Fingerprint 2021 Issue

FINGERPrINTS r ROCKFORD UNIVERSITY LITERARY ARTS MAGAZINE - SPRING 2021

Visual Art

graphic design, VISUAL original paintings, ART and more!

NEW New Classes

MINORS! more info on PAGE 48 graphic design, read more on pg 20 PAGE 21 more info on PAGE 20 Alyssa Reyes Original Cover Art by: original paintings, & more! centerfold art PAGE 34ORIGINAL LOOK NOW pg 21 Anne COVER Harris Poetry Short Stories ALYSSA REYES ART – Anne Edits by Meagan Harris CoPAGE 4 read them on PAGE 49 COVER EDITS – Meagan Corey center-featured graphic POETRY starting on pg 4 New Minors

fOREWOrD

Welcome to Rockford University's Literary Arts Magazine! Fingerprints is a combination of visual art, poetry, and creative prose that highlights the talented students who attend our university. The students whose work is included come from many diverse backgrounds and have a variety of experiences. As a means of artistic expression, they channel their autobiographies through writing or visual art in a fluid exchange between their inner and outer lives as they draw inspiration from experience. Rockford University is proud of its artists and writers and this literary magazine is the physical embodiment of this love for those who create.

We are in our second year of the SARS-CoV2 pandemic and life as we knew it has changed forever. As a nation we have come to know social distancing, masks that cover facial expression, and isolation. In these moments of great uncertainty, the one bright shining light is art. This is why Fingerprints is needed more than ever. Art comes from the heart, it comes from the head, and it forces us to take a look at our global culture. Art also encourages us to seek solace in the visual and textual expressions of people struggling to find meaning in a world turned upside-down. Fingerprints is a student-designed and student-organized literary arts magazine funded through Rockford University and during this time of Covid-19, where insecurity reigns and mis-information is the norm, this magazine is a testament to the fact that art is a conduit to stability and emotional soothing. At the same time, art is provocative, spurring ideas while asking questions, and aiding us in our inquiry into the human condition. Without art the world would be a much darker place.

Fingerprints: Rockford University's Literary Arts Magazine is going on its sixth year of publication and is the leading journal on campus for student's creative work. Throughout the fall and early spring semesters we collect poetry, creative prose, and visual art from our talented student population, and allow their 'fingerprints' to be shared with the world. These students write poetry, create visual expression in paint, pencil, and mixed-media, and pen short stories that resemble windows looking in upon their inner world, and become the mouthpiece for community, understanding, and trust. Thus, the underlying meaning behind our title. No two people have the same flow of ideas, and just like a fingerprint, they are unique. During this moment in time defined by Covid-19, the optimism that comes with the vaccines, and the knowledge that through thick and thin we can all work together as a global community, our magazine provides a beacon of hope through art. Please enjoy this edition of Fingerprints.

TABLE OF CONTENTS COVER

VISUAL ART

Anne Harris & Meagan Corey

Hat ‘n Boots - Kellie Frerichs The Church by the Side of the Road Ezra Adams Untitled - John Johnson Untitled - Alyssa Reyes Why Did You Have to Go? Erika de la Mora Untitled - Tony Ganzurkh Scarlet Fever - Meagan Corey Hazel 1 - Sophie DeMuth The Blue Vase - Ezra Adams Untitled - Alyssa Reyes Untitled - Bri Carlson Death’s Game - Payton Mohr Untitled - Alyssa Reyes Untitled - Alyssa Reyes Modern Retro - Meagan Corey Abyss - Gretchen Stark My Urn - Ezra Adams Untitled - Bri Carlson Octodavy - Raevenna Zackery Together. At Last! Erika de la Mora Post-Age Stamp - Megan Corey When I’m Fast Asleep Erika de la Mora Yellow - Gretchen Stark Basqui-Skull Raevenne Zackery Hazel 2 - Sophie DeMuth Fashion - Kellie Frerichs

POETRY Profound Brown - Shalarria Gates A Poem’s Present - Joachim Calalang A World Against - Courtney Booth Light and Darkness - Fatima Hussein Dead Conscience - Fatima Hussein A Love Rejected - Hayward The Act of Loving - Alexis Denton Still Be Found - Ann Westerman In Admiration of the Moon - Aayvn Lee Waves - Kimberly McKee The Page - Kimberly McKee Purple Winter Drive - Hana Ferguson 09/2020 - Bianca Martinez Mt. - Bianca Martinezh Toda Palabra es un Mendigo Crystal Behling Obbatala - Angelica Gonzalez Ayax - Jessica Pequeno-Mendoza XXXVIII - Crystal Behling CTRL-ALT-DELETE Bianca Martinez-Franco

5 5 6 6 7 7 8 9 9 10 10 11 12 12 14 15 16 17 18-19

SHORT STORIES Lighten Up - Miguel Alvarez The Good Old Days - Laura Angel Old Habits - Lily Carlos The Forest - Domenic Boyce Futuristic - Darin Van Fleet

50-51 52-55 56-57 58-61 63-64

22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47

THE DESIGNERS Sophie DeMuth Meagan Corey Kellie Frerichs Laura Angel Anne Harris Miguel Alvarez Allan Kitsoukou Kelsie Miller Darin Van Fleet We would like to thank Christopher Sisson for his guidance in designing the magazine, Michael Perry for helping make this magazine happen, and Jennifer Rhea for her help in curating the poetry and short stories. We would also like to thank the Print Services team for help bringing the magazine to life. Finally, a big thank you to everyone who submitted their work. Without you, this magazine would not be possible.

PROFOUND BROWN Shalarria Gates Brown skin Dangerous as sin, Brown feeling Caged in Shades of brown Passed down from my ancestor’s generation to generation Oppressed by society, however, Beware of our success Color brown Spiritually aligned with the ground Brown, I’m honestly obsessed Brown is ferocious like the mane of a lion But as smooth and rich as a Godiva chocolate When the foundation is brown, it’s reliable and sound Some browns are rare like the chocolate opal We wear brown as a crown

A POEM'S PRESENT Joachim Calalang A poem is a gift You give to yourself.

Find one in an old book Rested on the shelf.

Find one within a person Regardless of who they are.

Or feel one through the clouds As the pages flow through the breeze.

Feel one as you run, as the morning offers light.

You may think a poem is Just made out of words, But poems can be old.

Poems can be the wind.

Or shouts through the ear That is present everywhere.

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A WORLD AGAINST Courtney Booth Who will keep me calm? Who will hold my hand?

All of the unknowns become more and more, Nail-biting, fear, tears; for people, are banned.

Will I be alone, up on the fifth floor?

Grandma, Grandpa, Mom, Dad; tears of bliss shed Voices overlapping with cries of joy Now, just you, and me, in this lonely bed Alone- just you, and me, and your first toy Times came to this? Dad missing your first breath?

Seeing you, the first time, through a window, Seems to me to be a fate worse than death.

Heart races, tears flow, are we in limbo?

LIGHT AND DARKNESS Fatima Hussein

Which am I? Am I that dark here . . .

Or am I that light spread there . . .

I only know that I am a labyrinth intertwined.

Static crazy pulse . . .

And noise filled with quietness.

I am contradictory and perplexed.

I am a proud woman, a spontaneous child, submissive rebel

I will keep you calm, I will hold your hand Because for you, this pain I can withstand

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But with this I hate you with passion, love.

DEAD CONSCIENCE Fatima Hussein Conscience dries up and cracks As if it was a wasteland wrapped, surrounded by death.

No water to irrigate it no implants grow in it.

It was a myth of a land of mirage Thirsty people long for a water as soon as they get close, they discover that it is barren, empty land.

Perhaps their a collective consciences was worst It was quicksand that was eating their heart To blur your existence and your dreams Their consciences dries up They drown in darkness and tyranny.

So they are trying to blur the light that emanated from my heart.

To hide the blackness of their faces conscience dries up, cracks, and dies As a wasteland

A LOVE REJECTED Hayward No matter what I do, I’ll never get to be with you.

There never seems to be a right time, For you to be with me.

No matter what I try to do, Time and distance cripples my heart.

Which in turn keep us far apart, No matter what I try to do, I call, I text, I write, I cry Just begging you to give us a try Please just give me one little reply Laying here I ponder, and wonder: Could you be there thinking of me?

Would you, could you ever feel for me?

No matter what we do, time and life keep me from you.

This distance in our heart, the tears on my face Are all that’s left to show of our pitiful fate No matter what the future holds, No hope is lost, no fate is sealed, Just a desire for you to feel.

No matter what I do, I’ll never get to be with you.

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THE ACT OF LOVING Alexis Denton Come to me, my love To be held. To be kissed.

That fell before us, only to grow.

It’s a spectacle to behold.

Come to me, and my call.

The way our branches bend.

To have comfort. To fall.

Searching, twisting, merging.

In the winds that will carry you.

In all that’s holy, in all that’s free.

From the stream to my arms.

Our souls united in convergency.

Come to me, in the moonlight.

A troubadour, an amorous being.

When crimson kisses the sky.

Come to me, with rhythm & beat.

I’ll stand up, open my chest.

For ancient as we are.

Climb inside to be born again.

Out of trees, out of fields.

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For ancient as we’ll be.

STILL BE FOUND Ann Westerman The waves are gently flowing And the sky stays dark above.

The clouds are dark and blowing Passing quickly above.

Beyond the darkness shines the moon Brightly glowing above the clouds.

Breaking through it soon Shines down on passing waves.

A reminder in the stillness Of a dark October night That even in the darkness There will still be found some light.

IN ADMIRATION OF THE MOON Aavyn Lee I have followed you to the ends of the earth All of my existence, I have watched you rise and fall Like the ebb and flow of the tides that dance in your presence I burn knowing that we may never never lay cheek to cheek For I am the sun, and you are my Icarus But at every day break, I will watch As you fade into the blue And I long for the night when you may reflect my light And we become whole once more.

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WAVES

THE PAGE

Kimberly McKee

Kimberly McKee

Outside the door to my conscience, waves crash methodically against the shore.

The waves inhale,

Staring into the starch white skin of the page, I scratch desperately to relieve the ache of silence.

If only I could find the words,

pulling the sand toward the abyss.

I could fill his world with exquisite light.

As the waves release their tension,

As I strive for answers within my soul,

water floods onward consuming the land.

These waves flow eternally, heeding the simple rules of breath.

Abruptly, anxiety races down the beach, the waves rise in concern, hurtling toward the sand with renewed intensity.

Alas, the day pushes onward, the water varying its pattern,

I am awakened by the world’s heavy toll.

I ask Not for the assistance of a friend, nor the comfort of any human touch.

No, my grievance goes much further, gripping at the depths of my own anguish.

A friend is not helpful when there is no foe, when only my heart and mind are needed to

preparing for whatever may come.

And as another day at the beach comes to a close, the waves retreat slowly into that 4-4-6 rhythm [in..2,3,4 hold..2,3,4 release..2,3,4,5,6]

unravel the secrets of the dreaded blank page.

This paper can scrape me, enslave me, and it can control my selfish will.

Yet as I force the words into existence, I find wild screams of disagreement, left unwritten as the black streaks sprint across the page

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PURPLE WINTER DRIVE Hana Ferguson, 2021 The snow, the wind, the cold--turns everything purple.

My ears, my nose, my fingers, my toes--shine deep, bruised, under the winter moon as I drive to a land of my own.

The sky--splattered with shimmery, silver seeds of the night, grows from deep, blood orange to plum in a matter of short, frosty minutes, my mauve, curious pupils in awe of its fruitful beauty---it’s beautiful change--it’s impact on the current world, and how the skeletons made of stardust adapt to it.

The gold waves of light from the frosty streetlights flow over the dashboard like orange wings of silk, flying in the dark atmosphere, glittering on top of the fresh snow, playing with the lavender fairies of light that fall from the purple sky.

The lavender fairies fly, falling with the shimmering snow, landing, making little angels of hope in the piles of white I whip past, mesmerizing, mesmerizing my eyes, purple from being tired, purple from being cold, purple from looking at the beauty around me. . . .

Beauty of the cold night---calming me deeply on this purple winter drive.

Purple, are still my fingers, as they grip the freezing steering wheel, handling the machine of wonder and distance, under the purple air.

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MT. Bianca Martinez Suffice to say the mountain is high

09/2020 Bianca Martinez I’ll remember your sunshine

and suffice to say

and warm bare skin.

I did at least try.

Sweet smell of grass,

It is Andesite Formed in heat grown cold while time takes it’s retreats The remnants behind,

a summer shower that never ends.

I’ll remember the sunset, the horizons grin as it welcomed back its absent friend.

caps bottles, strong willed minds. they did not hide, did not belie Of the four thousand was me, Lost deep On the mountain was me Suffice to say I did at least try.

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I’ll remember you as the air gets colder and the sun sooner starts it descent.

I’ll remember you because it would be hard to forget.

EARLY 21ST CENTURY CUBAN POETS Rockford University students from the Advanced Translation Theory and Practice class, taught by Dr. Yoandy Cabrera, completed these translations in Spring 2020. The following poems and translations are part of a bilingual anthology to be published in 2021.

TODA PALABRA ES UN MENDIGO Jorge Luis Arcos Toda palabra es un mendigo un pozo que es un sol una muchedumbre legendaria Toda palabra es un mendigo

Crystal Behling, English Translation Every word is a beggar a well that is a sun a legendary multitude Every word is a beggar

y la memoria es un pecio

and the memory is flotsam

y un extraño escozor la bienaventuranza

and the bliss a strange itch

Ah, toda palabra es un mendigo un pueblo errante una intemperie reservada ¡Antiguos y futuros parentescos fluyendo como ríos naciendo con el alba!

Porque toda palabra es un mendigo

Ah, every word is a beggar a wandering people a reserved weather outside Past and future kinships flowing like rivers being born with the dawn!

Because every word is a beggar

un mausoleo de voces

a mausoleum of voices

ya muertas ya nonatas.

either dead or unborn.

14

OBBATALA René Rubí Cordoví Rey de los hombres y lo blanco,

OBATALA Angelica Gonzalez, English Translation King of men and the color white,

tú que todo lo compones

you that fix everything

cabalga como Ayáguna

ride as Ayagunna

y rebaja lo enfermo.

Posesiónate sobre las cabezas, súmanos a tu alta vibración al agogó y la paloma, que el reino de los cielos como ya aprendimos, es aquí y ahora, no lo que recitábamos.

Porque escrito nos lo dejaste en la lluvia, en la nieve, en la arena hace ya miles de años.

and reduce the sick.

Take possession over the heads, add to your high vibration the agogó and the dove, for the kingdom of heaven like we have already learned, is here and now, not what we used to recite.

Because you have left it written for us in the rain, in the snow, in the sand thousands of years ago.

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AYAX

AJAX

Janet Batet

Jessica Pequeno-Mendoza, English Translation

Perdido en el tiempo.

Desactivando espacios que lamenta.

Sin la paz de ser héroe ni el deseo,

Lost in time.

Deactivating spaces that he laments.

Lacking the peace of a hero nor the desire,

Áyax como evidencia

Ajax as evidence

se ha matado

has killed himself

hurgando en el capricho de la Historia.

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digging in the whim of History

XXXVIII Dashel Hernández

¿Es Eros siempre una pregunta? ¿Lo incontestado es siempre inconfesable…?

XXXVIII Crystal Behling, English Translation

Is Eros always a question?

Is the unanswered always unspeakable…?

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CTRL-ALT-DELETE Iran Capote Con heroico impromptu me deshice de mis vicios: cigarrillos, tabacos, pipas, cabos, café, pelis porno voyerismo en playas, montes, puentes, albergues, baños públicos,

cleptomanía

y especialmente voyerismo de terrazas;

canibalismo

fetichismo zicotiento

tauromaquia

antropofagia pedofilia masoquismo vinos baratos Arjona Benedetti

necrofilia exhibicionismo...

Y en verdad soy otro.

Un hombre tan diferente al original,

facebookfagia

que la vida, la única vida que se me ha asignado

cleptomanía

me resulta completamente innecesaria.

canibalismo tauromaquia

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CTRL-ALT-DELETE Bianca Martinez-Franco, English Translation With a heroic impromptu I got rid of my vices: cigarettes, tobacco, pipes, butts, coffee, porno movies voyeurism on beaches, mountains, bridges, hostels, public bathrooms,

kleptomania

and especially voyeurism from balconies;

cannibalism

smelly feet fetishes

tauromachy

anthropophagy

necrophilia

pedophilia

exhibitionism...

masochism

And in truth

cheap wines Arjona Benedetti facebookophagy

I am another.

A man so different from the original, that life, the only life that has been assigned to me seems completely unnecessary.

cleptomanía canibalismo

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NEW MINORS

Look into our International Studies Minor

LEARN MORE @ ROCKFORD.EDU/ACADEMICS/MAJORSMINORS

WANT MORE FROM YOUR EDUCATION?

Declare your Gender Studies Minor today

HAT ‘N’ BOOTS Kellie Frerichs, Acrylic, 18 x 24 in, 2020

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THE CHURCH BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD Ezra Adams, Ceramic, 16 in, 2021 23

UNTITLED John Johnson, Linocut, 12 x 18.5, 2021 24

UNTITLED 6 Alyssa Reyes, Ink & Acrylic, 15 x 22 in, 2021 25

WHY DID YOU HAVE TO GO? Erika De La Mora, Charcoal, 18 x 20 in, 2020

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UNTITLED Tony Ganzurkh, Ink & Acrylic, 17 x 22, 2021

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SCARLET FEVER Meagan Corey, Ink, 24 x 19 in, 2020

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HAZEL 1 Sophie DeMuth, Photoshop

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THE BLUE VASE Ezra Adams, Ceramic, 10 in, 2021

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UNTITLED 4 Alyssa Reyess, Ink & Acrylic, 22 x 15, 2021

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UNTITLED Bri Carlson, Watercolor & Gouache, 11 x 14 in, 2021

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DEATH’S GAME Payton Mohr, Ink, 11 x 17 in , 2021

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UNTITLED 5 34

Alyssa Reyes, Ink & Acrylic, 22 x 15, 2021

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MODERN RETRO Meagan Corey, Adobe Illustrator, 2021

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ABYSS Gretchen Stark, 2019, Acrylic, 32x32in

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MY URN Ezra Adams, Ceramic, 7 in, 2021

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UNTITLED Bri Carlson, Watercolor & Gouache, 11 x 14in, 2021

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OCTODAVY Raevenne Zackery, Ink print on linoleum tile, 12x12 in, 2020

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TOGETHER. AT LAST! Erika De La Mora, Ink, 14x15 in, 2021

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POST-AGE STAMP Meagan Corey, Color Pencil, 10 x 12 in, 2021

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WHEN I’M FAST ASLEEP Erika De La Mora, Charcoal, 16x7 in, 2020

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YELLOW Gretchen Stark, 2019, Acrylic, 17x24in

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BASQUI-SKULL Raevenne Zackery, Ink print on linoleum tile, 6x 6 in, 2020

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HAZEL 2 Sophie DeMuth, Photoshop

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FASHION Kellie Frerichs, 2021, Ink, 9.5 x 16 in

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HIST 317 - The Nazi Revolution Prerequisite: 3 hours of history or instructor permission required

This seminar examines the roots of Nazism in the nineteeth century and the First World War, its ideology, culture, and practice from its founding after 1918 through its rise to power in the 1930s, and its violent excesses in the 1940s — including mass murder and Holocaust. Themes will include political culture, state institutions, nationalism, racism, imperialism, complicity and resistance, everyday life, gender and sexuality, art, war, violence, and collapse.

MWF 10:00am10:50

LIGHTEN UP Miguel Alverez, 2020

As Phillip walked up the dozens of stairs approaching the roof, he started thinking to himself as he felt a breeze across his face and receding hairline “I’ll never be good enough, apparently. It’s just not fair. At least I won’t have to worry much longer. The beautiful light awaits.” He nearly reaches the top expecting a starry night with city lights, spotlights, and helicopters everywhere around.

Phillip takes one last step and takes a long breath while stretching and nearly losing balance trying to adjust his legs. Looks like everything he thought he’d see was there.

He walks to the edge of the roof and gives one good look at the skylines and takes a deep breath while shivering with a small tear rolling down his face. He sees one more light appear, but it’s an unusually bright and loud one. The light faced Phillip and was unavoidable. No squinting, no covering, nothing worked and he simply couldn’t see.

“The hell’s going on up here?! I didn’t tell anyone about this!!” Phillip’s hair went from feeling a calm spring breeze to a mid-fall tornado. It was a helicopter! “We have you surrounded! Put your hands in the air now!” is what Phillip heard through some megaphone on the nearby helicopter. “PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR NOW” Without a second thought, Phillip raised his hands and didn’t even think of the possibility of getting arrested at that point. But with handcuffs on his back and his face on the ground with a cop’s foot above, boy was he in for a surprise.

After a minor blackout, Phillip wakes up on the helicopter next to the two officers with scratches, scars, and saliva all over his once delightful face. After a minor blackout, Phillip wakes up on the helicopter next to the two officers with scratches, scars, and saliva all over his once delightful face. “What’s

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going on?? Why am I under arrest?!” Yelled Phillip.

“You’re under arrest for robbery, battery and suspicion of murder.” says an officer. “Last seen near the top floor of Republic Bank, white coat, droopy face, perfect description, you’re not fooling anyone. Ladies and gentlemen… we got em. We’ve been seeing dozens of thugs like you recently. Guess we gotta show you that we don’t tolerate with shit like that the hard way” The cops punched Phillip and kicked him while he was cuffed and on the floor, given no sympathy or even the benefit of the doubt.

Phillip left a puzzled look on his face, still having no idea what was going on. “All I wanted to do was be at peace. My parents are dead, Sonia is gone, I’m evicted, and my unemployment has just ended. I have nothing.

This was supposed to be my goodbye, why pick now to fuck everything up?” Phillip thought to himself. On the helicopter, Phillip was still incredibly confused with what the cops beside him were talking about, not to mention disgusted that they prematurely jumped to conclusions. It finally occurred to Phillip that he may have been wrongly accused for some type of crime. “I’m not sure what the hell is going on but I didn’t do any crime.” On one hand, he thinks telling the police why he was up there in the first place is the best solution. On the other, he thinks that plan would backfire, as it may result in them taking him to a mental institute, which results in fees, anxiety, and a sense of failure (AKA Mo money Mo problems). In the end, he decides to stay silent and think of his future now that he has some free time. After a good few seconds, he begins to reflect on his life and zone out again, this time thinking about what he could’ve done to avoid any of this situation. “I hate that I just accept any of this now. I just wanted to end

everything happily with one last look at my city. I didn’t want anyone involved in this. It feels like the lightbulb in me just cracked and I don’t have any good ideas anymore. I’m a joke.”

After thinking to himself, one of the policemen shoves him and tells him “Get a good last look at that city, you’ll be going away for a long time.” Phillip glances and his eyes open wide up. The glistening city with the beautiful buildings, fireworks, and stars. “The light...the light! Maybe the light I was looking for was right here this whole time” Phillip thinks to himself. “This might actually be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.” The city blasting with wind, the roaring electricity, and his thoughts at a point of acceptance, Phillip does the unthinkable. He unbuckles himself from the helicopter seat, kicks the officer in front of him, and jumps out of the helicopter.

One of the policemen reported that his last few words as he slowly fell nearly 10,000 feet above ground were “The beautiful light has been here all along.”

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THE GOOD OL’ DAYS Laura Angel, 2020

The only beauty parlor in Wilson County, Alabama was owned by Eleanor Murphy, a woman in her eighties with puffy gray curls who had not redecorated the place since 1963. It was the bottom floor of a two-story brown brick storefront in town, the top floor of which was an apartment that used to house her and her husband, but was now the home of Eleanor and her daughter. Carol Murphy, a blonde in her fifties who had failed in her mother’s eyes by never being married, had taken over running the shop in 2010. The change of ownership was not publicized though, and the county still regarded Eleanor as the owner. She always said she would relinquish the place on the day she died, and so far it looked like she would hold to that promise.

Eleanor knew that the first thing her daughter would do would be to redecorate, but Eleanor was steadfastly against that plan. She loved the white tile floor, with the accent rose tiles. She loved the pale pink walls, and the little cream chairs and couch dotted with roses in the waiting area. The glass tabletops on their burnished gold frames deserved to stay exactly where they were. So what if a tile or two was cracked? You could hardly see the water stain along the white baseboard. The salon chairs might squeak a bit, but they worked perfectly fine. Her loyal customers certainly never complained.

Saturdays the beauty parlor was a haven for the older women of the county who needed the same hairstyle they had worked hard for the past forty years to preserve and were not about to give up. Several of them had kept their standard weekly appointment for years, and Saturdays belonged to them. Weekdays

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after five were for the younger working women of the county who wanted to come in to cover their grays or trim their layers. Occasionally, the nearby high school students would come get a fancy up-do for a dance or a special date. Rarely, a man who needed a trim would walk in, but upon seeing he was in a foreign world, he would almost never come back.

Yes, Eleanor had kept things the same for years, and was not about to change them now. So, as another Saturday rolled around, Eleanor sat in the waiting area while her regulars wandered in throughout the morning. She would roll hair into curlers, as Carol trimmed and dried. Alongside them worked Maria Vasquez, a hire Carol had snuck in behind her mother’s back, as the woman was Mexican and Eleanor did not approve. Bethany Goble, the youngest of the employees, was called in only when she was needed for dances and fancy dates. This had been the way for the past twenty years.

Helen Woods, the red head who insisted to anyone outside the beauty parlor who would listen that her color was still all-natural, sat beneath her regular drier, pretending to read a magazine as she talked to her friend, Ruth Marsh, a gray haired woman who felt no need to cover it, next to her. She cared more about the socializing than having her hair done. Carol was trimming Karen Rogan’s long gray hair while her mother put Lilly Kartz’s snow white hair in pink plastic rollers. The ladies had just sent Maria out to pick up lunch for everyone, and were beginning to relax into the gossipy chatter that would sustain them through the next hour.

“I wonder sometimes just what the world is coming to,” Karen commented, gazing out the window. The others could see what had grabbed her attention

right away. Two men in jeans were walking down the sidewalk holding hands.

“That’s alright, dear,” Helen said. “You don’t have to tell it.

We will.”

“I know, I know,” Helen tutted, “I saw two girls kissing the other day, and I swear to you Karen, one of them had pink hair!”

“Well, y’all are just tryin’ to make me more curious, I believe,” Ruth protested. “I’d like to know what happened.”

“Ridiculous and unnatural,” Karen sniffed, shaking her head and making Carol pause her cutting. “I can’t believe it’s spread so far. You know what it reminds me of, don’t you?”

“Calm yourself,” Karen laughed. “I’ll tell it. Like Ruth said, it happened when we was all back in high school. There was this girl. What was ‘er name, Helen?”

“Samantha, I believe it was.”

“No dear, what?”

“What happened to poor Carson, Brother Jackson’s boy.”

There was a collective gasp and nod, hands coming to hearts throughout the room.

“Oh yes,” Helen continued, after all the ladies had a chance to make their displeasure known. “You know that really was awful. That girl clearly encouraged ‘im and those awful things she tried to say.”

“Ridiculous lies.”

“Excuse me,” Ruth said, “but I don’t believe I know what y’all are talkin’ about.”

“O’ course not,” Lilly sniffed in disdain. “It happened when we was all back in high school. Horrible thing to bring up. It wasn’t talked about by folks then.”

“Calm down Lilly,” Eleanor scolded, “nobody was goin’ to tell it, but now it’s been brought up. It’d just be rude to not tell Miss Ruth.”

“Oh I suppose so,” Lilly sniffed again, “but I really don’t think it right of y’all to talk about.”

“That’s what I thought. Well then, Samantha was such a pretty girl, blond hair, natural curls, and big eyes, all that.

I confess, I was jealous. Anyways, Carson, son o’ the preacher we had then, liked Samantha an awful lot. ‘e kept bringin’ ‘er flowers and invitin’ ‘er to church an’ all the formals with him, stuff like that. She kept politely turnin’ ‘im down, but I guess ‘er daddy found out, and ‘e told ‘er to go just once to be polite. Afterall, Carson was a very nice boy.”

“Handsome, too,” Helen cut in. “Why, ‘e was so tall!

Didn’t even have no red on ‘is face like the other boys in our grade neither.”

“I know, we all thought Samantha was so lucky,” Karen took back over the story, “Carson brought ‘er to the Spring formal, and they was just the nicest lookin’ couple you ever did see. Danced all night, then Carson took ‘er home, and they never went out again. Thing was, we graduated, then a month later Samantha’s daddy comes barging into the Sheriff’s office draggin’ Samantha and Carson with ‘im. Says Carson got Samantha pregnant and now they gotta get married.

“Well the whole time, Samantha’s sayin’ she don’t want to, and Carson didn’t give ‘er a choice in the

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whole thing. Utterly ridiculous o’ course. As if a Preacher’s son would do a thing like that. As if ‘e’d do anything before they was married if ‘e wasn’t sorely tempted.

She must o’ led poor Carson on. Now Carson’s sayin’ she’s lyin’ and ‘e don’t want to be married to no liar, but Samantha’s father’s determined. You know how big Big’un is? Well Samantha’s dad was six inches taller still. Used to reach into ‘is chicken coop, grab a snake, if there was one, and whip it so hard the head ‘ould pop off.

“Anyways, Samantha marries Carson, and soon the baby’s born. Well, we’re all set to celebrate, get ‘im baptized, and pretend we don’t all know what she did before they was married, but the baby’s stillborn. They have a funeral and all, then a few weeks later, Samantha’s daddy dies. God rest ‘is soul. Well, without ‘er daddy to hold ‘er to ‘er word, Samantha decides she wants a divorce, but Carson knows it’d be wrong.

“Samantha tries to push it, but ‘e won’t budge. Soon she comes in, accusin’ him o’ hittin’ ‘er and all sorts o’ terrible stuff. Even falls down the stairs, breaks a rib, and blames it on ‘im. Now, we all know she’s lyin’ tryin’ to get ‘er divorce. Carson still won’t give ‘er a divorce, no matter what she puts ‘im through. For some reason, ‘e loves her, and like I said, ‘e knows it’d be wrong o’ them to get a divorce, bless ‘is heart. By now, most o’ the town is against ‘er. She ain’t entirely welcome anywhere anymore.

“Then, there’s this awful storm one night, thunder, lightnin’, all that. They’s fightin’ an’ Carson drives off to clear ‘is head, but the car goes off the road into the ditch. Kills Carson o’ course, and leaves us all with Samantha. Didn’t seem too sad about it when the Sheriff showed up at ‘er house to tell ‘er neither. She gets ‘er husband buried as soon as she can, real quick and quiet like. We all wanted to go, but she made sure

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it was a small funeral. Buried ‘im in a cheap little coffin, then started packin’ up all ‘er stuff. None of us were sad to see that part. Good riddance, ya know?”

“Then, the next week,” Helen cut in, full of righteous indignation and unable to bear sitting quietly any longer, “she ran off with another girl! Nobody remembers ‘er name. Some girl who’d been driftin’ through and workin’ as a clerk in the General store. We was all shocked o’ course. Explains why Samantha wanted ‘at divorce so bad. Wanted to head out with a girl. Goodness, I can still barely believe it.”

“O’ course, that’s not the worst of it,” Karen took back over, shooting a frown at Helen. “The worst of it is before the girls left, Samantha sold the car to my cousin Tommy.

You know Tommy, Billy and Rachel’s boy? ‘e was gonna fix it up an’ resell it an’ all. It was a real nice car, or ‘e wouldn’t o’ done business with ‘er. Then, one day, ‘e tells the Sheriff that when ‘e was workin’ on the car ‘e saw someone had stuck a little ol’ hole in the brake line.

Said the fluid or whatever leaked out over the first mile or two, then when ‘e was finally goin’ up to speed on the highway, Carson couldn’t stop, and ‘e crashed.

“Sheriff always thought Samantha and that other girl did somethin’ but they was already gone, and over the past month anyone could’ve got at the car. ‘e couldn’t do nothin’ about it. So they got away with killin’ Carson, and Samantha took all ‘is money off to wherever they went.

Who knows where that is? Wherever it is, I just hope they’s out there makin’ each other as miserable as Samantha made poor Carson.”

“Poor Carson,” Ruth weighed in. “One little mistake ruined his whole life.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Eleanor muttered, “And he should o’ known better, but Samantha shouldn’t o’ lead him on. It must o’ been her idea in the first place.”

“But what if she was telling the truth?” Carol asked.

“You weren’t there, dear,” Helen said. “Carson was the nicest boy ever there was. ‘e never would’ve never hurt a girl, or animal, or nothin’.”

“Too right,” Ruth interjected, “and don’t speak ill o’ the dead. Now, if y’all are done gossiping, I’d like to remind ya that we still need volunteers to bring food to the church picnic.”

“I’m bringin’ my egg salad,” Eleanor chimed in.

“What do y’all think o’ that that new preacher, Brother Rob?” Karen asked.

“Oh, well I don’t like ‘im.”

“Me neither. ‘e’s too young.”

“Exactly, I like me an older preacher. They just know how things are done.”

“Right, those young ’uns don’t work hard enough neither.”

“Not like how things used to be.”

“I miss the old days.”

“So much violence, men dating men, and women dating women.”

“Just not the way it’s meant to be.”

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OLD HABITS Lily Carlos, 2020

There is this abrupt sound echoing louder and louder around me. I can feel my own body breaking from the dissociation of my soul. My body awakes as it reacts to the sound of my alarm I sit up, my room is pitch black, and unknowingly I turned my alarm off. I check the time, the blue light shining from the phone burns my eyes back into my sockets. Seven o’clock in the morning and my aching body is already dreading getting up. My room is pitch black, so I blindly walk towards the light switch.

My eyes feel heavy as the lights go on and I quickly grab my towel to hop into the shower. Throughout the day this morning shower helps my body to stay awake, plus the feeling of the hot water piercing my back feels great too.

I take quick showers, I am not the type of person to stay there for a whole hour, that is just wasteful. Anyways, my routine in the morning is contemplating if I need this job, taking a shower, and doing my makeup so I look less like a human raccoon with dark bags under my eyes. I go upstairs since my room is located in the dead space of the basement. Windows surround the main portion of my house and I see the white snow glaring back into the house, giving it natural lighting. I live in a rather big house in the middle of nowhere. The silence is so consuming that I can hear my thoughts. As I walk through the kitchen the dust lifts from the floor into the light like shimmer in the air.

My coffee pot was timed beforehand so I do not have to wait for the coffee to brew. The coffee aroma gives me a sense of comfort with this cold weather. I enjoy the stillness in the morning, I prepare my mental state before the chaos of the day. I pack my lunch and pour a nice hot cup of Starbucks at-home coffee. I hear the creaking of the bed wobble in the other room. The main bedroom where my father sleeps. I grab a scone

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from the cabinet and proceed to sit at the table in the middle of this open landscape of the house. I hear footsteps within the hallway and see the faint face of my father who had just woken up. I say, “Good morning dad.” He grunts in response as he is drawn to the extra brewed coffee. As he pours it into one of his thermal cups, I shift my head looking directly outside to see the sudden downfall of snow. I glance over at my father who is limping over to the couch and slowly sits down. As I got my things ready to leave, I spoke with a soft tone, “Are you going to be working tonight?” and he nodded. By now, I knew the answer, but it never hurts to think about getting a different response. I grabbed my coat and rushed out the door with a chill down my spine. The cold air shocked my body when I was putting in the code to close the garage door. I hopped quickly into the car and drove off. Today seemed like a day to play soft music while the glistening snow instantly melts when hitting my windshield. When I arrived at work, I got a sudden phone call from my father.

“Hey, Dad, what’s up?” with a monotone voice as if I already knew what he was going to say.

He replies, “Check my account. What’s my balance?”

“I’ll send you a picture,” I said. The discussion ended there, and I walked straight into my shift.

Time goes by and I head straight home. By 5 o’clock it is already dark outside and seems like the whole world is asleep. I enter the abandoned house I call home. It is completely dark inside then I proceed to head to my room to change into my bathrobe. It felt like it was 30 degrees inside as it was outside. I sluggishly head upstairs to make dinner for myself. I typically make extra for my father to have later when he arrives home but it is normal for him not to eat it. Before I realize it is 8 pm, I finish packing my lunch for

the next day and decide to head back downstairs. I lay on the heavily weighted blankets I indulge myself around with. Without warning, I am falling fast asleep with my scented humidifier consuming the air with oil scented lavender. Within my subconsciousness, I can hear an intense thumping heading directly to my room. My door screeches open like a little girl who is demonically screaming. The figure that walks into my room turns on my bright lights startling me to at least keep one eye open. I recognize the figure to be my father standing next to my king size bed. My petite body sits up and my vision is still blurred after being woken up in the REM stage of sleep.

He does not say a word but examines the room and my agitated expression. Then I feel his rough calloused hand graze my cheek and go to pinch it just like how he used to when I was a little girl. I can smell the faint scent of alcohol from his hands. He walks towards the door with his head down. He heads upstairs into his lazy boy and sits in the dark, blasting old Mexican classics about love and loneliness. About regret and solitude. As I lay there, I never know what my father fantasizes about because he can never utter a word to me anymore. What does he think about it? The divorce? A past girlfriend? Or is he more worried about how he is going to pay the electric bill? I do not know, yet I can see the defeat in his eyes.

And there is nothing I can do to help. A new day starts, and the same habits continue.

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THE FOREST Domenic Boyce, 2020

You awaken on what feels like soft grassy ground and as your eyes slowly open you see a mass of towering trees around you. The gigantic, towering, masses of wood look as big as a house and could dwarf the Empire State Building. Among the skyscraper-like trees you can see smaller more normal sized trees and all sorts of brush such as berry bushes, thorn bushes, and other smaller shrubs.

A multitude of brightly colored flowers decorate the forest floor along with all the other greenery. It seems that the sun is just about to set and the constant flashing of fireflies on trees and in the air help light up some of the more dim places. Among the plants and trees you spot a herd of deer grazing not too far away and as you stare at them the largest of the group raises its head to stare right back.

After a moment the deer returns to its grazing and you take that as a sign to get moving and find out where you are and what exactly this place is. As soon as you start moving you notice black crows scattered along the forest wherever you seem to go and have the unsettling feeling that you are constantly being watched. After walking for nearly two hours you spot what seems to be a large stone wall in the distance. As you approach it you notice large vines and plants spread over the wall and between them, little gaps in the structure. When you peer through, you see only a mix of stone and grass as if it had been overgrown long ago. There seems to be no way in where you currently are so you begin to make your way around the giant wall. You see a spot where a giant section of the wall had been smashed down. You think to yourself, no man could have done this. You couldn’t back down now though, you needed to find out where you were and what had brought you here. As soon as you reach the top of the

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pile of rubble you get your answer to what had made the hole and your heart nearly stops. A gigantic skeleton of what looks to have once been a snake-like creature lays spread out around the center of what you can now see is a giant courtyard. You approach the thing and lay your hand on what seems like one of its ribs and can feel just how strong the bone is, this thing must have been an extremely strong predator. What could have happened to it? You decide it may be best to move on from this place, not wanting to find out if the creature had died naturally or from some greater predator. As soon as you leave the courtyard you notice something that had not seemed to be there before. A giant tower that seemed similar to a tree with many smaller towers branching off from it at all different heights. As you look up to the top of the tower you notice the time has not seemed to change whatsoever. It still looked as if it were around the same time as when you got here. That couldn’t be right though, you had been walking for around 3 hours now and when you had awoken it had seemed like the sun was just about to set. Now even more curious of the place you found yourself in, you press on to the tower, hoping for some answer. As you approach the tower you feel a strange pressure around you like nothing you had ever felt before.

You hadn’t noticed but all of the crows had seemingly vanished and no matter how hard you looked you couldn’t find a single one. You scour the base of the tower for any way in and luckily find a broken chunk of wall on the west side. You carefully push aside any rubble and make your way inside.You make your way further in and past a doorway. Dim light glows throughout the tower as you peer up into what seems like an endless mirroring spiral staircase, one side being wooden and the other a smooth stone material. You begin the ascent to the top on the wooden side and soon notice that the wood may not be as stable as you originally had hoped. You brace yourself on the

railing and hope that you will not step on a soft spot. After a rough 10 minute climb you reach what seems to be the top floor. A large book sits in the center of the room laid out upon a lectern and wide open. You carefully approach the book and try to make out anything that could help you learn anything about this place. Nothing makes sense, it’s like everything is in a different language.

You decide to take the book with you as someone may be able to help you later on. As you pick up the book you feel a tingling in your hands and immediately drop the book and look at your hands. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, you think it might just be the reality of everything finally setting in. You’re in a foreign area, world even, with no recollection on how you had gotten there and no understanding of anything around you. You carefully pick the book up again and place it in your side bag, feeling nothing this time. As you turn around and gaze out the window you see a new type of scenery in the distance, what seems to be a swamp is laid out a bit of a ways away and it seems to be calling out and beckoning for it to be explored.

You descend the tower and head towards the swamp that you saw from the top of the tower. As you approach you see huge lily pads in the water and giant lotus flowers blooming from some of them, large leafless trees sprout from the water and fill you with a sense of unease. You look for a way through the swamp and test some of what seems to be ground. Instantly you sink into soft, squishy mud up to your ankle. You panic a bit and rush to pull it out, going through this might be a bit tougher than you originally thought. Everything seems to be mud and water.

You think about swimming but immediately decide against it, remembering what you had seen in the courtyard.

Even if that thing was dead there could be other creatures lurking about. Now that you think about it, you haven’t seen any animals in a while.

Surely the forest wasn’t the only inhabitable place right?

After searching the area and seeing no other easy way through the swamp you notice that the giant lily pads seem to form a sort of makeshift path. Hesitantly, you test the first lily pad, it moves slightly in the water and you stumble a bit and have to catch your balance on it. This one seems to be able to sustain your weight, hopefully the rest are the same. You begin to traverse the swamp across the lily pads, admiring the vast swamp all around you. Finally you start to see some wildlife in the surrounding areas. The lightning bugs have returned and seem to be guiding you along the lily pads. Frogs are latched onto trees sprouting from the water and some sit on lily pads, some larger than average turtles patrol the waters around the lily pads, and what seems to be a flock of pure white herons. Despite the usual unease and disgust that a swamp would normally make someone feel, you can’t help but feel amazed at how beautiful this place is. After what seems like forever you see a small bit of solid land that looks different from the mud that you had sunk into. You begin to speed up a bit, longing for solid, stable ground. You finally reach the small piece of land and collapse to your knees, feeling the nice soft grass. It seems a bit out of place for this sort of terrain to be out in the middle of a swamp but who are you to question this place? After all you have seen so far this would be one of the least strange things. You lay out on the ground to rest for a bit, looking up at the same old unmoving sky that you had seen when you had woken up originally. After a bit of a rest you stand up, dust yourself off, and start to walk across the little piece of land. As you clear a bit of a hill, you see a small stone structure and what seem to be iron bars shaped similar to a prison cell surrounding the structure. As you get closer you can see how corroded the bars are and how loose and crumbled the stone looks.

You push your way past the bars and walk over to a hole in the

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center of the structure that seems to lead straight down.

You instantly regret your decision as the stone below your feet crumbles and you plummet into the pit. You brace for impact but to your surprise are greeted with lukewarm water at the bottom of the pit. You quickly scramble out of the pool of water before anything else has the chance to fall down on top of you. Around you are four separate paths, torches lining the walls and lighting the way. The walls look like carved stone bricks, moss, vines and other vegetation covers much of it and the stuff that does seem visible looks crumbled and weak. You look back up at the hole you fell from, sadly it doesn’t seem like you could be getting out the way you fell in without any help. Maybe there was another exit in whatever this place is. You look around carefully wondering what path you should try first and choose to go for the north path as you hope it will lead out of this place. You begin to walk forward through the corridor and after a few turns you get to another crossroads. Now that you think about it, what if this way is the wrong way? What if it goes on forever? This seems like a sort of maze and what happens if you get lost? Will you be able to find your way back? You begin to think of a way to mark your path, all you have in your bag is the book you found, you really don’t remember why you have the bag in the first place. After a while of deliberating you decide to try and snuff out one of the torches. You head back to the start and grab one off the wall and try to splash a bit of water on it. It goes out and you’re left with a long stick with a bit of charcoal on the end. You dry off the end at the cost of your clothes getting a bit darker, and then head over to the wall. You drag the charcoal tip lightly against the wall and luckily it leaves a visible black mark. With this you can mark your way and where you have looked already. Hopefully it wouldn’t be all that long of a maze. After about half an hour of twists and turns you finally reach what seems to be a living quarters.

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You see a low down bed with what seems like animal skin and fur for blankets and sheets. Something that looks like a cooking space sits across from the bed and just then it hits you. You have been wandering around this world for what seems like around half a day or more. Yet you haven’t felt the slightest bit of hunger or anything. You start to worry a bit about food and what will happen if you do end up getting hungry. Especially down here where you can’t really get any food or gather anything.

After looking through the room you find a mostly used spool of string under the bed. This may be useful but if it is mostly used, maybe it’s already been used to map out some of the maze. You start the long walk back, following the marks you made on the wall at each turn. Once you get back to the main room where you had fallen in, you scour the room looking for a trace of the string. Luckily it is visible on the floor of the east path. Where could this lead? There are no traces of it anywhere else. This has to be the way out, that would make sense as the spool was placed back in the room. You begin to follow the string down the corridor and through the halls. This way was much shorter and soon you reach what seems to be an empty room with a ladder at the opposite end. You look up and see what seems to be a dim light shining through from the area at the top of the ladder. You begin the climb, carefully making sure to grab on to everything firmly and testing it before you put your full weight on it. After a long arduous climb you finally reach the top. In front of you is a door that the bright light seems to be leaking out of. The door slowly creaks open as you push on it and reveals the sun on the horizon just about to set just how it was when you got here. You step out onto what seems to be a giant hill, the swamp laid out around you now seems to take on a darker red color and the water seems to be smoking.

The air around you feels hot and you quickly decide that you need to leave. The ground feels hot

through your shoes, and the air is making it harder to breathe. Luckily this section of the swamp seems to have more solid ground and less mud to sink into. Trees covered with dark red leaves cover the area and there are much less lily pads. Just how far did the maze take you? You can barely see the old swamp quite a distance away and even then, it’s pretty far. You run through the trees avoiding everything, trying to make as much distance from the heat as possible. As you run under a tree a few of the vines hanging off of it rub against you and a painful burning sensation runs through where they touch. You yell out in pain, shaking the vines off and seeing some of your skin reddened from the heat. You continue to run through the swamp, now avoiding the trees like the plague. As you reach the end of the swamp you see a forest with a large amount of trees, the tops of which all merge together forming what looks like a roof over the forest. As your foot lands on the ground of the new terrain you instantly feel the air around you become cooler, the heat from the previous area is felt nowhere. You head over and lean up against a tree and look at where the vines touched you, long burn marks line where they had sat and while the extreme heat from the swamp is gone, the marks feel hot to the touch. You don’t want to go back to the swamp to get water as you would have to deal with the heat again, and even if you did you get the feeling that the water may just make it worse. You shrug it off and get up, heading further into the roofed forest. It seems much darker here and lightning bugs seem much less frequent. As you progress further into the forest what seems like a clearing with a soft light streaming through the roof of the trees is laid out in front of you. In the center of the clearing seems to be a large, solid oak door. As you lay a hand on it you get a feeling of familiarity from it, this will surely take you back, but you have yet to find out what any of this meant or

why you had been brought here in the first place. Do you really want to leave so soon?

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FUTURISTIC Darin Van Fleet, 2020

As I entered the hotel, the sound of silence was deafening. The last of the cleaners were filing into their charging stations and the lady at the desk disappeared behind the rotating door where hers was as well. I ate the last of my cheesy volcano melt and made my way to the elevators.

I put my hand up to the pad and it made a small beep, the door materialized open and I stepped in. “15th floor please” I mumble in a tired voice. “Certainly sir!” the announcer says excitedly. The elevator shoots up with barely any sound as the door on that floor materializes back. I let out a long sigh and took a sip out of my soda, bored and tired I looked at the side of the cup and read the messages ‘Never gets warm! Always cold!’ these are true. These cups from the Magnetic Monster burger place are built to always keep the soda cool, in any weather condition. You can never keep them though, once you’re done with your drink they disintegrate into nothing, at least it doesn’t make a mess.

“15th floor!” the announcer says, it startles me after zoning out on the cup for two minutes. I shuffle out of the elevator and walk down the long hall of doors, I hear softened chatter from different rooms. I make it to my door and go to put my hand to the pad and it flashes a solid green. I stop for a second, it’s supposed to blink green when it unlocks, solid green means it’s already unlocked.

I slide the door open slowly and see the holograph table smashed. Its projected red and yellow errors are faintly lighting up the room. I try to open the door more but it wont open any further its track is broken, it was forced open. I squeeze through and hear a crackle, I look down and see more shards from the holo table. I walk toward the kitchen area and see the cabinet doors glitched open, they flicker

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green and red lights, not knowing if they are locked or unlocked. My subzero fridge is wide open with ice fog flowing out, it hasn’t been open long. I take a sip of my soda and make my way to my bed. *fwoosh* *GASP*, I felt something touch my hand and quickly look over.

My soda cup disintegrated because it was empty, geez horrible timing. I look back over and see the covers of my bed messed with, and see my holo patio door open. This is very strange, what was this person looking for?

“There you are, 327” mumbled a strange voice.

“Who said that, show yourself” I commanded as I turned around to my empty hotel room. My door is glitching trying to shut but it’s stuck on something so it keeps opening back up. I glanced over to my closet and noticed my luggage was all over the floor, tossed without care.

I’m going to have to fold them all over again.

“What are you looking for, do I have something you want?” I say looking around for something to move in my room.

“You know exactly what I’m looking for 327, the item you stole from us long ago” says the strange voice again.

My eyes widen as I finally realize what he’s looking for, my AI program, the ‘Shade I-V82 AI’. It has the power to unlock any passlock, the ability to predict lottery numbers, pilot any vehicle, and it can also overload any computer in its radius with cat pictures but that was me showing off.

It can do almost anything, I made it when I was working for Hex Corp. I didn’t steal anything, they wanted it for themselves. They wanted to rig the market in their favor but I wasn’t going to let them.

“Hand it over 327, and you can walk away from this unharmed” the strange voice claims in the darkness.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have what you’re looking for” I say as I slowly reach into my bag and grab the case for my holo glasses.

“There it is, grab it!” the strange voice yells and two robotic guards appear and knock me down. The holo glasses case sliding toward the patio door, I reach for my gun under the bed and fire two rounds into the first guard’s neuroptics, he explodes with electricity and falls over. The second guard grabs my left arm, I wrestle my arm out and whack him with my gun and dispense him as well. Two more guards bust through my broken door, their faces went from a calm blue to an angry red and rush towards me, I rush to the holo door to the patio and grab my case. Without even thinking I jump off my patio and land on the roof of a different building, I stumble back on my feet only to see the two other guards jump over as well. The cool air hits me as I start running and jump to the next building, the guards follow without fail not missing a step and start to get closer. A hover chopper passes over my head with the Hex Corp logo and spins around following the guards. “Don’t let him get away” The hover chopper’s speaker yells. I run faster and slide down the second to last building and hide in the alley. The light from the hover chopper flies over the alley and the guards jump with it, I catch by breath near a dumpster.

“Find him, now!” The hover chopper flies back over the building and I can hear the guards robotic legs screech and start running elsewhere. Ignoring the awful smell, I quickly wipe myself off and check to see if the case is still in my pocket.

inside case down to reveal the usb stick. Its glassy outside reflects the moon as I put it back in the case, I quickly put my holo glasses on and check the news stations. And figures, it’s all over them, the chase, my face, my name, all of it. I slide down the alley wall and cover my face with my eyes. “I can’t believe this, I should have done something more simple like work at a fast food joint” I mutter to myself. My glasses flicker, my AI has programmed itself into them. “What is wrong 327?” Shade asks. “We need to go into hiding, they are coming for you, I can’t let them control you” I whisper. “Control me?” Shade asks. “Nevermind it now, you are safe, I need a place to stay off the grid. Can you find such a place?” I ask. “Yes” Shade answers. My glasses start lighting up with locations, once she finds a good spot it’s time to start plotting a way to get out of this city and wipe my face off the stations. What a pain you turned out to be my creation.

“So much trouble, all because of how brilliant you are” I mumble to myself. I open the case and see my holo glasses, I take them out and move the top of the

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I

N

In this survey course, students will examine a broad range of problems and experiences of African-Americans in North America from colonial times through the 1970s. Beginning with the earliest arrivals of African slaves to work in the Spanish and Portuguese empires through the American Civil Rights Movement, the course explores relationships not only between black and white societies, but also within the African-American community.

No prerequisite courses required.

TuTh 11:00am-12:15pm

HIST 208-01