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PA N G A E A Literary and Arts Magazine

S p r i n g

South Louisiana Community College Department of English


cover art by Randy Maldonado


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visual art







Welcome to Pangaea Literary Magazine’s 2016 issue. After receiving a record number of submissions this year, we composed an issue that showcases the creative endeavors of South Louisiana Community College’s students. The best of this year’s submissions come from Hillary Mitchell, winner of Editor’s Choice, and Randy Maldonado, winner of the Cover Photograph. Mitchell’s poetry piece, “Stray Dogs,” pictures a world where humanity can feel like everyday is a struggle to live, but somehow hope still exists. This year’s cover winner, Randy Maldonado, captures the transition between day and night, which develops the feeling of change throughout our issue. Photographed by Corey Ferguson-Russ, the above photo again represents transition by featuring travelers on the New Orleans street cars. We hope you enjoy!

s p r i n g



visual art by

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Carlos Garza-Gutierrez


visual art by M i k a y l a H o a r d

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S T R AY D O G S Editor’s Choice Award

Some sleep during the day, others all night And when we’re awake it’s

We wouldn’t be living life on the

another fight

underappreciated lives

To stay alive in this cruel cruel place And prepare for the dangers we’re about to face Like humans who abuse us with words and slaps On our noses all because we chose their porches for naps Or winter’s cold air that makes us freeze to death Or summer’s hot rays which we feel with every pant of breath They look out upon us, never thinking to help Even if we cry, bark, howl, or yelp The only joy of being a dog free Is knowing that there is mortality We want to die, we can’t take the pain Of knowing that tomorrow will be as bad as today again 
 Why should we live, our feelings are bare

skids Go on with your selfish and Because only the “smartest being ever” survives And since that phrase has been given to you You think there’s nothing left in the world to do But fill your hearts with vanity and greed Never thinking of us dogs out there in need Of love, affection, and a place called ‘home’ But since that’ll never happen, our only choice is to roam We want to be loved, to be filled with hope But in this world, we have to try and cope With the pain of abandonment, abuse, and disease We just want hope, won’t you give us that, please?

Don’t try to dissuade us, you wouldn’t really care What happens to us, because if you did

poetry by H i l l a r y M i t c h e l l

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visual art by M e a g h a n Tr a h a n


visual art by

Bruce Mayo

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5:54 PM

visual art by C o r e y F e r g u s o n - R u s s

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L O V E Y O U A LWAY S In summertime, our love is sweet, like daises floating in the breeze. When autumn leaves fall, our love is gold, shining bright like a harvest sunset. In wintertime, our love is warm, it races from my head to my toes. When spring flowers bloom, our love is bold, like white petals on the orchid.

If thunder rolls our love is blessed, like two people dancing in the rain. 
 From dusk to dawn, our love will continue to grow. 
 From season to season, I will love you always!

If skies are blue, our love is happy, a refuge from the falling rain. Poetry by

Ta r a S t e v e n s

KATRINA WAS HER NAME The city of New Orleans was aware a storm was coming, but not fully prepared for destruction. I hear thunder. I see lightning. I see rain. The storm started. Katrina that was her name. The eye of Katrina is here, so peaceful, so calm. I think the storm is finished. I thought wrong, more destruction headed our way. The levee broke! The levee broke! Those words did not mean much to me until after the storm was done.

Poetry by

In my mind, the storm is over, so back to regularly scheduled programming, but little did I know it was not that easy. There was so much water. I did not see the city of New Orleans, I saw tragedy, I saw loss, I saw water, so much water. My home had water in it. I saw tears. I saw hearts broken. I saw sadness. I saw death. We were under attack, man did not attack us, nature did.

Kayla Smith

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TA L I A THE KISS Our lives, revolved around love. We start with a kiss. Something so simple, but so deep. With a single kiss you can control someone. It’s that feeling of comfort. The feeling of a warm spring day, Birds singing as you sip an ice cold glass of lemonade. The warmth of a fire on a cold winters night With a mug of hot chocolate. It’s the link on a chain that holds itself together. So simple, yet so deep. A kiss. poetry by T y l o r R o b i n visual art by

Christina Broussard

visual art by

Ta r y n W a s h i n g t o n

FORECAST The weather models say Rain today It's sunny All I can think is Thats kinda funny Rob said it would be Bright and clear I see clouds gathering The horizon is blurred There's a low Stalled over Mexico I see cats and dogs Falling falling Poodles puddling All day long Maybe it doesn't matter I'll stay dry I'll just be prepared I'll wear my sunglasses And carry an umbrella poetry by S a m u e l W h i p p

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visual art by

Lydia Guidry

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Everyone has an interesting or crazy story that they tell to everyone. Within a lifetime people experience so many things that stick with them. I know I sure have, and I still remember that night like it was yesterday. Although, I do exaggerate just a little when I say tragic but for an 8 year old this particular 4th of July stained a memory in my brain like a nasty couch that has been spilled on too many times. I remember hearing that loud bang as though I was stuck in a war zone and the roaring but yet soft chatter of all the people running towards me. When something like this happens as a kid you just can’t let it go. It is stuck forever and changes the way of someone’s thinking, fears, hobbies, and enjoyments forever. My story is not something I am glad to be able to tell people because it isn't such a good and exciting one. I was celebrating the 4th of July. Exciting times, right? Not for this kid! My mom and dad went to a family member's house that night. I didn't really know everyone because it wasn't a close part of our family. It’s like those family reunions or events where everyone walks up to saying “You've gotten so big since I saw you as a baby!” and you have no clue who they are. So I was quite uncomfortable, especially since I was already an extremely shy child. Their house was a decent size. It was a dark tan color sort of like the crisp sand at the breezy beach. It had wooden pillars in the front and a long big long driveway

with a basketball goal and a garage. I remember being amazed by the pool and the tall water slide. There were a lot of people there, all kinds of kids running around yelling and playing the childish games that us “adults” now would never play. I was shy so I stayed with my mom instead of going join the kids. She is short with thin short hair, it’s a deep brown with a tint of red in it which gives her not yet too old but not too young look, or though that’s what it seemed like she was going far. My dad on the other hand was tall and stocky with brown hair. There were tons of food and drinks which for a kid it was the greatest thing ever, but there was so much more excitement in store for the night. In the late evening when it has got dark, they whipped the fireworks out. All the kids were still running around playing whatever game it was they were playing. There were tons of food and drinks which for a kid it was the greatest thing ever, but there was so much more excitement in store for the night. In the late evening when it has got dark, they whipped the fireworks out. All the kids were still running around playing whatever game it was they were playing. I stayed with the adults and after the first few fireworks went off I was mesmerized but the beauty and loud sound. My cousin wanted to take a turn holding the infamous Roman candle. He was nervous and shaking not sure what to do with the firework. fiction by S y d n i B o r e l

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His dad walked up with the lighter and lit the firework. This very moment changed my night drastically. The fireworks wick was sizzling almost all the way up to the top until my cousin second guessed himself. He no longer wanted to hold the candle and like a thief who was about to get caught stealing something, he dropped the firework and ran. BANG! It went off. It felt as though the firework traveled for hours and hours until pop, right into my face. The rest of the night felt like an eternity. I blacked out and when I finally realized what was going on people were running to me screaming; “It’s on fire!” “Oh my gosh!” Anyone who just got hit by a firework and someone comes straight to them yelling “fire!” would freak out. I then realized that I was hit by a firework and I was on fire. My favorite jacket had been set on fire and I had started crying, I did not want to lose my favorite jacket. It was black and white polka dots. A big hole was burned into the side of the jacket. My dad picked me up and rushed me into the living room and sat me on the couch, my mom wasn't far behind. She stood next to me the entire time. My mom's face was speechless. You could tell that she was shocked because everything had happened so fast. Tears slowly ran down my face as I tried to hold them back, but I wasn't quite strong enough. She looked down,

“Are you going to be alright?” I nodded. “You sure? I nodded again, this time giving a little reassuring smirk. She repeated this over and over again as though she knew I wasn’t alright but to verify for herself that it was going to be okay. I don’t remember much afterwards except that I would keep my stare upwards at the bright light flashing downward on me. It was bright and blinding and every now and then my mom would swing by in my line of vision checking on me. Every now and then unfamiliar faces would pop up and say “Are you okay, baby?” as if I’d actually answer saying yes I’m fine. All I wanted to scream was “No, I’m obviously not okay the boy decides to drop a firework and now I’m hit with blood all over me!” but I wasn't going to do that. So I would simply just nod my head once, just to reassure them that I had heard their question. I didn't know these people, for all I knew I had never met them and it gave me a rush of anxiety every time one of the strong perfume smells swung over me or the breath of straight alcohol passed by. I finally got the courage to reach up and touch my face and what I felt was the last thing I had expected my lip was huge and when I say huge I might as well have had Jayz’s lips. All I kept fiction by

Sydni Borel

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FIREWORKS thinking was “What if my lip stays like this forever?” I checked my hand it was covered in dark thick blood. My mind was blown because I had no idea how bad it was. My brain was like a subway system with my thoughts being all the people wanted to go all different places for all different reason, and none of them I could keep track of. I went back into a faint and fell asleep until I was picked up and brought to my dad’s truck. I could only see the glares out of window because I was laying down on the black, leather seat in my dad’s ford truck. Now most people would think that a night couldn’t go any worse, but that was not the case.

visual art by Meaghan Tr a h a n

My mom got in the car and looked at me with the sympathetic smile that everyone gives cute little puppies that don’t have a home. My dad wasn’t long after her and he said “I’m sure you’re ready to home aren’t you cutie pie?” and he right I couldn’t wait to just get home lay down in bed. He started his truck sounded like a motor boat.

get was and that

The next morning I woke up with a swollen lip and of course minus my favorite jacket which I was most heartbroken about. I had slept super late and my parents didn’t dare try to wake me up any earlier. My mom felt bad of course even though it wasn’t her fault. I got a homemade breakfast and the royal treatment. I can’t say I didn’t milk it. visual art by K r i s t e n L a t i o l a i s fiction by S y d n i B o r e l

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FIREWORKS her fault. I got a homemade breakfast and the royal treatment. I can’t say I didn’t milk it. I just kept saying to my parents; “I hope my lip doesn’t stay like this.” Or “Jeez, it feels like my lip is like a big balloon.” I’d stand in front of the mirror and play with my lip with my tongue like it was a new body part that had grew on me overnight. I suppose the night could have gone much worse, like the firework could have hit me in the eye ball instead of in the mouth so I guess considering, I can count myself lucky. Since that crazy night I’ve still celebrated the 4th of July like anyone else except when the fireworks come out you don’t see me around. I back up super far and watch from a distance. The fear of the fireworks will probably always stick with me. I won’t get close to them or hold them. The furthest I’ll go is holding a sparkler and I’m still afraid that those tiny things might malfunction and blow up in my face, which of course I’m just paranoid because what are the odds of that happening. That’s just something I’ll have to deal with inside myself because despite the danger of fireworks they are beautiful and big part in celebrating some holidays. fiction by S y d n i B o r e l


visual art by H i l l a r y A l m a r a z

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Violence around us, things are starting to get out of hand, Where do we stand when life gives you something that you can’t handle, Who am I to let the dark consume me, We fail, we lose, but we don’t give up because it’s in our blood, Who am I to give up when things get too tough, But that’s the thing, I don’t I have had hard times, but I am still here pushing through, My eyes are wide open to my surroundings, But who am I to turn a blind eye to my environment, I am strong, I am courageous, But who am I to ask for applause, I am intelligent, but most of all I am misunderstood

poetry by

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Kyasia Hunt

I AM I am observant but kind. But also struggling. I wonder how long until I find love. But also have given up. I hear silence. But I also hear noise. I see myself being alone forever. But also am never alone. I want pepperoni pizza. But I am dieting.

I pretend everything is alright. But I also wear my heart on my sleeve. I feel a little bit overwhelmed. But also don't care. I touch the keyboard once more. But only because I have to. I worry about my family. But also have no family. I cry when I think of my mother. But also sometimes forget about her. poetry by

I understand that I am still young. But also am a quarter of a century. I say it doesn’t bother me. But we all know it does. I dream of falling in love. But also think I’ve found it. I hope I’m doing this right. But also know that I am not. I am observant but kind. Nicholas Rodriguez


visual art by Bruce Mayo

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Once upon a time there was a oneyear old baby boy who went by the name of Leonardo Fastitale. Leo lived on the Amalfi coast in Italy in a very nice house with his parents. One cold winter night the towns notorious bandit, who had been laying low for five years since the strand of murder she committed in 1885, came back to the surface of the beautiful coast. The bandit known as Red Sock had seen the picture of Leo in the local paper for being a famous baseball player’s son and could not pass up the opportunity to make him the son that he always wanted. One week went by, giving Red the time to explore his imagination for a plan that could eliminate Mr. and Mrs. Fastitale, but keeping baby Leo safe to claim as his own. That Friday night, a violent, roaring

fire was started on the Fastitale family home, the bandit swoops in to Leo's window and snatches him but leaves his parents there to die. After fleeing the scene Red brings Leo to a special dome he had been building for the past five years, that could not be opened from the inside without a key. The only thing inside of this special dome was a bathroom, a set of bunkbeds, years of food supplies and a baseball field. For 12 years Leo had grown up thinking he was saved by Red from a randomly start a fire and had to live his life repaying him by doing anything that he asked. One would t h i n k t h a t a b o y, especially one born into a b a s e b a l l f a m i l y, g ro w i n g u p o n t h e baseball field would be filled with entertainment and fun but Red had different plans. Red had a strange quirk, fiction by

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involving the meticulous w a s h e p re f e r re d a baseball fields grass to look which is why having a son would come in handy. All day, every day Leo had to cut the grass of the field with nothing but a pair of scissors to a perfect height of 1 inch never leaving even a blade untouched. Other than that, Leo only had one rule to follow, never touch the baseballs stacked inside of the dugout. On Leo’s t h i r t e e n t h b i r t h d a y, growing tired of the grass cutting and the boredom of living with Red, he purposely broke the last pair of scissors that they had. Although it was very rare, Red had no choice but to head to town to purchase a new pair of scissors. While he was gone, the curious 13-year-old boy could not resist the urge of the baseballs anymore and so he picked one up and threw it. Anthony Reale


To his surprise, not only did it feel natural but his arm strength was incredible. Physically cutting the grass with scissors for ten of the past twelve years had built up his shoulder that he threw the ball well over 90 mph on the first try. This was so enjoyable that Leo threw each ball, not even realizing that hours had passed by and sure enough right in the middle of one of his throws, Red walked in shocked at what his eyes were seeing. Immediately, without even a thought of a hesitation, Red put his backup plan into action and him and Leo caught a flight to New York, New York. Red then proceeded to inform Leo that he would never get to even lay his eyes on another baseball field again, know how much that meant to him because of his father.

They lived in a small apartment in the Bronx for five months trying to lay low until Red could get illegal documents making them citizens. One morning a paper was seen by Leo under the door with a list of the "world's most wanted men" and lone behold "Red Sock" was the third name on the list with his picture right beside it clearing up any confusion in Leos’ mind. Leo had read the article of all the horrible things this man that he had been living with did including the murder of his parents and was mortified. Leo first had to control his anger and put an effective plan in motion to bring the man down for good! He first hid the paper so Red could not have any idea of his newfound knowledge and try to stop him from taking him down. Leo grabbed a piece of paper and fiction by

written on this paper was simple instructions "police come to Virgo building room 205" all very helpful pieces of information he had picked up over the time they were there. Leo, being the creative person he is, folded the paper and created what is now called a paper airplane! Sure enough, Leo's plan worked and one hour later Red was arrested by N.Y.P.D. and Leo was celebrated in both New York and Italy! Two weeks go by and the trial comes to an end with both good and bad news; Red being sentenced to life in prison and Leo being deported back to Italy. Leo had been saddened to hear this considering the freedom he has experienced in the two weeks of living in New York without Red and the Yankees baseball games he was able to attend.

Anthony Reale

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The day he was scheduled to fly home he pleaded his case one last time and added in "I can pitch for the Yankees". With laughter the authorities of New York gave him one chance to throw a pitch even though he was only 13 years old and to everybody’s surprise... 101 was the number that popped up on the radar. Leonardo Fastitale became the youngest player in the major league baseball, was able to stay living in New York and will forever be remembered by the infamous "fast ball" that was named after him!

fiction by

Anthony Reale

ilPhilm I

visual art by B r y a n t S t e w a r d

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G E T Y O U R O W N L I G H T E . T.

visual art by E d d i e C o o p e r

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7:04 PM

visual art by

Corey Ferguson-Russ

1:34 PM

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visual art by

Corey Ferguson-Russ


visual art by

Bryant Steward


visual art by B r y a n t S t e w a r d

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The dew still rested gently upon the blades of grass Silky clouds moved swiftly in the blue skies above Romantic hummingbirds danced and greeted one another Here I lie wrapped inside comfort I am home I lay here  Fully aware of my surroundings  Although I am content here my dream is to leave I want nothing more than to see all of the beauty that exists in this world I want to be free

Here I was more beautiful than ever With delicate wings that were a beaming shade of yellow  Radiant yellow wings along with black spots The blackness gave me depth I had evolved into something that was vivid yet mysterious, and intense I took one last look at the place that I had once called home Waved my elegant wings and in the air I drifted away

Days that seemed like eternity eventually pass by Until one day it was time I made my way out of the place I had grown so use to I was now free Free to wander the earth and its entirety, free to roam

poetry by

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Andrea Joseph


visual art by Bruce Mayo


visual art by Bruce Mayo

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Once there was a king, who was very kindhearted and generous to his people. He was admired and well-known in his kingdom for his three unique items: a water fountain from which milk flowed instead of neutral water, a hen which laid gold eggs, and a tree that produced fruits of gold. The king dispersed much of his wealth among the poor people of his country, and he was always there to help them out during their hard times.

announcement that whoever would brought him the three golden hair of the ogre would be greatly rewarded by him. Everyone in the town became excited after hearing the announcement.

There was also an ogre in the town who was always jealous of the king’s reputation and wealth. One day, the king went out of town, so the ogre took advantage from his absence and altered the function of king’s three unique objects from his evil spell. When the king returned home, he became bewildered and perturbed by looking at his three things; all of his precious distinctive items were reversed to common ordinary objects. The milk fountain turned into a typical water fountain, the tree alternatively started to produced normal fruits in place of gold fruits , and the hen laid regular eggs instead of gold eggs.

was so caring for his people all the time. Another

Therefore, he told all the story to his spiritual astrologer and asked, “What will be the panacea for this problem?” The astrologer replied, “Your majesty! Whoever will bring the three golden hair of the ogre and place it underneath the three things it would come back to its original condition and function”. So the king made an

home. He took some stale food from last night

Among them there was also a poor lumberjack who lived with his old sick mother in a small cottage. He decided that he would also participate in this quest to help the king as he reason was he wanted to improve his financial conditions, so that he could provide his mother with better treatment without taking any financial help from someone. He told his mother that he would be gone for few days on a very important mission and this would change their lives forever. His mother got anxious and forbade him to go because he was her only bolster, but his son insisted that this would be the only opportunity for him to change his fate. At last his mother agreed, wished him luck and prayed for his success; then the lumberjack left and water that his mother gave it to him for his long journey. There were other fellow men as well, who were also there to try their luck. On their way, they saw an old man with a white beard and clothing fiction by U r o o b A t t a

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who was calling and asking people for some food and water, but everyone ignored him very badly. Then the lumberjack was passing by him and he asked the same question to him. The humble lumberjack feel pity for the old man, and gave him all of his food and water. The old man ate it happily and thanked him for being so grateful. Then he asked, “What are you doing here?”. The lumberjack told him the whole story, and the old man listened to him carefully. Then he smiled and gave lumberjack a ring telling him that this would take him directly to his destination (ogre’s house). At first, the lumberjack became confused, but then he accepted the ring and thanked him with gratitude. The old man also told him, “ Ogre does not live alone, he lives with his grandmother. She is a nice lady, and she knows who I am tell her I have sent you to her and she will help you out”. As soon as the lumberjack put on the ring, he found himself at the door of Ogre’s house. He knocked the door and Ogre’s grandmother opened it; she was dressed in all black and had a freaky appearance with big eyes and wrinkles all over her face. She asked in her shaky voice, “What do you want human? Go away before my grandson eats you!”. The lumberjack told her that he came here to get ogre’s three golden hair to help out the gracious king who is in turmoil because of her grandson, and then he showed her the ring which was given by the old man. The old weird lady looked at the ring and decided to help him. Therefore,

she called the lumberjack into the house and told him that his grandson would be home after sunset. When the sun had been set completely, ogre’s grandmother turned the lumberjack into an ant so that his grandson could not harm him. When the ogre returned home he said, “Granny, I smell human in here”. His grandmother got a bit nervous and replied, “No son, I have made human steak for you that’s why”. The ogre became hungry after hearing this, so after eating dinner he became a bit sluggish. His grandmother asked him if she could do some oiling in his hair. The ogre quickly agreed, and his granny started to massage his head. After massaging his head for a while, she pluck one hair from his head and the ogre started screaming, “Granny!!! Who plucked my hair?”. The grandmother stayed calm and replied, “Oh son, there was a lice in your head. I killed it now, it will not bother you again”. Then the grandmother restarted her massage and again she plucked another hair of him. The ogre shouted again and she gave him the same reply as before. Ogre warned her that if it happened one more time, he would be really mad at her. Therefore, grandmother waited for the ogre to fall asleep and began to massage his head again. Then after waiting for a while, she finally plucked the third hair from his head and this time the ogre stood up, and started shouting and screaming at his grandmother; then he went into his room to sleep. fiction by U r o o b A t t a

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THE THREE GOLDEN HAIR OF AN OGRE The grandmother went outside the house and transformed the ant into a lumberjack again, and gave him the three hair of the ogre. She told him to run away and not to look back because then he would turned into a stoned statue forever, and she would not be able to help him. Thus, the lumberjack ran away and passed by the place where he saw that old man. He wanted to thanked him once again, but he could not find him anywhere. Then he realized he must have been an angel who was sent just to help him out. Finally he arrived at the king’s palace, and told him he got the three hair of the ogre. He noticed that none of his other fellow men have succeeded in getting the ogre’s hair. The king looked at the lumberjack and told him that if he failed then he would be punished for being dishonest to the

king like the other fellow men, but the lumberjack was confident. He placed the ogre’s hair under every object, and slowly all of the three items transmute into its original function. The king was amazed and happy from the lumberjack’s sincerity. Hence, the king rewarded the lumberjack by marrying his daughter to him, made him his successor and the new prince of his empire. Poor lumberjack was no longer destitute, his honesty and strong determination had blessed him with great rewards. At last, he thanked God for being so fortunate and lived with his wife and mother in his own palace happily ever after.

fiction by U r o o b A t t a


visual art by H i l l a r y A l m a r a z page 28

visual art by

Hillary Almaraz

MOTHER Hold me I need you right now. My hero, My mother. I gripped your index finger With all of mine. It was the perfect fit. From that day, You were my best friend. Hold me. The tears are coming. Heartbreak couldn't be worse. You're here,  rubbing my back, words of comfort. I shut my eyes. Depression disappeared, You lit up my heart. Hold me. Tighter, I can't go on. Opportunities calling out but you are my light I can't go.

visual art by

Eddie Cooper

visual art by

poetry by

Allison Jacob

Lina Serna De Hauck

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I had always an interest in the medical field. I had always pictured myself being a nurse. Coming up with solutions to very diverse and difficult problems. Helping and saving people`s lives had me intrigued and fascinated. My bubbly personality and bedside manner seemed to fit that category, as well as my thirst for knowledge, wanting to learn, and c h a l l e n g i n g m y s e l f w i t h d i ff i c u l t situations that I would be able to solve. I wanted to be able to care for people. This dream was so vivid. I wanted this so impetuously that I could taste it. I had my path for my career all planned out. This changed over time due to one specific event in which I took upon the responsibility of a nurse and caretaker. This event made me realize that I was meant for a different career which would be better. I have always enjoyed literature. From the time I was a little lady having fairy tales and picture books being read to me, to now as I get excited about just browsing Barnes and Noble and getting lost in a huge novel for hours. The Nancy Drew series had me hooked from the time my fingers passed over the spine of the book, until I ventured deeper into novels that got me more interested. My taste in genre grew as I

gravitated more towards, history, mystery, and Arthurian Legend. From the time I was a young girl as I molded into a young woman my passion for Literature only grew. My father always intrigued me and had a very big influence on me, especially from a young age about reading and literature. He always had a book in his hand, and the discussions we would have would sometimes last for hours. Reading and literature, being one of my favorite hobbies, only grew as I began high school. During my schooling, I had great teachers, gained excitement by composing essays and exploring various pieces throughout the span of four years. My father, and english and reading teachers had a big impact on how I viewed this subject. I had always had my career planned out for as long as I can remember. Being a nurse was the only priority I had thought about, and I did not have a backup plan had it not worked out. I had the luxury of being part of the nursing program at an accredited university, from which I worked extremely hard to get into and during the course of the program. Unfortunately, I was not able to get as far as I had hoped with the program.

non-fiction by

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Caroline Myers


Other than the program being extremely stressful and difficult, I enjoyed it immensely. A lot of things I had learned I could take with me later in life, and were useful years down the road. At the time that my mother fell ill, I was looking for a job. I had a few medical credentials under my belt with not a lot of job experience, being that I was just out of school. She became my top priority from the time she fell ill, and all of my time and energy was invested in h e l p i n g h e r t o g e t b e t t e r, b u t unfortunately she didn`t. After helping my mother with her yearlong battle with stage four cancer, my outlook on my career drastically changed. From being a nursing student learning and taking all of the skills and important things I had learned, it helped me out tremendously with her care. Being able to do that was all that a nurse’s occupation had entailed and more. I had a taste of what being a nurse was like, and it sufficed. After that my career choice changed. I wanted my job, whatever it may entail, to be more enjoyable. I did not want to be so stressed as the occupation of a nurse. I felt that with a different career choice, perhaps one in literature or Library Science would fulfill everything that I wanted to accomplish and possibly more.

It took me a while for me to shift gears after all of this had taken place. It was not easy. I came to the conclusion that when deciding on a career, that pursuing a degree in Library Science or Literature would be the best decision. Whatever my job may entail in hoping to work in a library, it would be more enjoyable. I would not be so stressed as the occupation of a nurse, and I felt like I would still also be able to help people, but in a way that I could fulfill my best potential at the same time. I decided this would be the best choice, because of the passion I had for it, and the level of stress was not so high as opposed to the occupation of a nurse. I believed that I would be able to enjoy my job as well as my career doing something that I loved. I would constantly be involved and engaged in a pleasurable environment, as opposed to being confined to an area that would be sometimes depressing and mainly stressful. Being compassionate and having a certain way with words can influence people greatly. From what I have learned through past experiences, to the direction I am going now, and the impact that literacy and my passion for it has had on me I`d have to say that I am all booked.

non-fiction by

Caroline Myers

page 31


The record crowd was silent; all that could be heard was the Augusta pine trees swaying in the light breeze. Eddie Stairs was staring at an 8-foot par putt on the 18th green to send the masters into a playoff hole. He was nervous. He had been all week, but like before, he did not show it. He was trying to do the impossible, win the masters as a 20 year old (the youngest to win was 21), and to win it on his first try. He studied the putt one last time then took a deep breath and stood over the ball. He didn’t waste any time; he hit the putt, and the ball rolled dead center into the hole. The crowd erupted, and Eddie pumped his fist into the air as his opponent watched in disbelief. They would now play the 18th hole again as a sudden death playoff, and Thomas Irving would tee off first. Thomas couldn’t believe it—he was the number 1 golfer in the world, and he was in a playoff hole with some kid from god knows where. Thomas hit his tee shot like he had all week, straight and long, and Stairs did the same. Eddie put his second shot about 14 feet from the pin, and Thomas put his about 15 feet. Thomas had this birdie putt to put the pressure on Eddie, but he missed by inches to the right of the hole. It was

Eddie’s turn. He had this putt to win the masters. He could hardly breathe because he was so nervous, and he stood over his putt shaking. He took a deep breath, and suddenly he was back on his hometown course where he used to work. He was the only one there, and he heard the familiar sound of a distant train rolling by the course like it always did on Sundays. He was at peace there, and then he was back at Augusta, but he was relaxed, and he heard a distant train in the background. He smiled to himself and putted the ball; as soon as he hit it, he knew it was in. The crowd went crazy, and all Eddie did was point to the sky and thanked God, just another Sunday on the golf course.

fiction by

page 32

Andrew Eisler


visual art by G r e t c h e n S w i n k e y

page 33


visual art by

Bryant Steward


page 34

visual art by

Bryant Steward


Tried to help you, yes I did, Staring like I had a third eye lid. But an oink emanated from your lips, Then it was my turn to be transfix. A pretty pig, yes you are, But that will get you only so far. I can no longer help, even if you incline. Never throw pearls before swine. I’m saddened for you now, Knowing what life you’ll have as a sow. Nearsighted, hungry, rooting in muck. The next ten years, slow wrecking garbage truck. Bad luck, you will say till the day unstuck.  

Almost a fact how this will play out, Because I myself once had a snout. Yes dear, now you know, I’ve already been where you’re going to go. Yes, you had me quite mistaken. I’ll leave you alone without knowing, how life, may well, make you bacon.

poetry by

John Quilici

page 35

7:04 AM

visual art by

page 36

Corey Ferguson-Russ

Pangaea Literary Magazine Spring 2016  
Pangaea Literary Magazine Spring 2016