Lions-on-Line Spring Issue 2023

Lions-on-Line

Spring Issue 2023

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Table of Contents Flowers, Artwork by Catie Keefer………………………………...Cover “Dictionary,” Poem by Amisha Walton………………………………...6 “Ow,” Poem by William Sack…………………………………………...7 Layers, Artwork by Alyssa McRoberts………………………………..10 “Something in the Water,” Essay by Kayla Hess…………………….11 “Car Radio,” Poem by Ethan Geiger………………………………….14 “Amora: The Regent and the Ranger Excerpt – The First Trials of Kane Blackmar,” Fiction by Noah Douglas……………………..15 Sunrise over the Chapel, Photograph by Ryan Bach………………….21 “Upon the Death of a Student,” Poem by Elijah Prewitt-Davis……..22 “LOVING,” Poem by Sebastian Isaacs………………………………..23 Bulldog, Photograph by Kaley Knapp………………………………...24 “Waterloo, KY,” Poem by Sebastian Isaacs…………………………..25 “Fairytale,” Poem by Miah Harvey…………………………………...27 “Fever Dream,” Fiction by Eve’Lynn Jackson……………………….29 “Flying,” Poem by Amisha Walton……………………………………30 “Auf Wiedersehen, Freundin,” Fiction by Katelyn Rieder…………..32 Out of Time, Artwork by Catie Keefer………………………………...34 “Freshman Year,” Essay by Abby Crim……………………………...35 Submission Guidelines…………………………………………………37

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Dedication In memory of Lee Thomas and Lani Acasio

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Dictionary Poem by Amisha Walton Giving too many people the power to define me Hurt and criticism hold me back Like a road block with no detours Desires to be accepted override anything I have to say They say my potential and talent is nonexistent Question marks nonexistent in my head Only periods Periodically sensing my soul sinking further inside My soft-spoken voice fades Mute Tuning in to the channels that berate me Not a motivated bone in my body Simply still Listening Waiting for these Merriam-Websters To individually spell out every adjective and synonym Of me I sit up head high like a good pupil Jotting down notes Careful not to miss any points Yet any good student should know the value of research Accuracy's role in the definition of a definition is as crucial as the oxygen flowing through my lungs Labels come alive only if I allow Acceptance is not necessary 20 something years to conclude Only I have the tools necessary to choose Allow myself to drown in a sea of false views Blindly accept them or float on top of it Like the queen of my own castle I'm taking me back I define me 6

Ow Poem by William Sack Burnt Chemical marshmallow I learned today That you can’t microwave coffee cups Coffee machine— Too complex to use Hot water machine— Broken A person passes Quickly taking it out of the microwave Two more pass Scorched plastics Invade the lungs And they know me A mug is retrieved In the cup’s stead The beans Aren’t the only things Crushed A sip To test the water’s heat Ow Pain Is a rubber band Snapped against the lips 7

Ow, ow Who knew The smell of bitter caramel And charred wood That conjures images of a rising sun And corporate logos And sunnyside eggs And toast Could come from such inky blackness?

And yet My quill cannot keep up Priorities Permeate the consciousness So the first sip Disappoints Chocolate ash A rich thief Completes its conquest of the tongue Even in the depths Of midnight troves A vacuum subsumes sweetness Like the cold to heat Or the dark to light The following slurps Get better A coating of the tongue Feigns a fruity flavor And an assumption Of complexity The anti-purgatory 8

That is the inside of the mug Is prevalent As calescence wanes And the sips get colder Before long Vivacity fades And stillness is achieved The sourness Once overcome by the heat Overtakes all

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Layers, Photograph by Alyssa McRoberts

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Something in the Water Essay by Kayla Hess When it comes to running outdoor track and field, you must be prepared to face unpredictable weather. I have competed in my fair share of collegiate track and field meets and I’ve experienced a great variety of conditions; hand numbing cold, scorching heat, blustery winds. One meet in the past in which the weather threw a few curveballs was when my track team traveled to Manchester University in Indiana. When we arrived, lugging all our gear with us, the sun was bright in the sky, and it appeared a beautiful spring morning. Little did we know, this was only a false precursor as to what would come.

As the day progressed, the cheerful sun was replaced by overcast and moody clouds. Before long, raindrops began to fall slowly then rapidly, picking up speed.

We hoped that it would just rain, that the events could continue. However, when we felt the loud rumbles of thunder and saw sharp flashes of lightning snap across the sky, it was clearly a sign that the meet had to be put to a halt. We packed up our team camp and went inside to wait it out.

Some runners dislike running in the rain because they hate to have their precious shoes get soggy like drenched sponges. But I’ve never minded getting my shoes damp. If you look past getting wet, it can be exhilarating. I boldly race through the puddles and watch as droplets spray in every direction under my feet. I run, my legs pumping, the drops of water rolling down my face and I feel unstoppable instead of deterred. The rain has never frightened me, like a child, I embrace it and welcome its presence. It gives me the chance to be carefree, to leave my worries behind for a little while.

With the rain, I believe there’s a new emotional experience every time the clouds roll through. When it lightly patters against the window outside, I feel a sense of calm and tranquility. It’s the kind of rain that makes you want to curl up with a good book and stay in a while. Other times the rain falls steadily and rhythmically, and I am filled with newfound energy and a desire to be productive.

There are other days when it does nothing but pound relentlessly against the pavement, and it leaves me wistful for what once was or could be, not quite sad, but not fully happy either.

I’ve found that running in the rain is as much a spiritual experience as it is a physical one. In Christianity, water has always been viewed as a symbol of new life and rebirth. When people are baptized, they are immersed in water and afterwards promise to dedicate themselves to their newfound belief in God. When I run in the rain, I feel connected to God, it's his way of letting me know his presence. Water is 11

such a beautiful thing; it's refreshing and renews my soul. At the same time, it’s a symbol of reaffirming my belief that I am committed to him and that I’ll keep the faith. Despite whatever comes, good or bad.

Running is like my maintaining relationship with God because it isn’t always the easy. There are days when my legs are sore and feel heavy, times when I doubt my abilities. I have a busy schedule that can keep me from reading the Bible and praying like I should. But I couldn’t imagine my life without either one of these things. Being a runner fills me with purpose, and it is one of my greatest joys, I love it truly. It’s been one of the best gifts I’ve ever received from God, having the ability to run and do well.

It is worth pushing through the setbacks if it means I can grow and become stronger, because progress comes with patience and time. My relationship with God, is continually changing, and the challenges I face are only meant to reinforce the faith that is already there. God never breaks his promises, and he has come through so many times before for my wellbeing, and that’s one thing that’ll never change.

Luckily, at the track meet at Manchester, we didn’t have to wait long before the storm delay was canceled, and we could head back outside. I was itching to race in the 4x400 meter relay, it was the other race I was competing in that day besides the 1500-meter run. Though I consider myself more of a distance runner, I like doing a sprinting event every now and then because it helps me to work on developing my speed.

As a runner, especially a distance runner, you should have a good balance of speed and endurance. The endurance keeps you able to resist the fatigue that can come with running at a high intensity for a longer amount of time. While the speed enables you to move past competitors and finish with power. You cannot have one without the other, even if you are a sprinter.

The thunderstorms may have ended; however, the rain would not be kept away. By the time my teammates and I were preparing to race, the rain had started back up again and was coming down hard. Several other girls from different teams and I were all huddled together, shivering in our singlets and spandex shorts, waiting for our turn in the relay. Before I knew it, I made my way over to the relay exchange zone and got into position.

As my teammate raced towards me through the blinding rain, I held my hand out behind me to grab the baton. Once I had grasped it in my hand, I sped off.

Immediately, I saw a girl ahead of me and I locked her in my sights. Ramping up my speed, I flew past her and kept pushing forwards. The downpour only made me 12

want to run faster, and my determined focus was only on the track ahead of me, everything else was irrelevant.

My arms were moving, and my legs were pumping, striking the track, splashing droplets of water everywhere. I could hear my coach calling out to me, cheering me on as I rounded the last corner. I headed for the finish, sprinting as fast as I could. I crossed the line, tired but fulfilled because I had done what I set out to do.

This meet at Manchester was special for me because it was one of my first outdoor track meets during my freshman year, and it reminded me that I was entering a new stage of my life as a collegiate athlete for the Mount. I had achieved the goal I always wanted to when I was in high school, being able to run in college, and I was seeing it come to fruition. Racing in the 4x400 meter relay that day was memorable, not only because I did well, but also because of the rain itself. There was something in the water that day that pushed me to go further, the rain must have given off a pulsing energy. Or, rather, there could have been something in me that day. A sense of hope in what I could do, and a sense of pride in the jersey I wore. Running in the rain isn’t for everyone. Although, you may miss experiencing something special if you don’t try it.

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Car Radio Poem by Ethan Geiger A silent car radio can only mean 1 of 2 things: - Either you haven't turned something on yet - Or things are going great In either case, it’s only a matter of time of course A matter of time before the radio comes back on And starts playing my favorite song I hate The silent drives are the worst Because at least when you love something you hate you can still sing it But when you hate something you love, it burns into your flesh Every day Every night Scars grow around your malformed neck and arms Engrossing and seizing more of your body, of your mind The silent drives are the worst So you turn on the radio And your favorite song you hate plays And you can sing it - Never let the car wear out it’s noise - Never leave the radio on silent Nothing is worse than a silent car radio

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Amora: The Regent and the Ranger Excerpt – The First Trials of Kane Blackmar Fiction by Noah Douglas Kane gasped for air as he pushed himself off of the ground. His eyes darted around as he tried to take in what he could of his surroundings. There was only darkness. He focused himself as he tried to will the essence of light into being, but something seemed to inhibit his powers. He remembered now that Moraig’s being had separated from his own. The Sceptre of Moraig in its staff form, seemed heavy, like an old artifact that only weighed him down. Nonetheless, he refused to let the weapon go.

In his other hand, Kane drew his sword as he was unaware of what trials he may face. He moved the sword around and attempted to feel the walls. As he padded around blindly, he also searched for the golem he had taken with him.

Kane’s foot hit something metallic. When he bent down to examine it, he realized that the golem that he had taken with him was reduced to none but scrap. The powers that bound the mausoleum together were clearly a great threat.

Kane decided that there was little that could be gained from lingering around the entrance. The Crown was hidden inside the tomb, and clearly, the mausoleum was built with the objective of protecting the artifact as one of utmost importance.

Kane proceeded down the pitch-black stairway that led him deeper into the mausoleum as he used his sword and sceptre to feel the walls and every step.

Suddenly, a fire ignited all around him and light flooded the hallway in which he stood! Kane leaped backward and brought his weapons up, expecting trouble.

However, it was only torchlight... flames atop old torches that had curiously decided to ignite themselves. So there was indeed a powerful presence over the mausoleum, one that rejected his power but amplified its own. It almost felt like that of a unique consciousness.

Kane proceeded down the hall; the burning light offered him some description of where he was. The hallway was made of cut stone, with a flat and almost smooth floor, and the walls were smooth as well with small inscriptions on them that he could not make sense of. The ceiling arched overhead and almost seemed to vanish into an infinite depth at the top, where light seemed not to go.

Ahead of Kane was an arch marked with ancient runes of some sort that glowed the faintest blue which implied that they held some sort of power or charge.

He could not see past the arch itself as if the ground dipped into some dreary abyss.

“Hmmm, it appears that the only way forward is to pass through the arch and take a step of faith,” the king observed.

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Something suddenly shimmered in the distance and Kane could see yet another arch far off, its faint blue glow giving it away. “How could such an expanse exist inside this forgotten mausoleum?”

To jump across the gap would be impossible. The only way to reach the other side was to step through the arch and have faith that one would not fall to their death. Kane couldn’t quite explain how he knew that this was the case, but rather he could feel that this was the matter.

Suddenly, Kane felt afraid, he was concerned that taking a step would send him plunging into the abyss and his death. He hadn’t come this far to die! However, he also hadn’t come this far to fail. The king took a shallow breath, put one foot out, crossed the threshold of the arch, and planted his foot... on nothing.

Kane fell forward and was sent cascading down the dark shaft! He had nothing to grab onto, there was no way to save himself. As the air rushed into his face and his body felt weightless in freefall, Kane began to see things; images appeared all around him. He proceeded not to hit the ground but rather continued falling, for there was no ground below him, only emptiness.

Kane began to pay more attention to the images in front of him, if anything, they would take his mind off of the freefall situation and perhaps provide a solution.

He could see himself, he was playing in the courtyard, once young and innocent.

That was a long time ago. That image shifted into him training to fight. He was still weak at the time with little to no skill or experience.

Suddenly the image shifted again, to himself, somewhat older. New recruits were training as he previously was. Kane watched himself beat the recruits to the ground in humiliating duels with each of them. He had forgotten about that, he wanted to prove his strength, but instead, he just proved his rude nature. He didn’t know why, but for some reason, he felt guilt, something that he rarely felt and only last felt at the time of his father’s death.

“What is this?” he grumbled through gritted teeth.

More images appeared of Kane’s most wicked actions throughout his life. He saw the boy who had given him the Book of Moraig, and watched himself murder the innocent. He watched yet another scene where he impaled his father, killing him, and watched the life drain from his eyes once again. Kane never felt more alone.

Suddenly, with a thud, Kane slammed into cold wet stone at the end of the expanse. How he had gotten to the other side from falling downwards, he was unsure. Shaking himself off, the king rose to his feet and stumbled forward. He passed through the arch and proceeded deeper into the mausoleum. He realized that he had somehow lost hold of his sword, thankfully, the sceptre was still in his grasp.

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Nothing would stop him from continuing forward. He wasn’t just trying to obtain the crown now for power, it was also a trial of pride and devotion. He had to prove to himself that he could obtain his goals, even without the aid of Moraig. Yet, he also needed to keep his mind on his true objectives and not allow Moraig to control him too far. He had a duty to uphold to himself and his people; he would save Amora at all costs. Save it from its enemies... and itself.

Kane scoffed, he knew full well that Moraig was using him just as much as he was using Moraig. Still, needless to say, the demon’s influence was growing ever stronger. Sometimes he even found himself lost and confused when attempting to separate the demon’s thoughts from his own.

He would have been lying if he said that he didn’t feel much better ever since Moraig separated from him upon entering the mausoleum. His soul felt... clean, his mind soothed, and his body far less strained. However, he also felt somewhat weaker, like having been cut off from a source of sustenance. The absence of his powers, too, made him uneasy.

Further ahead in the tunnel came flashes of brilliant light! Something or someone was causing the erratic blasts of light; they were not natural flickers, but rather something vibrant and alive. Kane cautiously padded towards the light, seeking what could possibly be the cause of such radiance.

The light flared so brilliantly that Kane failed to note himself passing through yet another archway, marked by the same ancient runes as he had previously seen.

As his eyes adjusted to the brilliant white light, Kane stood shocked at what he saw.

Beings were all that he could describe them as, many of which were like that of which he had never seen. No description could either do them justice nor be applied with the human tongue; they simply were.

One of the beings, however, held a sense of familiarity, yet he could not tell why. This particular entity seemed to reign above all the others, inducing a sense of fear in him and perhaps even the others. However, it was not only fear, for fear was nothing but a symptom of the authority that the being seemed to hold. Senses of comfort, order, and security also seemed to radiate from the being in a way that Kane had never quite perceived them before.

Who, or what was this... image of perfection? He could barely comprehend what he saw, so he chose to turn away. As he did so, another entity entered the space. It was what appeared to be an elf of ancient lineage. Kane could only tell by knowledge from books and drawings, but he had never met one himself. He was met with a sudden feeling of discomfort as not only did he hold a general disdain for elven kind as most all humans did, but also because of whom the elf was conferring with.

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The elf met with one of the beings whom he didn’t quite notice before. This entity, unlike any of the others, gave off a chilling presence that startled him to his core. There was something so bitter and off-putting that Kane couldn’t take his eyes off of the entity that stood apart from its peers.

Surely in comparison to the beings that were within the elf’s company, the elf was nothing. However, Kane could not mistake the near-perfect features of the elven male who possessed not only outstanding physical traits, but stellar tact and charisma to even commune in the presence of such beings.

Perhaps, Kane speculated, the elven man was handcrafted by the beings, whatever they were. What were they anyways? Surely not human, but more likely of a divine nature. He considered the demonic nature of the entities, but quickly cast it aside, for he knew somehow inside of him, that these beings were anything but that; such a sentiment was held for all of them except for the elf and the entity with whom he conversed.

A sudden action caught Kane’s attention. All of the entities other than the leader (or who he had perceived to be so), the elf, and the elf’s peer, dispersed. The three individuals were left alone, with Kane as an unperceived observer. The sound within the space was largely muffled to Kane so that he could hear very little and understand even less as the two entities seemed to argue. The elf remained quiet, but it was his powerful and unsettling peer who appeared to be the aggressor. What the entity was arguing over, Kane could not tell.

Suddenly, with a cyclonic blast of ethereal energy, the malignant entity attacked the leader! The attack, which Kane perceived to be the strongest blow he had ever seen, didn't even seem to register to the leader who remained shining in all of its glory. The aggressor halted, perhaps becoming aware of or even stunned by its weakness in comparison.

The leader still didn’t attack even in defense of itself, but rather, radiated a feeling of disappointment that Kane himself seemed to feel, although he didn’t understand why. However, it was the elf who struck first against the entity, who Kane assumed was the elf’s master. Kane didn’t understand the attack, he understood very little of what he saw at all, but the elf seemed to leech the lifeforce, the energy, straight out of the entity and into himself.

The elf laughed maniacally at his fallen master that now had been completely consumed. Crimson sparks ignited around the elf and tremendous power surged through his body. The leader — no this was the Divine, Kane realized that now — seemed far less impressed by the elf’s ploy. Kane couldn’t see an expression on the Divine’s blinding features, but he could feel the displeasure.

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“You know that an Ældar obtaining such power is forbidden,” stated the Divine. Kane, upon hearing and understanding what was being said, focused his attention. The Divine continued, “Please, allow me to remove it from you.”

“Hah!” The elf lept away from the Divine, and more crimson energy crackled to life around him as if he could barely contain it. “All you seek is to hold my kind and I back from our true potential! My master knew it, but he was too foolish to do anything, so I stripped him of his power and became his better. I will not hand this power over to you who hoards the mysteries of existence for yourself,” spat the elf defiantly, his power surging. “But I’m sure you already knew that!”

“Indeed. We both know you cannot harm me, why even create such a display?” asked the Divine. “You have the choice, child, to end this here and now.”

A lighting bolt pierced the sky and struck the elf, who shrugged it off. Under any other circumstance, it would have been a killing blow. The assailant was not the Divine, however, but one of the other beings that had returned. Perhaps this one was a guardian of some kind?

The elf threw his hands up. “Now, we don’t need to get aggressive! I know I can’t harm you physically, so I won’t try. I’m here to bargain, a game of sorts. A contest of faith.”

The Divine seemed amused. “Do tell...”

“I was created to lead a people, gifted with great charisma, influence, and skill. Among other things,” the elf began. “Allow me to use the skills that I possess and have perfected by my own hand, and engage me in the greatest of games. A game of influence, pieces, and pawns. The WORLD is under your dominion, but I think that is because of myself and those like me who execute your bidding. I shall create my own influences, apart from yours, and you shall engage me across the world to see who is truly greater. I will erase your memory from the world below! If I am to win this game of strategy, then I shall be declared Divine, and you shall serve me.”

“And if I am the victor?” asked the Divine.

“Then I shall return to your service and the world will return to what it once was,” the elf stated with a sly smile.

“I already have dominion over this world. Why would I allow you to disrupt what I have made further than you already have?”

“Because, you shall have no better test of the faithfulness and will of your creations. I can prove that with a single nudge, their weak faith can be broken and remolded. Even you will lose faith in them!”

“Very well,” stated the Divine. The elf seemed surprised, perhaps even shocked, that his offer was taken so quickly.

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“However,” started the Divine. “You have broken my laws and then dared incite rebellion within my creation. This cannot go unpunished. Therefore, you shall be condemned to the same fate to which you banished your master. You may play your games within the world, but your body shall be cast down to Terrus forever and your soul shall never rise to Avlonar.”

The elf seemed shocked that such action was taken against him. He rebounded in surprise, not sure what to say. It was as if he believed his clever tact would save him from punishment. Kane could feel the hatred radiating off of the elf.

“I’m sorry Moraig,” stated the Divine. “But you knew what the price would be when you took this route. I’m disappointed that you chose such a vain and destructive course of action.”

A great fire consumed the world around Kane as divine wrath was taken out upon Moraig. With that, everything vanished, and Kane was swept away once more.

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Sunrise over the Chapel, Photograph by Ryan Bach

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Upon the Death of a Student Poem by Elijah Prewitt-Davis In memory of Lee Thomas It was not an accident It was of the essence of capitalism The good sister said it best: “He died of poverty” The God of Jesus rebukes our questions “Why did this happen?

Do you not know?

Have you not understood?

Did not my son not warn you of Ceaser?

Did he not tell you That for the gas corporation’s pockets to be full Some tanks must remain empty?”

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LOVING Poem by Sebastian Isaacs YOU WON’T LET HIM LOVE YOU WITHOUT WONDERING WHY HE CHOSE YOU, BUT HE WILL CHOOSE YOU EVERY DAY, AND HE WILL CHOOSE YOU EVERY NIGHT. YOU’LL BITE THE HAND THAT FEEDS YOU, YOU’LL TWIST AWAY FROM THE BOY WHO COMBS YOUR HAIR WHEN YOU CRY IN NIGHTMARES AND IN THE WAKE OF YOU. YOU’LL POINT A BLADE AT THE BOY WHO HOLDS YOU DURING EVERY STORM, IN LIFE, IN DEATH, AD ASTRA. YOU TAKE THE LOVE YOU THINK YOU DESERVE, BUT CAN’T YOU SEE THE TRUTH? HE HAS NEVER STOPPED LOVING YOU, HE HAS NEVER STOPPED CHOOSING YOU.

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Bulldog, Photograph by Kaley Knapp

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Waterloo, KY Poem by Sebastian Isaacs Fog rolls over the corn fields as we drive in his low-rider watching the sun as it rises on the horizon before us; watching morning dew slide off his windshield when he’s whipping through the interstate.

And we’re all silent; as if we have nothing left to say to each other, but everything stays.

Details about last night and the rest of our lives and how they change trajectories right before us.

Are we ready to continue changing?

I don’t have to go with him but I can’t stay here, my mind still clinging to the scent of some suburban city soil and pepper plants.

I can smell the comfort in the wind from my childhood bedroom window; here, the air smells different when it’s blasting in through the sunroof.

The dust is heavier in Kentucky.

It settles in my stomach like reverse hunger pangs— I’m so full, I feel nauseous, I’m nauseating to look at.

What do I do with my shaking hands?

My legs won’t stop moving; I never thought I would see them spreading for another boy.

But here I am, this time am I ready to start?

Or am I only just scared of being left behind in the past, where I can always visit— take a day trip in my mind— but everyone else moves on without me.

All my life I have only ever been moving on to keep up; It'll only take a moment to revel in the sunrise 25

glowing pink and bright in the sky, over the stone slab wall we sit upon with swinging legs as we look down at the world that sits below us.

Now, I would like to stay right here forever, but the sky is only pink for a few minutes then I am expected to move on and embrace my future, albeit unknown.

Change always accompanies me.

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Fairytale Poem by Miah Harvey If life was a fairytale, I would’ve grabbed your hand when I had the chance.

Danced with no existence of time with the car doors open, music blaring, and the one witnessing is the sky we share.

With an old fashion in hand, While talking in tongues of vulnerability.

Running away at dusk with eyes that made me comfortable.

And hugs that felt like fairy tales that end with “happily ever after”.

If life was a fairytale, we might’ve had a chance.

Maybe after you covered me, leaving the room for me to sleep.

Or coming home to flowers, ice cream, and my favorite chocolate on my doorstep.

Another time, when we fell asleep on the couch, having to take me home at 6 in the morning.

What would be seen as driving in silence… we were conversing through lyrics.

Or that time when you drove to my house only to give me one of those hugs and a letter.

But life isn’t a fairytale.

Constantly promising you I’ll write one in return, but never did.

Only to now writing letters, with feelings that could be felt through the pen strokes.

Hoping they’ll find their way to you with no address.

The letters constantly repeating “I’m sorry” due to my selfishness.

Taking a pacific kind of love for granted; for someone else to dwell in.

Leaving me to wonder if you’re okay.

Not forgetting the promise we made: “I’ll always be here with my arms open.”

Making my arms like a lighthouse just in case your boat meets danger.

Greeting you with an old fashion and a blanket in hand.

And for vulnerability to show up again, like nothing has changed.

Talking about our experiences as if it was a fairytale.

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In the sequel, find me again.

I’ll leave coins over my eyes, as bus fare for if we go searching in the afterlife.

Only to greet you with a letter.

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Fever Dream Fiction by Eve’Lynn Jackson The red skies were roaring, and the cracks in the ground grew bigger. I walked around observing my environment. I watched people run, and fires roared. I could not believe what I was seeing with my own two eyes. Is this it? Is this the end? Cars flipped over, and people breaking into places.

“It is now time for our annual purge,” announced the city. “All crime is now legal including murder.”

I looked around and watched people look at me with hunger in their eyes. I ran, refusing to look back as I heard footsteps behind me. I knocked on people’s doors. No one opened the door. Finally, one person did open, a guy around my age.

Once inside, I heard the door lock with many locks sounding off as he did so. I heard rain begin to pour from the sky, as the guy began to enter my personal space.

I backed up a little.

“Thanks for opening the door; it’s crazy out there,” I said as I watched him inch closer to me.

“Yup, it's almost like the world is ending,” he said as he entered my personal space closer. My back touched the door that was used to let me in. He trapped me between the door and himself. I watched as he brought his face into my neck. Once he was into my neck, he inhaled. “You smell good,” he said as he wrapped his hands around my waist.

Tears dripped down my face as I felt his callous hands touch me. The door banged behind me, which led the guy to hesitate. I kicked him in his junk and watched as he fell. Once the guy was on the ground, I rushed to unlock the door. As I worked on the last lock, the guy pulled my arm, which led me to elbow him in the nose. He stumbled back; this gave me enough time to unlock the final lock. I ran once more as tears poured down my face. The ground began to shake, I looked up to see a meteorite that looked bigger than everything. I watched as it came closer; then darkness happened.

“Holy shit, that felt so real,” I shouted into the darkness of my room. I felt my body, making sure I was still alive. I jumped from my bed and ran to the window. I saw blue skies, birds flying, and people walking their dogs. Another apocalypse avoided. My phone chimed, so I looked at it. “Oh, shit, I’m going to be late to work,” I shouted once more as I ran out of my room to start my day.

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Flying Poem by Amisha Walton I love you because you are effortlessly pure royalty You never look down on me In a way that only you can You talk me down from a ledge Without losing my balance as my feet touch the ground You keep me grounded Ten toes down every day as I lift you up You are grits without sugar, French toast, berries and cucumber water Served on a platter Because not only are you succulent but you fill me up You always know exactly what I need Be it forehead kisses, a shopping spree, Or just listening when I'm venting when someone had the audacity to try me Even if you do nothing else for me for as long as you live You've imprinted so much love, strength, and healing on my spirit Our minds align and our souls enhance the divine when we're together I wouldn't swap you out for anything You're a rare finding out here in a sea of debris And you know it ain't too many fish out there for me I'm glad I was able to hook you It didn't even require effort to reel you in You're undeniably a real man I am no longer feeling like Mary J Blige I can finally oblige in real love I feel like a queen I feel like I know what she is made of I want to grow with you Effortlessly flow with you As your knowledge and wisdom flows within me too a chivalrous gentleman You're old fashioned And there’s nothing that’s matchin’ What we simultaneously combine to be It feels like a dream But I optically remember in this reality 30

You see me And I don't need lens adjustments to see you My laughter is easy, no tension Even in my high on high altitudes We elevate together and it's easy to fly with you

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Auf Wiedersehen, Freundin Fiction by Katelyn Rieder You had never been to Germany before. I scoffed, “really?” And you had that shy, embarrassed smile on. This smile was worlds different from your toothy grin usually paired with a loud laugh that you would feel embarrassed about. Your hand would fly over your mouth.

“I’ve always wanted to,” you sighed, “just never had the time, I guess.” You looked at me, right into my eyes like you always do. You could never break that eye contact, something that I was never good at. For some reason though, your eyes didn’t make me nervous, they made me feel seen. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand how you were able to absolutely bewitch me.

“We have to go then,” I said with the upmost confidence. And you chuckled softly, rolling your eyes. “No, I’m serious! You would love it.” My brain raced back to the last and only time I’ve been to Germany. It was just a weeklong trip around the country with mom. She was there for business, and I, pleasure. On the few days she was in corporate’s headquarters, I wandered around Berlin. I spent my mornings in a café right around the corner from our hotel, sipping hot apple cider paired with some sort of roll or croissant with jam smeared on every square inch.

One of my favorite parts about that café was the notorious people watching spot just outside. I would sit on a black iron chair and watched tourists take photos, men hurry to work, kids play in the fountain followed by their mom’s watchful eye.

I was on the outside looking into this vast, bright culture. It was so much different from back home, how I always felt like I was being watched. People watched me not out of interest, but for anticipation of mistakes. For clumsiness, inadequacy.

“I don’t know, I feel like if I were gonna go I would want more money, you know? To do it right,” You sighed again, this one a little longer, “I guess that’s why I waited.”

I rested my hand on your forearm, “Hey don’t beat yourself up, let’s go this summer. Just you and me,” I smiled. “We don’t have to go to Berlin like I did, although it was beautiful. I remember seeing this gigantic cathedral with these really pretty teal dome roofs on top. But maybe we could go somewhere more in the countryside and like, visit the castles and stuff. You ever heard of the Danube River?”

You nodded.

“There’s like tons of castles along it. It’s something like ten hours away from Berlin though. If it wasn’t I feel like I would have begged harder for mom to go 32

with me.” I looked at my shoes and chuckled a little. I hesitated to look at you. I knew you would be far away.

“What kind of food did you eat?” You were still holding on.

I sat up more in my chair next to your bedside, gripping your arm a little tighter, “Oh, all kinds of stuff! For breakfast I would always go to this café near our hotel that had the most amazing apple cider, I wish I had asked for their recipe or something before we left.”

You smiled, showing me your teeth. My heart pounded in my chest, “But for lunch we would normally have like, a pretty big meal. Their lunch and dinner are kind of flipped. So we go out to some restaurant and get like, pasta or meat. I remember getting this thing called Käsespätzle, which is like small egg noodles,” I formed my hands in the shape of a circle, “drenched in some kind of cheese. That was always really good.” I looked across the room at your parents, who kept their eyes on you, their only daughter. I could tell your mom had tears in her eyes. Your dad (such a stoic) was frowning, his bushy brows so furrowed they almost blended together.

You suddenly looked so much more pale than you were five seconds ago. It felt like the rhythmic beeping of your heart monitor was getting so much louder, like I was waiting for it to get out of beat.

It did.

And you looked at me, scared. Scared of what was happening to you and the body that had taken care of your soul for so long. Scared of what would happen after.

And I was terrified. The room was getting so much louder, so much more crowded. A nurse pried my hand off of your arm as doctors were trying to do their job. My cheeks were getting stained with salty and stunned tears. I could hear your mom wailing, crying out for someone to help her baby girl.

Then it stopped. The noise stopped besides the flatlining of your heart. A constant, droning hum. Everything else in the world stopped and it was just you and your body.

You had been sick for far too long; I think we all started to forget that everything comes to an end.

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Out of Time, Artwork by Catie Keefer

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Freshman Year Essay by Abby Crim Freshman year. The year that you make your mark. The year that you can change your whole identity. The year where you find new friends. The year where you have to balance your academics and social life. The year where no one is holding your hand through all of this. The year that brings stress because of so much change. The year that is gone before you even blink. Reflecting on my freshman year today with only seven weeks left in the semester I am both proud and sorrowful. I am so proud that I went off to college, that I have made some of the best friends that I have ever had, and that I have started to make my mark on this campus. But also I am sorrowful because I have little to no time left to tie up the loose ends with my school work, practice for my choir concert, and soak up the last weeks with my friends who live so far away. I feel the pressure of the work that needs done on my back and I don’t know how I'm going to make it if you want me to be quite honest. Summer is knocking on my door, but why does summer not excite me? Why does summer bring sadness? Why does summer feel like the hole that is forming in my chest won’t be filled with sunshine? All because of freshman year.

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Submission Guidelines Initiated in January 2005, Lions-on-Line is a literally collection of works by the students and alumni of Mount St. Joseph University published online with the cooperation of the Liberal Arts Department. Lions-on-Line is published online twice yearly, during the fall and spring semesters. When our budget allows, Lions-onLine goes “in print”. We take submissions during all twelve months of the year. If you are currently affiliated with Mount St. Joseph and you would like to see your work published, you may submit your work to LOL simply by emailing poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction or artwork to LOL@msj.edu. For full submission guidelines, consult our website. Lions-on-Line is always looking for new staff members. If you’re interested in joining LOL, please contact faculty advisor, Elizabeth Taryn Mason, Ph.D. at the following email address: elizabeth.mason@msj.edu.

Editors and Staff Editors:

Faculty Advisor:

Abby Crim Ethan Geiger Miah Harvey Kayla Hess Eve’Lynn Jackson Grace Jones Elizabeth Keller Chloe-Rose Ramsey William Sack Rachel Seiter Elizabeth Taryn Mason 37

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