Mccc images 31 2017 color final

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Self Portrait Caricature • Illustration Techniques • Cassy Fallon

IMAGES 2017 A L I T E R A RY A N D F I N E A RT S M A G A Z I N E

by the Students and Staff of Monroe County Community College

Front Cover Photograph: Bottle Composition • Painting I • Christin Kern Back Cover Photographs: The Right Breeze • Painting I • Christin Kern

Sponsored and Published by The Humanities/Social Sciences Division

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This is the thirty-first year we have published the creative efforts of our students and staff.

Reading all of the submitted work for this year’s Images has been an incredible experience for me. When I agreed to work as editor for this year’s edition of Images, I knew I wanted the literary magazine to reflect the spirit of Monroe County Community College. Being able to read the work of students struggling to get their homework completed on time, becoming mothers, and even becoming an American citizen, has made me feel even closer to the students and staff here at MCCC. It is my hope that the readers feel the same way!

I would like to thank everyone who submitted to our 31st edition of Images, for making this magazine what it is. I would also especially like to thank Paul Hedeen, Rachel Eagle, Kari Jenkins, Michelle Persin and Ted Vassar, for their assistance in making Images. There would be no Images without their help.

We are already gathering material for our next issue. If you are a student or member of the staff of Monroe County Community College and would like to have your artwork or creative writing submitted, please email your work to images@monroeccc.edu.

Rebekah Phillips Adjunct Professor of English Composition Ted Vassar Assistant Professor of Art

Produced by Monroe County Community College

© Monroe County Community College 2017 All Rights Reserved

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Self Portrait Charicature • Illustration Techniques • Kathleen Gibson

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Dreamer • Painting II • Christin Kern

Dusk • Painting I • Cierra Cote

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Your Diary of Dreams If I had to, could I tell myself that I like you?

And make-believe that I believe that 'Cause I'm behind, and I just don't know how to stop time If I asked you, would you believe that WHY!?

Something's keeping me awake Something's begging me to break I've been looking for my place In your diary of dreams Is without me how it should be?

And I know how it makes me sick That I'm falling for the same old trick You believe that?

Such a thin line, between heart and mind 'Cause I'm behind, if I asked you Would you believe that?

Something's keeping me awake Something's begging me to break I've been looking for my place In your diary of dreams As I read another page As the words begin to fade I'll keep looking for my place In your diary of dreams Is without me how it should be?

Hope ain't worth its salt Let you drift along I can't Of course I can't Help me fill this hole Help me find my soul Something's keeping me awake Something's begging me to break I've been looking for my place In your diary of dreams As I read another page As the words begin to fade I'll keep looking for my place In your diary of dream .

• Robert

Kiger

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Sonnet No. 1 If my life were the vast darkness of space Black but for the faint light of distant stars Unfolding at ever-increasing pace Like the universe does, stretching so far If happiness were rare as light between stars And love were as warmth in the heatless void Excitement found like rocky planets, sparse My days featureless as an asteroid If life were space, the Sun my love would be Like the Sun, his light illuminates all I'm held comfortably by his gravity Ecstatic in never-ending freefall My love, the Sun, makes every darkness bright Life's most beautiful when viewed in love's light • Taylor Walker

Sonnet No. 2 When my lover moves, he does so slowly Or carefully, rather, in quiet thought With confidence, though, he steps quite boldly But his footfalls land lightly, as they ought So goes all of life for my dear lover He treads quietly despite his power With great consideration for others His sweetness is natural as a flower's Compare him with me, then, in sharp contrast Aggressive, ambitious though I be small For me, all actions are better done fast And must be done my way if done at all A more perfect match never have I seen None are better than my lover and me • Taylor Walker

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The Asylum Screams of all the imprisoned echo through walls of steel.

Forgotten souls in the blackness hidden from the eyes that feel This is a home for the crazed and forbidden.

Witnessed not by any sense of morality in the brutality here, Who've beaten, and scarred the innocent into psychotic fear.

Trapped in cells, drowning in endless screams.

What I've witnessed must be seen to believe.

Our protectors are vile and vicious Handling the lost innocence with force and chains We're not animals, we’re just insane.

An Ominous presence lurks beyond the walls, Keeping watch over the deranged in these asylum halls.

They come for us, they keep us in chains, Is life really worth all this torture and pain?

The screaming and terror leaving us lifeless Only if you listen, it's just dead silence.

• Owen Rogoff

Quiet • Illustration Techniques • Daisie Justice

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Road Signs and When to Ignore Them

From my earliest memories, I have always loved music. I loved the harmonious inhales and exhales of a long bow dancing across a violin, sturdy and smooth like a wooden mask that only covers your chin. I loved to watch musicians play the piano, moving so close to the white keys I could swear they jumped to touch the musician’s fingertips. I loved the connection between a strong performer and her audience, creating a relationship so easily it seems they are old friends. As I stared at the silent judges before me, I did not think I could create such a strong, simply sewn connection. To me, music is about having confidence in yourself, loving to create, and sharing a vulnerable, raw piece of your life with others. I wanted to have that confidence, but as I placed another shaking hand around the microphone, confidence escaped me.

Sitting in my attic between bright Christmas decorations and worn clothes is a dusty box of my childhood toys. It holds wooden trains that traveled over the earth effortlessly, like a pen over paper. Chugga chugga, chugga chugga, choo choo! Past my house the train would drive, the conductor a four year old girl.

I would wave to my emotional parents and older sister, Josephine, as my train and I left Michigan, “WHITE HOUSE: NEXT EXIT!” “HOLLYWOOD WANTS YOU, ROSE!” “IN TWO MILES: DISNEY WORLD!” After the train, my stuffed animal Zebra and I explored the vast African safari. We scavenged for Zebra’s long lost brothers and sisters. It seemed as if there was nowhere my imagination could not take me. Whether I was swinging until my shoe scraped the roof, saving the city with my sister, or exploring with Zebra, at four years old, I knew I was going to see the world.

Among these toys was my beloved, slightly ragged, JC Chasez NSYNC doll.

The doll’s dark hair stands out against his red shirt, though it is his bright smile I treasure most. I am often told I was a rambunctious child: A performer. Josephine and I spent hours saving our city from dastardly villains or playing outside with our dog, Teddy. The grass was lime green and felt rubbery around my bare feet. I was Peter Pan or Tinkerbell exploring enchanted forests, or hiding with Josephine and Teddy, waiting out a ferocious tornado in our pastel playhouse.

The backyard was not my only stage.

When I was not performing for my friends or family, I watched the band NSYNC perform for me. JC was my favorite singer, he was tall and strong, he had bright blue eyes and a powerful voice. Not to mention he liked Mickey Mouse, an obvious perk. I knew I wanted to be just like JC when I grew up. I wanted to sing, dance, and hang out with Britney Spears too! My mother says the fastest way to “defuse me” was to play our only NSYNC VHS tape. All five members of this boy band owned the stage, possessing an undeniable aura of poise and talent. They made it look easy, but in time I would see that having confidence in oneself and being able to perform for others is one of the most difficult lessons to learn.

At four years old I was talkative and goofy; my body was a coiled spring, energetic and able to bounce back no matter how long someone held me down, and my voice just the same. Somewhere along the lines, before I stopped using 6

my Tinkerbell lunchbox and after a classmate pushed me into a piano, I realized I was supposed to be quiet. I did not know why I needed to change. Later, I realized she pushed me into a piano because I was different. The long, black and purple bruises my mother demanded be looked at by a doctor, came from being different.

Kindergarten began with big bruises from what I loved most of all, music.

School was frustrating when I could hum the tune of the alphabet, but was unable to recall the letters. Addition seemed impossible, and while other children were moving forward in science I staggered between progress and failure like a broken dreidel. Something was wrong with me, and it seemed like everyone knew.

In first grade it was decided I should see a doctor, though I did not know why.

I liked the doctor. His face was old and comforting like a favorite book with many used and faded pages. He let me drive toy cars around his office, though they did not travel as far as they used to. My teddy bear tried to drive downtown and was stopped by flashing signs, “ROSE CANNOT LEAVE TOWN!” and “DIFFERENT CHILDREN MUST STOP HERE!” Everywhere I turned another obstacle appeared.

Sometimes my teddy bear’s car stopped moving. My stomach moved instead, like a rollercoaster that went was too fast and too high before it came crashing down. I felt a thick, wet lump in my throat that pushed to come out my eyes and nose. The doctor spoke gently, asking me how was school and, was I having trouble paying attention in class?

Not all of school was bad; at 11 years old I told my friends about performing, and they gave me a road sign only people can give. My mom called it “the right of way.” My friends told me to keep performing.

At 13 years old I switched schools. I learned people did not like me because I seemed “lost.” I realized I was not allowed to be like JC. In high school I made new friends and tried to forget the road signs which screamed the truth, “DRIVERS PREPARE FOR INSPECTION!” and “ROSE YOUNGLOVE, YOU ARE TRESPASSING!” No matter how much I tried, I could never pass any of the inspections. I was never good enough.

In high school it was once again time to see a doctor. However, this time I knew why. She asked me different questions like, did I know that everyone was different, and did I want to talk about why I was so sad? The doctor wore glasses and had honey colored hair. She was intelligent and optimistic. I had not realized you could be both. My friends and family helped me see that my struggles did not shut down the road completely. They simply helped me find a new direction.

Today I am 18. I am here to audition; it is a musical, a performance. My pale hands continue to overlap one another, powerful waves in a storm. I am powerful.

I look out nervously at the judges and remember this is not my first musical. I am here to share a vulnerable piece of my life, to be confident, and to be creative. I am here because I love music. I see a faint road sign flash: “STOP HERE: NOT GOOD ENOUGH!” But I am older now. I feel the wheel under my hands, the microphone in my grip, and I remember who is driving. I drive on.

• Rose Younglove 7

The Meadow For long periods of time I thought and thought of a place where I could go to and just ponder on my life’s situations and shortcomings.

I remembered that, as a child, there was a meadow abroad from my grandparents’ house in the hills of Arkansas by the Ozark mountain range. Its waving amber grass moving with the wind reminded me of how the soft caressing touch of a hand through my hair calmed a relaxed me as a child. The flowers within the grass provided the beauty that made it possible to look at for long periods of time and, with the different colors of red, yellow, blue, and white, spinning and twirling in the wind with the grass, made it mesmerizing to look at for hours on end and just be thoughtless and calm. Oh how I would love to go there once more to escape my problems and just be at peace. To be empty and calm without a worry or care in the world. Just to lie there, still, and fall asleep to the wind blowing over me. The smell of the flowers and grass create a perfume such to the fact that it resembles a fragrance of a candle filling a room. Its sweet smell offers more to the experience of the calming sensation that I am already feeling. The sound of birds chirping creates a background noise that draws my focus to it and, with it, puts me to sleep like a soft lullaby. Oh I could have slept for a long while. To be there would be so wonderful at this very moment. But I am not there. I cannot go there anymore for the events that are going on in my life at the moment make it very difficult to nearly impossible to do so. However, though I may not be able to go there in person, I still have it in my memories. In them, I can still go to, and experience in my time of need, the sweet and, pleasing to the senses beautiful, meadow.

• Justin Drummonds

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Sunflower • Watercolor I • Kathleen O’Brien

Winter Shadows • Painting I • Kathryn Beland

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Self Portrait Charicature • Illustration Techniques • Cheyanne Abel

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Rhino • Painting I • Christina Panyek

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Becoming an American Growing up in a country with a traditional family, where parents make decisions for their children until the time they get married, telling them of my plans to be independent and eventually move to another continent became a secret burden at a young age. I had dreams of working and living in a modern first-world country, going to United States of America, and building my own family there.

I was a freshman in high school when I found out that nurses are the most in demand abroad. I knew back then that nursing is not an easy profession. My older sister Divina went to nursing school. I enjoyed looking at her whenever she wore her white uniform, complete with a nurse cap. She really looked cute and neat. After she passed her nursing licensure exam, she started applying for jobs and got an offer to work in Qatar. When she told my parents, they didn't allow her to leave the country. They said it is too dangerous for a female to go to the Middle East alone. She ended up working in a hospital in our hometown of Palanan, a small, rural town in Isabela located in the northern part of the Philippines and far away from the noisy, busy city. It is a quiet place to live, surrounded by the clear blue sea, with the seashore lined with fine white sand just a walking distance from my parents' house. With almost a hundred acres of rice fields, an accountant wife and working as a municipal judge, my father was contented with his life. But I couldn't see myself stuck in that place forever. I wanted to explore and see the world.

Being the youngest of nine children, I felt pressured to be an obedient daughter. My father wanted a doctor in the family, not counting my two brothers who went into dentistry. I was glad that my sister Marielle attended law school and followed my father's footsteps, otherwise, it would have been me. Undecided with what to do after high school, I went with my mother to Manila, the country’s capital, where some of the top universities and colleges are located. As a coincidence, we bumped into my mother's cousin who is a doctor. His son recently got his visa to work as a physical therapist in the States.

According to him, physical therapists were in demand in America and will be continuously hiring for the next 20 years. "America! I'll see you in a few years," I whispered to myself.

Needless to say, I got my Bachelor's Degree in Physical Therapy after 5 years and was reviewing for the licensure exam when my best friend told me about a job offer for physical therapy assistant and quality assurance job in Michigan.

In my excitement, I took the offer right away and went through all the necessary processes. I even asked Marielle to borrow money for my plane ticket. I knew my father would not give me a cent for that purpose. Then came the most difficult part, telling my parents about it. As expected, they refused to give me their blessing. I cried myself to sleep and went on a hunger strike. I already took the first step to my future and I wasn't letting it pass me over. My determination became stronger and I fought for it.

On April 10, 2003, I came home from my first interview from the US Embassy with my eyes filled with tears. My family prepared a surprise birthday party. In 12

between the “Happy Birthday!” and “When is your flight?”, I murmured my sad thank yous and went to bed. I turned 26 that day, pass the age limit that I gave myself to leave the country. Frustrated, I showed my sister the blue paper they gave me at the embassy. “Oh,” she said, “You were not denied a visa, you only need to ask your employer for a document to be sent to them and soon you will be on your way to America.”

On June 6, 2003, I took my first step in the country that I call my home. “This is it,” I told myself, “I'm in America! The land of the free!” My best friend picked me up at the airport. We were both ecstatic to see each other. I called my parents later that day to tell them that I arrived safely. Their youngest child was over eight thousand miles away from them and I had to reassure them that I would be fine and that I could make it. Hearing my mother's voice breaking, I knew she was crying and was very much worried. I told her not to worry and shifted the conversation about starting work the following week.

A year later, my boyfriend Jonathan followed me to America and we got married a couple of years later. He found an employer who was willing to sponsor us to change our working visa to an immigrant status so we could stay permanently. It was something we had to work out with difficulty since the salary was not what we expected. My husband took the offer, reassuring me that after we got our green cards, we could work anywhere we want to. As a new mother, taking care of our daughter and working part time, it was a difficult situation I had to face without help from my parents. After nine months of waiting, I called my family with the good news. I received my green card and only needed a few years to qualify for citizenship.

Finally, the day that I had been waiting for came. I entered the federal building in Detroit and took an oath as an American citizen. I almost cried while listening to the judge's speech. As I waved the American flag handed to me, I told myself, “This is my home now. I am an American and I live the American dream.” Yes, the struggle was real but it was all worth it.

• Glenda Salazar

Patriotism • 2-D Design • Spenser Hehl 13

Macro Composition • 2-D Design • Allison Presson

Macro Composition • 2-D Design • Brynn Stolisov 14

Macro Design • 2-D Design • Sophia Pipis

Macro Composition • 2-D Design • Leigh Cole 15

Horse Skull • Drawing I • Andra Ebbole

Bezold Effect • 2-D Design • Sophia Pipis 16

Bezold Effect • 2-D Design • Kayla Hawley

Horse Skull • Drawing I • Jessy Bonello

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William’s Mother I’d like to take you along on a journey with me, a journey back in time 19 years ago. The day I gave birth to my first child, a boy I later named William.

To begin, we need to start way back in 1995. I was 16 at that time and started really rebelling against everything. My childhood up until that point was less than pleasant, so I felt like I had a bone to pick with everyone and everything. One day I met a boy, a boy who gave me the feeling of safety for the first time in my life. He quickly because my best friend, speeding all day every day with each other. We were young but felt we could make it so we moved in together. Both of us holding jobs down. For once things were good. This is how it all started a year later in 1996, when I became pregnant. It was a crazy time for everyone involved and there were many, many, many ups and down between then and now. The ending though is beautiful, and that is where I would like to focus: The day that I became a mother!

March 15, 1997, is a day I’ll never forget. All these years later I can still hear every sound, smell every smell, and see every face that was there. I woke up feeling shaky, like I hadn’t slept enough or was colder than usual. I tried to eat breakfast because I felt like I was starving, but once I sat down I noticed that the sight of food was unappealing to say the least. I decided I’d just go start my shift at our local Wendy’s restaurant early. Once I got there, though, it became apparent that I wouldn’t be staying long. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. Either I was getting sick or there would be baby news soon. Three hours into my shift I was forced to head home by well-meaning experienced coworkers and thank God I listened and went. Once home I tried to rest and I quickly fell asleep for 4 hours. It was odd, though, because when I woke up I felt even more tired. I felt like I could have slept for days. Normally if I had napped for 4 hours I would have been bouncing off the walls with an energy burst. I was 18, and I could stay awake for two days before I was tired back then. So I knew this was it, my last day as a childless person. I knew things were starting and so I called my mother.

My mother thought it would be a good idea to gather my aunt and go walking. I made it known I was not in the mood to be in the cold so we settled on mall walking. Everyone was trying to get me to speed walk and I remember laughing at them. “You guys might have done this before but I’ll do it my way and keep myself comfortable,” I kept saying. I honestly thought I could control my comfort level and keep this from being as bad as I had read it could be.

My emotions kept going back and forth between excited and elated because I would meet this person who I played hotel to for 41 weeks only to overwhelmed and annoyed by every sound, any lighting, faces, touches, and mostly smells.

Uuugh the smells. I could smell everything! I tried to control it but that made every emotion intensify. Looking back now I believe that was built in nature telling me go find a spot and buckle down. That things were about to pick up and boy, oh boy did they ever.

It didn’t take long before my anxiety and fears kicked in. After all, I had read a hundred times how dangerous this process was. So, we headed to the hospital,

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I felt I needed to be there with professionals for my sanity. All of a sudden I allowed my fear to get the best of me and lost the trust in body that nature had built into me. It wasn’t a bad choice though and I’m glad I went in at that time still because things really picked up on the drive. Oh, the drive was torture, 30 miles of stop and go freeway traffic. I had to go from Taylor where we lived at the time to Detroit because my pregnancy was high risk. I had issues with my level of amniotic fluids my entire pregnancy. Every pot hole or bump we hit would send me into a contraction. It seemed to strengthen them, or so I thought. My mother had the bright idea to stop half way and pick up my grandmother. I can laugh now but back then, well, imagine my reaction. I was angry.

Let her drive herself! I thought, After all, we are busy here. I yelled how glad I was that this was a party for them, and I knew they were taking pleasure from my obvious pain. I was wrong of course and knew better even at that time, but nonetheless the words just flowed out. My fears had set in too strongly. What if I couldn’t do this? What if I would be a horrible mom? What if he hated me?

Even questions like, What if I didn’t like him? crossed my mind at that time. My mother kept saying things like, “Well, you should have thought of that before,” or, “Everything will be fine, trust me,” but all these things were not helping and I started crying. Finally, I could see the hospital!

The sounds and noises scared me. Everything beeped, and I wasn’t expecting that. So many people were coming in and out asking questions. I felt like everyone asked the same questions, and I wondered, Don’t these people talk to each other? Nancy was my nurse’s name and I think she sensed how much I needed to follow her lead. She was quick to let me know she would stay the course with me and be the one person in the room that no matter what that would have only one concern, and that was me. She brought me snacks even and told me little stories about her labors and deliveries. That helped so much.

I needed to hear something besides, “You knew this would happen.” I noticed my mom was crying, and I asked her why. She told me how happy she was and how proud she was of everything I had built and accomplished. I felt like I had control at that point and like things would be okay. The pain, though, well—that is when the contractions began to get closer and closer together and so painful that after a while I couldn’t even focus on it anymore. It wasn’t long before the chanting started: Breathe, push, breathe, push. This lasted half an hour.

Suddenly, the doctor was crying (I later found out it was a teaching hospital and it was her first delivery) and saying, “It’s a boy, it’s a boy!”

I felt instant relief in almost all ways. The pain had stopped or if it hadn’t I didn’t notice. The only thing I could focus on was his face. My sweet baby. I loved him instantly, more than I had ever loved anything or anyone before. I was shocked and overwhelmed at the love I felt. I had no clue that so many emotions could be felt at once. We sat there for an hour just staring at each other. It was almost an odd feeling for me too, like I was meeting a piece of myself. I cried out loud later that night, “I am a mom,” and ever since that day I’ve been 100% devoted to that little guy, even though he isn’t so little anymore. William Ross Reinhardt made me a mom.

• Nickole Reinhardt

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Setted Figure • Life Drawing • Christin Kern

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Setted Figure • Life Drawing • Sophia Pipis

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Opaque Transparencies • Painting I • Noelle Fragner

Ramses and I at the End of the World Tonight the North Star does not hang as it should.

The Earth does not keep its seat well on its course around the sun, and the stars do not keep those of us here in mind when they set sail.

The half-light we get from them is too old to be of any use.

The bonfire across the field burns more brightly than the corpse of the Milky Way, its obituary posted yesterday.

Could the last words of a star be Look on my works and despair?

I do not know. I am not as good at words as I thought I was.

Translate for me, if you will, the smoke signals floating towards the skewed North Star, now leading West.

My eyes are dazzled with death, and I cannot trust my sight.

I look on my words, and despair.

• Rebekah Phillips

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To the Child of My Patient I am a caregiver of your mother of your father I feed them when they are hungry Give meds when they are ill I take their pain away Hold their hand when they are scared or dying I pray with them I pray for them I am a caregiver • Patricia Nadeau

Hands • Life Drawing • Cassy Fallon

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Masquerade She wore a mask but I saw the beauty shine through She took off the mask I saw the beauty was true ** My, don’t you have it made?

The king of the masquerade You said you saw through my mask But darling, you wear one too You said you could read me like a book But here’s to the unturned pages of you How cleverly your cards are laid You’re the king of the masquerade ** Why yes, I have it made Dancing here with you, Masks in hand Our eyes see true • Ryleigh Bryne and Ryan Clukey

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On The Rocks • Illustration Techniques • Cassy Fallon

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Jimmy Montrey’s It If you’re looking for a guy who can strangle you in 6.4 seconds flat, then Jimmy Montrey’s it. If you’re looking for a guy who can drive away in a car that’s not his without ever being chased, then, well, Jimmy Montrey’s it. If you’re looking for a guy who’s never cried a tear in his life, Jimmy Montrey’s it. If you’re looking for a guy who’ll put a bullet in a man’s head and not look back, Jimmy Montrey’s it. If you’re looking for a guy who can be in and out of a place he’s not supposed to be in no time without ever being seen, then Jimmy Montrey’s it. If you’re looking for a guy who wouldn’t hesitate to end someone who was doing you wrong, no doubt, Jimmy Montrey’s it. If you’re looking for a guy who can save your life just as fast as he can take it, then Jimmy Montrey’s it. Problem is, a lot of people are looking for Jimmy Montrey.

Jimmy Montrey’s almost six feet tall. Standard build—not too slim and not too big. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Caucasian—not too pale and not too tan. Thin lips. Short nose. Chiseled jaw. Slight stubble or clean shaven—depending on the day. Ever-present bored expression. Problem is, a lot of people look like Jimmy Montrey.

If you’re looking for a guy who can blend in, then Jimmy Montrey’s it.

Jimmy Montrey doesn’t have any friends. He doesn’t stay in one place long enough. He still wouldn’t have any if he did. Jimmy Montrey has a lot of people who consider him their friend, and a lot of people who consider themselves his friend, but these are rarely the same people. As far as Jimmy Montrey’s concerned, he doesn’t have any friends. Jimmy Montrey doesn’t have any family either. None that are alive anyway. Jimmy Montrey doesn’t like to have connections. Problem is, a lot of people are looking for a connection with Jimmy Montrey.

If you’re looking for a guy everyone has either seen but not heard of, or heard of but not seen, Jimmy Montrey’s it.

On a normal day in a normal little town, someone was looking for Jimmy Montrey. He was wearing a long black overcoat and a gray hat. Unlike most people, he had a trail. He came all the way from another normal little town, and it took him a two normal-day's drive. He heard Jimmy Montrey had been in a little diner on a street corner. One that had bells that rang when you walked through the door and regulars who drank black coffee. Jimmy Montrey wasn’t a regular, but he did come in one day and drink black coffee. Jimmy Montrey wasn’t a regular anywhere. Jimmy Montrey had come in, started drinking his black coffee, and within half a minute, someone on the other side of the little diner began to choke on their food. Jimmy Montrey watched for a moment, then decided he ought to save their life. It made headlines.

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If you’re looking for a guy who can uproot the food lodged in your esophagus without breaking a sweat, then Jimmy Montrey’s it.

Jimmy Montrey was very brave, but a little strange. After he saved the life of someone choking on their food, people thought that must mean he was a hero. None of these people knew Jimmy Montrey. They all begged to know who he was, with anything but bored expressions. Jimmy Montrey watched for a moment, then decided he ought to give them his name. Jimmy Montrey didn’t say anything else, or accept any rewards—he just left. They were all very confused by Jimmy Montrey.

The man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat walked into the little diner looking for Jimmy Montrey. A nice old couple owned and ran the little diner and served the regulars the black coffee. They told him everything. Jimmy Montrey had an eye on someone across the little diner, and after a moment stood up and was by their side in two seconds flat. They were choking on their food. He had them in fine shape again in no time. They couldn’t quite see how Jimmy Montrey did it—it wasn’t the Heimlich maneuver. He asked them if they knew where Jimmy Montrey was going. They didn’t.

But they had something that fell out of Jimmy Montrey’s pocket when he made it across the little diner in two seconds flat. It was a folded up flier for a show at a little theatre in another normal little town. They gave it to the man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat. He thanked them and turned to leave. Walking in at the same time was a man in a tan trench coat and a blue hat. He asked the nice old couple if they had ever heard of a man named Jimmy Montrey.

On the next normal day in the next normal little town, the man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat was looking for Jimmy Montrey. He went to a little theatre. It was the one that held the show from the folded up flier. It was on a street corner. The show was a musical with a very beautiful story that no one’s ever heard of before.

He arrived just in time for rehearsal.

The man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat asked the director of the show some questions. He wanted to know if he knew Jimmy Montrey. He did. Well, of course he did. Everyone knew Jimmy Montrey. The man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat asked him how. Jimmy Montrey was the star of his show.

If you’re looking for a guy whose falsetto will downright surprise you, then Jimmy Montrey’s it.

Jimmy Montrey didn’t have to audition—it was a given that he could have whatever part he wanted, and that that part was the lead. Jimmy Montrey was very talented. That's what everyone assumed. Jimmy Montrey had also done

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the director of the show a big favor once. Jimmy Montrey never showed up to a rehearsal, but he would be there opening night. That’s what the director of the show said. He just knew. That was just Jimmy Montrey. The show wasn’t for several months. It was a big musical with a very beautiful story that required a lot of preparation.

The man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat asked the director of the show if he knew where Jimmy Montrey was. He did. Well, of course he did.

The man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat asked him where. Jimmy Montrey owned a very successful publishing company that not many people knew the name of. He thanked him and turned to leave. No one else walked in.

The man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat found the headquarters of the very successful publishing company. It was in a big and very beautiful building on a street corner. The man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat asked the short woman working the front desk if she knew the whereabouts of the owner of the company. She didn’t. Well, of course she didn’t.

He asked if she knew who the owner was. She didn’t. Well, of course she didn’t.

He asked if she had ever heard of a man named Jimmy Montrey. She hadn’t.

The short woman working the front desk directed the man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat to some people in an office with a view who knew more than she did.

The people in the office with the view usually didn’t take time out of their normal days to talk to just anyone, but they were curious when someone asked about the owner. No one ever asked about the owner.

If you’re looking for a guy who can walk in, sign some papers as the owner of a company, and walk out without ever being noticed, then Jimmy Montrey’s it.

The man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat walked in and asked about the owner. He wanted to know if they knew who he was. The people in the office with the view didn’t know. Nobody knew. They asked if the man in the long black overcoat knew. He said he might. They didn’t believe him.

The man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat asked the people in the office with the view if they had ever heard of a man named Jimmy Montrey. They hadn’t. They directed him to a phone with which he could contact some people with long job titles who knew more than they did.

Nobody knew Jimmy Montrey.

The people in the office with the view apologized for not being able to help the man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat, and suggested he go to church to pray on it.

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When the man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat walked out, another man walked in to pitch a story about a guy who can strangle you in 6.4 seconds flat.

The man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat took the suggestion from the people in the office with the view. It was a nice, normal day out, so he walked to the nearest church, which was little and on a street corner. He decided it wasn't a bad idea, considering he’d been planning on killing Jimmy Montrey. You see, Jimmy Montrey had put a bullet in the head of a man whom the man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat happened to like. He didn’t look back. The man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat wanted Jimmy Montrey dead.

The man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat arrived at the little church on the street corner. There were rows of pews, burgundy carpet, flowers, and a casket with a dead man in it at the front of the sanctuary. Also at the front of the sanctuary was a live man in a suit sitting with his head in his hands in the front row of pews. When he heard the man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat come in, the live man in the suit jumped up and ran to greet him.

He asked if the man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat was here for the funeral. He told him he wasn’t. This made the live man in the suit sad. He told the man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat that he was supposed to lead the funeral for the dead man two hours ago, but no one came. He said it made him sad and he couldn’t bear to let the dead man be buried yet.

The man in the long black overcoat and they gray hat asked who the dead man was. The live man in the suit told him the dead man's name was Jimmy Montrey.

If you’re looking for a guy who can dodge a bullet but not a disease and never have anyone find out, then Jimmy Montrey’s it.

The live man in the suit couldn’t believe Jimmy Montrey didn’t have any friends or any family. None that were alive anyway. He didn’t know that Jimmy Montrey never stayed in one place long enough. He didn’t know that Jimmy Montrey didn’t like to have connections.

The live man in the suit asked the man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat if he knew Jimmy Montrey.

The man in the long black overcoat and the gray hat asked the live man in the suit if Jimmy Montrey wasn’t the guy who saved someone in a little diner on a street corner from choking on their food.

• Ryleigh Byrne

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Flower Garden • Watercolor I • Kathleen O'Brien

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Sophia • Life Drawing • Christin Kern

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Contemplation • Painting II • Christin Kern

The Beauty of a Rose Why can’t my beauty match that of a rose?

A rose can grow anew.

Razor sharp icy air plucks her life away Until she’s a bare piece of earth.

After this abuse, She looks towards the sun and says, “I forgive you.”

Her red petals return, To fill her fragile frame.

No one even had to tell the rose How beautiful she was.

• Julia Navarre

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Home They always say it’s great to come home, Welcomed from wherever you came from.

The prodigal son has returned, Prepare him a feast fit for a king.

But a prophet is never welcomed in his native land And, apparently, I have become one.

• Michael P. Beers

Downtowne • Painting I • Noelle Fragner

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Untitled By now I should have learned

By now I should have learned

How to change a tire

Instead of texting “On my way”

Before I’m on the side of the road

To leave on time

With a flat

To do my part

And a spare

To do what they ask

And a jack

Before they ask again

And no clue

Before they leave

That Low Fuel

To make myself heard

Or Check Engine

To ask for what I want

Are not an inconvenience

Before I leave

Or a challenge But advice

By now I should have learned To take advice

By now I should have learned

To fix what is broken

To take the time today

Before I start to break

To save the time tomorrow

I’ve learned the repercussions

To pay bills before the 1st

I’ve learned the steps to take

Or the 8th

But today my fuel light is on

Or the next 1st

And my bills are past due

To start the assignment due Thursday

And it’s Thursday morning

Before Wednesday night Or Thursday Morning

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• Jacob Thompson

Bored • Illustration Techniques • Cassy Fallon

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Face • Illustration Techniques • Cassy Fallon

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Sweet Candy forbidden fruit I stand close –but yet in- secret in anticipation only my senses reel— a stolen kiss fingers reaching for a touch a fleeting glance— our love goes unfulfilled only stark forbidden sweet secret smells the rain drops fall again I must go fruit forbidden • Barbara Mauter

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MG • Illustration Techniques • Cassy Fallon

Pulleys • Watercolor I • Kathleen Gibson

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CONTRIBUTORS

Writers Michael P. Beers

Rebekah Phillips

Ryleigh Bryne

Nickole Reinhardt

Ryan Clukey

Owen Rogoff

Justin Drummonds

Glenda Salazar

Robert Kiger

Jacob Thompson

Barbara Mauter

Rose Younglove

Patricia Nadeau

Taylor Walker

Julia Navarre

Artists Cheyanne Abel

Spenser Hehl

Kathryn Beland

Daisie Justice

Jessy Bonello

Christin Kern

Leigh Cole

Kathleen O’Brien

Cierra Cote

Christina Panyek

Audra Ebbole

Sophia Pipis

Cassy Fallon

Allison Presson

Noelle Fragner

Brynn Stolisov

Kathleen Gibson Kayla Hawley

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