Pangaea 2018

PA NG A E A

D E PA R T M E N T O F E N G L I S H

2018

L I T E R A R Y A N D A R T S MA G A Z I NE

Pandora N E L S O N AG U I L L A R D

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CONTENTS VI S UA L A R T 4 10 18 30 32 36 45 50 53 54 56 57 58 59

Roadside falls Spring h as sprung D ow n o n th e b a you Nun’s orchid D ro pl et Cor r u p te d Say cheese Spring fruits Ti g er E nd of th e wor l d Ti m e Roses Up in the sky Tr a i l o f l i g h t

FICTION 5 8 11 16 19 27 33 39 46 60

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Tu m b l e we e d 1922 Short Story Wa r Th e th re e of u s Nazilla 2020 Af ter n o o n a t th e p a r k Standing in the mirror M i ra c l e of i n n ova t i o n L i tt l e r e d f r o m I n g l e wood

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POETRY 9 15 17 18 25 31 38 43 48 49 52 -

G l u tt o n y P a r i s of m y d re a m s Pinot Noir Faith What is skin Parting glass B ere ave m e n t dirty socks LSD Moonlit rhapsody Ve h i c l e Confusion and delusion Yo u ’ r e o k a y The storm

W I N NE R S FICTION

T h e T h re e of U s

by Diana Denning

POETRY

P a r i s of m y D re a m s

by Ryan Olivier

VI S UA L A R T

Pandora

by Neslon Aguillard

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DE A R R E A DE R S , We are excited to share a new issue of Pangaea that celebrates the creative work of South Louisiana Community College students. As every year, the editors, Erin Breaux, Oana Chivoiu, Micah Craven, and Chris Manuel have selected the best submissions in the categories of fiction, poetry, and visual arts. This year’s choice for the best fiction submission is the short story” The Three of Us” by Diana Denning. The story explores uncertainty and waiting, and different modes of reactions to these critical situations. The poem “Paris of my Dreams” by Ryan Olivier is an homage to Paris, the city where modern American writers found inspiration and literary companionship. Ryan’s poem is not about the Paris of tourists or the one we know from films, but one that imagines the /

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city as being the inner fabric of great literary works. As a young writer, he dreams of finding his writing voice in a space like Paris. Nelson Aguillard’s work “Pandora” features on the cover with a transformation of natural materials into an intricate painting.

This year’s issue would not exist without the work of Bridgette Rue who worked seamlessly on all the technical and design details, and Lucien Schoolmaster, an ECA student who volunteered to share the Pangaea flyers across the campus. Kind thanks to all who have been contributed to this year’s issue of Pangaea .

Please enjoy this issue that will take you on a linguistic journey from the high language of poetry to the rough language of the street.

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R O A D S I D E FA L L S

V I S UA L A R T / J E F F F I E L D S

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TUMBLEWEED F I C T I O N / T H E O H U VA L

Most days start out the same.

After waking up and having breakfast I go to the bathroom to freshen up. After that I usually get dressed and ready to go outside and do some chores. Today I put on a long black dress. I don’t usually wear all black but something inside of me needs to wear clothes with depth, and what deeper shade than black. After getting dressed I start my daily chores. My mother is usually awake long before my sister Noël and I, but today was different. She was still asleep so I started a fire for her so that when she woke lunch would already be started. After tidying up inside Noël and I went outside to feed the animals. We managed to take care of chickens, goats and we even had a few geese. Today was an exceptionally pretty day. The sky seemed bigger and bluer than most days. Bretagne, a region in France where we live, is an exceptionally solemn place during the winter and most days’ temperatures hover above freezing with the sun but a distant light in the sky.

Our first task of today was to tend to our animals out in the field and near the barn. As we tended to the animals Noël asked, “ Do you see

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that over there?” “ See what?” I said.

There was a dust cloud coming up from the road about a kilometer away.

Since it was Sunday, we were both confused as to why someone was coming to visit. We don’t get visitors very often here and especially not on a Sunday. The dust cloud crept towards us so slowly that we could not make out what or who exactly was coming. The closer it came the more worried we both were. I ran inside to alert mother that there was something on its way. “She better hurry and get dressed,” Noël said. I always felt safe when my mother was around.

She was so strong. Any time I was around her I felt as if I could conquer the world.

When she came outside she told us, “Whatever it is we aught not to worry,” and even though I trusted mother, I felt uncertain about her words. As the dust cloud approached we could make out a small horse and buggy with two men and a single horse. The wind started to pick up and my mother’s hands formed into fists. She stood in front of me and Noël stood in front of her. Noël was a simple girl, she did what she was told and never asked for more. I knew if these men were

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coming to harm us that she would not survive.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” said one of the men as he pulled on the horse’s reigns. Before they could get down, mother exclaimed, “What are y’all doin’ here and what do you want?” “Now, is that any way to speak to two weary travelers?” said the other man. The two men stared at us through the brim of their hats as if they were starring directly into our eyes. My mouth, shut dry, I could barley make a sound but mother exclaimed again, “What are y’all doin’ here and what do you two strangers want with us?” Mother knew that even though these were only two men we would be no match for them. We had never fought anyone in our lives and today would not be a good time to start. Instead of fighting mother told the two men, “Unless y’all are here to buy some chickens or milk y’all best be on your way.” The man holding the reigns then said, “We aren’t here for any chickens or milk, au contraire, we are here for Noël.” “No, you aren’t” I shouted, “That’s my sister and you two aren’t taking her anywhere.” There was a moment of silence, the two men look puzzled, mother and I had no idea what was happening and the only person that had yet to speak was Noël. Noël turned around to face us; my heart felt the weight of a thousand horses. Tears started running down my cheeks and I could hardly speak /

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a word. She was crying but not making a sound. “I am leaving,” she said, “These men offered me safe passage to America and I am sick of this place.

They said in America the sun shines all day and the nights are warm. They said America is full of opportunity for a woman like me. Please do not try to stop me, I have made up my mind and I do not want to fight with you.”

“Go ahead then, leave just like your damn father!” yelled mother before she dropped to her knees. With those final words Noël walked towards the men and their buggy. I could not contain myself anymore, so I to tried to plead with her, “What about me, sister! What about your stuff? What are we to do without you, please don’t leave, please!” I ran to her and grabbed her arm but she pushed me to the ground, “I hate this place,” she screamed. “Ever since father left, life here has been miserable. I never wanted any of this and I finally have an opportunity to do something with my life. I will not let you stand in my way.”

I laid on the ground next to mother as Noël climbed into the buggy. As they left I picked mother and myself off the ground and I decided that no one would ever treat us like this again. We stood there with our faces saturated with despair, but despite being abandoned by my fatherand now my sister I was no longer going to be a victim.

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I was going to make my mother happy and we were going to move on. So, as my sister’s silhouette started to fade in the distance like a tumble- weed distantly rolling across the desert, we waved to her goodbye. Life was never going to be the same without my best friend but I will manage to survive. I thought to myself, “If there is anything that I am good at, it’s surviving.” We

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dusted ourselves off and went inside.

I took a seat at the table and mother brought out a bottle of American whiskey. We sat there the rest of the day and drank that bottle damning everyone to hell and when the bottle was finished I hurled it through the window and screamed. We would never speak of Noël again.

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1922 F I C T I O N / R YA N O L I V I E R

This land was once beautiful. It was green and overflowing with life.

The scent of peonies flowed from one neighbor’s garden to the next, eventually finding its way into the nasal passages of passersby. Fathers playing catch or teaching their children to master the art of riding a bicycle as mothers looked on clapping and supporting their child’s every accomplishment. Crisp clean linens swaying in the breeze being dried by the bright summer sun gave everyone a feeling a security. Afternoons spent rocking in creaky chairs on the porch as the tang of lemonade or sweetness of tea made our taste buds dance on our tongues. Quiet evenings spent reading the novels and short stories of the masters or creating our own as gathered friends listened attentively. Then climbing into bed safe in the knowledge that the morning will bring about another wonderful day.

Those days are gone now.

It was in the early morning hours that I was awakened by a thick cloud of smoke forcing its way down my throat and strangling me like a thief who had broken in with murderous intent. I somehow mustered up the strength to cough forcing the smoke to release its grip on my lungs. I rolled /

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out of bed and hit the ground with a thud. Somehow through watering eyes and sheer force of will, I found myself reaching the hallway at the same moment as my sisters who were also retreating from the smoke that engulfed their rooms. Like snakes, we slithered on our bellies under the smoke and out of the door. We rose to our feet, eyes wide open, and startled by what lay before us. Our entire town was covered in a blanket of fire.

Neighbors screamed in horror as they ran by. Friends and family yelled for us to find some semblance of shelter.

Their words were the gun signaling us to leave the starting blocks. We fell in line following the crowd as fast as our legs would carry us. Behind us, the Fire swallowed up schools, farms, churches, and homes on its path to ultimate destruction. As our legs turned to rubber and could no longer carry us we came upon the powerhouse. Our only hope was to pack ourselves into the powerhouse like a can of sardines. As the fire raged on outside new life was brought forth as we huddled together in the powerhouse. In the midst of all the panic, a woman gave birth to her first child. We found ourselves trapped within the walls of the powerhouse for two days. We had no food, no water,

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but at least we were alive.

birth during the fire was also a prominent story featured in most papers.

Once the fire died out we left the While those stories were uplifting powerhouse to survey the damage. we could not forget the disaster left It was horrific. Nearly everything was behind. Forty-three died in the fire. turned into a pile of ash and rubble.

Six thousand left homeless. Those of Both of my sisters fell to their knees us who remained squeezed into the and grasped a handful of ashes. It was few houses that the fire spared. Winall that was left of our home. I was also ter was approaching and all we were overcome by emotion but knew I had equipped with was the tattered and to be strong for my sisters. The life torn clothes on our backs. We have we once knew was no more. Over the become like the newborn child. As we next few days, we made the papers. gaze into the horizon we must learn They featured stories of heroism in to live again. the face of danger. The lady who gave

GLUT TONY P O E T R Y / T H E O H U VA L

We consume to make us happy We consume to forget about tomorrow We consume because we want to and sometimes because we have to but, Our consumption is taking its toll, Tearing through the eather to reveal its under-side to devour its precious jewels Clear cutting our natural lungs only to be able to produce for more consumption Our society has a problem with consumption and many our us don’t give anything back, yet we expect for the earth to keep on giving as it always has, More, More, More Our appetite is insatiable but we cannot stop it

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SPRING HAS SPRUNG

V I S UA L A R T / B R I T T NE Y S M I T H

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SHORT STORY F I C T I O N / K AT LY N D E R O U R E N

They were arguing again.

Abigail couldn’t hear the words through the walls, as paper thin as they were, but the reverberations that shook the walls were enough indication.

This time it didn’t involve her doing, so she could thank her lucky stars for that, at least.

Hiding away in her room seemed like a good idea at the time, but as the fight escalated, a part of her wished that she had left home and gone with her friends to the movies like they had wanted.

herself, the love her parents shared.

She didn’t know what happened over the years to make things shift, but she began to hope that this was a sign for things to go on, to get better the way they once were. The mental image of the perfect, happy family was almost too much to bear. She yearned for it more than anything, possibly more than life itself. To her, family was everything, and it always had been.

Her parents never heard her come through the door after school was over. Abigail was always stealthy in her movements, so no one seemed to notice her presence, even when she desperately wanted them to. Silence was her loudest scream.

Instead, she was here, hoping her family didn’t fall apart.

“When should we tell her the news?”

Months went by, and the fighting had stopped. She began to believe there was a change in her family’s dynamics.

Her mother no longer frowned. Her father had a spring in his step, one she hadn’t seen since she was a child. She recalled the same motion from whenever she was younger, on a family vacation with her parents, a time when they were happily, madly in love. It was a vision she always wanted for /

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Abigail peeked through the entryway of the kitchen, hiding behind the potted plant as she took in the exchange, blood pumping through her veins.

Her heart lurched in her throat, her stomach bubbling with anticipation. It was finally happening.

“Megan, we can’t keep this from her for long. It’s not fair to her.”

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Her mother tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, resting her hand on a paper envelope. “You think I don’t know that, David? I know we have to tell her, I just don’t know how.”

“It’s fairly simple, Megan. We just wait until she gets home and we tell her.

That’s all there is to it. It can’t be hard to do, can it?”

Her mother’s eyes widened. “And are you even considering Abigail’s feelings at this point? Or do you just want to get it over with?”

“Aren’t we?” she repeated.

Again, no responses.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and suddenly it was very hard for her to breathe. Something was wrong. They weren’t speaking to her so what could possibly be-

Choked sobs caught in her throat as her eyes landed on the envelope that her mother was no longer covering. It was opened, and a slip of paper was “She knew this was coming. We all did. visible.

And I am pretty sure she knows anyhow, so there really isn’t no need to Abigail’s heart fell to the floor as she wait to tell her-” took in the words, knowing her life was about to be changed forever.

Abigail could no longer contain her excitement. With a force she never Divorce Decree Form. knew she had, she emerged from her hiding place and entered the kitchen, The move came shortly after. Gone her hands vibrating, tingling. “I knew were the neighbors, the childhood it,” she exclaimed. “You guys are work- friends. Abigail, forced to start anew, ing on your issues, and you couldn’t did not know how to cope with the wait to tell me about it. We’re going fragile realization of her family. There to be the happy family we once were, was no more family. No more childaren’t we?” hood home. Nothing from her past that she could carry with her. Nothing No words were uttered from her fawas the same. She was alone in the ther. Her mother’s gaze rested on the world with no one to turn to. floor. The ticking of the old grandfather clock went at a steady rhythm.

Her mother had found a small apartment that they both shared, while her

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dad stayed living in the house. He did not call as often as he should have, and as the months went by, Abigail accepted that the fate of her relationship with her father would never be in her favor, not the way she wanted.

Then, one day, things did shift. He called her mother asking if Abigail could spend the night. Though that childhood home was so far away, and from a different life, nothing more than a happy memory, Abigail felt it was a sign of something more, of getting her family on the right track. They hadn’t sold the house, so maybe there was some hope.

He picked her up at six, but he didn’t expect for her to be waiting outside.

He didn’t know how much this visit meant to her, how she had dreamt of his arms wrapping around her, of his advice he would heed her, just hearing him speak. She had missed all of these things, and as they sat in the car, riding to their destination, she knew it would be just like old times. Whenever they arrived at the house, she was told to wait in the car, as he had a surprise for her.

Abigail hadn’t had a surprise since she was eight, and she was fourteen now, which was almost seven years. She

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couldn’t fathom what that surprise would be but her eyes gleamed at the thought of her dad wanting to give her one.

The front door opened and her dad emerged, waving her inside. With two hops, she was out of the car, racing to the front door.

Her dad stood in the living room, and she scoured the room for the surprise, but then she realized they were not alone. Next to him stood a tall blonde with full lips, blue eyes, and a pair of long, long legs, a contrast to Abigail’s mother’s small stature, oval face and chocolate irises. Her dad’s arm was wrapped around this lady’s waist, and Abigail’s stomach clenched.

“Abigail, I want you to meet Loraine.

She’s a special..friend of mine.”

Removing herself from Abigail’s dad’s grasp, Lorraine moved forward, palm out. “I’ve heard so much about you, Abigail. You’re all your dad talks about.”

Abigail didn’t know how to react. Her vision of family and perfection was completely and utterly shattered.

Even the family photos that once inhabited these walls were gone, instead replaced by art pieces. This was

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unfamiliar, uncharted territory.

This was not home. It was obvious it never would be.

The chance of reconnecting her family was gone. All of the things she desired, like bringing a boy home for the first time, and her dad giving him the “talk”, while her mom swatted her dad playfully in response, or moving out of her childhood home while her parents lived there happily, moving back and forth in their rocking chairs as they reached old age, would never happen, not how she wished they would. This woman being here was the nail in the coffin. There was no hope now for that white picket fence reality she desired, and there never would be.

With that realization settling in her being, swallowing her pride, Abigail looked at her dad one final time, and stuck her hand out.

“Nice to meet you.” first child. We found ourselves trapped within the walls of the powerhouse for two days. We had no food, no water, but at least we were alive.

Once the fire died out we left the powerhouse to survey the damage.

It was horrific. Nearly everything was

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turned into a pile of ash and rubble.

Both of my sisters fell to their knees and grasped a handful of ashes. It was all that was left of our home. I was also overcome by emotion but knew I had to be strong for my sisters. The life we once knew was no more. Over the next few days, we made the papers.

They featured stories of heroism in the face of danger. The lady who gave birth during the fire was also a prominent story featured in most papers.

While those stories were uplifting we could not forget the disaster left behind. Forty-three died in the fire.

Six thousand left homeless. Those of us who remained squeezed into the few houses that the fire spared. Winter was approaching and all we were equipped with was the tattered and torn clothes on our backs. We have become like the newborn child. As we gaze into the horizon we must learn to live again.

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PA R I S O F M Y D R E A M S P O E T R Y / R YA N O L I V I E R

Hemingway’s blue-backed notebooks, two pencils, and a sharpener Kerouac’s marbled composition and pocket-sized notebooks Glowing green absinthe Fitzgerald and Miller swapping stories through plumes of smoke Ginsberg naked and howling at the top of his lungs Wilde sitting cross-legged, looking debonair Cigarette between the index and middle finger Last coins spent on a frosty mug overflowing with frothy gold liquid How I wish I was there I guess I was born in the wrong era At least I can dream

PINOT NOIR POETRY / ALEX CAIN

Sitting in the window, flaunting dark amber curves and a promising chance at love, or lust.

Buyers Choice.

Below her slender neck lies the well where men come to quench their sorrows and stir their wisdom with foolishness and dreams unfulfilled.

Introverts break their shackles, comfortably content in conversation.

Ascending into comedians and masters of improv.

Sometimes annoying, always entertaining, even without any training.

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WA R FICTION / ALLISON STEPHENS

It was the worst news to hear for myself but now I have to break it to our innocent children? I have been seeing all the news on the war build up‌ I just could not imagine for it to happen to my family. The bombing of Pearl Harbor was what made it become reality. Just a few days later is when we got the letter in the mail that Robert would be drafted to fight the second world war. I am so scared.

What if he dies and never comes back? What if I am abandoned and widowed? These are the questions that come to mind. I am in complete anxiety. My thoughts will not leave me alone on this dark night. After the long sleepless night, I got ready, put my powder on and headed over to my sisters house.

Barbara, my sister, has children of her own. When I arrived, she was in tears, looking down at the crinkled up letter that her husband had received. Barbara has six children, and I have seven. We discussed with each other our worries and decided that we would have to tell our children together. We have never experienced something so hard like this, so we went to our mother for guidance. The three of us have come to the con/

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clusion that we will tell the children the truth of why their fathers will be leaving. But with the truth we will also give them hope and comfort, a way a mother should comfort her child.

It is cold outside and dreary, just the way that I am feeling about this war.

Today is Sunday, but not an ordinary one. It is the Sunday that will change our children’s lives forever. We all stand, but not together. We stand separate, alone in our thoughts. We each prepare for what we are about to have to do. I know that I will have to stay strong. I will have to try my hardest not to shed a tear. The three of us watch the children play, watch them laugh and let them enjoy the day before they will know the truth. I hope the news does not affect their view on life. I can not start to even think about the day that I will have to tell the that their father has gotten injured or even dead.

Barbra was the first to call them all together. We guide them inside.

My youngest can tell that my face is upset, asking what is wrong. Once we have them all in front, their grandma starts by saying that she has good news. That instead of just seeing them once a week, that she’ll be seeing

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them every day.

This made the little ones jump and clap but, the older children just looked confused. So this is where I come into the conversation. I start with explaining to them about the evil people in Germany, and then I talk about how we need to be safe here in America. How Americans need plenty of men to fight to help beat the evil Germans. My voice starts to crack so my mother takes over. She tells them that their fathers are going to be gone for a little while to keep the family safe and to help beat the Germans. The children look confused; the older ones start to cry. They start to question what will happen. Questions

like, I wish I had answers, but for most questions I was blank. Barbara interrupts the questions to say that no one will know what will happen but that we have to stay positive about this.

We will all miss the fathers, but we will stick together through the hard times like a family.

After we broke the news to the children, we told them the new living situation will be that we all live with their grandma. We will send their fathers off on Wednesday and we will wish them the best of luck and believe that they will come back. And if they do not come back, we will always remember this Sunday and know that it will be okay.

FA I T H POETRY / KYLE GUIDRY

If a lantern could guide me, would I not be blind?

And if the lantern only existed in my mind Could you love something that substitutes for nothing?

In the midst of all this anger Does love count for nothing?

So I stay the same before I try rehearsing My conscience is the only thing standing Between me and my curses Also gaining comfort is possible Knowing I’m safe from my devils Inside of churches

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D O W N O N T H E B AY O U

V I S UA L A R T / B R I T T NE Y S M I T H

W H AT I S S K I N POETRY / MADISON DUHON

Skin running for miles.

With imperfections left and right, A shield from the exterior, holding profound thoughts, Different shades all around, Yet skin is skin?

It’s just a casing of the soul.

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THE THREE OF US FICTION/ DIANA DENNING

AGNES We’ll let you know as soon as we hear something, he promised. We haven’t given up. Our best men are on it. All we can do right now is pray. As hard as it is, you’re just going to have to be patient and trust God. Now you and your sisters focus on taking care of the others.

There’s little girls in your care who still need looking after.

I slammed the phone down on the receiver, the reverberations echoed loudly in the empty kitchen.

I wiped my curly hair away from my sweaty forehead. Useless men. Telling me what I already know! And who does he think he is? Advising a nun to pray! I know his kind, filthy from the city, soul sick from their whores and their cigarettes and their liquor.

Picking mercilessly at the skin on my thumb, I sulk into the common area where a gaggle of girls gaze up at me from an old black and white set. They are huddled together on the worn yellow rug, sharing a quilt and pretending to watch reruns of Wolf unter Wölfen. One of them sits close to the

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dial; I know they’ve been flipping back and forth from the news while I was on the phone. We made up a story about where the three of them went, saying they went to a special day camp and they’re not due back for a few weeks. Adela said this will suffice until they are found, but the expectant, worried expression on their faces has confirmed my suspicions; they know they’re missing.

It’s been almost two months now.

How long could they have survived?

I switch between placing my hands on my hips, feeling the cushion of my hips digging into my apron, and folding my hands under my bosom for comfort. I run over the same calculations in my head of miles, outdoor conditions, and general resilience of three teenage girls. Adela and Amelia have been arguing since it happened.

But they don’t know what I know, that they’re both wrong. I have agonized for weeks whether or not to confess that I left the pantry door unlocked the night they escaped.

Adela was born here, and has lived here for the past seventy-three years.

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She claims to know the land, but I have never asked how it is so. I don’t know if she’s ever left the village. There’s no food or water for forty miles, she informed me. And those girls don’t know how to hunt or gather food. They couldn’t make it out there!

They wouldn’t be stupid enough to try, she snapped. The older two have already become women, she said with disgust. Ruined our best sheets in the process. I have seen the way they strut about here, giving eyes to the plumbers and the missionaries who come through. I wouldn’t be surprised if they arranged a tryst with one of them months ago. I’m not shedding tears for them. They’re probably in the city already at work, spreading their legs and doing Teufel’s work.

For all of Adela’s indifference, Amelia is beside herself. She has become unequivocally convinced that they have been kidnapped. How far could they have gone without food or water?

Surely enough people know about this place to know there’s a small community of defenseless young women. It’s a perfect place for a fox, picking off our chicks in the dead of night! Oh, I can’t stand it, gone without a trace! My poor babies, my sweet little angels!

Should I have told them about the

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pantry? I convince myself it can’t have made a difference in their fate.

What if they are in the city? They’re old enough to start working, old enough to start families. Maybe they’re happier there. But what if Amelia is right?

What if something terrible happened to them? These are the two arguments I have been having with myself for two months now, convinced of their safety and then terrified for their souls. I try not to consume myself with these thoughts, but I know something the other two do not. I think they could have made it to the border, because all of the canteens are missing too.

AMELIA

I can’t sleep, oh, I can’t breathe.

I have been shuffling around like a verrückte Frau, wringing my hands and muttering to myself. If I didn’t already feel guilty for the triplets’ disappearance, not being honest with the others is lighting fire to my insides. I think they have a right to know their sisters are missing but I dare not disobey Adela. I think Agnes must be in shock because she has barely said a word since the morning their beds were found empty. I am trying to be strong for my sisters and my daughters, but I keep

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finding myself crouched over in the

car carrying something large between corner, clutching my pounding heart them. I stood up from where I was and struggling to steady my breathkneeling and shielded my eyes against ing. My wispy greying blonde hair has the sun to better see them. I wasn’t started to look more wild, my wrinkles sure at first, but it looked as though more defined, my frame thinning out they were carrying a basket. I tilted and seeming to stretch into my grief. I my head confusedly as I mouthed look like a mental patient in a habit. the word korb to myself. They apIt’s been eight weeks today since I last proached cautiously, almost apologetsaw their faces. What would I have ically. done differently if I would have known “Entschuldigen Sie mich, ma’am. that was the last time I was going We’re sorry to bother you. Is this Saint to see them? Oh Amelia, you can’t Sturm’s?” think that way! It wasn’t your fault!

Adela walked outside at this You couldn’t have known! A dirty bird moment, and surveyed the two men slithered in while they were sleeping, with a distrustful grimace. And then their window was left wide open, she put her hands up and pretended there was no way they could have left to look around as if to say, Do you on their own. They had no way of de- know another reason three women fending themselves! How could they? would be out here in the middle of noThey’ve all been here since they were where with a pack of children? infants, our first set of triplets.

She pretended not to take note

The day they arrived stands out of her sarcasm. in my memory especially vividly since “They told us down at the stathey’ve gone missing. I was hanging tion that this is the best place for the sheets on a line, the children play- them,” said the second officer. ing behind me, when a green Trabant “For who?” demanded Adela. made its way up our hill. Without

“For young girls in need of a a driveway they seemed unsure of home.” where to park their cars so they settled “Girls?” proclaimed Adela. “Plural on a spot near the tree that overlooks girls? More than one?” the valley. All of the girls immediately “Yes ma’am. Three to be exact.” ran up to the mysterious caravan, their Adela peered into the basket the first misplaced trust in strangers apparent man was holding. to me now. Two men stepped out of a

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“Do you mean to tell me you brought me a basket full of babies?”

The first man awkwardly fiddled with his moustache.

The second officer spoke, a bit louder now, as if he had been rehearsing this.

“Yes ma’am. This is how they were brought to us. Someone left them outside of the station last night.

I only found them when my shift started at seven this morning. Doctors said they were out there for at least an hour. After bringing them to the nearest Krankenhaus and having their tests done, they appear to be in fine health. We have had no luck in finding their parents, and they are in need of more nurture and prayer than I think we can give them at the station.”

We peered down into the basket, and down at the sleeping trio of infants. The older girls gathered around also, gasping dramatically and nudging each other. It occured to me that they have never seen an infant, let alone three. Three perfect little girls, sound asleep in a single pink blanket, amidst the excited chatter of their soon-to-be sisters. The polizist explained to us that no note was left, no explanation of their abandonment.

And then we did what we always do: we promised to take care of them and took them into our small home in the

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country on the hill.

Since that day I have watched them grow, my Nicole, Nadine, and Petra. I watched their teeth come in, I watched their long blonde hair reach down the middle of their backs, I watched them laugh and play with their sisters as they sprouted up to be taller than the three of us. I have wiped their small faces when they ask about their parents. I have braided their hair every night before bed for the last fifteen years. This is why it breaks my heart to think what may have happened to them.

ADELA

I saw Amelia enter the kitchen as I struck Agnes across her face. She froze in the doorway, looking quickly between the two of us for an explanation. I paid her no attention; my rage was zeroed in on the fat Hündin in front of me.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You stupid woman! You may have ruined everything!”

She had the audacity to look hurt. I wanted to slap her again.

“The police, myself, Amelia, Himmels Willen! We all thought..this whole time..” I could barely speak for the fury rising in my throat.

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“ I didn’t -- I didn’t know how to --” I hit her again, this time feeling her jaw give way to the palm of my hand.

I turned swiftly on my heel, leaving them both in my wake. I had a phone call to make. I had to instruct the men to widen their search perimeter.

I remember the night before the girls left, when I caught Petra in the hallway while I was making my rounds. My scalp felt tight from keeping my hair in a bun all day, and I felt it was safe to let my hair down.

So when I turned around and saw one of the triplets in her nightgown, I was startled.

I thought she was just sneaking off to the kitchen for a midnight snack, not to ransack our supplies before her escape.

“Petra!”

She jumped, obviously not expecting me to be standing feet behind her.

“What in earth are you doing awake?”

“I — I was just..”

I grabbed her by the ear and dragged her back to her bedroom, whispering threats in her ear to silence her whining.

“I do not want to see you out of this bed again! Do you hear? I will not have an insubordinate child in this institution!”

“But we’re not children any-

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more, Adela!”

The mouthy one, Nicole, propped herself out of bed.

“Keep your voice d—“

“No! We’re fifteen years old!

When you were our age you would have been expected to be married!”

“When I was your age I —“

“We want to leave!”

I look at Nadine, shocked. She’s never spoken back to me. Where did she come from? I could have sworn she wasn’t in here when I walked in.

“Excuse me?”

“W-we’ve been talking..”

“You’ve been talking?”

“It’s not fair!” shouted Nicole.

“We’re women now. Can you even legally keep us here anymore?”

“That’s not it,” said Petra, getting up out of bed, approaching me. I felt frozen with rage. “She doesn’t want us to leave. Because if we moved out, what if we told everyone what she does to us out here?”

She was an inch from my face when I found my strength and slapped her in her ear. She grabbed the side of her head, howling.

Too furious to speak, I slammed the door behind me and fumbled with my key ring. Holding the door closed tight with one hand, I locked it with my other, hissing into the crack.

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“I don’t want to hear another word from your mouths.”

I shook out of my wrist and cradled it to my chest. I’m getting too old to keep this up, I thought.

It took three days for them to find their bodies. They had made it much farther than I thought possible, even with the amount of food and water they had taken with them.

They would have even made it farther, possibly to the city I believed, if they hadn’t been found by the hunter.

The story the police came up with was that the first shot was an accident.

Nadine was still wearing the white nightgown she had on when she left.

They had been travelling on foot for six weeks by the time they were killed, and her dress was apparently quite filthy. The detectives decided she may have looked like a deer from afar, in her dusty dress and her blonde hair that blanketed most of her back. The deaths of the other two are merely speculatory, but the gunshot wound to the hunter’s head appeared to be self-inflicted. They think he accidentally shot Nadine, and then killed Nicole and Petra in a panic. He was on his knees when he killed himself.

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They discovered two of the girls half in the river; maybe they tried to escape when he shot them. I do not know. Their shoes had been washed away by the water, their lower halves bloated and eaten by fish. Nadine’s body lay several feet from them, her face completely blown open by the impact of the bullet. The hunter lay in a similar crumpled manner with his Sauer laying nearby. They had been undisturbed like that for two weeks before they were found.

Today they are bringing back their bodies. Three wooden boxes were donated to help bury the girls; the police offered no further explanation and I did not ask. I have instructed Agnes and Amelia to lock the girls inside while we wait for the arrival of the triplets. They do not argue. With Agnes standing anxiously in front of me and Amelia trembling behind me, we watch the hearse arrive. It makes the same path up to the house that the police car made fifteen years ago.

That day, they brought us life. Today, this vehicle brings us death.

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T H E PA R T I N G G L A S S POETRY / DIANA DENNING

I feel like a beautiful antique suitcase Filled with dirty clothes This blonde behemoth of a woman Is not the same one You pledged your allegiance to I starved myself at first (I needed something to control) I wipe my hair out of my face I forgot I cut it off I have glasses now I’m starting to forget The heavier lid of your left eye (that you hated. I loved) The spring of your night-black curly hair Outspread on my breasts like a security blanket It was like I was the only one who could hear (you, crying for your mother, who was Drunk) your favorite song.

You showed me shyly Like a keepsake Your voice As dazzling

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As it was deep and swinging Your eyes wet When you caught me being moved by you And I became Your Biggest Fan The last few months We were fighting You kept falling asleep on the couch And I was sleeping alone I blamed it on you being high But I think I knew You were detaching I feel like a pauper in this queen I occupy little space It only just occurred to me That I still sleep on the edge Why not the middle? I thought And I only just realized I’m still waiting for you to come to bed

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NAZILLA 2020 FICTION / ALEX CAIN

The bold text scrolled nonchalantly across the animated banner at the bottom of the screen. Habitual patrons of the TNN News sip their coffee and continue to eat breakfast in the comfort of their homes, unaware of the drastic events unfolding in space above. But Jason was pacing the length of his private office in worry. His fingers were white as they clenched the remote in his hand.

Doakes watched the television with a subtle pride that Jason didn’t pick up on. Jason’s thoughts raced. He had finally thought of something to say to Doakes when the loud advertisements from generous corporate sponsors hastily directed his attention to their products and agenda.

— We must act today! And we can start by promoting my Affordable Bear Act! Now listen, folks. There’s one thing we can all agree on - and that’s that every man, woman, and child should own their own bear. Trust me, I have ten! They are the best line of defense between us and them. Did you see the crime rate in New York today? Unbe/

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lievable! And all we ask is that we make owning a bear affordable. Is that too much to ask? A job? A home? A bear? I want to bring up Ashley, a 16 year old survivor of a deadly attack. Why did she survive? Because she owned a bear. Her attacker could have been your attacker today, but her 250 pound North American black bear managed to decapitate her assailant before he could decapitate her. Now if yo—

— The opposition party is at odds with the idea of owning a bear. Bears are people too. Bears deserve the same rights afforded to us. For when you take a bear and you shave him down, you’ll see that he’s just one of us. Sure they have tempers, and sure they are strong - but that doesn’t mean they should be used by this administration as a political tool to sway voters who keep bears. Am I saying bear ownership should be illegal? Definitely not. But I think every bear should be regulated. — “I don’t get it. I mean, why aren’t we doing something about it?”

“There’s nothing we can do about it. There’s not enough time.”

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ONE THING EVERYONE NEEDS IS A GOOD MIXER, TAKE A LOOK IN OUR HOME SECTION FOR A GREAT DEAL ON YOUR NEXT KITCHEN AID— the ads seemed to get louder, begging for attention. They made it nearly impossible to think. “I mean… I don’t even want this job anymore. What’s the point? I should just back out now.”

“You can’t back out. The American people need you, Jason.”

“For what? To watch them all die?”

“To be a good Shepherd.”

Jason scoffed, picked the remote up, and started flipping the channels to see if anyone was talking about the meteors.

— Today the State Department addressed the claims made by President Doakes that United States diplomats around the world are robots. —click.

— YOU WILL FIND THE QUALITY, PRICE, AND RESULTS AMAZING. YOU’LL BE RIGHT AT HOME WITH THE BOOGLE HOME. —click.

— What we have found is that our diplomats, and by our, I mean our United States diplomats around the globe were replaced by ion-powered robots. And what I’m hearing is that they are planning to take over the United States government by —click.

“Look, there’s nothing we can do. We have been over this. We had nine teams of the nation’s best and /

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brightest and this plan is the only plan that will bring about the best solution for the American - for all peoples.”

“I don’t want to look like a jackass.”

“You’re about to become President. This is your job. You’re here to serve the nation and you’re being given the chance to serve not only the nation, but the world.”

“There will be no one left…”

“I know. But it’s the time we have left that matters.”

— GET READY FOR BONUS GIVE AWAYS TODAY ON MBC! WATCH CELEBRITIES REACT TO LARGE EXPLOSION IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA —click.

— What I want the American people to know is this, I will not let you down. You said you wanted to create a genetically engineered dinosaur to fight the robots, and I pledged to make it happen. The Democrats and the Republicans have refused to vote on my budget.

So, what do you know? Partisan politics again. The parties chose partisanship over the people. I think now is the time we eliminate the Legislative branch of our government and promote my party - The Monster Party as the only party the party of unity. Thank you. And God Bless. —click.

— EVEN JANE CAN TELL YOU THAT POP ’N’ SWEET POTATOES WILL CHANGE YOUR DINNER! —click.

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— President Doakes is attempting to take our country by force. We have to fight this sinister party...this so called Monster Party. We will not be enslaved by these Nazis! I call on you to join our robot army and help fight Doakes and the - wait, I’m being told Doakes has named the genetically engineered dinosaur, NAZILLA! People, rise up and help us —click.

— THE WINTER COLD IS VERY ROUGH ON YOUR BATTERY. PETE’S JUICE HAS THE BATTERIES FOR ALL YOUR BATTERY NEEDS! DON’T WAIT FOR THEM TO DIE, GET YOUR BATTERIES TODAY! —

“You want me to lie.”

“It’s not a lie. It’s an act.”

“How many acts has this country pulled off?”

“Well, the war on terrorism was a good one.”

“What about it?”

“It never existed.”

“Then...”

“We were just over there for oil, Jason.”

“But...Jesus...”

— I am hearing what you are saying. I get it. You want more engineered Nazillas. Well, I present to you, the twins: Nazzy and Nazra! —

— Our robots are in place, the public is ready. With your help we will activate these robots and the war against Doakes and his party will begin.

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It will be a bloodless war. We will rely on our war-bots, our masterfully engineered robotic dinosaurs, and yes, our robot bears to fight this war for us. We believe our democracy will live on. —

— THERE MAY BE AN EASY AND LESS TERRIFYING EXPLANATION TO THE DEVASTATING BLASTS AS PROFESSOR BILL EXPLAINS ON TNN TONIGHT —

“You see, what we - the United States - have learned is that your job as President is to occupy the minds of the masses. If you can occupy the mind, you can occupy the men. We are saving the lives of all nations the reality of the apocalypse.”

“But, the robots? The dinosaurs?”

“The bigger the lie, the more believable.”

“So, essentially….”

“We are entertaining them for the next four months on their way out.”

“Four months?”

“You’re a politician. You just have to lie.”

“Jesus, Doakes! We have four months to live?!”

“Maybe it’ll break up in the atmosphere. Either way, we’ve had another base ready for us on Mars for the past decade. We’ll be safe. The others won’t be so lucky.”

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“Jesus! Why didn’t you tell me that first?” He let out a massive sigh of relief and finally allowed himself to relax. “Well, let me tell you something - this dinosaur, is going to be HUGE,

Mr. Doakes!”

“That’s the spirit! Now let’s get you inaugurated, Mr. President!”

NUN’S ORCHID

V I S UA L A R T / J E F F F I E L D S

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B E R E AV E M E N T POETRY / MADISON DUHON

Deep trembling cold Runs across each bone, Air turns foul, And my core cracks With each tear, Flowers all around for your love.

Sitting in a murky room As I watch your lips go white from red.

DIRTY SOCKS POETRY / DIANA DENNING

How strange it is That two months ago I was coordinating stones to match my eyes I found one of your old socks in my laundry And I slipped it on my foot Just to remember what it was like To touch your skin with my skin I’m so desperate I’ll even settle for dead skin cells

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DROPLET

V I S UA L A R T / J E F F F I E L D S

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A N A F T E R N O O N AT T H E PA R K 2020 F I C T I O N / H E AT H E R PA R K E

In the following three photos, the story of a little girl’s first Mardi Gras fair in Lafayette emerges. It was an afternoon that will forever be etched in the memory of her father, her Uncle Kaden, and me. While Autumn, my daughter, may not remember the details, I like to think that the joy and wonder she experienced will stay with her, even if it is only through the pictures we took that day.

February 27, 2017. It was a Monday. The air stuck on me like a piece of

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plastic that had static electricity. The clouds covered the sun and I knew it might rain. The traffic on Congress Street was backed up for about a mile and making a left turn into the parking lot was a nightmare. With the help of the officer directing traffic, we managed to get across. I parked our little compact car in the first space I could find and the game was on.

“I want to get her out the car,” my husband, Corry, stated to me as he opened his door. Kaden grabbed his bag and exited the car. I made sure the windows were rolled up and we had everything we needed as he unloaded our energized toddler from the backseat.

Her chin stained red with juice and her hair in its perpetually messy state, she is picked up and elevated six feet off the ground. Those little black legging clad legs clung to her daddy’s shoulders and her hands curled in his hair like a jockey’s in a horse’s mane.

The first picture captures the profound happiness on Autumn’s face. “Go, go, go!” she yelled joyfully. And off we went to breach the crowd in the

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distance.

It was Mardi Gras weekend.

Down here in Louisiana, that means that there are more people than space and everyone is generally a little too rambunctious. The line that formed at the window to the little booth for ride tickets was surprisingly short for the number of people in the Cajundome fairgrounds. I suppose we were just a little late to the party. So, we bought our tickets and headed out on our quest to find a ride she was tall enough to ride. At 34 inches tall, she was a wee thing, missing the 48-inch mark by about three years.

There was music floating through the air. The smell of hot dogs and pretzels permeated our senses until your mouth watered. The cling of ping pong balls and the shouts of the barkers offering deals on darts beckoned you to try your luck. Ignoring the challenges to our competitive natures, we continued along.

There it was, towering over the game booths and food trucks, brightly lit with stadium lights and a flashing sign that read “State Fair Fun Slide”, her very first fair ride. Its five lanes, colored by a rainbow, called to her like a siren.

Her daddy gave her the go ahead and she beelined for the stairs, dusting me by quite a few seconds.

Autumn, Kaden, and I got to the top and the game operator handed us

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sacks to sit on to slide. Kaden chose the lane farthest from the stairs. I sat in the fourth lane from the stairs facing forward with my legs out in front of me. Autumn promptly crawled into my lap. I’m not sure who was more excited at this point; her at the prospect of sliding down the largest slide she has ever seen or myself at being the first to accompany her on her very first fair ride. Her dad awaits us with a camera at the end of the slide to capture that moment in time. In the lane next to us, her Uncle Kaden riles her up and we get the go ahead. It’s over way too soon. We climb off the slide and she immediately heads back for the stairs.

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Her daddy and I know there is more for her to do so we gently steer her to another destination. We managed to find a few more rides that she is tall enough for. She rides a car carousel, a train with her daddy, the slide again, and a rocking tug boat. We grab her a corn dog and a lemonade. She stops to try and pet the rabbits and gawks in amazement at the iguanas. We succumb to the calls of the games and win her a stuffed animal.

The final ride. The soft instrumental music is a calming sound, so different from the rest. The vanity lights line the inside and it’s almost

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empty. The carousel, a fair classic, will be her last go around before it is time to head home. The circuit finishes and we hand the man our tickets. We climb on and I lift her onto a horse.

I tell her to hold on and she grabs the gold-painted pole. I put my arm around her to keep her steady, and we wait. A few seconds later, the ride starts moving and she’s sitting there, looking around at the lights. She reaches out and touches the horse’s mane. She leans over a little and watches the ground move closer and farther away. The ride is over and it is time to go home. She clings to me as I carry her off the ride and back to go meet her daddy. He shows me the final picture. I grab his hand and we walk to the parking lot, heading for our car.

“You ready to go home, sweetheart?” I ask Autumn.

“No, momma,” she whispers as she lays her head on my shoulder and yawns.

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VI S U A L A R T / NE L S O N A U G UI L L A R D

This painting is based on an allusion to Adam and Eve and Snow White, dealing with the fruit of knowledge and the poisoned apple, expressing the fact that knowledge is power but too much power may lead to corruption. In the center is of the piece, there is Eve with her hair wrapping around her body making a double helix with wires showing restrain and how technology is taking o v e r. I n a d d i t i o n , c o m p u t e r c h i p s a r e t r y i n g t o corrupt her by trying to absorb her very essence because she has eaten the fruit of knowledge / p o i s o n e d a p p l e. Fi n a l l y, ye t m o s t i m p o r t a n t l y, t h e strings laced around the Deer hide are a double helix of white and red and symbolize how she was once pure and now corrupted.

-T h e t i t l e f o r t h i s p a i n t i n g i s “ C o r r u p t e d �, h a n d painted and hand crafted on deer hide tanned by myself, Nelson Auguillard.

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LSD POETRY / ALEX CAIN

The filter that dulls saturation and contrast is lifted and eyes widen to greet otherworldly vibrance and detail: each thread of that blossoming, wispy tangle of clouds flows like silk across a sky the truest shade of sky blue.

Leaves on the trees below flicker like paper emeralds under warm sunlight.

Earth is our heart, nourished by veins of water rippling through a sea of cells, particles forming waves that swell layer upon layer of maturing consciousness.

Eyes widened during final moments of that trip to Earth for a lingering glimpse of those waves swirling silk through the sky in symphonic synchronicity

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S TA N D I N G I N T H E M I R R O R FICTION / MADISON DUHON

Looking back, I cannot remember the last time I completely felt joy in my life without no darkness in the shadows. Was it just my mind? Was I doing it for more attention? Was I doing it for more love? To me It was just the way I thought about myself, the world, and the people around me.

Over the years I have only been able to keep one friend. I never thought he would leave me like everyone else. On October twenty second I stand here staring back at myself in the mirror and not recognizing who this person is anymore.

My sophomore year of high school is when Patrick, my friend from since we wore diapers, told me that he had always liked me more than just friends.

This was music to my ears because I have always had a crush on him. He was the one friend who has been through it all with me and the thought gave me butterflies. That day I was so excited, but part of me was terrified because I didn’t want him to find out what I did to myself every night or about how I thought about myself. I knew if he saw that side of myself he

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would leave like everyone else had in my life.

Every night I get out of bed after my sister falls asleep, and I go to the bathroom. I don’t go because I need to use the bathroom. What I go for is to take my pain away. I take out my razor blade, and I stare in the mirror. Every day I tell myself something different; it just all depends on what happened that day. Today as I look at myself in the mirror I tell myself “This is because you are not beautiful”, and as I tell myself that I run the blade across my skin, and I feel the rush of pain come as I close my eyes. I feel the blood running down my hand, and that is my time to go on to the next one. “This is because you are fat.” “This is because you don’t know how to shut up.” “This is because you are not good enough for anyone.”

With every phrase there is another push of the blade that makes more blood run down my hand. This is the only way I can continue on because it takes away my pain within and makes me feel real pain.

Patrick and I started dating and I was happy, truly happy. He made me

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smile and laugh constantly. I haven’t needed to cut myself since we started dating nine months ago. I felt like my pain is gone, and that hole in myself is completely filled up. I never thought I was capable for someone to love me, but I guess I was wrong. I looked into his eyes, and I could tell that he loved me. The way he would look at me and tell me that I am beautiful: it almost makes me believe him. As I walk into a room his eyes scan my body, but I feel like he doesn’t only scan my body but my soul.

One year and six months ago, and I have gone back to cutting myself every night. His love for me didn’t fill that part of myself anymore. He noticed some of my scars on my wrist yesterday and told me that I better not do that again because “I am beautiful, and I have nothing to worry about.” I did not want to hurt him because I can tell just by the pain in his eyes that he was hurting and did not understand why I would do this to myself. I need to find something to fill it up again for good this time.

On our two-year anniversary we were in Patrick’s room. He started kissing me down my neck, and softly telling me that he loves me over and over again. Things were heating up fast, and I didn’t want to stop it. He took all of my clothes off, sat back to

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scan my naked body, and he saw the complete me. His eyes started tearing up while he ran his hand over the scars on my arms, thighs, and stomach. At that second, I knew what he was doing, and today I was not losing my virginity to the guy I loved. He asked me what had happened to me knowing he knew that I had done that to myself. His eyes looked into mine, and it wasn’t the look of how beautiful I was. He was scared, and for the next three days he did not talk to me one time. He was ignoring me despite the fact we took almost every class together and lived in the same neighborhood. On the third day I went to his house, and Patrick said, “Elana I am leaving you because I love you.”

“How can you leave me because you love me? Wouldn’t you stay with me if you loved me?” I said. My heart completely broke that day, and it ended like every night did in the bathroom.

I stood in the mirror and said, “this is because you are worthless, unlovable, ugly, fat, and you are not worthy of having anyone in your life.”

The summer before my senior year came, and I had become friends with some girls in my class for the first time ever. I actually wouldn’t call them friends because we just all went to parties together, I yearned for more

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interaction and wished one of them would try to be more of a friend then an acquaintance, but no one tried. I guess I could have tried, but part of me told myself once they truly see me like Patrick they wouldn’t want to be my friend anyway.

The week before senior year we had a huge party, and I’m surprised I still remember it. I took Xanax, an antidepressant, before the party, and I drank so much alcohol I was surprised I was still breathing. This was my weekend ritual of getting as high and drunk as I possibly could. My heart was still broken in pieces, and I just didn’t want to feel at all anymore. Part of me wished I would stop breathing so I didn’t have to look at myself in the mirror and do it at home. Each night I was going deeper, and cutting more.

I wished I would just stop breathing so my mom or dad didn’t have to find me. I thought I wanted to die now, but I didn’t know what was coming.

At the party I met a guy named Brent. He had blue eyes, dark brown hair, and was honestly beautiful. All of the girls were surrounding him with such a desperate “please fuck me” attitude. I hated guys like that because they have such big egos, but really who am I to talk. I was tired, and just wanted to go to sleep so I went lay down in my friend’s spare room, so I

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could sleep alone, and I didn’t want to hear her and her sex toy for the night going at it. Just as I was about to drift into a deep sleep I felt someone crawl into bed with me. I just turned away, and kept my eyes closed because I figured it was just Alison not wanting to hear the loud sex Mary was about to have. It was nowhere near Alison, and while he was rubbing his hand down my back to my backside he said, “Has anyone told you that you have the nicest ass?” I turned around, and saw it was Brent. He looked at me with a grin on his face, and a sparkle in his eye.

I asked what he was doing in here, and he said “this was the last place to crash.” I told him that “I didn’t mind, but nothing was going to happen.”

I put a pillow in between us looked up at the glow in the dark stars and started to count them until I was finally closing my eyes. I was dreaming about Patrick kissing my neck, and it felt so real. I truly missed our relationship.

I opened my eyes, and realized I was not dreaming. Brent was on top of me kissing my neck and ripping my dress off. It was to dark to see all of my scars, but you could feel them.

I couldn’t say anything, and I didn’t kiss him back. I just stared at the glow in the dark stars and laid there like a dead body. He kept repeating,

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“You are so beautiful” and also said “I know you wanted this by the way you looked at me outside.” He kissed all over my body and pulled my underwear off. I knew at this moment that I could not stop him because he was stronger than me, but also, I deserved it. He pushed his dick inside of me and didn’t go gentle at all. He just kept pushing and pushing as if my body was ripping apart. I thought it was painful when I would run a blade across my wrist, but this was excruciating. As he was climaxing I told myself “this is because you are unlovable, unworthy, and you are just a piece of meat.”

As I stand here I don’t need to say anything because my mind and body knows that it is my time to go.

I grab my blade and make it become one with my body as it goes up my arm. I start crying for the first time, and at that moment my mother walks in. As she sees me in that state I notice tears starting to run down her face.

She does not say a word to me, and I know if I was a mother and saw my daughter with blood running down her hands I would not know what to do in that moment. We speed to the hospital, and the nurse asked me “what happened?” I know she is just wanting me to say “I tried to kill myself.” They stitch up my wrists, and I stay in the hospital for a week. The social worker tells my parents “She /

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needs to go to a mental institution for further help.” I know my parents don’t deserve that financial burden, so I just tell them I did it because Patrick and I broke up. I said “I just did this to get the attention of my ex-boyfriend.”, and they let me go home.

I got to go home, but I had to do out-patient therapy because I actually slit my wrist. I had to go for a year, so I guess I should have just went to the mental institution. My parents wouldn’t have to pay as much money. I had to go for a year, and at first I did not want anything to do with that place. As I went going every week I started noticing I did have change, but I was still cutting as least once a week.

One year later and here I am standing in front of the mirror, and I don’t recognize myself at all. I am standing here telling myself “This is because you are beautiful, this is because you are loveable, this is because you are worthy.” In the deepest parts of my mind I know that I’m just trying to console myself, but on the other hand I feel optimistic about the phase, “Fake it till you make it”. Maybe if I condition myself into believing this fantasy one day I’ll wake up to a new reality.

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MOONLIT RHAPSODY POETRY / ANGELICA B. DEROUEN

Part 1: A Modest Proposal I whisper that the night may wake the calm upon the moon, And bring the winds of silent bounds to the deaf and bitter suns that cast my lowly dreams aside.

That in doing so, Nyx may grant a wish I cannot deny.

Lasting as the casual life and weaving of mortal love Created and crafted by Clotho above That midnight would wind the handle of the song to catch your heart!

Whilst the moon had handled that our love would never part I give for a kiss from your lips so sweet In the night, your caress, a desired treat You are the beauty within my pain...

Of magic we can rule I love you more than words prove me a fool.

Part 2: A Destined Indulgence I dance that the stars may wake the sensual celestial of night, And silence the light of dreamless suns So glaring and faint stars can conjure my lowly dreams to face That in doing so Eros may seal a profound destiny, Lasting as the songs of intertwined souls in love Woven and measured by Lachesis above.

Which nova tuned the songs of our hearts?

Like so, the night had handled that our love would never part I have now, a kiss from your lips so sweet In the midnight, our love, an uncontrollable need Now embodiments of mortal magic we rule, We command the moonlit rhapsody with northern lights, our tools

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Part 3: A Jilted Dream I weep that the sun must push the calm upon the moon, And disperse the winds of silent bounds.

Freeing deaf and bitter suns to cast my conjured dreams aside.

That in doing so, Hemera must abide the rule we cannot deny...

Lasting as the casual demise of mortal love, Severed and surrendered to Atropos above That midday consumed and deafened a single heart’s harmony.

Like so, the sun had handled that our bliss would be dismissed.

I have still, a fading kiss from your lips; bittersweet.

In the day, our love, a teardrop in dreams Now faded runes of magic we ruled, Are myth behind sealed lips of the man on the moon.

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S AY C H E E S E

V I S UA L A R T / B R I T TA N Y S M I T H

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T H E M I R A C L E O F I N N O V AT I O N FICTION / JEFF FIELDS

The excitement has been brewing for months. The questions and rumors have been running rampant.

Some people know but no one can tell. No one is allowed to talk about what is being built down on the lake.

We live on top of a mountain that overlooks Lake Constance in Southern Germany. The lake is the most stunning blue color and the chilly water is crystal clear. We have one of the most spectacular overlooks in all of Germany. Our village is small and somewhat self-sufficient. We raise small livestock for meat and milk, we grow enough crops to supply our families with vegetables and a few times a year all of the villagers join together for a grand feast and dancing well into the night.

Something very peculiar started happening here a couple years ago.

The rumors grew bigger as time went on. We would see all of these bizarre materials being brought out on boats and barges to this enormous floating structure being built on the lake. This building had to be the size of two football fields. It was like nothing we had ever seen before. The government even restricted fishing to other parts

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of the lake. No one could get close without the proper authorization. In fact, our husbands work inside that monstrous secret floating below us but they can’t tell us what they do.

A few days ago, there was a real buzz around our small village.

Everyone was suddenly expecting something miraculous to happen but nobody could say exactly what it was. It was now the second day of July, nineteen hundred. When the new year passed and we entered the twentieth century we all expected great things to happen but we never expected anything like this. As my mother, sister-in-law and I stood outside talking and wondering why our husbands wore such brightly colored hats to work this morning, we heard a piercing siren sound coming from the lake. As we looked out we saw the roof on the floating factory below start to open. It opened like the wings of butterfly stretching out. It was only then that we started to get a glimpse of what was inside.

As we stared on in amazement, what looked like a four-hundred-foot long silver cigar began to alight out

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of what we now understood to be a floating hanger. It rose up like an angel glistening in the bright sunlight then slowly but steadily it gained altitude and headed in our direction. I was frozen in awe and amazed at what I was witnessing. This was truly a miracle of the innovations of our time. We are incredibly lucky to be able to bear witness to something so revolutionary.

My mother’s reaction was not one of amazement like mine. She stood there with a scowl of fear and anger. She is very old fashioned in the way she thinks. She is not a fan of innovation. She doesn’t even like to ride in automobiles. She thinks they are rickety and loud, very impersonal.

More importantly though she has a deep fear of anything that flies . She can’t even stand to watch the birds circling above us. I think her fear comes from a bird pooping on her when she was younger but she will never admit that. Maybe she is just that stubborn.

She doesn’t think it natural for man to fly.

My sister-in-law looked equally in awe and was appropriately dressed in all black as she was terrified for the safety of the men controlling this contraption. Her fear of heights had a tendency to transfer to concern for others when she saw anyone higher than a

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small step stool. Watching these two brave souls flying this machine over a lake must have been agonizing for her.

We may not have agreed on how we felt about what we were seeing but we did agree that this was a monumental occasion. This was something that no one else in the world has ever witnessed. This may change the world as we know it. This can revolutionize everything from transportation to warfare.

As this horrifying yet incredibly, beautiful flying machine got closer and closer we were able to recognize the flash of red in the front seat and brilliant blue in the back seat. Followed quickly by a big wave from the suspended gondolas. We now understood what it was that our husbands did down there on the lake. They work for Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin.

They are the world’s first Zeppelin pilots. Their eighteen-minute flight is going to change the world.

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VEHICLE P O E T R Y / K AT Y L N D E R O U E N

She was never one for traveling The unfamiliar Abyss of the unknown terrified her She prefered to stay indoors Away from the vast landscape that beckoned For she knew dangers lie ahead

She was rarely spoken to But she found herself drawn to the mystical beings That rested in the pages There she was understood Loved And there she was among instead of without On the inside looking out Instead of the outside looking in

Her life was a slow moving image One she could never catch up to She walked in circles with no direction Never straying from the path alone For when she read a book That was her vehicle She was used to solitary Never had much friends As she inhaled the pages She spoke a few words With every breath But devoured others’ She could finally say “I am free.”

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CONFUSION AND DELUSION POETRY / ALEXANDER FOREMAN

The moves and leaps, The bends and twists, So agile and quick, So beautiful and compassionate, yet at the same time, difficult, Difficult to understand, Difficult to comprehend, Is the message love or is it death, We will never know.

Black swan and White Dove dance around, Storms and waves are crashing with the sound No one knows what is going on Except the dancers dancing with the song Try they may and wish they might, Movements conducted too hard and too tight, Melody so sweet, Melody that repeats, Oh, what is the meaning of this performance?

What is the meaning?

I cannot understand or find meaning, Therefore, I cannot not say it is good, There is skill involved yes, but lacking is the thrill.

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My dear sister danced full of grace, And the beauty was shone through her movements and face, I saw skill and I saw design, But here the dancers are just fine, They have commitment, but lack the heart.

They do not become who they are, but rather who the people want them to be.

Oh Lilies on the valley, how your movements confuse me, How your turns delude me, Give me meaning, Give me truth Give me the purpose of your graceful dance

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SPRING FRUITS

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V I S U A L A R T / Y E L DA B A K I R C I

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Y O U ’ R E O K AY POE TRY / ERIN CASSIDY

If you feel the ground move beneath you You may feel you might fall through It may look imperfect It may look unsettling

But know that however broken Your foundation may be Life always breathes through the cracks -You’re okay

THE STORM P O E T R Y / K AT LY N D E R O U E N

Her eyes were lightning Her mouth was the thunder She was the wind She was the rain She was everything that she wished she could be If only she just let go She was torn between two halves.

She wanted the happiness But she also had the pain The struggle was eternal The battle was long She carried both, hand in hand She was a roar That would not be silenced. /

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TIGER

V I S UA L A R T / K I A R A FA I S O N

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END OF THE WORLD

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VI S U A L A R T / NE L S O N A U G UI L L A R D

Based on a post-apocalyptic world, due to pollution and deforestation, this piece symbolizes what could happen if pollution of our land doesn’t cease.

T h e t i t l e f o r t h i s p a i n t i n g i s “ E n d o f t h e W o r l d ”, hand crafted on deer hide tanned by myself

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TIME

V I S U A L A R T / J O N AT HA N L A N GL I N A I S

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ROSES

V I S U A L A R T / Y E L DA B A K I R C I

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UP IN THE SKY

V I S U A L A R T / I S A B E L L A A LVA R E Z

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TRAIL OF LIGHT

V I S U A L A R T / I S A B E L L A A LVA R E Z

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LITTLE RED FROM INGLEWOOD FIC TION / KIRBEA MELANCON

“Cherise!” I could hear my grandmother calling me from the other side of the apartment like she does every Sunday morning when she wants me to get her a fresh pack of cigarettes from the store around the corner. My grandma is so lazy. She stays cooped up in this ol’ raggedy apartment waiting on my no-goodass mama to get back home after she been gone for months at a time. This the longest she ever been gone. We ain’t seen her since we first moved to Inglewood from New Orleans about four months ago cause my grandma got people out here.

“Cherise!” Every time she calls my name, I answer “Ma’am?” but she don’t ever say shit back. So she gone wait until I finish what I’m doing and then I’ll go get her smokes. I don’t say nothing when she asks me to go get them because I sneak a few out of her pack before I bring them back to her.

She don’t care, cause she ain’t got no business sending a fourteen year old to the store to buy tobacco products anyway. The store owner don’t say nothing ‘bout my age either cause I

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look old enough to buy them. Besides, he be too busy looking at my booty when I walk out, nasty ass.

“Cherise!!!” “I’m coming MawMaw!!!”

I gotta finish putting on my makeup ‘cause I know I’ma see Axl Jackson on my way to the store. That boy know he look good! I wanna tear him up every time I see him lurking around our building but I gotta be a lady, whatever that means. I just need a put my “Ruby Woo” lipstick that I stole from the MAC counter out the mall and Ima be ready to go. Them people wanted twenty-one dollars for that shit. Child please!!! I hurry up and used that five finger discount. “Go get my cigarettes from Mr. T’s down the road.” “MawMaw, I don’t wanna go over there!!!”

“That man not gone let me buy them cigarettes ‘cause he knows I’m not old enough!!!”

My grandmother picked up her head and looked at me for the first time since I walked into the room and said “Where you going?” “To the store or to a brothel?” I sucked my teeth and rolled my eyes putting my hand out

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so she could give me her money. “Go to Mr. T like I said, my brand is on sale over there and unless you putting in on the pack to cover the ones you smoke you ain’t got no choice in the matter.” As I was walking out the door my grandma said “Red” which was her pet name for me because of my red undertone, “Go straight to the store and bring your fast ass back here.” “Yes ma’am.” Hope she knows I loved her.

Soon as I stepped outside something didn’t feel right. Them old ladies that sit on the stoop was all in they house and them niggas that usually be on the corner wasn’t out there either.

I started to go back in my building when I seen my future walking up to me. “Hey Red.” He flashed them pretty white teeth at me and I just knew I was about to fall out. “Hey Ajax.” That was the nickname I gave him ‘cause I thought the name Axl was stupid as hell. The more I think about it, Ajax ain’t really that much better. “Where you going looking all pretty?” “My MawMaw want me to go get her some cigarettes by Mr. T.” “You coming walk with me?” I knew he would say yes, he always did. Besides, since he was twenty he had to go in the store and get the cigarettes for me cause that dumb ass man wouldn’t sell them to me. “Yeah Babygirl, I’ll go with you.”

Ajax had swept me off my feet so fast,

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it took me a while to notice that I ain’t see the usual people on the street.

“Ajax, where everybody at?” I asked twirling my curls around my finger.

“I’m almost tempted not to answer just so I can hear you ask me that again.” “Girl that accent do something to me!!!”

At the time it never dawned on me that it was strange as hell for a twentyyear-old man to take this much interest in a fourteen -year old girl. I was too busy thinking I was cute to focus on the consequences of my decisions.

“Well where they at then?” I said giggling. It sickens me now to think about how stupid I being.

“Babygirl you know it’s Sunday.” “Them old ladies at church” he said with a smile. “And even them niggas that be hustling on the corner respect the Lord’s Day.” I broke out laughing like a damn fool. We finally got to the store and went in to get the cigarettes. By the time he came out of the store, the streets started to fill up and my neighborhood looked like it should’ve.

People in their stoops, bad ass children running all over, and them drug dealing ass niggas was back on the corner. I don’t know why my MawMaw ever wanted to come live out here.

It don’t matter that this is where her family is from. I miss my city. The only

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thing making it right is Ajax.

When we got back to my apartment, he walked me to the door. We took awhile so my grandma was sleeping and of course she locked the door.

“MAWMAW!!!!!!” I yelled banging on the door. No answer. Then I remembered the key she kept at the top of the door frame for when my mama finally decides to show up out of the blue. I grabbed it and unlocked the door, then placed it back. Ajax grabbed me before I could get into the house kissed me so deep I thought I was gonna turn into putty and drip on the floor. For the rest of the day I could feel his lips on mine and I went to bed that night thinking about him.

At about 1 a.m. a loud thud woke me up. It immediately pissed me off because I thought it was my drunk ass mama stumbling in, finally back from wherever the fuck she’d been. “This bitch coming in here all hours of the night and I got school in the morning” I said to myself. I heard another crash and walked to help the bitch off the floor because I assumed that’s where she’d be. Walking out of my room I realized the front door was wide open so I walked over to close it. When I turned around I saw Ajax, standing there, in the middle of the living room, staring at me. I rubbed my eyes repeatedly because I just knew I was

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dreaming. Surely this nigga was not in my living room at one o’clock in the morning smiling at me like my MawMaw wouldn’t lynch both of us if she caught him in there. “Whatchu doing Ajax?” I asked him. “I came to get you Babygirl.” I looked at him puzzled. The expression on his face gave me an uneasy feeling. “What you mean you came get me? Where we going?” “Wherever you want Red!! You see, after I left today, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.

I realize now that I can’t keep living without you.” “Babygirl, please. I need you. My life won’t be right without you in it all the time. Run away with me.”

Half of me wanted to run to my bathroom and grab my toothbrush and leave with nothing but the clothes on my back. But the other half, the half with sense, wouldn’t dream of hurting my grandma like that. “I can’t go with you Ajax. MawMaw would never forgive me. I can’t just leave her.

It’s bad enough Mama don’t come home no more. I’m all she got.” He came closer and said “Well you all I got.” The aggression in is voice was frightening. His words were almost a growl. I immediately felt a wave of panic and wondered how he’d even gotten in the house. Then it dawned on me, that fucking key! I’m so stupid.

He could read my thoughts from the

thing making it right is Ajax.

When we got back to my apartment, he walked me to the door. We took awhile so my grandma was sleeping and of course she locked the door.

“MAWMAW!!!!!!” I yelled banging on the door. No answer. Then I remembered the key she kept at the top of the door frame for when my mama finally decides to show up out of the blue. I grabbed it and unlocked the door, then placed it back. Ajax grabbed me before I could get into the house kissed me so deep I thought I was gonna turn into putty and drip on the floor. For the rest of the day I could feel his lips on mine and I went to bed that night thinking about him.

At about 1 a.m. a loud thud woke me up. It immediately pissed me off because I thought it was my drunk ass mama stumbling in, finally back from wherever the fuck she’d been. “This bitch coming in here all hours of the night and I got school in the morning” I said to myself. I heard another crash and walked to help the bitch off the floor because I assumed that’s where she’d be. Walking out of my room I realized the front door was wide open so I walked over to close it. When I turned around I saw Ajax, standing there, in the middle of the living room, staring at me. I rubbed my eyes repeatedly because I just knew I was

dreaming. Surely this nigga was not in my living room at one o’clock in the morning smiling at me like my MawMaw wouldn’t lynch both of us if she caught him in there. “Whatchu doing Ajax?” I asked him. “I came to get you Babygirl.” I looked at him puzzled. The expression on his face gave me an uneasy feeling. “What you mean you came get me? Where we going?” “Wherever you want Red!! You see, after I left today, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.

I realize now that I can’t keep living without you.” “Babygirl, please. I need you. My life won’t be right without you in it all the time. Run away with me.”

Half of me wanted to run to my bathroom and grab my toothbrush and leave with nothing but the clothes on my back. But the other half, the half with sense, wouldn’t dream of hurting my grandma like that. “I can’t go with you Ajax. MawMaw would never forgive me. I can’t just leave her. It’s bad enough Mama don’t come home no more. I’m all she got.” He came closer and said “Well you all I got.” The aggression in is voice was frightening. His words were almost a growl. I immediately felt a wave of panic and wondered how he’d even gotten in the house. Then it dawned on me, that fucking key! I’m so stupid. He could read my thoughts from the

expressions on my face. “You see Red, I knew you’d tell me a sad story about your grandmother. So I took care of it.” “The fuck you mean you took care of it!?” I turned towards my grandmother’s bedroom door to find that her lifeless body had been slumped over the whole time this devious ass nigga what trying to whisk me off to fairytale land.

I know he saw the panic on my face but all I saw was his teeth. The same teeth that produced a smile that lit up a room, but now all they did was bring darkness. It was only now that I realized Ajax was holding the butcher knife my grandmother used to cut up her vegetables, now stained with her blood. “So you see Babygirl, you can leave with me, or you can leave with her.” He said pointing at my poor grandmother. I was afraid and ashamed and angry all at the same

time. Was I the cause of my grandmother’s death? Could I have prevented this? Thinking these thoughts, I was frozen. Ajax sensed my fear and became irritated. He’d realized that he’d gone too far but it was too late to turn back. He needed to get rid of his witnesses. He started to lunge toward my motionless body with his knife aimed at my throat, when I heard a loud bang and I saw Ajax slump to the floor gasping for hid last breaths. In the doorway was my mother. Between the guilt of my grandmother’s death and the thought of this drunk bitch being my primary care provider, I would’ve been better off leaving with MawMaw like Ajax suggested

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