velocity a compilation of creative pieces by penn state lehigh valley students
velocity a compilation of creative pieces by penn state lehigh valley students
2013â€“14 â€˘ volume five
Dare to Be a Badass: Kevin Cao
Recollections: Dana Rozakis
Shapely: Shelby Morgan
Tick Tock: Elizabeth Cugini
8th Street Bridge: Andrew Shemansky
Thanksgiving: Emily Herbert
Awakening: Andrew Cuff
Chains: David Miller
Untitled: Andres Rivero
Fitting Weather: Minh Tang
Love Potion: Brittney Clouse
Opposites: Emely Luna
Euthanasia: Rebecca Kinsey
Imprisoned by a Cell: Emily Herbert
Motorcycle I: Kristopher Herrera
Motorcycle II: Kristopher Herrera
Copper Zonker: Raymond George
Mitch the Metal Man: Mitchell Dipasquale
Thought Bubble: Elizabeth Cugini
Fleeting Feelings: Emily Herbert
Untitled: Amanda Ramirez
Boy in the Forest: Rebecca Kinsey
Untitled: John Silver
Visitors: Dana Rozakis
Untitled: Paolo San Lorenzo
Untitled: Tyler Purcell
Strip Club: David Miller
Untitled: Tyler Brodniak
Creative Writing Contest Winner: Loss by Brayden Ford
35 Cover Art: Untitled Khadijah Sayers Oil Painting Introduction to Painting
Dare to Be a Badass KEVIN CAO
We live in a land where the official language is “Fists,” and the best speakers are the most badass dudes in the world. If there’s only one reason anyone comes here, it’s to show off their fighting spirit. Nobody cares if all you’ve got are two fists, or maybe even four fists, just keep soldiering on brawl your way to the top. Here I am; I’ve steamrolled all of my competition with just my two trusty golden, rocket-powered fists. That’s why I’m called Danger Gold; fighting is my serial number, and it’s what I was built to do. I’ve only one step left to climb before I can claim the title for the Strongest Ever. I confidently strut into the auditorium, where the ultimate scrap is going to go down. From a pillar piercing the roof, all the lights focused on a single man brimming with testosterone: Freddy Mercury, the host of this legendary, one-in-a-lifetime competition. He puffs his virile chest out with the microphone in front of him. “Esteemed contestants! We’ve come a long way since we’ve started this burly brawl of badasses, delinquents, soldiers, assassins, machines, and demons. But only one of you may leave with the most badass of titles!” The spotlight suddenly flashes onto me. This is when I’d put my hand over the spotlight, if my visual sensors were sensitive to light. “In this corner, we’ve got a promising up-and-coming contestant. He’s a real fighting machine with a glorious head of hair, built less than a year ago! His
oil burns deep in his chassis for the thrill of battle! Danger Gold is gunna drill his way to the top!” The room is nearly the size of a field. Clearly, this arena has been used in the past, from the various outcroppings and rock structures as well as tables of eating utensils, sports equipment, and hand grenades; not to mention a bus that’s crashed into the wall. Someone must have thrown it there from a past throwdown. Looks like Freddy is expecting me to knock someone across the stage. I can hardly wait to show off my fighting spirit that I feel like my frame is heating up. The spotlight is now over my opponent, whose face is still obscured by shadow. “And in this corner, we’ve got the son of the Devil himself, fueled by nothing but the desire to rock! He’ll rock you like a hurricane! Give it up for Killer Queen!” Look at this guy and his punk-rocker hair covering an eye, he must be even more arrogant than me to give himself a handicap like that. If his red skin is anything to go by, I’m not the only one who’s swelling for a fight. In his hand, he’s got some kind of magical electric guitar to go with his time-worn get-up. “Well well well… we have our contestants, but who is going to watch over this madness?!” Freddie cried out. “I believe I can be of assistance.”
In a lustrous tuxedo, David Bowie rose to the auditorium’s podium through a lift. “Now then, this is a fairly standard duel to the death. The only rule is to keep your punches above the belt. Battle for glory, but most importantly, battle in style for supremacy!” David Bowie’s platform then rises high into the sky near Freddie Mercury. I begin slowly circling around Killer Queen to try and approach him from his obscured eye. He doesn’t turn at all like he’s got a stick up his ass. I lunge for the first strike when he quickly turns and swats me aside with one hand; the other on the neck of his guitar.
My earlier trick may have cost me a fair amount of energy, but I can still fight. I shout at the top of my lungs while using my rocket-powered fists to launch the bus by the edge of the arena like a goddamn ballistic missile at Killer. This smug snake doesn’t even move, but he takes his guitar with both hands at the neck. He cut the bus down the middle like it was butter; holy geez. As if I’d let him have the last laugh; I jump out of the driver’s seat window before it explodes in my face.
Of course this punk wouldn’t be a pushover, I should be careful about using my rocket-powered fists or he might wreck them, I’d be done if that happened. I found myself next to a table of eating utensils and ended up throwing handfuls of silverware like bullets at Killer.
Bowie nods, “All I said was that punches had to be kept above the belt, that’s all.”
“What?!” His guitar was still lodged in the ground. My wrists start spinning, making my fist like a power “You thought I had a blind spot, didn’t you, Danger drill. With a clean hit, I send Killer flying way to the Gold? A meaningless gesture; you are too slow,” Killer other side. Freddie turns to David Bowie and asks if boasted with a glint in his eye. throwing a bus is legal.
“It’s no use!” He yells. Killer quickly strums his fingers over the strings and with a single shockwaveproducing chord he bats away the weaponized eating tools like dust. “What are you, some kind of street performer?!” he shouted as he walked over to another table. A stereo speaker erupted from the ground when Killer stomped his foot. For once, everybody could hear the bass as his power chords launched the soccer balls right off the table as if they were artillery. A flurry of soccer balls sped towards me as I rapidly punched all of them away like a boxer at the World Cup. All of that punching sure took a crap-load of energy though... and as much as I hate to say it, I’m going to need to stall to recover. “What’s the matter, Danger? Do you wish to go home now? By all means, I can send you by to your maker!”
“Grr… blood?! I’ll make you pay for that!” This time Killer stomps the ground even harder and a mountain of stereo speakers rise up and take him high above the arena. “It’s the King of the Hill round now, and I’m gunna be the King!” Killer’s voice echoed through the arena as he began playing his guitar. The chords reverberated through the ground and made it difficult to walk on; it was as if there was a constant earthquake, except I don’t give a damn about that since I’m a robot. I looked around to see if there was anything that could help me, then began to climb up the speakers. Using the grenades I found before I began climbing the hill, I’ve got my chance to end the fight right here. “A futile gesture, Danger!” Killer exclaimed; the explosions had no effect on the sound barrier that protected him thanks to the power of rock and roll. Through the thick smoke in the aftermath, I’m gunna need to catch him with his pants down. I prepare my magnum opus. If I fail to eliminate him here, then I will lose all chance of winning.
“It’s futile, futile, futile, futile! When will you learn?!” Now I don’t need to worry about playing defense, it’s time to go all out. I shed my chest cavity to reveal drill-headed ballistic missiles which drill through his sound barrier. “W-What?! You’re too clever by a half, Danger! A worthy opponent indeed, but you must fall here!” The metal plates on my biceps and my back eject to reveal more fists; it’s my magnum opus. Killer begins riffing his guitar extremely fast while I unleash a rapid fire of punches. His guitar is creating a sort of shield as his last gambit, but it’s too late for him; I’ve already won. “This is it, Freddie, it’s the Sheer Heart Attack!” Bowie exclaimed. The clashing tension cause sparks to fly in every direction from my knuckles, smoke rises Killer’s guitar. My frame is overheating, but I override all of my limiters. It’s all or nothing now. All of my fists are starting to turn from gold to red as my punches echoed through the arena. They could melt at any moment now, but I just don’t care; this guy pissed me off. Killer’s fingers begin to grind to dust under the pressure of my assault. My punches continue to clash with the power chords. The stalemate approaches a decrescendo as Killer lost all of his fingers and his ability to play his magic guitar; he just couldn’t keep up. He stood hunched, with his head staring up towards the stars. Giving a final push, I finally eject all of the steam from my body in his face to add injury to insult, but I also now have enough energy for one solid rocket-powered punch. Shot in the heart, Killer’s body turns into dust from my attack.
Freddie Mercury and David Bowie descend from the tower to congratulate me. “Well done, Danger Gold! You’ve climbed, brawled, scrapped, and punched your way to the top. You’ve earned the title of Ultimate Badass. Keep in mind, there may come a day where you will have to defend that title. And if that day should come, we’ll certainly meet again.” Just then, two spotlights focus on Freddie and Bowie, and in a whirlwind of sparkles, they ascend to the heavens. All there is left in this school, this arena, is me. That’s right, I am built for fighting. In a fight, only one may leave victorious. I have inherited that destiny of solitude with open arms. Someone may come along to challenge me in order to take the title, and no matter what happens I’ll be ready for them. In the center of the auditorium, I set my power source to hibernate; waiting for the day I will be able to experience the thrill of the fight again.
Leaves flying in the wind Taking away my memories Falling onto trees Living Breathing I am their life force I help them thrive They depress me daily They are my parasites Dana Rozakis
Shapely Shelby Morgan Stencil Print Introduction to Printmaking
TICK TOCK Waiting not a moment longer, you yell at us to clean. Paint brushes on the coffee table, books on the piano, sweaters lying on the floor, â€œNowhere to sit!â€? You say. Knock, knock, knock, knockThe future standing at the doorTick tock, tick tockwaiting to take us away. No brushes on the coffee table, No books near the piano, Clothing packed and shipped away, chairs occupied by dust. Nothing can stay forever.
8th Street Bridge Andrew Shemansky Aluminum, Steel, Acrylic Introduction to Metalwork 12
Thanksgiving EMILY HERBERT “Aaaahhhh.“
I fall again, this time on my face.
Oh, how nice it is to wake up with a good stretch. Jerry seems to be enjoying his nap in the most perfect sun spot in the house. He is so lucky that Emily put his bed there - positioned directly under the few rays of light that shine into this dimly lit room.
“Hey, Onza, let me try.”
“I’m going to go check on lunch,” I whispered to Jerry, although he’s way too comfortable to hear me. Drats. Stupid Emily forgot to leave lunch on the lower shelf again. How does she expect me to eat when I can’t even reach my food? “Jerry! Wake up! I need your help! With Emily gone at work, we are going to have to improvise here.” “What is it, Onza?” Jerry groans as he drags himself to walk into the kitchen. “Look, up there.”
By this time, my stomach is growling so much, I decide to let my impotent companion try. “Alright, you try.” I watch as Jerry knocks the broomstick away from the wall and towards the counter. Paws crossed, I am frozen with disbelief as it falls perfectly toward the nook of the counter. Jerry scales the broom to reach the top shelf. Jerry flashes me a satisfied smirk as he reaches the destination, waiting for me to follow. Just then, Emily barges in, ruining all of our hard work. “Carl! Fluffykins! Get down from there!” When will she learn our names? Stupid human, I correct you all the time.
We both look at the gorgeous feast waiting for us on the top shelf.
“Shoo! Shoo!” She rushes to attempt to take our feat, but I was not about to let all of this hard work go to waste.
“Come on - gimme a boost!”
“Jerry, grab the goods!”
Jerry stands under the first shelf to give me a lift. Normally, I could just jump from the counter, but Emily had made it nearly impossible since the remodeling. 1, 2, ... jump! I launch myself from Jerry’s back just to fall short of the ledge.
Time almost froze as I knocked over the broom, blocking Emily’s path to Jerry.
“Come on, Jerry, straighten your back. I need to get closer.” I’ll get it for sure this time. 1, 2, ... jump! “Aggghhh!”
“Bad kitty! Bad! That’s not for you!” In a flash, we were back in our room, enjoying the most delictable stuffed turkey we’ve ever set our teeth on. “Good job, Jerry. You know, you aren’t half bad after all.” 13
Freshly cut grass I smell Morning dew I feel Hues of green I see Andrew Cuff
CHAINS So many names, so much powerIt skews all but the simple, Deceiving most with comforts few with reality. Where good people give, Corrupt people hoard the happy ignore. Chains of it wrap the weak, Remnants surround the strong none can do without. It can bring out the best, Show us our worst lets all greedy hearts be known. David Miller
Untitled Andres Rivero Digital Pigment Print Introduction to Photography
Heat blouses the air Leaves skirt the ground Snow jackets the trees Rain cloaks the flowers Minh Tang
Love Potion BRITTNEY CLOUSE Sophia pushed the door open with her elbows, her arms full of ingredients. She scoffed when she saw Jaxson grinning ear to ear on the other side. “I don’t understand why I had to gather all of these things and then bring them in on my own.” “Will you just shut up and trust me?!” Jaxson noted her annoyance and promised himself to later make it up to her, but he couldn’t let this ruin the mood he needed now. Sophia ventured off to the other side of the room. She had done enough and wanted no part of this. Jaxson went straight to work. “Sugar, eggs, flour, honey, vanilla,” Jaxson muttered, dropping the items into the caldron and stirring a swirl of colors until they all blended into one brown color. He grimaced, hoping he was doing this right. “You only get one chance,” He heard his father say, continuing on.
than anything and would never brew them himself, but all of the sudden he was Mr. Independent. “Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing? Get away from there!” Jaxson chuckled and playfully pushed the red haired girl to the side, placing a lid over his secret. “Just curious. Why so secretive?” She peered up at him with bright green eyes, the corners of her mouth spreading into a smile. “You’d have your secrets too if you were me,” He forced his eyes away from hers and his mouth to remain straight even as he felt his cheeks flush. “Okay,” She smiled and left him be, returning to her chair. Jaxson’s eyes followed her until she took her seat, then opened the lid to see a berry red brew bubbling. He smiled at his success, placing the large wooden spoon in the pot and stirring until the potion became smooth. He quickly emptied the mixture into two flasks.
“Mint, rose petals, strawberries…” Jaxson was “Did you still want to go to the ball tonight?” working hard to keep his eyes down on his work instead of on Sophia. He didn’t know why it was so hard this time – redirecting his attention from her was “What are friends for?” Sophia eyed him as he moved towards her, flasks in hand. something he had to do since he met her. “What are you making?” Sophia raised her brow, wandering over to Jaxson. He hated potions more
“Friends are for telling me how this turned out!” He smirked, handing her a flask with a wink.
Opposites Emely Luna Stamp Print Introduction to Printmaking
A sandpaper tongue Brushed across my skin One last time. That alone was worth The 850 dollars it cost To say goodbye. Rebecca Kinsey
IMPRISONED BY A CELL It’s strengthened the bonds I used to haveBonds that have weakened over distance. Bonds with others like me, Who walk and talk and breathe On this beautiful thing we call Earth.
Anxiety rises on the days I forget my bewitched leash. The cyber world seems more Important than the real. Do I really hold the control?
It gives me the freedom And knowledge To search the world – To access the brainpower Of every man, child, or imbecile.
I’m drawn to this mesh Of wires and cogs and glass. Something made by man, for man. I’m drawn to the authority I think it gives me But deep down, I know.
It lets me check up on friends, Imaginary or not. I have the potential to keep tabs On more than just my children, Or colleagues, or supposed strangers.
It’s just another way for them to make money. It’s just another reason to avoid participating. To avoid the things and people in my world; To avoid responsibilities, by staring at its screen. The screen that lets me replay a game I’ve lost.
I can’t leave my home without it. It’s like my crutch, but Without me, it couldn’t get around. Without me, it wouldn’t have power. It would just be a box.
If only I could use that power To replay the time I’ve lost To replay the life I’ve thrown away From being attached To this wireless constraint.
No more of the days where Verbal communication’s the dominant. These are the days where Text substitutes our emotions, Becoming facetious in nature.
It’s destroyed the bonds I used to have Bonds weakened regardless of distance. With the other tethered sheep like me, Who walk and text and breathe Without seeing the beauty of Earth.
Emily Herbert Watch accompanying video here. 21
One motorcycle On the street all by itself I went and stole it
Seen a college girl Right by my motorcycle Took her for a ride
Copper Zonker Raymond George Copper, Nickel Silver, Brass Bullet Casing, and Aluminum Introduction to Metal Arts
Mitch the Metal Man Mitchell Dipasquale Brass, Resin, and Found Objects Introduction to Metal Arts
THOUGHT BUBBLE Cartoons have it rough. Whenever they have a thought, everyone can see! Elizabeth Cugini
FLEETING FEELINGS waiting for my love to blossom like the flowers warmth to fill my heart still cold and waiting summer flings are all around jealousy begins leaves fall from the trees like hope falling from my heart envy brews inside frozen flakes falling cozy by the fireplace content without you pollen flies, fresh start growth; rebirth; living; breathing; new year brings new me Emily Herbert
Untitled Amanda Ramirez Digital Pigment Print Introduction to Photography 27
Boy in the Forest REBECCA KINSEY “Here’s what I know,” Corra stood in front of Malcolm, who was curled in the fetal position, softly mewling in pain. She was facing the boy who had hurt him. The boy was no older than sixteen, but then again Corra herself looked to be about eighteen or nineteen. To any passer-by, it would be a fair fight. Both of them had multiple weapons on them, and both were trained to use them all. Golden eyes narrowed as she tried to ignore the groans behind her. “I know that my brother is hurt.” She stood absolutely still, but her voice was shaking with rage. “You have a bow, and arrows,” She nodded towards his weapon. “Seven, to be exact.” “How could you possibly –” “So do I,” The young woman shrugged her shoulders, revealing her own weapon, a thin, white bow embedded with golden symbols. She braced herself for his reaction, but his laughter simply sent another burst of anger through her body. “What do you plan to do with that? That’s not a bow, that’s a play toy!” She glared. A blur of movement and a finely crafted arrow dug into the ground between his feet.
“I advise you not to question me, forest boy. Also, I know that I promised my family that no one would hurt them and live.” Corra watched the boy’s eyes widen as her words set in. He raised his bow to her, nocking an arrow slowly, but his weapon was shaking. Years ago, she might have taken pity on him, but knowledge of his past crimes – and his assault on her brother, left her without mercy. She had been tracking him for months; he had just given her an excuse to chase him. “I was told by the townsfolk that the Princess Corra was kind and fair,” The boy stammered. The guilt trip was familiar to her; the woman shook her head in disgust. “The townsfolk did not harm my family,” Her feet were planted in the ground and she held her bow with care. Slowly, she looked up and allowed the boy to see her entire face. There was a thick streak of silver that drew through the center of her eyes. These eyes were not human. “Start running, forest boy.” For the first time since she had heard of the boy, he obeyed an order.
Untitled John Silver Oil Painting Introduction to Painting
Visitors DANA ROZAKIS Andy was running; running from the screams, unaware of what was going on. “Oh!” he yelled, as he tripped and was captured by the root. Now, he couldn’t help but listen to the bloodcurdling screams from within the waterfalls. He began to cry, softly, until his brother retrieved him. 3 YEARS LATER Clark was finding it difficult to concentrate, with so much noise going on. Thinking he’d be able to get some work done on the quiet little ranch was a wrong thought to have, looking back, in his eyes. His siblings running and screaming around the house definitely put a hinder on his studies. “Could the three of you please stop? I can’t get any work done with all this damn noise!” Shawn and Andrew knew they were in deep. Clark rarely used the word “DAMN.” When he did, real serious business was going on. “Sorry, Clark. This is the first time in so long I’ve been able to play, or run, or do anything,” answered Andrew, the youngest of the of six children. “Yeah, Clark! Andy’s been having such trouble with walking after the accident, and you’re being so inconsiderate!” replied Shawn, thinking he was an entitled 19 year old. Clark, the oldest in the house since Mom and Dad had passed, was responsible for taking care of the two “twits”; as he would put it. 30
“Just hang tight for a few minutes you two. I have a lot of work to get done. Your yelling and screaming won’t get me done with my work any quicker. So chill the hell out,” came Clark’s dark answer. Clark had always appeared to be a bit odd to the family. Even when Mom and Dad were still around, he was the “outcast;” as most would put it. He seemed to enjoy it though. He would spend a lot of time alone doing heaven knows what. 5 YEARS AGO “Clark, honey, what are you doing?” asked Jane, his mother. “Reading. What do you need?” Clark answered. “I needed your help with something. Another one of the chickens is missing, which makes seven in this month alone. I wanted to stick a lock on the coop outside. Think you can pick one up? I have to feed the boys.” “Yeah, I got it.” Nothing ever came of the lock. And the chickens kept disappearing, with no explanation. NOW Following the outburst of Shawn and Andrew the house returned to some normal standards, excluding the absence of Mark and Julie, the parents of the three boys. Their deaths had been very mysterious. Their bodies were found near a waterfall on a clear bright day. The cause of death was uncertain, and remained unsolved three years later. No suspects were apprehended, which haunted their children.
The day went on as it usually would, tending to the cattle in the morning, around five, and a breakfast Clark would prepare at seven on the dot. Clark would never take part in tending to the outdoors, as he would sit indoors and get some legitimate alone time. He’d look at the paper each and every day, gazing upon his parents faces each morning, staring and saying nothing. Clark never prepared a eulogy for them at the viewing or the funeral following shortly after. The extended family was all but estranged and may or may not have been aware of the passing of Mark and Julie. Shawn and Andrew would usually enter at the wrong time, attempting to be sneaky while watching Clark glare at the paper, and the conversation usually went south. “What are you staring at?” was Clark’s frequent opening question, rage and darkness dripping from his voice. “Nothing. We’re fine. Do you need anything?” asked Shawn. “No. Leave,” was the final comment. Shawn and Andrew always wondered what made Clark like this in the early morning. Over the span of the day, he’d generally be in a better mood, but the problem was always in the early morning, when it was still a little dark out. Andrew asked Shawn one day, “Shawn, what’s wrong with Clark when we woke up?” Shawn wasn’t sure how to reply, because he himself was still trying to answer that question. “Not sure little guy. He gets sad when he looks at the newspaper like that. You just have to try not to bother him so often.” “But I don’t get it. He was always happy when Mommy and Daddy were around. Why can’t he be happy with us?”
“Little guy Clark’s the oldest here. He and spent the most time with Mommy and Daddy, so he definitely misses them the most. There was a time when you and I weren’t even around, and he had Mommy and Daddy all to himself.” “I still don’t get it. Hmpf. They were our Mommy and Daddy too.” Andy stumbled away beginning to sob, as a young boy of six could only comprehend so much. On the other side, Shawn could only say so much:, as he was young too. Shawn started thinking about Andy’s accident. After Mark and Julie had passed, Shawn found Andy who was three at the time, under a root in the same area where the parents had died. No one knew how he had even gotten there, while Clark was nowhere to be found. The root had damaged Andy’s leg badly, and he could never get any good medical attention for it afterwards, considering the heavy responsibility placed on Clark to take care of his brothers. The memory haunted Shawn up until this point, when he finally decided to confront Clark about where Clark had been, and why this had happened to Andy, and what he Clark had to say about. Later in the evening, across the wooden fences by the ranch, a gentle breeze passing through the whistling wind, Shawn caught Clark in a rare moment of kindness, while watching from the back porch. He could see Clark petting one of the horses, one of the gentlest gestures seen in years by Clark. Clark was noticeably more bitter after the death of his parents, and to see him spending any time outside, especially with the animals, was a rare occurrence. “Clark?” “Shawn! What’s the matter? God, you scared the shit out of me,” replied Clark. “Sorry. I just wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Well, spit it out. What’s eatin’ you?” “How come you weren’t there when I found Andy? How did he get out there all by himself when mom and dad… you know?”
“Hey you guys! What’re you doing outside? Hey! Hey!!”
Clark was silent. Never did he think Shawn would approach him with that question. Shawn was 16 at the time, but Clark figured he would have moved on from the subject by now.
“Clark, what the hell’s wrong with you?” Shawn was getting scared. He had never seen Clark like this. He looked like he came out of an old horror film all the city folks talked about.
“Shawn, I was home. Mom and Dad had taken Andy with them for the trip. I was probably still asleep.”
“Nothing, nothing at all. Mom and Dad were like this too you know,” Clark sneered.
Shawn wondered about that for a moment. Shawn could remember every waking detail of that day, from what time he woke up, to what he ate for breakfast, to when he found the fly in the house, and each occurrence afterwards for the rest of the day. Their parents’ death was so sudden and scary it had magnified any and all of Shawn’s memories of that day.
“What are yo- wait! AHHH!!”
So, if that was the case, then why couldn’t Clark remember what he was doing? What was different for Clark? “There’s no way you don’t remember what you were doing. That day was awful!” “Shawn, fuck off! I don’t need this right now. I’m trying to relax.” “Why are you getting so angry? It’s just a question! You don’t ever tell me anything!” Shawn completely ignored Clark’s use of profanities, more than Clark normally used. The argument was getting heated, becoming closer and closer to revealing the truth. “You need to back off, or else,” was Clark’s threatening tone. He was getting serious. His eyes began to glow with a sick fire, and his hands began to tremble.
At this moment, Andy decided to take a look outside. He didn’t know where his brothers had gone.
Andy watched as his oldest brother took on a sickly form, tearing out Shawn’s throat, and dropping him to the ground. Andy started experiencing the flash bulb memories now. He started to remember what happened to his parents. It had been Clark. Clark was the reason Mommy and Daddy never came back. He did it. Andy panicked. He had never used a gun before, but Daddy always kept the old shotgun locked away in the shed. Andy was nervous and in shock. He grabbed the gun, started to cock it, but was silenced before he even knew what hit him. Clark had done it once again as he had done multiple times in the past. He adopted a family, and stuck around until he took whatever he could from them; their animals for lifeblood, their tools, and even their lives. There was no rhyme or reason to why Clark did this, or where his powers came from. He moved on, again and again, to each new family, until he had taken what was dearest to them.
Untitled Paolo San Lorenzo Conte Crayon Introduction to Drawing
Untitled Tyler Purcell Stencil Print Introduction to Printmaking 34
STRIP CLUB Neon lights flicker above luring lost souls inside Charity, Chastity, Cherry new faces of the tide Alone and dark, sigh nothing real to find Numbers, names, tits all meaningless blind Drinks all become one cash gone and lonely Poor, tired, lost a bitter reality only David Miller
Untitled Tyler Brodniak Colored Pencil Introduction to Drawing
Creative Writing Contest Winner: Loss by Brayden Ford For what does it profit a man to gain the world and lose his soul? The story follows John, a veteran professional football player torn between retirement and one more season, and his wife, Susan, as they attempt to track down Ron, John’s former teammate and mentor, and get to the bottom of Ron’s increasingly erratic and violent behavior. ‘Loss’ is a thriller set against the backdrop of football’s brain trauma epidemic.
Brayden’s screenplay, “Loss,” was written in Professor Katina Sossiadis Bozikis’s Introduction to Cinema class. Use a QR Reader on your electronic device to watch a scene from the script, performed by Penn State Lehigh Valley students.
Acknowledgements Velocity is produced by the Spring 2014 Introduction to Creative Writing Class (ENG 050) Coordinating Editor Lucas Baker
Becca Kinsey- Team Lead Kevin Cao Brittney Clouse David Wagner Elise Yardley
Emily Herbert- Team Lead Elizabeth Cugini Cory Graybow Kristopher Herrera Stanislaw Tabor
Copy Editing Team
David Miller- Team Lead Andrew Cuff Samantha Gonzales Dana Rozakis
Design and Layout Team Claire Silva- Team Lead Deema Kaskas Danny Raza Jeff Zingley
Digital Media Team
Minh Tang- Team Lead Paul Choi
Velocity would like to thank: Chancellor: Dr. Ann Williams Director of Academic Affairs: Dr. Kenneth Thigpen Graphic Desgin Adviser: Kim Holloway Media Commons Adviser: Amber Colson Arts Coordinator: Ann Lalik Art Instructors: Ron DeLong and Greta Brubaker
A huge thank you to Mr. Eric Chiles, our English 50 professor, and a really cool guy.