitches the frayed edges and tangled fringes even when I ate it whole he smiled and said “your bloody lips are beautiful”

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MORGAN GILBERT

Love has many faces Love has many faces.

Love had blue eyes as deep as the largest oceans.

Love had soft blond hair that fell so perfectly.

Love would surprise me with my favorite flowers for no reason at all.

Love told me I was beautiful when I was crying.

Love liked to go on adventures.

Love cared if I had eaten that day because they knew it was hard.

Love was effortless.

Love said they would never leave.

Then love changed.

Love said that I was hot.

Love only liked my outfit when it was on the ground.

Love was a grasp of never-ending tears.

Love was like a rope around my neck getting tighter as I tried to pull away.

Love was earning their affection no matter what it did to me.

Love turned into isolation and accusations.

Love changed as fast as the clouds on a stormy night.

Love turned sour, like the taste in your mouth after you eat food that is one day too old.

Love was cold.

And now Love is a memory.

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MORGAN GILBERT

Summer Job The saddest thing I ever done Was poison the water of that little pond Because some man in a $500 polo shirt Hit a ball and killed a little black goose That had little babies that died too And they all complained of the smell So that dad gave me a shovel and a plastic bottle of poison In case the papa goose came back or another decided to start a family They wouldn’t.

So I buried their little bodies by the dead water And cried for them, for they had no words And no reason.

And because the man in the $500 polo shirt Had laughed His friends complimented him on the shot As that little goose died And the world was silent.

Second place prize in the 2020 Gannon University Poetry Contest.

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TOTEM 2021 • POETRY

ANNA BRINK

Ballerina, Ballerina Ballerina, Ballerina.

Look at you dance in the flames.

Scorching hot passion flows from your soul, In pirouettes you turn, of I the beast who tames.

How lovely are the droplets of lava that stream from your burnt face, dance, Ballerina, dance.

Dance, Ballerina, dance.

Show me plie ,̀ a grand jete ̀ in the air, I’ll fill your lungs with toxic fumes, this is only the beginning of Hell’s love affair.

Ballerina, oh, Ballerina.

Ballerina, oh, Ballerina.

Welcome to my kingdom where you and Heaven are miles apart.

I will torture you for eternity, and cage your thirsty, charred heart Weep for the trees lit in embers, plead for the ocean’s quench, grieve for the flowers that burn while you dance.

Dance, Ballerina, dance.

Get up, Ballerina, why don’t you stand?

Skin shriveled like a prune, A prayer to your God cannot save you.

Your heart and legs are tired but I have damned your spirits to be doomed.

Ballerina, oh, Ballerina.

Sleep, Ballerina, sleep.

I dare you to dream of the sun’s warmth kissing your cheeks, the ocean’s mighty blue, the green of the trees that sweep.

Sleep, ballerina, sleep, but don’t you try to dream, I have stolen what you love and kept it for me.

Oh, Ballerina. Oh, beautiful Ballerina.

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JESSICA BELOUSOV

Fat Girl-Part 1 My stomach Has angry lines Showing my descension Into hell A place where I cannot see my self-worth Or beauty.

No matter what I eat Or do Or wish at night The scale disappoints me As it reads numbers I’ve never seen Associated with me

When I walk My body jiggles Shaking in fear Of other people’s eyes My chin hangs low And swings Indecisively My face is wide My cheeks full And I hate it.

I used to think 200 pounds was a lot Now I’m just waiting for 300 My body weighs the amount of two Individuals Two people in one When people experience body dysmorphia they usually see themselves as fatter than they are.

I look on in envy to the girl Who is flat And almost any item of clothing Is baggy for I can’t stop myself from staring At skinny girls And admiring how beautiful they are And how beautiful I was And hating myself more and more Because my body has extra It is plus sized I want to subtract it I want to be a size zero I want to weigh nothing

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When I look in the mirror I see someone who is skinny I see who I was And it is only when I look at pictures of myself I realize how wide I am The weight of it all Hits me at once And I cannot breathe Who is that fat girl?

I have been afraid of that title my whole life Yet I’ve never really been fat till now I hear echos of my cousins teasing me, “Fat girl can’t get me” “Look at fat girl running”

TOTEM 2021 • POETRY

Snickers at the table After my uncle said “Of course she finished her food first” Or when he said “It’s okay she’s not hungry, she doesn’t need any more food” And every time I want to eat something Extra or more I hear my aunt, “Maybe you should eat salad instead” I want to crawl into my rolls Hide behind all my layers Let the fat protect me Like it’s supposed to I want to be happy I want to love my body I want to be confident But the weight of it all Is just too much

The years trudged on, faithful, like my grandmother. And the children avoided the brick house on the corner.

Until, one day, my grandmother became sick with a disease that would never leave.

It was The End. In those days, there were no warm meals, no stories, no children.

My grandmother was trapped in that house, in that body.

Her blue eyes never showed pain, only two cold stones, waiting for the Savior, the same one who condemned her.

And then, one day, she left.

But it was not her house.

He would come in, screaming, shouting, shoving her good deeds across the floor.

He was hard like the bread, red like the tomato.

He was not slatkaya, not sweet at all.

His stories were full of God’s vengeance, and He was God. He predicted Doom, Hellfire, and The End.

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JESSICA BELOUSOV

Fat Girl-Part 2 Why can’t you, Like the ancients In countries across The globe Assume my weight Is me Plump with joy.

When you look at me Why can’t you notice My rosy cheeks And childhood essence.

Baby fat Has grown To layer me In protection From my fearsThe ones you created.

My rolls Keep me warm In the midst Of your cold presence.

My presence Is quiet But large.

My steps are loud And confident, Even when I am not.

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Pictures of younger me Come to haunt my vision.

They are someone I wish I could look like, Even though it was a look I also once despised.

I am plus Because My smile adds To the light of the world.

I am Extra Large, Like my personality.

I jiggle And vibrate And move With the wavelengths No one can see I fill all my outfits To the brim.

Yet I still can’t fit The shoes You give me.

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ART

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Solitude Kimberly Samsel

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Walking Nadya Makay

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Stairway to Heaven Skyler Parsons

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Trees Amongst Water Nadya Makay

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Sunbeam Kimberly Samsel

A Pandemic-Inspired Collection: Uncertainty & Hope Comfort in the Sky Leah Applebee

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Hope Michelle Laher

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Little Flowers Michael Scanga

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The End of an Era Kathryn Dickey

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To Be Alone Joshua Coleman

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Cherry Blossom Nicole Clement

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Piper Adrian

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Window to My Soul Ryan Vessels

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The Bell Tolls Joshua Taylor

ART

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2021 TOTEM 2021 • ART

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KIMBERLY SAMSEL

Solitude

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NADYA MAKAY

Walking

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SKYLER PARSONS

Stairway to Heaven

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NADYA MAKAY

Trees Amongst Water

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TOTEM 2021 • ART

KIMBERLY SAMSEL

Sunbeam

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A PANDEMIC-INSPIRED COLLECTION:

Uncertainty & Hope 2021 was a year of conflicting emotions: grief and gratitude, pessimism with periods of peace, hope and uncertainty. One thing that the pandemic presented everyone with was an abundance of time to reflect on these clashing feelings. The “Uncertainty & Hope” collection was a way for students to express their pandemic experiences though photography and poetry. It is worth noting that the entirety of the art submissions were photographs. Some of the most touching and traumatic moments of history have been documented through photography. Students recognized that each moment of tragedy or triumph during the pandemic was a piece of living history. Future readers will be able to join these writers in reflection as this collection expresses honest recollections of pandemic life.

- Adrian

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LEAH APPLEBEE

Comfort in the Sky

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my isolation began long before the declaration of the pandemic accompanying the onset of my chronic pain years before coronavirus was a commonly spoken word the pain that ravaged my body forced me to cancel plans and stay home long before anyone could have ever fathomed that the government might one day mandate it long before the six-feet-apart and washing hands I was already desperately craving to spend time in the close presence of others On March 11th 2020 my entire reality was already unsustainable and unbearable loneliness how was I expected to survive government mandated loneliness on top of my already insurmountable lonely existence but I found company in the sunset and the stars and the moon and the knowledge that other lonely humans were finding comfort in the sky too

TOTEM 2021 • ART

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MICHELLE LAHER

Hope

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TOTEM 2021 • ART

Hope, flickering like a dying ember, Yet unlike the flame which is snuffed, Hope never is fully gone.

It endures.

It finds a purchase in the cold.

It clings on, fighting to live, Fighting the freezing wind of fear, Or the chilling breeze of doubt.

It draws us in, we little moths to its light.

It finds a way to our hearts.

It melts the snow hiding there, And turns Winter into Spring, Herald of warmer and brighter days.

To believe anything else, is a con.

TOTEM 2021 • ART

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MICHAEL SCANGA

Little Flowers

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for our little purple flowers we feared they could be our last then A miracle, friends: only 8,760 hours later we’re still here and they came back they came back again!

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KATHRYN DICKEY

The End of an Era

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TOTEM 2021 • ART

The title of this poem came to me before the words The rhythm of this story has been pumping in my veins from the day I was born The pain of this narrative leaking out of my lips at awkward moments You see, when you are a survivor of mental illness, the English language stops being a set of words And becomes a field of landmines, lifelines, broken confines My words are the last thing I have left that are truly mine.

So here I try to use them Every few weeks, I promise myself that this pandemic is the end of my spilled milk years I try to wish away my illness To “starting tomorrow” away my pain To think my way out of these thoughts But a long-lost sheep, I still pray That soon we can all say This pandemic was the true The end of an era And the beginning Of a renaissance Of Hope When the pandemic began, I was in one of the deepest depressions of my life One week out of a two-week hospital stay, and still gasping for fresh air I was already on my way back to Pittsburgh to seek safety with my family When the shutdown news broke Waking up from depression during the pandemic Is like fighting off anesthesia Everyone asking you not to go back to sleep Every moment pulling you deeper into the exhaustion And staying here anyways Because you don’t have to be happy, or stable, or low maintenance To claim your space in this messy world But you do have to be alive

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JOSHUA COLEMAN

To Be Alone

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Self proclaimed exile of the consciousness Subdued and strung up on steel mesh fencing Assaulted by thorns, poking and prodding to keep it at bay Muted is the subtlety for fear in similarity that calls attention to oneself To impress upon others a self unwanted Meetings put on hold Centered inside to fill the mold of thoughts Of indoor restrictions already in place Stationed over years of solitude Sympathy gives way to downcast eyes Reflections of empathy without experience Left to struggle in distance Reaching out to untangle twisted masks

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NICOLE CLEMENT

Cherry Blossom

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When the world shut down, I was held captive in my room. I had a lot to reflect on. Myself, was one of them. I imagine myself as a tree, more especially, a Cherry Blossom tree. Being put in quarantine made me grow. Blossoms on cherry trees only grow in April then die. That’s how I am. I didn’t start to grow till after the world opened back up. When I saw the Cherry Blossom tree bloom, all the bright beautiful white and pink colors made me happy because what once looked like a dull, empty tree, now looks like a beautiful wholesome tree. This tree symbolizes me and the aftermath of the pandemic including the lockdown. I was a different person at the start of the pandemic; after being in my own thoughts I’ve changed myself for the better. I’m happy for this change. I was once dull and lonely but now I have bloomed just like the beautiful Cherry Blossom tree.

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ADRIAN

Piper

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Your slender legs carry you across the mottled, once-green grass.

Winter-wet mud squishes between your toes.

You are as free as the screaming geese that you chase.

Golden fur radiant in the afternoon warmth, sunspots dappled across your back.

You smile.

You know nothing of the world around you— No mask.

No fear.

No death.

Nothing has changed for you except the smell of winter blossoming into spring.

I smile.

Even if the world through your eyes is black and white, I know your world is golden.

TOTEM 2021 • ART

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RYAN VESSELS

Window to My Soul

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As I stare into the still water, a reflection of Myself stares back. I wonder what lies on the On the other side for myself in that peculiar World. Does he feel the way I feel? Does he Think in the same ways I do? What does he see When he looks back at me?

I stare into my reflection, and I see the best Parts of myself. I look and see a spirit who just Like the water stands calm and still. But as Water can be disturbed and transformed from Its clear and still appearance to a chaotic and Bothered state, so can the spirit. Grief, anger, Suffering, and despair can all blur the spirit From its true form.

Death comes, relationships are lost, hope can Appear to be miles out of reach. With time However, what is blurred always has the chance To come back to balance. The barrage of good Memories begin to evict the bad ones. New Relationships are built, providing new opportunities.

I stare into the water, watching it return to its quiet And still state. Watching the water come back to Focus is like watching my soul receive a second chance.

I see my reflection, and I see someone who is in Control of their own destiny.

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JOSHUA TAYLOR

The Bell Tolls

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I step onto the pavement in the choking cool of spring under the cloak of dawn.

For the Bell tolls.

The ice has slithered away and shriveled up leaving wrinkled asphalt writhing in the powdered remains of magnesium chloride.

The Bell still tolls.

I take no pity on the miserable path I trample with my decaying shoes still blacker than the aching concrete beneath.

The Bell, regardless, tolls.

The sobbing stone, the tapping treads are all that disturb the silence.

The Bell again tolls.

To think, I could be like them: Humans in passing houses.

I could be resting now.

I could be swallowed by fuzzy fleece sheets, a prisoner of lavender gypsum, content.

The Bell repeats its tolls.

I would be unlike the other inmates who slam on the bars and screech like chimpanzees.

The Bell persists its tolls.

I am the road.

The snow shall find me today despite the boiling oil I shamble toward.

The Bell keeps with its tolls.

My bones creak like old wood beams.

My flesh wobbles like strawberry Jell-O. But my mind persists like it always has been.

The Bell tolls.

Is this the price of sanity?

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Carter King Legend of the Dragon Sage Ryan Vessels The Vampire’s Garden Joshua Taylor

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A Forgotten Cause Emily Cummings

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Contributors’ Notes

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RYAN VESSELS

Carter King Legend of the Dragon Sage These are the first pages of a book that is now being considered for filming in Hollywood. When adapted, a script will be developed, but we are able to publish here the author’s overview of the novel and the beginning of Part I, offering details of Carter’s family background. Carter’s own remarkable story lies beyond these pages.

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Overview: Half human, half celestial. Carter King learns through his master that he may have the potential to be the man of a hidden prophecy called The Dragon Sage, a being fated to fight against his vicious power opposite, Daku, headmaster of a mysterious clan called the Shadow Order. One night, in search of his opposite, Daku slaughters Carter’s master and his fellow disciples just shortly after the death of Carter’s twin sister. Before slipping away into the abyss of death, Arion Sakai, Carter’s sensei, tells Carter to return to his celestial home and learn more about his hidden prophecy before Daku finds him. Feeling guilty and unworthy of holding any power, Carter must work to overcome the inner demons he is fighting inside of himself if he is to survive against Daku, or he too will suffer the same fate his master did. This is a journey that focuses on Carter searching for self-forgiveness, accepting the past, and finding a reason to live for the future.

PART I: A Warrior’s Tears SOMETIME IN THE PAST, there was a man named JAMPA-KAI, as called by the GRAND SENTINEL, leader of the city Ailgate, and the Austral people, celestial beings who resided in the city. Ailgate is a mystical city which lies in the dimension called the Flowing Realm. The city was built in the shadow of an enormous mountain, and is truly a great sight to see. Its charm is matched by the background of ever-clear skies, which have helped shape the city to what it is today. The skyline is sprinkled with towering skyscrapers, marking it as not only the technological trade center of the Flowing Realm, but also the capital city. Technology is thriving in Ailgate. There are machines that can construct buildings within days, serums that can heal injuries within minutes, vehicles that can be used to travel the universe in magnificent speeds. In the past, the city was linked to only the Austral people, but now it can be seen that various people have left their mark on its culture and identity. What started off with just a few hundred people has now flourished to the hundreds of thousands. Ailgate became a beacon to people of all kinds; this is where they could come to live in peaceful harmony.

The Austral people, the original people of Ailgate, possess the ability to harness chakra and manipulate it to their will. The individuals who could manipulate their chakra proficiently were bred as warriors, and the absolute best amongst them were honored with the title Oshi, the city’s best warrior.

Jampa-kai was the latest title holder amongst a long line of Oshis. Some even consider him to be the best Oshi the city had ever seen. Brown hair sat on top of his head, over his solemn face. Amber eyes were set gracefully within Jampa’s eye sockets. He watched carefully over the people he protected for so long. Fair, brown skin graciously complimented his cheekbones and left a hearty memory of his luck in battles.

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Jampa, with a slim muscular frame, stood tall amongst others. There was something captivating about Jampa; perhaps it was his presence or his sensitivity. But nevertheless, people loved to be around him and admire him.

In a section above the city of Ailgate sits the Dragon Temple, home of the Grand Sentinel and Ailgate warriors that protect the city. Inside the temple grounds, Jampa trained alone on this particular day. His arms moved elegantly and gently in circular motions as he freely moved his chakra through his body. Upon training, he was accompanied by the Grand Sentinel. The Grand Sentinel was an older man. The Grand Sentinel’s face appeared tired and withered from all the days of combat he endured during his lifetime. His once-hardened body that was built for war had deflated due to the inevitable consequences of time. The hair on top of his head was wolf gray, but his bright golden eyes still shined.

“How comes the new technique?” the Grand Sentinel asked.

“It would be better if I had that fool along with me. Where is he anyway?”

Jampa responded.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s out doing a task for me. Better him than you, I presume?”

“And with that, master, we find ourselves in agreement. The last time you sent me out on one of your ‘tasks’, I came back covered in manure. It took me nearly a week to get rid of that horrible smell,” Jampa replied.

The two shared a small laugh with each other and continued.

“How fare your recent travels? Anything worth noting?” Grand Sentinel asked.

“The last planet I was on was similar to a lot of the others I visited in our star system. Very little life and resources, all on the brink of collapse. There were no signs of art that stood out to me, which was disappointing. With your permission, I would like to visit Earth next. The analyzer shows a multitude of life forms and an abundance of resources compared to the other worlds,” Jampa said.

“Earth, the center of the universe. I have often been curious myself about what treasures lie within it. You have my permission and bring back a souvenir this time.”

Jampa, soon after receiving permission, embarked on his journey to Earth.

Jampa traveled by using the Austral light gem, a precious sacred gem that when combined with the chakra of the Austral people, can be used to travel to different dimensions or across the universe in the blink of an eye.

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Days turned to weeks, and during that time Jampa made his way to New York City, one of the largest cities in the world. When Jampa was not training and attending to his duties as the Oshi, he loved to study and learn about art in all aspects.

While in New York, Jampa made it a priority to visit Harlem. With the information that Jampa gathered, he learned about Harlem’s reputation and how it was home to one of the world’s most intellectual, social and artistic explosions in Earth’s history. The Harlem streets were loud, chaotic, and full of life as Jampa basked in the sites. The aroma of the exhaust leaving the cabs and buses gave Jampa an odd satisfaction for the environment he was surrounded by. Street performers of music and magic put a smile on his face as he strolled down the sidewalk.

A distinct noise grabbed the attention of Jampa, one that he was familiar with. He stopped as he heard the noise again. The noise was the sound of a grunt if one were to find themselves in a physical altercation. He drowned out all irrelevant noise to pinpoint the source of where the grunt was coming from. As he got closer, the voice of a woman became more distinguished.

“Back the hell up if you know what’s good for you!” the voice shouted.

Jampa arrived at the location of the distressed voice to find a woman in an alley fighting off two men. The woman’s ferocity and fighting spirit immediately left an impression on Jampa as he watched her erratically swing around a metal bar to defend herself. It seemed that the woman was able to strike one of the men as he held his hand to his head to wipe away the blood that seeped out.

“Now gentlemen, two on one is quite unfair for the lady if you ask me. So, how about we even the odds a little bit,” Jampa said as his instincts took over to help the woman fight the muggers off. The woman looked in astonishment as she watched this “Good Samaritan” gracefully and effortlessly evade and counter the two men. It was almost as if she were watching her harassers fight a ghost. In the next moments, Jampa and the woman together drove away the men, causing them to run off in fear of being caught by authorities.

“You didn’t throw a single punch but still made them hurt themselves. How did you do that?” the woman asked.

Jampa stood there and marveled at the beauty of this woman, thinking that she was more beautiful than any gem his world has ever produced. Brown curly hair gently hung over her radiant face as it gorgeously complimented her soft brown eyes.

“It’s called Lutsu, a martial art that takes the path of least resistance,” Jampa answered.

“Maybe I should learn that for myself. Thank you, I still had that completely under control though,” the woman expressed.

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“I’m sure you did; you got one of them pretty good. What did they want anyway?”

“Just a stupid bag. Sorry you had to get involved like that.”

Jampa saw an item on the ground and reached to pick it up to see it was a book. The front cover read MEDICAL TERMINOLOGY for HEALTH PROFESSIONS. “Does this book belong to you? Are you a healer?” he asked.

“If by healer you mean doctor, then no. I’m in pre-med right now studying to be a hospital nurse. I take my test in a few days to see if I pass or not. So, does tall, dark, and handsome have a name? I’m CORA, CORA KING,” she said.

“I’m Jampa. May I ask where you’re heading?”

“I was on my way to work until those lovely idiots jumped in.”

“Would you mind if I, maybe, walk with you?” he asked.

“Well, I guess I could use a personal bodyguard. It’s a lot of crazy people out there. I hope your prices are affordable,” Cora said.

“You don’t have to worry about that. For you, my services are free of charge.”

In that moment, the two opened the door to a connection, a very special connection that would change their lives. Months passed by. During that time, Jampa constantly travelled between Earth, to see Cora, and his home world. Each meeting was better than the last, the two becoming more attached to one another. One summer night in New York, Jampa and Cora sat back in the Central Park grass and gazed at the stars. Though nervous at first, Jampa decided that it was time to tell Cora the truth about himself.

“Cora, do you believe in aliens?”

“I love these kinds of conversations! I’m not sure if I believe in the E.T. kind of aliens, but I do think there is a possibility of some other form of life out there.”

Jampa’s heart rate steadily increased as he approached the truth. “What if I told you, you’re right about there being some other form of life out there,” Jampa said.

“What, are you going to tell me you’re an alien now?”

“Actually, the technical term for me would be celestial. I’m not from Earth, I’m from a different dimension. I can’t really talk about it, it would be better if I just showed you,” Jampa said.

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Cora laughed it off, thinking he was joking. Jampa then summoned his chakra, making his hand illuminate an angel white color, validating his hidden truth.

“That’s quite the trick, and believe me it’s pretty damn good, but I’m still not buying it,” Cora said.

“Do you trust me?” Jampa asked as he reached for Cora’s hand. Cora said nothing, but the look in her eyes told Jampa she did as she grabbed Jampa’s hand and squeezed tightly. “Now, don’t let go, because things are about to get really weird,” he warned.

Jampa took out his light gem and used it to take Cora to Ailgate. Both of their bodies glowed simultaneously as Jampa pushed his chakra through the light gem. In a flash, they disappeared. They arrived in the courtyard of the Dragon temple. Cora panicked as she had no certainty or knowledge of her surroundings and what just transpired. “Jampa what did you do! Where the hell are we? Oh my god, you are an alien!” Cora shouted in fear.

“I told you the term is celestial. Relax Cora, you are safe. This is my home world, the one I just told you about. We got here by using this gem. This allows me to travel anywhere. My home world lies in a pocket dimension within your universe. I assure you, this is not a trick,” Jampa said.

“You have returned Jampa-kai. Who is this you have with you?” the Grand Sentinel asked as he approached the two. Cora was still at a loss for words as Jampa introduced her to the Grand Sentinel.

“Master, this is Cora King, the special person I mentioned to you a while ago,” Jampa responded.

“Welcome to our world. No other outsider has stepped foot onto these lands before. Consider this a gift, Cora King,” the Grand Sentinel said. The tone of his voice was soft and soothing. Cora was able to calm down after hearing his lighthearted greeting.

“Forget everything you know, Cora. There is more to the universe than you could possibly imagine, secrets I could spend the rest of my life revealing to you,” Jampa said.

“This is a lot to take in, but this is nothing short of amazing. I never thought I could see something so beautiful,” Cora said as she was hypnotized by the beauty of the Flowing Realm’s sun setting behind the horizons of the city.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“You are in Ailgate, the capital city of the Flowing Realm. This here is the Dragon Temple, home to the city’s finest warriors that protect it. Jampa-kai is the Oshi, Ailgate’s best warrior,” the Grand Sentinel responded.

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“So, this is where you learned your Lustsu,” Cora said. The Grand Sentinel looked over at Jampa as he watched Cora. He moved closer to Jampa to speak with him more personally.

“The look on your face says it all. You care deeply for this woman, don’t you, Jampa?” the Grand Sentinel asked.

“I love her. I love her with everything that I have. But I also love this city and I have a duty. I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t listen to what your mind is telling you. Your mind can make mistakes, but your heart cannot. What is your heart telling you right now?”

“My heart wants to stay with her,” Jampa said.

“Then stay with her. We will be fine over here and whenever we truly need you, you’re only a moment’s travel away. Go live,” the Grand Sentinel instructed.

Jampa listened to the Grand Sentinel’s advice and decided to stay with Cora.

SEVEN YEARS went by. Cora and Jampa, during that time, gave birth to twins, CARTER and JADA KING. Cora’s long nights of studies paid off and she worked as a full-time nurse at North General Hospital in Harlem.

Jampa never let his passion for art stray away. He picked up a job as a private art curator, traveling the world, collecting and selling art to different buyers.

One night at home, as everyone slept, Jampa suddenly awoke to subtle noises…

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JOSHUA TAYLOR

The Vampire’s Garden

This story is one in a collection Josh is building; these stories reveal complex connections between humans and nonhumans, through the perceptions each hold of the other.

The stories shed strong light on the terror humans feel when encountering “otherness” in the world, but they also uncover the intricate, human turns in nonhuman minds.

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The fog hung thick in the air, enveloping every tree, shrub and creature of the forest in a cloak that even the light of the full moon could hardly pierce.

It was impossible for someone with even the keenest of eyes to see anything clearly that was just out of their arm’s reach. It was nights like these that the vampire, herself a denizen of the forest, took advantage of the privacy it granted her from late-night travelers as she tended to her garden of roses.

Louise did not always live in the forest, nor did she always enjoy the solitude that came with her curse. As she waltzed lazily from rosebush to rosebush, trimmed the loose vines with rusted shears, and sprinkled the soil with cold drizzles of water from the remains of a watering can, Louise reminisced about the time only a few years ago when she was still human.

She was once the proud daughter of a noble family. For her entire life, like many aristocratic girls of time, she had always dreamed of her wedding day.

It was not just a fantasy. She liked to spend long, hot summer afternoons atop a balcony playing in her mind as she looked over the gorgeous scenery of mountainside available to her from her family’s wealth. It was a vision, to which she devoted almost every waking hour, that she was determined to attain. Daily, she focused her mind, and learned how to cook, clean, and perform the various duties of a noble housewife in the era of knights and kings. While she had many servants, who could have performed this work and left Louise to her lazy afternoons, being skilled and elegant in these tasks was the trademark of a noblewoman -- or at least that was what she read somewhere among the countless tales which once occupied all of her time as a young child.

She continued her one-woman precession around her rose-lined realm, coming to a sudden stop when she noticed a wilted rose blossom falling brown and rough among a patch of healthy, silky red ones. She kneeled down and reached one of her ghostly white hands to cradle its sick petals.

Of all the things which she busied herself with in her once placid life as a human, Louise was enthralled with none other than the art of gardening.

Considering flowers like children she had birthed, Louise grew a variety of them, in addition to the vegetables and spices used in her cooking. Indeed, she always wanted to find new and rare flowers to care for and would go to great lengths to acquire them, spending large amounts of money she was given by her father and the many suitors he rejected to get even the stem of one new blossom. One flower, however, stood out to her above all others: the rose. To her, it represented everything she could ever wish for, flowers and love. She grew more roses than any other plant, including the edible ones.

A single drop of water struck her outstretched forearm. With the old watering can sitting patiently at her side, Louise found that the tiny puddle on her arm was not a spill from the rusty can, but from her watery eyes. She tried to wipe the tears away with her free hand as the poor flower reminded her of how her fixation on this flower might lead her to gullibility.

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There had been a rumor just two years or so ago about an enchanted rose said to guarantee true love with its bloom. When it was first whispered in her ear, she could not resist the call of a such a magic flower. She had left hastily from her home only three days after the first whisper from a man passing by one of her favorite floral stalls. In her rush, not only did she forget many of the necessities for a noble’s travel, such as a map, an overcoat, or servants to bear the weight of her baggage, but she also forgot old stories of the setting sun as she closed her family’s door late one afternoon. Louise had neglected the many tales of the horrible creatures that lurk in the moonlight, and the crimes that can happen when the stars remain the only witnesses.

Soon, night did fall, and Louise found herself alone on the path through a neighboring forest, where only the rancid excuses for shelter inhabited by farm-slaves could be seen from the forest’s edge. As she marched on in her quest for the rose, dreaming of how beautiful a romantically enchanted rose could be, she began to enter a fog that only got thicker with each step.

Her fingers trembled as they curled around the sickly rose. Her attempt to hold back her emotions with her forearm began to fail as tears soaked her ivory arm and started a steady stream down her pasty face, dripping off her chin with a melancholic rhythm and onto a crimson sundress, draped over a folded white leg. Louise let out small gasps of despair as her loving hold of the rose morphed slowly into a choking grip.

It all happened so fast. One minute she stopped when she saw a rose bush blooming along the path. She had stopped to get a better look at it. Although she knew that the blossom she sought was far beyond this forest and the next, she had already begun to miss her roses from home. Hoping to fill that void, if for just a moment, Louise reached out to pluck one of the beautiful, thorny stems from the wild rosebush. In her adoration of the beautiful roses, she failed to notice the shadowy figure flying towards her out of the gloom.

Suddenly, two white hands, covered with filth, wrapped around the lady’s shoulders with a pinching iron grip. Louise panicked. She tried to turn and face her unwelcome companion, only to encounter a forceful throw to send her sprawling to the ground. In her scramble to recover, she only managed to get from her side onto her back when the figure pounced on her. She tried to cover her face, but soon found her wrists -- first her left, then her right -gripped firmly by the filthy fingers and thrust to the ground beside her head, preventing movement of her arms. It was then she saw his face. It was pale, sickly, and thin. It was covered with dirt and stains of things Louise knew not what. Black, unkept hair matted his white scalp, caked with filth and accompanying a pair of deep brown eyes, narrow with hunger. His mouth opened to reveal a rotting assortment of teeth, all covered with red stains except for a few missing ones. Two horrifically large ones hung menacingly from his upper gum. This was all she saw of him, as she squeezed her eyes shut, screamed as loud as she could, and kicked her legs wildly, unable to do anything about her attacker, who loomed over her like some wild beast on all fours. He lunged at her neck as she let out a shriek of anguish. Her struggling TOTEM 2021 • PROSE

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slowly ceased into a helpless defeat as she felt her blood flowing out of her neck, and her senses fading to nothingness.

Louise tore the unfortunate rose from its bush, jumped to her feet, spun around, and threw it to the ground. This was not how it was supposed to go.

She was supposed to get the rose, grow a beautiful bush from it, and finally get the happy ending she always dreamed of. But that’s not at all how it went.

Instead she became... this.

From her comatose condition, she awakened to a burning sensation on her left hand. As she slowly came to, she realized it wasn’t just a sensation; her hand was literally burning. The umbrella of foliage that the forest’s trees created had let only a single ray of the sun’s light touch her now pale, paper-colored skin. In that spot where the natural light struck the unnatural pigment, a small flame began to dance. Louise urgently pulled her burning hand back to her and frantically extinguished it before she went ablaze like a convicted witch.

Only once Louise smothered her hand fire did she notice the difference in her skin. Aside from the black spot on her left hand, there was no hue to be seen. The fair color which some had compared to fresh snowfall now truly was the color of winter. She went to put her hand back into the sunlight to get a better look at its color, but her already seared hand was met with even more scorching. The pain from her hand was so great that she panted pulling it back. As she sat there, she felt that something was different with her mouth. The air did not flow in as it once did, and upon inspection with her uninjured fingers, Louise discovered two unusually large teeth that had not been so large before. She wondered what was happening to her until her hazy recollection of what happened last night came back to her, and she quickly reached for her neck. There, the twin puncture wounds confirmed her worst fears in that moment: All the stories and gossip about vampires were real... and she was one of them.

Her mind was in a panic and her heart was racing. She was now a monster, an enemy of humankind. How could she go back home like this? What if she attacked someone because she couldn’t control herself? Why did this happen to her? She looked around in exasperation, unable to calm her thoughts. Her gaze then fell on the rose bush that had been growing there. The sight of it brought her chaotic thoughts to a halt, and she had only one question left in her mind.

How can anyone love a monster like me?

Love, the very thing she set out to secure, had been torn from her forever.

The bush, in its bloom, had been the very symbol of her quest, and now only stood there as a reminder that it was not reachable. Louise reached out to the bush and wrapped her hand round one of the stems. Tears began to roll down her chalk-white face, not from the pain caused by thorns pressing into 14

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the flesh of her already abused hand, but the pain that comes with shattered dreams.

She was there for what seemed like an eternity of melancholy and misery.

Streams of sadness were soon joined by the sounds of sobbing and sorrow.

After about an hour or so in despair, she heard a voice that was definitely not her own, “Are you alright?”

Her head snapped in the direction of the sound. A traveler equipped with bags so large that it dwarfed his athletic build had noticed Louise sitting there. As she looked at him, her heartache was replaced with horror. The fears of her vampirism quickly dominated her thoughts. She suddenly felt hungry. He looked like he would have a rich taste. Surely those bags would slow him down. No. Louise didn’t want to. Louise didn’t want to bite this man. Louise didn’t want to bite anyone. She just wanted to be loved. In her conflict, she scrambled to her feet and broke into a panicked sprint, taking a chunk of the rose bush with her in her clenched fist. Vampires, as Louise had read, have always hunted humans, but now she ran as though the opposite were true. The burning of the light that broke through the leaves overhead didn’t bother her as she dashed through the woods. All that mattered was that she was far away from that man, or anyone, for that matter.

Night fell once again. Louise wandered the forest, confident that the traveler did not follow her after a brief look around her. Exhausted, she stumbled aimlessly around the forest until she came across a small cottage, dilapidated and overgrown. Louise had a feeling the house might be abandoned, given its condition. With caution, she sneaked over to investigate. There weren’t any lights in the windows when she approached, and the thick oak door wasn’t closed all the way, terrifying Louise with a loud “creak” as she timidly pushed it open. After about five minutes with no response, Louise was reassured that no one was home and peered into the interior of the cottage.

It was ridden with dust, and the sitting room she could see had all sorts of junk strewn about on the rotting tables, the ruined chairs, and the moldy floorboards. Despite its being the middle of the night and completely dark inside, Louise could see fine due to the fact that a vampire’s eyes are adjusted to hunt in the night, just as the books she read explained.

Her heart began to race as she crept in. Her shoes, once polished and now caked with mud, left a trail of footprints in her wake. The floor protested with every step, causing Louise to freeze every few steps. When she finally made it to the center of the room, she picked up one of the books from the rancid floor. She looked at the cover. It was damaged from water, but she could see on the dark cover there was a large symbol, featuring many lines that had been deeply carved, as if a knife was substituted for an artisan’s tool.

Louise stared at it for a while before recognizing it as a witch’s star.

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Magic had always been interesting to Louise, but it wasn’t something her father would let her study, since he was a very religious man. She took the book and crept over to a shelf on the wall, placing it alongside four other dusty collections of leather-bound paper and ink. No sooner than she let go did the whole shelf collapse with a loud “crash.” She scurried out the back door to find a garden, withered from neglect. The stems of the homeowner’s crops were unrecognizable in their decay, and among them, Louise discovered why she herself hadn’t been discovered in her intrusion. A lone skeleton lay with one hand clutching a watering can, made mostly of rust, and the other holding an equally rusty pair of shears. It was a distressing sight for the lady, as she had never seen such a sight, but she let out a sigh of relief. No one was home, and no one would be home anytime soon. Soon, she remembered the part of the rose bush still in her grip and looked on at the abandoned garden.

A lot had happened in just two years. Louise, after deciding that the skeleton was indeed the former owner’s after a week with no visitors, claimed the cottage as her own. She worked tirelessly for months to fix everything up.

Thanks to the texts left behind and the freedom that comes with being alone in the woods, Louise learned many magic spells to help her in making the cottage more livable. Within a few months, she had used her newfound magic to make the old wood new again, whisk the dust out the door and repair the many flimsy and broken boards which built her new home. She studied the books on the local plants and was able to forage plenty of wild berries, mushrooms, and herbs to feed herself. With some of her findings, she created small patches of native plants, replacing the withered stems that once dominated her garden. In addition, that rose she held two years ago gave rise to the magnificent bush which she attended amid the dense fog, as well as the six smaller “grandchild” bushes. It was her pride and joy as a gardener, the one passion she did not lose.

Of course, her fear of humans hadn’t been lost, either. A month after she took up residence in the woods, she heard her name called in the distance.

Her family was looking for her. They had sent servants to find out what happened. She couldn’t go back, though. She worried that if anyone found out what she became they would surely have her dead. In the event someone drew near the cottage, Louise studied the spells she could use to stop a human from killing her. She still didn’t want to hurt anyone, so she mostly learned spells to induce sleep, confusion, amnesia, and other non-lethal magic as opposed to many of the curses, poisons, and naturally formed projectiles that seemed much more common in the books. She had only practiced her anti-human magic on creatures of the forest, namely deer and rabbits, never knowing how soon she would need it.

“Helloooooo?”

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The cry was faint, but in the dead of the woodland night, Louise heard it without issue. She froze.

“Is anybody there?”

Through the mist, the dim glow of a lantern slowly got brighter as it approached the vampire’s garden. Louise began to shake.

“Helloooooo?”

The shadow of the traveler holding the lantern was now visible. Louise felt that same fear from all that time ago, but she would not run. As she concentrated on a spell that was tested on dozens of unsuspecting hares, an orb of blue light formed in the palm of the hand which had overcome the light’s wrath.

“Hello! Can you he--” The ball of magic flew through the gloom and caught the shadow square in the chest. The blue light from the magic surged through the victim, and he collapsed, taking his light down with him.

Louise readied another spell as she walked in the direction she fired. The light it provided, coupled with her adaptation to a nocturnal life, made it easy for her to find her target. He was lying on his bag, eyes closed and breathing calmly in a deep slumber. Louise smiled to herself. It worked. This man was unconscious, and she was safe.

She looked upon the sleeping traveler and noticed how remarkably similar he was to the one she fled from two years ago. He had looked athletic and carried an equally oversized bag, but this one seemed much younger. A brother, perhaps, although she was no authority on age, herself unaging since the bite. He was nicely tanned and well-groomed for someone stumbling around in the fog. As she observed the sleeping man, she thought about that which she has been without for so long, love.

He would do nicely for a husband, Louise thought to herself, Strong, handsome... But how would he look at me, a vampire? Surely, he would just run from me, or attack me...

This conundrum bothered her for a good while as the man slept. She still harbored those fears of humankind from long ago, but her dreams were in her reach. There was an attractive young man sleeping on the ground right before her. She could finally live the fantasies she held so close to her, but only if he would agree...

Louise had an idea.

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She rushed back into the cottage, bolting straight for the small wooden bookshelf in the sitting room, on which she had stored all the witch’s texts.

Frantically, she rummaged through her miniature library until she located that one book she needed, the one with the witch’s star. Without delay, she flipped hastily through the pages as she darted back to her sleeping guest.

She recited with unmasked excitement the otherworldly words on the page and lifted her spellcasting hand in the air.

“Magarii, magarii... Zi, ci, hi, ri... Magara, magara... No rah... Ka rah!”

Slowly, streaks of red light crept though the fog like earthworms in soil, and eventually found their way to the unconscious man. They gently buried themselves into his wrists, ankles, head and chest, and, from under his skin, a glowing maze of red enveloped his body. Soon, the light mellowed into a light blue, and the man’s eyes slowly opened, glassy, and shrouded by the magic’s glow. Louise tilted her hand back ever so slightly, and the man sat bolt upright with an unnatural obedience. She smiled and closed the book.

There was no way he would hurt her. With some difficulty, she brought him to his feet and had him shamble after her into her residence.

Although it took some practice to get used to, with countless collisions with the walls, numerous clattering platters, and one near-beheading with the rusty shears, Louise had perfection. Whenever she wanted, the man would cook for her, tend to her garden, lift heavy things for her, embrace her, and tell her everything she wanted to hear. She had no reason to bite him. He was perfect.

Or so she thought.

As the man’s movements became more and more refined, Louise found herself feeling emptier and emptier. Every day was the same: She’d wake up.

He’d make her breakfast. She’d go read. He’d go get wood. He’d tend the garden. He’d make her lunch. He’d listen to her stories. They’d go for a walk.

He’d build a fire. He’d make dinner. They’d dance in the garden. They’d go to bed. They’d do it all again. Nothing had changed, so why had he? It was a year since she met this man, but something was wrong. Something was missing. But what? It bothered her to no end that he stopped being perfect.

But why? She tried to figure it out. There she had found love, but it didn’t feel right. Was it a wedding ceremony? No, she staged one in the forest, but only felt worse after. Was it his name? No, she gave him one: William. Was it a family? No, a few enchanted dolls changed nothing. Everything she ever dreamed of and everything the storybooks describe in an “ever after” was hers, so why was she not happy? She decided to ask him, since he always made her feel happy.

“William, what will make me happy?”

“How about some roses?”

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He walked out to the garden and returned with half of a dozen roses.

Louise’s heart fluttered for a moment, and then dropped right back down, copied by the roses as they left her grip.

“No, William, that’s not it.”

“How about a kiss?”

He leaned in close and kissed her exactly as perfection described, but still nothing.

“That wasn’t it either, William.”

“How about dinner?”

He prepared a large feast for her, featuring every dish she grew to love there in the forest. While her stomach was full, that void still lingered.

“William, something is missing. There is something that will make me happy, but I do not know what. What is it that I still need?”

No response.

“William, I’m serious, what am I without?”

Silence.

“William, I have everything! Anything I read about or dreamed of I have but I am not happy! Why am I not happy, William?”

Nothing.

“William, I-” She looked into his eyes. They were staring back at her, lifeless and empty.

She realized he was missing something, too. His emptiness was different though, but she felt that it was related to hers. There was a long pause as the two stared at each other. He did not know the answer because she did not know the answer.

And then it hit her.

Louise was without feeling. The coldness that she felt when they touched and the void in her heart was from how they did not feel love. She was so focused on the “ever after” that she forgot the rest of the story. She realized that she did not have a husband, but a puppet.

The traveler awoke that following morning on the side of the forest path with a headache. He never practiced magic in his life, but it sure felt like he was up all night with the stuff. He was enveloped by the shade of the trees and felt a sharp pain on his neck. As he sat up, he felt his neck, feeling no

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punctures, and looked at where he had laid. He saw a rose just lying there along with a note, written in fine script on old paper. He picked it up and read it, his nose greeted with an earthy woodland perfume.

William, I’m sorry.

The man looked at the paper, confused. He had never heard of a “William” before in his life. Still, he must have a fine wife, judging by the writing and the perfume. He put the paper in his bag and picked up the rose. It was a fine, healthy stem of a rose, probably worth something back home... wherever it was. He now resumed his quest from what he remembered on that foggy night: A search for directions.

Little did he know that he could’ve asked the vampire, who stood hidden in the trees and watched him march off with a confident confusion.

Perhaps we will meet again, she thought to herself. The forest is only so big, and you lost humans tend to go in circles. Maybe next time you’ll have an enchanted rose with you. Maybe next time there will be... love.

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EMILY CUMMINGS

A Forgotten Cause

This is the second year Totem is proud to publish an excerpt from a novel, now in the editing process, titled A Forgotten Cause. It’s a work of historical fiction, following the daughter (Julia Webster) of a U.S. senator who has learned about a piece of legislation that is greatly troubling to her. In this excerpt, she is attending a performance of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night with her father and stepmother, and she meets John Henry Eaton, President Andrew Jackson’s Secretary of War, along with his wife and nephew.

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The lobby of the Park Theatre was rich with color and light, the gilded mirrors lining the walls reflecting the patrons in their fine clothes. They boisterously greeted one another as they gathered about the enormous tree stationed in the center of the expanse of gold and burgundy carpet.

Hundreds of tiny candles sat in brass holders on the tree’s countless boughs, the flickering flames reflected in the mirrors. Julia had been to her fair share of theatre productions in the past but there was something exhilarating about attending a play with Christmas so close at hand. The festive scene almost made her forget about the discoveries of the day. Almost.

She followed her father and Caroline through the throng of people in the atrium and began to ascend the sweeping staircase, her hand skating over the gold plated railing. They alighted on the second level where the crowd was not as thick and began to make their way to the private box on the third level that her father had reserved. It was only then that Caroline gave a tut of dismay.

“My dear, I think I left my opera glasses in the carriage,” Caroline said to Julia’s father, her brows knitted in consternation. “I know they sell them downstairs. Do you have any money for a new pair? It would be a shame to miss anything on stage.” Her father patted his cream-colored vest until he found the notes tucked neatly in his breast pocket and handed them to his new wife without question.

“Would you like a pair, Julia? It is simply the best way to enjoy the experience,” Caroline offered, turning to Julia with a welcoming smile tugging at her lips. Julia eyed Caroline a little warily, put out that already she was asking of things so freely from her father. It seemed that forgotten opera glasses weren’t of much importance or worth the money they were charged for in the lobby.

“No thank you, Caroline. Unlike you, I have young eyes,” Julia replied, her voice crisp. She could feel her father’s gaze boring into the side of her face but refused to look at him as Caroline murmured something incoherent and turned to go back down the staircase.

“That wasn’t very polite, Julia,” her father admonished when they were alone together, stepping in front of his daughter so that she was forced to acknowledge him. “I would expect you to show Caroline the same respect you would show me. She is a big part of your life now.”

“And whose decision was that, Papa?” Julia countered, her frustration and slightly frayed nerves making her bold. “You never asked me if I was fine with you marrying someone who would spend all of your money at the drop of a hat!” Julia felt a stirring of guilt at her harsh words. She knew her frustration wasn’t about the money or the opera glasses. It was the fact that her mother had done the same thing more times than she could count, that

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Caroline was trying to fill a hole in her father’s life that Julia selfishly wished would remain open.

“Julia, if you were upset with my marrying Caroline, you should have spoken up before I did so,” her father growled, his voice going down a threatening octave. Julia was well aware of her father’s legendary temper and she knew she was venturing into dangerous waters. Now that she had begun, though, she couldn’t seem to quell the urge to make her true feelings known. She only wished she wasn’t boiling over in such a public place; though they weren’t shouting obscenities at one another, passersby were beginning to look at them with quizzical expressions.

“You wouldn’t have listened, anyway.” Julia averted her eyes, letting the words fall between them, the threat of tears suddenly scratching at her throat. This night was supposed to take me away from my problems, if only for a little while, she thought, sensing her father taking a step closer to her.

Now I’ve only gotten myself into more trouble.

“Julia-” her father’s exasperated voice was interrupted by a booming male one in close proximity to them. Julia looked up just in time to see a large hand clap her father on the shoulder, causing him to buck forward slightly. She put out her arms to steady her father and tried to place the cause of this new hubbub.

The younger man her father was now turning to and glaring at didn’t seem to notice he had done anything amiss. Dressed just as finely as her father, though the burgundy cravat around his neck was a little askew and his dark hair ruffled, he held out his hand invitingly.

After a moment, her father shook it rather reluctantly. Even from behind her father, Julia could detect the powerful scent of whiskey on the newcomer’s breath.

“Webster as I live and breathe! What brings ya to New York?” The man’s voice was slurred and, with a thick Southern drawl, he succeeded in butchering the city’s name.

“Enjoying the city’s pleasures. Though I think you’re enjoying many more pleasures than I am, Henry,” her father countered, his voice taking on a chilly air. Henry guffawed loudly at her father’s observation, attracting even more attention than the Websters had garnered on their own. Julia stepped out from behind her father cautiously, wanting to get a proper look at her rescuer; he might have been lacking in decorum but at least he had saved her from a full-blown argument with her father.

“Yer right there, Webster. An’ who’s this?” Henry had just seemed to realize that Julia’s father wasn’t alone. He also appeared to be thrown off by her presence, his brows knit as he tried to formulate a theory. Julia could almost

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see the wheels of his mind turning and she realized with a sudden sickening feeling that Henry must think she was Caroline.

Her father seemed to come to the same conclusion almost simultaneously and his eyes widened as he hastily informed Henry that Julia was his daughter. He then introduced Julia to the President’s recently appointed Secretary of War, John Henry Eaton.

“My wife, Caroline, should be joining us soon, as well,” her father added for good measure. The tension had disappeared between father and daughter for the time being as her father’s eyes flitted toward the staircase, distracted by the wholly unwelcome prospect of exchanging pleasantries with Henry.

“Of course. Happy to meet ya, dear.” A light went on in Henry’s eyes and his smile broadened as he took Julia’s gloved hand with surprising dexterity and kissed it. She saw the clench of her father’s jaw tighten out of the corner of her eye. Julia was slightly taken aback by Henry’s forwardness but after he released her hand, she gave a small curtsy; this man was certainly a unique individual.

Henry suddenly seemed to remember something and wheeled around unsteadily, his eyes skimming the crowd. “Peggy? Peggy! Ah, there ya are, love,” he shouted. Julia heard her father give a marked sigh as he reached into his pocket for his watch. The message he was attempting to send to the oblivious Henry was ringing loud and clear to Julia: How could you possibly waste any more of my time?

A beautiful woman with incredibly red lips and a pile of golden curls atop her head sporting a deep violet gown with an uncommonly low-cut, lace trimmed bodice materialized out of the crowd. Seeming to float across the carpet, Peggy Eaton came to a rest beside her husband, wrapping her arm around his back. She was followed closely by a man even younger than Henry with unruly, auburn hair and striking blue eyes. Julia could feel her cheeks flame with the arrival of Henry’s family and suddenly wished she had paid closer attention to her hair, two of her dark curls looping rebelliously in her eye’s periphery.

“Peggy and Matthew, you remember ol’ Dan Webster. This is ‘is daughter,” Henry turned to Julia, introducing his wife and nephew, Matthew. She bobbed her head respectfully and after this, she was all but forgotten as her father became unexpectedly warm, asking Matthew all sorts of questions about his time interning in the law practice --Daniel’s law practice. As the volley back and forth continued, Julia’s eyes darted between the two men, intrigued by this unforeseen turn of events. So her father, who believed himself to be far above Henry Eaton, was proving himself to be quite jovial around the aforementioned man’s nephew.

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Caroline’s re-appearance and cool response to the Eatons’ presence did little to quell her father’s newly acquired enthusiasm and before the two families parted shortly after, he had issued an invitation for all three to dinner at the hotel after Christmas the following week which Henry accepted. As she turned to glance at the Eatons once more before mounting the stairs to find their seats, Julia found Matthew’s inquisitive eyes locked on hers and she pulled an abrupt about-face, embarrassed. Had he been wearing glasses this entire time? They suited him.

This day just keeps getting more complicated, she thought as she took her seat at the far end of the velvet-lined theatre box beside Caroline, her thoughts flitting briefly to the purloined letters taking up residence in her hotel room.

“I don’t think dinner next week is such a good idea,” Caroline huffed at Julia’s father once she was sure the door to their cozy little alcove was shut tight, bringing Julia back to the present. “You do know who Peggy Eaton is, don’t you, dear? I shouldn’t be socializing with her if you expect me to make any meaningful connections. She’s a harlot who married Henry before her first husband was cold in his grave!” Caroline blanched when she saw the look of utter horror that must have passed across Julia’s face and pursed her lips, rightly choosing not to go further down a road that would surely lead to additional defamations of Mrs. Eaton’s virtue.

Julia averted her eyes, hopelessly mortified. Never had she heard her mother or Eliza talk of another woman in that way, at least not when she had been with them, and to think about what Caroline was insinuating and the discussions which went along with it made her squirm a little. She knew she had led a sheltered life and though she wished that could continue in aspects such as this, she also knew this continuing ignorance was all but impossible.

After all, Caroline had just proven herself to be less delicate about private matters than Julia was accustomed to and she doubted her stepmother would censor herself as their relationship grew.

“I’m sorry, Julia. That was not appropriate for me to say,” Caroline apologized almost reluctantly, clearly feeling her argument for not dining with the Eatons needed this extra bit of salacious gossip. Julia nodded her thanks mutely as her father gave an uncomfortable cough, whispering to Caroline they would discuss this further in private.

“Yes, quite right, my dear. These things need to be discussed in the proper time and place,” her father said, giving his daughter a look of sympathy.

As the lamps were dimmed and the curtain parted on stage, Julia’s father continued to speak in whispered tones. He seemed to be intent on getting the last word in the verbal struggle. Julia was grateful for the semi-darkness as she leaned in toward Caroline to catch what her father was saying. “Eaton may be a drunken, unrefined fool but his nephew is showing great promise. I

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would like to talk with him about how things at the firm are proceeding. Of course, I trust Kinsman but it’s always good to have a second set of eyes on things. The young man has the potential to be a very accomplished lawyer.”

Henry Kinsman was the dedicated, if exceedingly boring, man Julia’s father had instated to run his Boston law practice. Julia had only met him once when she had met her father for lunch the prior summer and could barely remember what he looked like, though she did recall that he got exceedingly red in the face when discussing property rights. She only hoped Mr. Kinsman was expounding on parcels of land instead of the scores of individuals being carted in the ports down south.

Caroline looked pointedly at her husband and then, clearly bored with the direction of the conversation, turned her attention to the stage. Her recently purchased opera glasses were already glued to her face. As Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night began to whirl in front of her, Julia sat back in the plush, royal blue chair feeling as though she were spinning uncontrollably herself.

It was all she could do not to jump from her seat, find the nearest carriage in the street outside, and hightail it back to Boston. To Eliza and Louisa and the uncomplicated albeit uninteresting life she had made for herself there.

She had wanted to be a part of her father’s world for so long and now here she was, with an unsettling pair of letters in her possession and an imminent dinner planned with one of the President’s cabinet members. I suppose I should’ve been careful what I wished for, she mused as the Bard’s poetic words floated upward.

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Contributors’ Notes LEAH APPLEBEE

Graduate, Psychology What an incredible and unexpected honor! I’ve always wanted to have my work published in Totem so this is truly a dream come true.

JESSICA BELOUSOV

English The first poem is about my frustration with capitalism and all of the issues the US has, which are much better in other modern and developed countries. The next two poems are about how I have gained weight and my feelings about it. There’s a lot of conflict with the plus size movement. Positive and prideful feelings of not wanting to show one’s own body or other bodies.

However, there are still negative feelings and still the persisting image of health and beauty being skinny.

ANNA BRINK English The inspiration behind Ballerina: Ballerina came from a painting I saw of a ballerina’s silhouette in what appeared to be fire. I was able to relate the photo to a time when I was a dancer enduring some troubling times. I thought it deserved its own written story. I wrote Marilyn Monroe during a time in my life when I was frustrated with someone I once loved.

PETER CAULFIELD

Mechanical Engineering Since my childhood, the night sky has fascinated me; only in recent years, though, have I studied it in more depth, deepening my appreciation of its beauty. The sentiment behind the poem is the feeling I get when I first glimpse the winter night sky: Orion the Hunter perpetually pursuing the Pleiades (the Seven Sisters) guarded by Taurus the Bull.

NICOLE CLEMENT

English I take my hardships and I make them into something beautiful. I try to write what I am going through so it’s not stuck in my head. My mom always told me to make something horrible into something beautiful and that’s just what I do.

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JOSHUA COLEMAN

Graduate, Communication Arts My strategy was to try and photograph an image that spoke to me in regards to the pandemic. Since I walk to campus every day I would take my camera with me and take photographs as I went along.

JAYLEN CONLEY

Mathematics Secondary Education minor The motive behind my poem was to do a correlation with water and humans. I was inspired by being down at the pier and seeing the crashing waves. I thought about the similarities between humans and water, and composed a poem to relate my comparisons. I hope you can see the negative and positive about my poem.

EMILY CUMMINGS

CHESS, Student Services & Communication I’ve been working on this novel off and on for years and it’s truly a passion project of mine. I think we need to shine a light on the parts of our nation’s history that sometimes get lost in the shuffle and try to educate ourselves as much as we can about the tragedies of our past.

KATHRYN DICKEY

Social Work When I was writing “The End of an Era,” I tried my best to select language that was simple and honest.

For many of us, the pandemic was not a frilly, poetic experience, but rather an intense reminder of how harsh this shared existence can be at moments. I wrote this poem to express not just my experience of struggling with my mental health during the global pandemic, but also to honor our collective trauma as a global community. I hope that this poem acts as a reminder to you, the reader, that everything passes, and yet hope and love remain.

MORGAN GILBERT

Applied Exercise Science This piece was written immediately after my first relationship had ended. I didn’t know how else to express my emotions other than writing them down.

The poem reflects how I felt for the duration of my toxic relationship while noticing changes from the beginning of the relationship to the end. One lesson I’ve learned from this is don’t let the way someone used to love you be the reason you stay.

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KABILA KARABOLE

Social Work & Criminal Justice It is painful to see my fellow innocent people getting killed and tortured for no reason and there has not been enough justice for such people. I pray and I will continue to advocate for my people. If it can happen to the others, it can possibly happen to me as well.

MICHELLE LAHER

Biology My poem was half-inspired by a poem I had written years ago, one that often kept coming to mind over COVID. It was about the uncertainty when hope feels lost to us, but that it could ever really be gone was a lie, a dangerous con sold and bought by us.

M.E.L.

Employee of Gannon University One of the ways I bond best with students, colleagues, and friends, is by being vulnerable about my life’s challenges and sharing about exciting breakthroughs.

As a journalist by trade, that often takes the form of writing. I believe we can have huge impacts on others, if only we’re brave enough to have difficult conversations and be real with one another. Publishing one of my writings is my first step in publicizing what I’ve shared with my inner circle over the years. I hope you, readers, find some consolation in knowing you’re not alone.

NADYA MAKAY

Accounting The inspiration behind both photos is my love for nature. For “Nature Walk,” my inspiration was my sister (pictured). She too loves nature and spends a lot of time with me taking nature walks. I love capturing beauty, and the combination of her in the woods was an image I just had to capture. The inspiration behind the second photo was my love for nature as well and the reflection I saw in the water. I was spending time with my other sister at the Conneaut Beach sandbar.

The trees in the water caught my eye and I used one of my favorite techniques to snap the photo on my phone.

SKYLER PARSONS

Exercise Science and Athletic Training This photo represents my striving for patience and balance amidst one of the craziest years of my life. I took the photo on Presque Isle Beach while wandering around with my roommates and enjoying the sunset.

Vantage point: I tried to get to ground level view.

KIMBERLY SAMSEL

Nursing Photography has been a passion of mine since high school. I find solace in the ability to allow others to see the world through my point of view. I was always fascinated with the idea of travel photography and being able to share the world’s beauty with people from a variety of places. I use a Nikon D3000 to shoot, and typically either use an 18 -55mm or 70-210mm zoom lens. Both these photos were taken mid-afternoon to “golden hour” which is the period before sunset. The bridge photograph was taken from a lower vantage point, that being an observation deck of sorts, whereas the cliffside photograph was taken from a higher vantage point, from a ledge.

MICHAEL SCANGA

Graduate, Philosophy, St. Mark Seminarian I began by selecting the picture first. I took a couple of pictures of nature recently: early-mid-spring happens to be my favorite time of the year (since everything seems to come back to life!). I also think that nature photos from mid-March are reminiscent of the scenery last year at this time (around the Covid Shutdown).

With these thoughts converging at once, I found that expressing them in a poem would be fitting. More so, I figured the simplicity of little purple flowers popping up from green grass demanded a similarly short and sweet piece of writing; hence, only two stanzas.

PETRA SHEARER

Graduate, double major in English and Theatre Performance I wrote this poem as an assignment for a creative writing class in the spring of 2020. I really wanted to capture how heartbreak can make you feel so small and diminished. I also wanted to challenge myself to play with style and shape.

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JOSHUA TAYLOR

English I got the idea for (Un)Conscious while playing video games and observing how one tries to personify parts of the human psyche, specifically the id and the ego.

The form was kind of an experiment; I wanted to have to contrasting voices talking to each other, and this is how it came together best. When I wrote Vampire’s Garden, I was responding to a lot of relationship drama among the people around me, despite being someone who wasn’t too familiar with the territory.

I was commenting on the idea of the superficial (or “fake”) love I tended to see in popular media and in the drama itself. The vampire aspect came about due to the nature of vampires in literature being often associated with sexual desire. That, and I couldn’t help myself but write in the fantasy genre. Peter Caulfield Mechanical Engineering Since my childhood, the night sky has fascinated me; on

RYAN VESSELS

Criminal Justice Carter King is a culmination of everything I’ve experienced up to present day, retold in a creative, emotional story. Carter’s character is designed in a way in which everyone can resonate and connect with.

Everyone deserves to see themselves in a hero.

Totem 2021 was designed by Anna Brink, Editor, and Andrew Lapiska, Creative and Brand Strategist in Gannon University’s Marketing and Communication department.

The cover art, “Comfort in the Sky,” is a digital photograph by Leah Applebee.

This year’s Totem artwork is comprised of digital photography and watercolor sketch.

Artwork was reproduced in CMYK builds.

Headline text is set in Avenir and body text throughout is set in Baskerville.

The cover box was printed on 100# Accent Opaque Smooth Cover; inside booklet covers were printed on 80# Accent Opaque Smooth Cover; artwork pages are printed on 100# Endurance Silk text, and text pages are printed on 80# Accent Opaque Smooth Text.

The layout for Totem was created with Adobe InDesign CC 2022; photographs and artwork were prepared for publication with Adobe Photoshop CC 2022.

This journal was printed and bound by the Gannon University Press with the assistance of the Totem staff. The presentation box was printed, die cut and assembled by McCarty Printing, Inc. in Erie, Pennsylvania.

Funding is provided by Gannon University. Totem is distributed free of charge.

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