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Mosaic 2021

Saint Mary’s University of Minnesota Literary and Arts Magazine Editor Jillian Alekna

Selection Committee Jack Broaders Shanice Davis Kati Keller Sion Williams

Faculty Advisor Dr. Erin Mae Clark

Cover Art “Winter’s Night” by Gabriel Rysavy

A Note from the Editor

his past year has brought both darkness and light, pain and pleasure, or simply the unexpected happenings in a calendar year. Like anything new, it takes a lot of growing pains and blisters (mental or physical) to finally realize that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, the sun will come out tomorrow, there are rainbows after rain, and silver linings in storm clouds (or any other sayings that come to mind). Each piece in the magazine this year has a connective thread to our theme of darkness into light at various stages, some more advanced than others, of course. These stages are part of a tedious process with no predetermined conclusion, but you can always hope to look back and see the courage and grit it took to make it this far. At least, this is what I hope to do when the world returns to “normal.” Thank you to the lovely selection committee and my advisors; you all are awesome and I’m thankful for all of the hard work you’ve put into helping this indecisive editor make some choices and the process enjoyable (and have a few laughs along the way). To the writers and artists: I hope you’re as proud as I am of this magazine and that you continue to share your gifts with the world. Finally, thank you to my family and friends who’ve had my back since day one, who’ve seen and loved me through the darkness, the light, and the muddy colors in between called life. For someone who tends to overwrite, I can’t find the words to justify how much you mean to me.

~Jillian R. Alekna

Table of Contents

Arches (Kelly Ferguson)_____________________________ 82 At Island Lake (Terra Lieser)_________________________ 24 Bell Tower (Gabriel Rysavy)__________________________ 12 Between the Clouds (Sion Williams)____________________ 18 Black Tint (Sion Williams)___________________________ 76 Cigarettes in the Silverado (John Rothering)_____________ 106 Clownery (Kendra Baca)_____________________________ 30 Don’t Tell Me Not to Riot (Destiny Walker)_____________ 6 Dreambird (Maggie Black)___________________________ 121 Driver (Joel Zabel)_________________________________ 92 Eight Minutes, Forty-Six Seconds (Destiny Walker)_______ 63 En Pointe (Sarah Hannan)____________________________ 87 Essence (Kati Keller)________________________________ 51 Eyes Open (Joshua T. Johnson)________________________ 25 Frosted Berries (Jillian Alekna)________________________ 40 Frosted Pine (Jillian Alekna)__________________________ 96 Frozen Stream (Gabriel Rysavy)_______________________ 113 Geometric Sky (Sarah Hannan)________________________ 62 Graffiti (Sion Williams)______________________________ 6 Happiness Collage (Maggie Black)_____________________ 69 I’m Falling (Elliot Rysavy)___________________________ 69 Indelible (Kati Keller)_______________________________ 68

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Inheritance (Isaac Barutha)____________________________ 82 La Comedia (Sion Williams)___________________________ 27 Love Considered True (Paul A. X. Rupert)________________ 52 Midnight Ramen (Kati Keller)_________________________ 2 My Heart (Maggie Black)_____________________________ 72 One Phone Call Away (Sam Hanson)____________________ 12 Passing On (Kati Keller)______________________________ 90 Peach Arches (Sion Williams)_________________________ 9 Power Out (Maggie Black)____________________________ 64 Precariously Through the Wind (Sion Williams)___________ 37 Setting Off (Kati Keller)______________________________ 110 Sharp, Yet Soft (Jillian Alekna)_________________________ 104 Splash of Pink (Jillian Alekna)_________________________ 57 Tame Impala at Midnight (Sion Williams)________________ 51 Tea Time (Mandy Schmidt)___________________________ 53 The Choice (Luis Reyes)______________________________ 2 The Happy Little Moments (Terra Lieser)________________ 53 The Soldier of Light (Jack Broaders)____________________ 65 The Treehouse City (Maggie Black)____________________ 47 Tilting at Windmills (Gabriel Rysavy)__________________ 100 Untitled (Sion Williams)______________________________ 67 You Are Wrong (Kathleen Blissenbach)__________________ 117

I carry the fire in their eyes, the passion sat in their hearts, and the hope for a life without prosecution. My skin tells the story of a revolution. Cries of fallen brother and sisters shape my lips, the strength of kings and queens on my fingertips.

Don’t Tell Me Not to Riot

I am a force of power. I am a force of anger. I am a force of change.

~Destiny Walker~

I am a spitting image of my ancestors. Sculpted from the finest earth fueled by centuries of injustice.

I will carry on their legacy, fight for a world where we can be peacefully, Cause after 400 years we’re still yearning to be free.

Graffiti ~Sion Williams~ 1

~Kati Keller~

Midnight Ramen

Stereotypical university student Lounging in oversized hoodie and sweats Greyed past their prime Sipping Ramen from an oversized, red mug That had been holding Sharpies On a desk of smudged papers, Eternally tangled charging cords and earbuds, And disarrayed fans of folders and books and post-its and textbooks It’d been the only available mug— The rest were founding a graveyard In the chipped marble sink For a garden of food particles and grease Ranging from a day to a week old Watered by a chronically dripping faucet And nourished by foamed toothpaste

~Luis Reyes~

The Choice

Who’d’ve thought?

Another day at the Pontifical North American College. It was the day that the Vatican announced the resignation of Pope Benedict XVI. I thought this year could not go crazier. It was also the day that I had my spiritual direction meeting with the old Jesuit priest of the Seminary. This time we were walking around Piazza del Popolo, north east of the seminary. It was a beautiful winter morning. The beauty of the basilica of Santa Maria del Popolo, the smell of espresso and Italian cigars, and the Renaissance statues around the plaza gave a nice and warm gesture of being in the Holy city. Perhaps today I would talk more about my feelings toward Lucy with Fr. O’Donnell, the Jesuit. “So, what is on your mind?” he asked me, “Anything new since our last meeting?” He stopped and lit his small brown cylinder pipe. I couldn’t think about anything when he asked me that

question. My mind was far away. I should’ve remembered the task that he gave me in our last meeting for knowing what priesthood would bring to my life and how attractive marriage life can be for a seminarian. “She is on my mind,” I said after a deep breath. “Even now, Father, I cannot stop thinking of her. Walking around this plaza as I used to do with her and seeing the smoke of your pipe reminded me how much time I spent with her smoking cigars.” “Oh, my dear son!” he exclaimed, “aren’t you such a fool to fall in love at this point of your formation?” Once again, my spiritual director sounded harsh and mean with those questions. It is normal to expect that from a sixty-year-old Jesuit priest. And indeed, he was one of those few conservative Jesuits. I definitely felt that I disappointed him. My spiritual director’s question reminded me of my father. I remember as a child back in Okoboji, Iowa my dad worked so hard in the hospital. There were some days when he did not come home because he volunteered for extra hours during the night. Only on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the afternoon would he come home for a few hours and then go back to work. When he came home, he would go directly to his office. He would put his coat on the old sofa, his umbrella in the small desk, his blue folder with all his patients’ prescriptions, medical stories, and his own correspondences in his big desk. He would sit on his chair, read the newspaper, and smoke his pipe. The few times that I entered his office just to see him, he would pull down his newspaper, wink at me with a warm smile in his face and then he would continue reading and smoking. There was a Thursday afternoon during the summer when I decided to take courage and ask him to spend time with me when he was home. When he heard that, he put his newspaper in his pocket, grabbed his blue folder, sat on his old sofa, where his coat was, and poured all his mail correspondence like bills, letters from his colleagues, medical stories, and even from my school. He looked at the papers then at me and slowly he said, “time is money, so here start reading all these for me.” So, we started doing that every

Thursday. He would sit on his old sofa and want me to read all his mail correspondence. That really helped with my reading and writing skills since all his correspondence was from clinical stories, important people in town, and his colleagues. I start doing that since I was in fifth grade. I could not forget that his job did not allow him to respond back to all his letters not even the letter from my religious teacher. It is impossible for me to forget that letter and that dramatic moment in my life. I was in my sophomore year of high school when the letter arrived. It was a Thursday night of the month of November. “Where is that one from?” my dad said as he smoked his cigar. “It is from Ms. Peggy.” I replied “Ms. Peggy? I haven’t heard that name before.” “She is my religious teacher. I don’t like her because she always gives me a hard time.” There we were in his office. A big snowstorm was happening while I was about to read that letter. The envelope was orange, and the handwriting was in red and cursive. I did not want to open it and read it to my father. Although my mind was trying to convince me to keep it on my packet, I knew that sooner or later my dad was going to find what Ms. Peggy wanted to say. That is why I tried to give it to him by leaving it on his desk. He looked at me and rose his left eyebrow. “What are you doing?” he asked, “I want to hear it. If it is from the school, I bet it is important.” “Well, dad you know… I guess you should read this by yourself,” I responded shamefully and afraid of his response, “even I think we shouldn’t care about this letter. Ms. Peggy can be very irrelevant. You know how those religious professors can be” “Michael, please read it for me,” he said, “Every letter that I receive must be read no matter where it came from.” Disappointed at his response, I opened and started reading it. “Dear Dr. Waters,” I said trying to make an imitation of Ms. Peggy. “Don’t, Michael. Take this seriously,” he immediately corrected me.

“It has come to my attention that your son has shown very poor, unacceptable, and inappropriate behavior during our religion class. It seems that he has not developed any kind of piety, respect, and love for the topics that we have discussed in class. It breaks my heart to see how a son of a remarkable and well-known physician does not represent and behave as his father would’ve taught him. Although your son is brilliant in his academic studies, I am afraid to say that his behavior is a problem for the community of the school. So, I am writing you, Dr. Waters, with the hope that you will take more time to talk about this issue that is currently happening with your son. Yours in Christ, Ms. Peggy.” At least she did not mention the many times that I disappointed my friends from the football team for going to parties without them and missing instead many practices, or the number of girls that I disappointed for dating them more than one at the same time I was astonished and sad that after reading the letter, my dad was looking outside the window with no reaction on his face. I knew that I had disappointed him. I could almost hear him saying in my mind, “aren’t you such a fool?”, but he did not say that. He smoked his cigar and looked at me. No words, no reaction, not even his classic wink with a warm smile just his disappointed face. I did not know what to do. But then, he started collecting all his correspondence. That was the sign that our time was done, and it was bedtime. I was still holding the letter and did not know if he wanted it. He stood up from his old sofa and left his office. That was the day that I felt that I had disappointed my dad the most. I grew up with that mentality that every time that I needed to decide whatever I choose; someone is going to be disappointed. Just like my friends, the girls at school, and my dad, all of them I failed them because I choose something else. With my friends I choose the parties instead practicing with them, with the girls I choose many instead of one, with my dad I choose to read the letter from Ms. Peggy instead of putting it in my pocket. My life was full of disappointing others and bad decisions. I even felt that I disappointed my mom. How can I forget the day that I disappointed her before she left us? It was so hard for me seeing my mom in the

hospital having all these crazy and random treatments and tests done to her for months to figure out what was happening with her. Not even my dad and his colleagues could figure out what the illness was. All they knew was that she was dying. Things like that are not easy for a kid. I was in my freshman year of high school when I disappointed her, a year before I disappointed my Dad and the year when I was disappointing my friends and the girls at school. It was a Friday morning of November. The doctors allowed her to spend her last hours at home with us. She wanted to say her last words to me. “My little Mike,” she said lying down in her bed and trying to reach out to my hand, “there is nothing to be afraid of. You will have everything that you will need with your father. Please stop crying. Everything is going to be alright.” “I lost all of the pictures,” I responded, “I lost all the pictures of the album you gave me for Christmas last year. I will not have anything that I can remember you by”. “You do not have to be worried about that,” My mom said as she cleaned my tears and held me in her hands, “The best memories are in your heart.” There I was in her hands lying with her in her bed. I was trying to breath and then I said “But you worked so hard putting all those pictures together and there were even some that you had preserved since your childhood. They were not only some of my memories but also some of your most deep and remarkable memories.” She responded while she kissed my forehead, “Yes, I know. I have all those in my heart.” I got out of her bed and went to the window, then looking at her I said, “Is there a chance you can forgive me?” She started laughing and responded, “My dear son. What are you saying?” I punched the window, and almost broke the glass, then yelled, “What I am trying to say is that I have disappointed you and I feel terrible!” “Michael, just calm down”, my dad said while he entered

the room with the priest from town. “Fr. Bob is going to give your mother the last rights, so please be still.” “Drew, just look at our son. He has a good heart.” My mom said looking at my dad with tears in her eyes. “There is always goodness in him.” Fr. Bob started the sacrament for the sick. As soon Fr. Bob finished saying the last prayer, my mom passed away with a smile on her face. It was close to noon when she died. The day was sunny, and the snow was abundant. The room was silent, and it became a little cooler for a moment. “I appreciate your presence and ministry”, My dad said as he thanked Fr. Bob. “I will contact the funeral home soon. We will be in touch for the funeral.” “Susan was a wonderful woman.” Fr. Bob said while tears rolled down from his eyes. “I am humbled to have been a part of her life. I gave her all the sacraments that she could receive. There is no doubt that she will be in heaven interceding for all of us.” “Very kind from you as always dear Father Nosbush. You definitely have been part of our lives.” My dad said while shaking his hand. I was frozen. I did not cry or say anything. I felt broken to know that she was gone and to feel that I had disappointed her. I did not know if I had lost my mind, but for a moment I could not feel anything until Fr. Bob approached me and embraced me in his arms. After embracing me, Fr. Bob looked at me saying, “There is always goodness in you, little Mike. Your mom is right about that. I can see a vocation in you.” I was destroyed, I did not even hear what Fr. Bob was saying. My mind was just thinking of how much I had disappointed my mom. The years past, holding those memories of failures and disappointed. Nobody knew how I ended at the seminary not even my own self. Who would even have thought that I was going to be in a path of four years of college seminary and then be sent to Rome for four more years? And, in my second year in Rome I would be talking with a Jesuit Priest about my frustration and fear to decide between Lucy and the Priesthood. “Do I really need to answer that question?” I said crossing

my arms. Then, he just looked at me and did not say anything. After stretching his arms and adjusting his cassock, he turned back and walked towards the center of the plaza. Taking long and deep breaths, he looked at the sky. There were some birds hanging around the trees of plaza. He took out of his pocket a big bag of bird seed and started whistling Shepherd Me Oh God. And there he was walking around the center of the old plaza and throwing bird seed everywhere. For a few seconds no bird came to eat, but then the number of birds were uncountable. After finishing the whole bag of seed, he stood in the center of the plaza smiling and looking at how the birds were eating. I was still expecting a response from him but seeing how much he enjoyed his leisure time with birds I did not want to interrupt him because I also enjoyed that kind of leisure from Fr. O’Donnell. There were no words at all, we were just looking at the birds for more than an hour. When the birds finished all the food and started flying away, I looked at Fr. O’Donnell who lit his pipe once again. He did not look back; he just gave me his thumb up. Then, we started walking back to the seminary crossing the bridge of the River Tiber. That long walk close to the river from the plaza to the seminary allowed me to contemplate how much I trouble I had making a choice and the great fear of disappointing others. As we approached the seminary entrance, we saw the beautiful red roses growing in the front garden of the Seminary. Those roses made me remember the first time that I met Lucy. I remembered that the spring of my first year in Rome, I was leaving from my apostolic work in the nursing home which was close by the old plaza of town. The tradition was to bring red roses to the old ladies. Unfortunately, on that day they took all the ladies for a small pilgrimage. I began to walk with the red roses in my arms down the old plaza on my way back to the seminary when I saw her coming toward me. She was nothing but beautiful and pure. The way she walked made her seem weightless as our paths came to converge. The closer she came, the more I could admire the shades of gold that made the black of her hair. Admiring her for first time, I felt my

Peach Arches ~Sion Williams~ heart start pounding without ceasing. I could not know why I was smiling, perhaps it was the intense brightness of her face from being lit by the sun. We made eye contact, and she smiled warmly at me. Walking closer, our gazes met. I felt compelled to say something in Italian, but I could not find the words I was just admiring her. “She must be lucky.” She said as she was laughing, and I totally surprised that she knew English. “Well, I guess they are lucky”, I responded, “But I am not. They were not there to receive them.” She laughed and said, “you must be a seminarian. It is so lovely how you all take care of the ladies at the nursing home. I enjoy seeing that.” “We try to do it out of love.” “Of course, you guys do. It is all about love. What is your

name?” She asked as she stared at me with her amazing blue eyes penetrating my soul. “I am Michael. And yours? “My name is Lucy.” “Would you like to have a rose?” I asked without thinking, “A beautiful red rose will go nicely with your red sweater.” “Oh, thank you so much” she responded as her face turned a little red. That was my first encounter with Lucy. Since that day for the rest of the year, I met with her at the same place in the old plaza after my apostolic. I would save a red rose just for her. After many days of walking around the old plaza and spending long hours talking about our lives, the thought that she loved me came to my mind. I hoped that we were just becoming good friends. I could feel how I was falling in love. Even though my apostolic work was switched from the plaza to the school, I still went out to see her every single blessed day. Now, after an entire year of doing the same routine with her, I was in conflict because I perceived that she loved me. It was noon when I was looking at the roses. The bells of the chapel began to ring announcing the time for the Angelus. My spiritual director was there to look at the red roses. “Shall we?” he asked. “The Angelus or forget her?” “The Angelus, you silly.” After praying the Angelus, I came to realize that it was the longest Angelus that I had prayed before. When we finished, he looked at me and putting his hand on my left shoulder he said, “Mike, you listen to me, I know how it feels to disappoint people. As a priest I have experience those moments many times. And, I remember those situations when I was at the Seminary.” I saw a smile on his face when he said that. “You have Lucy, I had Elizabeth. I broke her heart, mine was too but then it was filled with more graces from the priesthood.” We kept walking around the Seminary garden, then we saw some chairs. “Let’s sit over there.” My spiritual director suggested as he

pointed at the chairs in the middle of the garden. “I remembered these chairs.” I said, “This where we had our first spiritual direction when I entered the seminary.” “Were you at peace that day?” “Absolutely not!,” I laughed, “I was struggling with all my presumptions of what my mom and dad felt about me.” “Then what happened?” “I thought I healed that and moved on” “So, are you now at peace?” “I am still not at peace, since I cannot stop thinking about Lucy,” I sighed. “All I can think about are all the possibilities of our future. She is an Italian and I am an American. If I left seminary then that means that I need to go back to America, and I would ask her if she would like to come with me. But, if she does want to come, then I would need to find a way to have Italian papers and stay here with her. What I desire is to know how I can make her happy, how I can be part of her dreams, how I can protect her, how I can be that man of her life that she always prays to God for every single blessed day.” I was out of breath and my thoughts were racing of my mouth as soon as they came to my mind, and I could feel my heart beating faster. “Then, you must make a decision.” He said as he clapped his hands forcefully, “are you staying or leaving? And please make sure you make this decision out of freedom and peace and not out of fear or doubt!” “What if I am mistaken?”, I yelled. “What if this is only in my mind, and she just wants to be friends? Or even worse, what if she does not want to talk to me after I leave seminary? “What a dilemma!”, He said as he opened his arms. “Welcome to the discerning process! Now you be a man and do whatever you need to do.” “I knew that, but there has to be another way to make a choice” I exclaimed. “Guess what?” He said while he put his hand on my shoulder. “There is not. Even Pope Benedict did not have another way. You think that people are not disappointed at his decision of

~Gabriel Rysavy~ Bell Tower leaving the papacy? It is part of our lives making decisions, and from those decisions people get disappointed at our choices. Only you can make that choice between Lucy and the Priesthood. no one else!” After saying this he stood up and left me alone in that chair. Here I was sitting in the chair and looking at the sky My mind was thinking nothing of but her and my heart was holding the amazing progress of being in formation for the priesthood. I definitely realized that making a choice is the hardest thing to do and the outcome of disappointing people is even worse than death for me. I wished Lucy could make it for me.

“Honey, can you grab me a Spotted Cow and let the dog in from outside?” asks Luke. “I don’t know why I’m so tired today.” “Sure Luke, it’s not like I didn’t just work an eight-hour shift today at the hospital,” replies Lindsey. Luke’s furry companion, Cole, comes wattling through the foyer on his way to the olive-green, leather La-Z-Boy. Cole’s head still dripping from the spray of the sprinkler as he plops his head into

One Phone Call Away

~Sam Hanson~

Luke’s lap. Luke puts the palms of his hands together in an attempt to show Lindsey an apology. She rolls her eyes at him and storms out of the foyer. Luke peers up from his chair to the baseball-sized hole in the drywall. He thinks back to last week when Lindsey chucked an apple at him, just missing his head, after he said she could never do his job, even on her best day. Needless to say, everyone in the family knows that when work is good for Luke, family life is good as well, and vice versa. It’s evident that their marriage is taking a toll from the short text messages, holes in the walls, and zero intimacy. The past few months of Luke working on a gruesome investigation could be to blame. Luke waves his arms towards the room, implying Cole should get up and out of the way, but his 80-pound rectangular frame doesn’t budge, sinking his head deeper into Luke’s lap. “Ah c’mon now buddy I’ve gotta get going,” says Luke. Cole doesn’t budge. Luke nudges him up out of his lap as he plops on the ground. Luke looks back at Cole as if he should offer a statement of gratitude for the grooming session; Cole has other intentions and leaps onto the warm nest that Luke’s butt has indented in the leather chair. “Let’s try to be better with one another and get our love back now that the case is over,” Luke writes on the mini whiteboard on the fridge. He hangs Lindsey’s car keys off one of the finger tacks in the corner of the bulletin rim, hoping she will see the note on her way out. Purchasing flowers, leaving handwritten notes, and cooking breakfast for Lindsey almost every morning, are attempts that have failed thus far to regain their love. Luke doesn’t know what else to do to earn her love back to where it was. He looks through the grand kitchen, he can’t see Lindsey anywhere. Just the leftover Captain Crunch box from his two girls, Alyssa and Kayla, who Luke just picked up from school. “How the hell could they have made a mess already with the cereal box?” Luke asks himself. Perhaps Lindsey dipped into the shower or is getting ready for tonight’s conference following today’s

triumph. Luke never really did drink during the day, but on days like today, he feels as if he deserves and needs one. He stomps out of the living room, noticing balls of hair snarls from the girls on his black tube socks. Luke sets the empty beer bottle off to the side on the hallway table and slides his feet into any of the plethora of decent dress shoes he can find in the hall. He moseys his way out to the driveway, letting the backdoor hit him on his backside. Luke speeds through town on his way to the Oregon Police Department, OPD for short. Neighbors turning their heads as if Abraham Lincoln has risen from the dead. Luke’s cherry red, 1992 diesel Ford F150 always catches the attention of neighbors, but today more than ever. His neighbors can recognize the truck, but as he gets closer to the downtown area, fewer and fewer people recognize the red F150 as Luke’s. Luke rolls into the precinct parking lot after a 15-minute drive duetting with random rock bands on the local rock radio station. The first thing he notices is a beat-up, rusted Volkswagen Bug parked in his spot. Not noticing the seven different news stations lined up in the parking lot to interview the police department that employs the top serial killer detective in the United States. Luke looks for Andy Schieb, the police chief of the OPD, who should be preparing to take the podium. All of a sudden, the crowd of reporters and bystanders part, and sprinting towards Luke is Tanner Mros, the OPD police captain. “You need to get up there and answer these questions quick! Andy is busy and we will brief you after the interview is over,” says Tanner with panic in his voice. He pushes Luke onto the stage. There is no backing out now; he is so close to the podium that he can smell the fresh disinfectant on the microphones. All the big-name reporters waiting for the unprepared Lucas Hefty to say something. He reads The New York Times, CNN, and Fox News logos on the microphone bases. Luke thinks to himself that it’s his job to arrest Trevor Timm, the most wanted serial killer in the United States, not to host the press conference. “I am not much for speaking in public, but we owe it to the great OPD team, and my great family at home,” says Luke.

Luke almost stutters with the “p” in public, nerves is an understatement. A CNN reporter follows up with a question asking Luke if he is planning to take any time off given the magnitude of the case. “Yes, I probably will spend some time at home with my family, see my longtime best friend in Colorado, and spend some time at my lake home muskie fishing,” Luke replies. A local news anchor from Oregon City News asks Luke if he has any closing statement for people at home who can now rest easy tonight. “Everyone can go to bed tonight knowing that the city of Oregon is safer than it was this morning when you woke up and remem-,” Luke is interrupted. The police chief, Andy Schieb, appears out of nowhere and bumps Luke out of the way. He provides the crowd of reporters a closing statement about how exciting this is for the city of Oregon and thanks everyone for coming. Andy whispers into Luke’s ear that they need to get inside and back to work, something has happened. Luke whispers back to Andy that if he doesn’t know what’s going on in two seconds, so help me. Andy writes on a piece of paper so none of the press can look at his lips for a mouth reading. The yellow legal pad sitting on the podium reads in thick black ink, “Timm escaped just now at 5:00 pm.” With a flushed look on Luke’s face, he gulps as if to be swallowing his pride. Andy whispers to Luke saying that Timm killed both police deputies with an unknown gun on their way to the Oregon county prison. No witnesses have been reported. Luke peers out into the crowd, looking for his beautiful wife or the bleach blonde strands of hair of his two little girls. Luke hopes they are still here and haven’t left for dance lessons yet after stopping quickly at the press conference. He spots them about 30 feet from the podium off to the left with a few other wives and children. He leaps off the stage and quickly runs over to his girls. Gently wrapping his arms around all three of them. “We’ve gotta get home right now!” Luke asserts to Lindsey. The four of them start in a brisk jog to their cars, which happen to be right next to each other in the lot. Luke nudges the little girls

both into the rear seats of his F150. Luke frantically screws down the window on the driver’s side and yells at Lindsey through the window into her car parked right next to his. He says that he’s going to get the girls home safe, and he wants Lindsey to run to the store to grab some necessities. He is taking no chances with his girls in this situation, he needs to be in fatherly control. Rushing home is a bit of an understatement, swerving through traffic as if it is a NASCAR race. Luke thinks about turning around and keeping the girls at the police station, but he can’t due to a hostage situation that went south nine years ago. State law prevents family members from taking refuge in a police station that houses firearms. In times like these, Luke is torn between being a father and being a detective. He wishes that he could be at home to protect his girls and ensure that nothing will jeopardize their safety, but it comes with the job description of sometimes needing to put your job before your family. When Luke first started the job at the OPD, he always put his wife and daughters first before anything else. However, just recently, it’s always “who’s the next killer?”, not “what’s the family having for dinner tonight?” The tires of his F150 screech into the driveway. Soon after Luke’s arrival, Lindsey rushes up through the driveway at the same frequency. She frantically hurries into the house with arms full of bread, frozen pizza, pasta, Axe deodorant, and Crest toothpaste. Luke gives the girls instructions on what to do for the next few hours; the three girls are not to leave the house or draw any attention to themselves. As similar situations have come up in the past, Luke will always check in with phone calls. It is Luke’s responsibility to call Lindsey’s burner phone so the call can’t possibly be traced to the house’s coordinates. Additionally, it is Andy’s job as the police chief to order a house watch to station deputies outside Luke’s home. It is times like these that press. Luke to become a more responsible father and husband. When circumstances get scary for his girls and they need someone the most, Luke is only one phone call away. “One phone call away”, is the saying Luke always tells himself to validate his actions on leaving the girls in possibly dangerous situations. He recognizes this

isn’t what his girls deserve, but what choice does he have when the entire city needs him? Luke leans in to give both girls a peck on the cheek, and Lindsey a warm, intimate kiss perfectly center on the lips. He begins to walk out the door but stops as something clasps onto his leg. “Daddy please don’t go! I’m scared, and you need to stay with us,” Alyssa cries. Luke grabs Alyssa’s sweaty armpits and hoists her up to his eye level, pulling her in for a deep bear hug. He whispers into her ear that he loves her and will be home soon once he catches the bad guy. He passes Alyssa over to the arms of Lindsey and gives Alyssa another kiss on the forehead. He pivots quickly and starts in a brisk jog out the door, trying to get outside before the girls see the tears running down his face. Luke slams the door to the truck and bursts into tears, screaming as loud as he can. “This is the last time I put my girls in danger because I have to leave! Timm will be the last guy I put behind bars for a while,” says Luke from the solitude of his truck. For now, Luke rushes back to the OPD. His mind in a blur about the case and his girls. Hoping to be back home sooner rather than later. His tires squeal as he pulls into his parking spot, not even worrying about locking the doors to the F150. Walking fiercely, he throws open the black saloon-style doors into the examination room. He throws back the sides of his Nautica sport coat and places his hands abruptly on his hips. Twenty-nine brightly lit monitors, a city map of Oregon, and Andy in his navy suit are at the front of the room. “What we got? One of you guys has gotta have something,” says Luke. The slanted, rectangular room is silent. He begins walking down the aisle but stops to slam his first onto the grey, metal desk next to the new analyst. His voice growing angrier as he explains to the OPD staff the magnitude of the Timm once again. He peers up to the red, digital clock hanging from the ceiling; it’s only been 70ish minutes since Timm escaped. As the evidence shows, Trevor Timm is a control seeker who

~Sion Williams~ Between the Clouds 18

always does what he wants, when he wants. He is smart, fast, sly, and dangerous, but always leaves something behind at each of his crimes. There have been four men and seven women reported as victims of Trevor Timm. Timm wants the power, he ensures this by tying their feet, hands, arms, and legs before drowning his victims in a fivegallon bucket. Leaving the five-gallon bucket for the cops to find is either his trademark or his one possible flaw. It is 6:30 p.m. and Luke is just getting back to his desk after not getting any good information from the team in the examination room. He starts to flip back to the previous information from the investigation, hoping to catch Timm’s next move. Dosing off from the combination of lack of sleep and nervousness, he wraps himself in a pink tie-blanket made by the girls. Eventually, he crashes onto the brown leather sectional with the intention of a 45-minute nap. Luke wakes to his phone playing his ringtone, “My best

friend” by Tim McGraw at 8:00 pm. Lindsey’s name pops up on his phone screen, but she shouldn’t be calling from her personal cell. Luke picks up the phone, but before he can say anything a voice comes over the phone that makes the hair stand up all over his body. “Hey there Hefty, how ya been?” snarls Timm. “Who is this?” asks Luke. “You have a beautiful home here with a couple of beautiful girls. It would be a shame if anything happened to them,” says Timm. “What do you want?” asks Luke. Luke wonders how the hell he got past the two police deputies sitting outside his house. “Here is what is going to happen. I am going to sit here with your girls, and I might tie them up, I might kiss your wife, I might drown them. Depends on what you want to do. If you want to make a big scene and get all your buddies over here, I can get it done in under one minute. If you want to come over and have a talk to figure something out, we can also do that. It’s up to you,” Timm says. The call ends. Luke looks at the phone, noticing again that the call truly did come from Lindsey and this isn’t some sick dream. Luke whispers, asking himself what choice does he have. Timm has nothing to lose; he would not think twice about dunking Luke’s family into a bucket of water and ending their life. He needs to get home fast without telling a soul, otherwise, his family could be gone in seconds. Still in some phase of shock, Luke stumbles out of his office and attempts to not make eye contact with anyone while walking down the hall. The room spinning, the floor tiles look to be moving 100 mph, and the end of the hallway narrowing to nothing. Luke lunges to the wall to get his hands on the cold, metal railing to be able to get a grip and take a breath. There is no more messing around. He begins to comprehend that it is now or never to save his girls and possibly his last opportunity to show his girls that he can be their hero. He marches through the thick double doors to find the parking lot still filled with OPD Ford Explorers and office worker cars, yet quiet and cold at 8:18 pm. “Why is Timm calling me? This has never been his motive before. What could he want from me?” Luke says aloud while

slamming his truck in reverse. Luke is indecisive on whether to take a typical detective approach or to become the hero for his girls. Nevertheless, he better decide fast because before he knows it, he is pulling up to his house. Luke screws down the window on his truck as he approaches the deputy’s squad car. Each of them has a bullet hole right through their frontal bone. Luke puts his foot to the floor and bolts up the driveway. With his hands vigorously shaking, he slowly thrusts the shift stick in park. He creeps out of the truck, attempting not to make a sound as he closes the truck door. Slouching over in a half jog to the back door, Luke stops in his tracks by a *tap* *tap* on the upstairs master bedroom window on the porch of the house. Timm. Timm has his left arm wrapped around Lindsey’s neck in a chokehold. Lindsey is crying and he can tell she is beaten up; she is swelling under her eye, has blood dribbling down her neck and clothes, and her clothes present fresh holes. Luke could only imagine that when Timm entered the house, Lindsey gave him hell to try and defend herself and their daughters. Near the back of the room, Luke notices three, five-gallon buckets sitting on the bedroom carpet. Timm points at Luke with his right index finger and wiggles it through the air in front of him, in a side-to-side motion. Luke finishes his jog to the back door and enters the house with caution, unaware of Timm’s location. He tiptoes through the mudroom, past the grand foyer, and into the butler’s pantry in the kitchen, constantly keeping an eye out for Timm to sneak up on him. In the pantry, Luke ponders what is going to happen if I talk with this guy and maybe work something out? What is there to work out? Timm has nothing to lose and is currently in a very dangerous state. He remembers that it is a necessity of Timm’s to be in power during his killings, so if there is no power available for Timm, does this mean that his interest in killing is diminished? Luke decides it is time for the hunter to become the hunted. “Hefty if you don’t show me your ugly mug, I am going to end your girls’ lives right here in your living room,” says Timm. Luke knows he can’t say anything otherwise it would give away his position, but Timm chanting out that he is in the living room gives

Luke his precise location. Luke slides through the swing doors on the other side of the pantry and into the foyer again. He can’t see Timm; he is blocked by a bookshelf constructed of thick, dark spruce that is the length of a utility van. He understands he needs to get Timm in the open where he can throw punches and get Timm moving away from his wife and daughters. Luke delays behind the bookshelf in the foyer for a minute or two, waiting to see or hear what Timm’s next move is. Whispering and mumbling to himself, Timm seems to be clueless about Luke’s location. He no longer has the power; he is the one being hunted. Luke needs a weapon, nothing that would kill Timm, but something that could injure or stun him for a second so Luke could get a grip on him. He grabs an empty 4-foot cast iron coat rack. It is a little heavy for Luke’s preference, but it is either the coatrack or an umbrella. The living room has two entrances, one from the kitchen and one from the foyer. Luke needs to get to the kitchen in order to be in striking distance of Timm. He kneels down in a bear crawl position, like a lion preparing to strike. In the blink of an eye, he sprints past the living room and foyer entrance into the kitchen, with the thin, cast iron coat rack tightly clasped in his armpit. He can now see Lindsey, Alyssa, and Kayla just around the corner as he hides behind the island, yet no Timm in sight. Creeping one kitchen tile towards the living room, Luke notices Timm looking out the window at the street. Timm is sitting upright in Luke’s La-Z-Boy in the corner of the room, but Luke can’t get to him from here without Timm having the upper hand. Luke notices a spatula from breakfast still laying on the stovetop to his right, which just happens to be out of Timm’s view. Luke slowly reaches up to grab the spatula, still not knowing what exactly he is going to do with it. The cast iron coatrack in his left hand and now a metal spatula in his right. He must get Timm up somehow, out of his chair to get him in the open. Luke heaves the spatula through the kitchen/foyer entrance and strikes the front door on the other side of the foyer. Luke falls again on all fours and finds Timm in his sights. Timm explodes from the chair with a devilish look in his eyes and darts over to the foyer. Noticing it is now or never; Luke

lunges from all fours to his feet and sprints towards Timm. Luke rounds the corner ready to strike but can’t see Timm any longer. He should be right here in the foyer but he’s not. Luke stands straight up baffled at where Timm could be. He begins turning around but gets interrupted by a fist going into his lumbar. Luke drops to his knees as the coatrack rattles on the ground right next to him. “Hefty I can’t believe you tried to get me like that. You don’t think I’ve seen something like this before in my 20-some killings?” Timm narcissistically asks. He is peering over Luke who is now off to Timm’s right. Still in the same clothes he was arrested in earlier in the day, blue jeans and a black, crewneck sweatshirt. This is the first time Luke is seeing Timm’s black snarly hair because witnesses say that he usually wears a hat. “There is only one thing that’s stopping me from tearing your guts out right now,” says Luke. “And what is that Luke? Please tell me as you’re the one on your knees gasping for air, how you are going to get me? I’m in charge bitch,” laughs Timm. With a swift kick of his feet, Luke swings his right leg around and swings it through both of Timm’s. Timm timbers to the ground, making the house shake as his entire back hits the floor at once. Luke hops on top of him trying to gain control. Timm offers a punch to Luke’s temporal region but misses. Luke counters back with an elbow that blows Timm square in the nose, gushing blood from the hit. Timm swings his body around in an attempt to get on top of Luke; Luke doesn’t see it coming and is now the one on his stomach with both arms flailing like an injured bird. Timm grabs Luke’s neck and puts it in a chokehold. Timm manages to obtain a good grip and Luke recognizes he is in trouble if he doesn’t make a move soon. He attempts to pry Timm’s hands off of his neck, but his grip is too tight and there is almost nothing Luke can do. Luke’s vision is going cloudy and his is face turning blue. He is almost at the point of giving up until he notices the Spotted Cow beer bottle on the table above him that he left earlier that day. He reaches up with every final bit of energy he has to grab the bottle, with one explosive motion he smashes it onto Timm’s head behind him. Timm drops to the ground

like a sack of potatoes, as glass shards and sprinkles of beer land on the floor below them. Luke leaps on top of Timm after gaining his strength and puts his hands behind his back. Timm is still knocked out cold. Luke screams at Lindsey to grab the duct tape as fast as she can. Luke aggressively wraps the duct tape 20ish times around Timm’s wrists, instantly regretting not to tell Lindsey to grab the handcuffs from his truck. Lindsey throws her phone on Timm’s back, the phone reads a recent call from her phone to Andy Schieb, the police chief. Timm hadn’t tied the little girls up, so they were able to assist Lindsey in getting her ropes untied. Andy explodes through the front door with the OPD Swat Team. The front door blasts through the foyer, almost landing on Timm and Luke near the hallway table. The team storms through the house confirming every room is clear and getting confirmation from every family member saying they’re alright. “You better expect that to be fixed by the pocket of the OPD and not mine, you dummy,” says Luke. Andy grabs Timm from Luke and escorts him outside now that he is somewhat awake. He “accidentally” bumps Timm’s head into the rear car door as Timm climbs in. “Oops, sorry buddy, did you bump your head there? Try to get out this time you dirty bastard,” says Andy. He walks over to Luke to offer his hand for a handshake, Luke interrupts Andy’s gesture on the front steps. “I need some time off Andy. Not just a little bit, but for a while,” Luke whispers. “I could really use your sympathy on this one. You know how stuff between Lindsey and I have not been great.” “How about this Luke, I’ll give you three months paid leave after seeing what your family went through tonight. I can be a nice guy sometimes too,” says Andy. Luke stretches out his bloody hand for a handshake to solidify the deal. Luke closes the door to Andy and strolls back into the house and plops his butt into the La-Z-boy recliner. Not before grabbing a Spotted Cow from the fridge of course. Luke feels something furry and warm land on his feet, Cole seems to have found Luke just in

~Terra Lieser~ At Island Lake 24

time after all fighting is done. “Where have you been you coward, hiding in the bathroom or something?” Luke says as he pets Cole’s ears, talking to him as if he’s a human. Luke peers up to the mantel, just below the TV on the wall to admire the four pictures of the family and one picture of Cole when he was a puppy. “You were a lot cuter back then,” Luke chuckles. Cole whines back at Luke. He notices the picture of the family at the girls’ first dance recital. “Things were so easy back then. I need to get that back and become the father to my girls and the husband Lindsey needs me to be. Hell, I’m going to go tell them right now. The hell with you, you can’t even talk back to me,” says Luke. He leaps from the olive-green, leather chair and sets the beer bottle on the kitchen counter. Luke sprints up the stairs to the master bedroom where he sees Lindsey lying on the bed with the two girls. He reaches around all three of them and brings them in for a hug. “I will always be here from now on. I’ll never be one phone call away again,” says Luke.

Eyes Open

~Joshua T. Johnson~

“Hahahahahahah.” Hearing the cackle from his friend Jude, Sebastian wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not as he got Dr. Pepper in a water glass. He and his three friends were watching a complete train wreck at the McDonald’s register. “Humanity is truly something,” said his brother Elisha. What they watched was a truly peculiar situation for 9:42 in the morning. Inside the newly renovated store, the four of them, two McDonald’s workers, and one disheveled man with eight ducklings surrounding him took up the front half of the store. Sebastian and his friends had already ordered their food—seven McDoubles and four large fries—when the man and his fowl entourage entered. At that moment, the worker decided to treat everything as normal and not even mention the feathered friends. This was a mistake. The man ordered, and when asked for payment, proceeded to try and pay by giving a duckling to the employee. From there, things quickly took flight with the manager coming over, a duckling being thrown across the register in retaliation, the manager threatening to “beat the shit out of him”, and the man picking up more ducklings for ammunition. “Should we do something? Like he’s throwing them,” said Ella, Sebastian’s girlfriend. “Not a chance,” Jude replied quickly to his sister. Sebastian thought Jude seemed a little too content to watch how this situation played out. He considered doing something, but he just let himself watch how it unfolded. Sebastian watched as the man continued to throw his ducklings across the register with the manager yelling at him. The employee for the time hid behind the register and apparently decided to brave another look. In the process of him coming up—now with a hammer in his hand—a duckling was thrown from the hand of the man. The startled employee swung for it. It was a home run.

The poor brown duckling at that moment was dismembered—the head completely severed from its body by sheer force of trauma. Blood splattered over the register, the man, and the happy-meal toy display. Sebastian was surprised how much blood one little duckling can have inside. The employee had a bloodied arm while the manager was at a loss for words. The head of the duckling lay on the ground in front of the friends. Sebastian looked away from the deformed head while Ella’s hand grabbed his. “Maybe we should leave now?” said Elisha. “Yep… let’s go,” Sebastian said. He had tried to keep his voice from shaking but was unsuccessful and so gripped Ella’s hand tighter. Before they could walk out, the man sprinkled with blood walked behind the register, packed all the food in sight, and left providing no payment other than five maimed and one dead duckling. Two of the ducklings followed the man out the door and left their sacrificed siblings behind. With no food and a downcast gaze for Sebastian, the friends left. The four friends decided to just start going to their next job: painting a house out in lake country. Elisha drove what used to be their uncle Manasseh’s red ford truck and trailer with all the equipment. Since Manasseh had passed away, they continued to use the truck and trailer for painting. They had even continued to use the name for his company Prairie Painters Painting, or just Triple P. They drove through the town full of potholes, speeding to hit all the green lights, and made it to the interstate. From there, it was a two-hour shot to the cabin they were going to paint. Sebastian, a 20-year-old short-haired long-faced deep-eyed Minnesotan, looked at his 24-year-old shorter-haired longer-faced deeper-eyed brother. Elisha noticed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Elisha said. “That that was messed up?” Sebastian replied. “Sort of. More of do you want to stop and get some food

quickly?” “You still want to eat after what happened back there? Dismembered duck really gets your appetite up?” “I’m not going to let something like that wreck my appetite and we’re working once we get there.” “You’re the driver… I’m not going to get anything though.” As Elisha continued to drive, Sebastian sunk into the seat with its faded black cloth and looked out the window. There was the turgidity of the prairie grass, broken apart by the occasional lake and clump of trees. He noticed the lake cabins that were bigger than his house and the boats more expensive than his education, well his education as of right now. After Elisha stopped for food and continued driving, they pulled

La Comedia ~Sion Williams~ 27

off the interstate onto a highway going further away from the plains. The land started to smile. Through the hills, they had to follow the curves of the dimples around the open mouth of a ravine. They drove through a mole of an ugly town and reached the singularly blue eye, Fives Lake. The dirt path crow’s-feet guided them to their destination. The house was an unpopped pimple located right to the outside of the eye. Getting out of the truck into the heat of summer, they saw the blue sedan parked in the grass towards a tree line. “Took ya idiots a long enough time to get here,” said Jude. Coming from the house with Ella, Sebastian thought he seemed to have forgotten the incident at McDonald’s and was back to his old self. Tanner than the usual midwesterner, Jude was otherwise the image of a stereotypical forester. In his sleeveless green and yellow flannel, bushy beard, and tanned skin, he looked like a lumberjack that had taken a sabbatical in Hawaii. “Yes, it did take you guys a while to get here,” Ella said. “Elisha decided to get some food,” Sebastian replied. “You did?” asked Jude, “Told you El. We should’ve gotten something.” Ella shrugged. In her old Northern Cass High School t-shirt and loose-fitting jeans, she looked ready to start working but beautiful as ever. Sebastian tried making eye contact with her, but she was distracted by looking at an eagle flying in the sky. Elisha suggested they start to unpack the trailer with all the equipment: ladders, buckets, paint, brushes, rollers, tape, scrapers, 5 in 1’s, drip clothes, plastic sheets, caulk, a paint sprayer, and a power washer. Sebastian sighed looking at it all. “Alright, I don’t want work just yet,” Sebastian said, “How about we do some 5 in 1 throwing first?” “We could do it for a small bit,” said a smiling Ella. Jude and Elisha said that they thought it would be good. 5 in 1 throwing, Sebastian thought with joy, one of the great diversions for a painter. The 5 in 1: a small, handled, six-inch tool with a curved blade along the side, a straight blade

pointed at the corner on top, and a small hole in the middle to remove nails. It could scrape paint, remove nails, unscrew, open a paint can, clean a roller, and most importantly, could substitute for a throwing knife. Sebastian grabbed them, and they moved closer to the dense tree line. Dink. Handle hitting first, the 5 in 1 didn’t stick on Sebastian’s first throw. He quickly grabbed another and threw it. Thunk. The satisfying sound of the sharpened metal digging into the bark was elating. The others started to throw. A hit for Jude and Ella, a miss for Elisha. Retrieving them. More throws. Thunk. Dink. Thunk. Thunk. Dink. The crunching of twigs for another retrieval of the 5 in 1’s. The squeak of the metal yanked from the wood. Another round. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Dink. Thunk. Another round. Elisha lined up for the throw. He missed the tree completely and the 5 in 1 flew into the woods past their line of sight. Thud. The sound of yelp followed immediately. A ragged, skinny, burr-covered black lab with a white ear came limping into view. The blade of the 5 in 1 had stuck into the lab’s ribcage on his right side. Blood became mixed with the burrs covering the dog’s gaunt side. Sebastian looked away. The dog limped its way out of the tree line into the grass and seemed to be moving towards him. He briefly looked up and saw that the five in one had stuck deep into the ribcage and the blood was profusely dripping onto the ground. He wanted to move toward the dog to look at the wound, but his feet wouldn’t move. The whimpering dog laid down on his side in the shade of a bush, pointing the handle towards the sky. Sebastian looked towards Elisha and saw that his brother was the only one who moved toward the dog. “Shit,” Elisha said, “This dog is done.” “What do we do?” asked Ella.

~Kendra Baca~ Clownery “I don’t know… But this dog looks like he was going to die anyway. It was already wasting away.” The silence only broke by long seconds of whimpering. Sebastian knew that he should be doing something, but he was frozen. He continued to be frozen as he watched his brother shake his head, move over to the trailer, and grab a hammer. A few moments later, the whimpering stopped. Leaving the body of the dog by the bush and after some initial prep-work—power-washing, scrapping, taping and caulking—they made their way into town to sleep at the motel. They all fit into Jude’s sedan with Elisha in shotgun and Ella and 30

Sebastian in the back. Once there, they got their rooms—one smelling like weed, the other not having its overhead light work. Giving Ella her choice of room, it fell to the guys to smell the fragrance of forty dollars per night. After dinner, Jude, Elisha, and Sebastian all watched the Wimbledon while Ella went to her own room. Sebastian still didn’t understand why people watched tennis. Of course, he understood how people enjoyed tennis. He had watched Jude and Elisha play enough to prove that but still. “I’m going out for a bit,” said Sebastian. Jude grunted in response. Walking out, he knocked on the door a few steps away. Ella let him in. She was watching Wimbledon. Sebastian commented on his approval of watching tennis. She replied by telling him he was full of shit and sit down. He replied by shoving her to the other side of the bed and sitting next to her on the worn-down brown blanket. “Real gentlemen,” said Ella. “I always do the chivalrous thing,” replied Sebastian. They sat in silence for a moment watching a tennis player break their racket against the matted grass. Sebastian enjoyed being able to be in her presence and relax for the first time today. “Heck of a time today,” said Sebastian, “You still want to be on this job?” “Do you?” Ella said looking at him. Sebastian shook his head no while adjusting one of the lumpy pillows behind him. Ella softly laughed and said, “Well there you go. But maybe it’ll be better tomorrow.” Ella moved closer to him and rested her head on his chest while she watched tennis and he continued to relax. The current set was between an up-and-coming Australian and an old American veteran. She commented on the fact that the Australian was much better looking than the American. He thanked her for letting him know that with him right there. She laughed and squeezed him

slightly. They continued to watch. The Australian was the lower-ranked player, but he had won the first set and was already up two games in the next. The American hit a curving serve and the Australian let it go thinking it was out. The line judge declared the ball to be on the line and the Australian looked like he was about to argue with it but held back. “Bad call, definitely outside the line,” Sebastian said. “The player should’ve at least asked for a review, he’s getting screwed.” “Maybe he’s trying to save his challenges.” “Maybe,” Ella said, “But more so it looks like he’s afraid to make the ref angry.” Sebastian said he half agreed while looking down at her soft face partially hidden by her slightly wavy black hair. They continued to half-watch tennis for a while and eventually made his way back to his room with Elisha and Jude. Early next morning, they went back to the house. ~~~ Back at the plot, they started to walk around the off-white, two-story lake cabin. On the backside, there was a red hammock covered in spider webs laid out underneath the raised patio with a grill on top. To get to the shore one had to go down a steep incline and the path looked like it would be just as pleased whether a person walked or fell to their destination. Past the dock and pontoon, the lake was more isolated, with only four other cabins breaking apart the ring of pine trees. “How nice would it be to go for a swim today?” said Jude. To Sebastian, looking at the clean water and white caps off in the distance, he could think of nothing better than Jude’s suggestion. Compared to his shirt already clinging to his back, swimming sounded fantastic. “Not a chance buckwheat,” Elisha said, “If I have to stay one more night in that hotel than I have to… no way.” “Really?” Ella challenged, “Not even for that lake out there?” Elisha dismissed her comment with a laugh and said they should

keep going. Sebastian followed alongside his brother. They noted all the important things for painting: an annoying crack running jagged across the middle of the siding, the places where paint looking like a sunburned face that was peeling, the wooden window frames painted magenta, the levels of the roof, and how each were too steep to stand on, and how the multiple A-frames 20 feet up supporting the overextended soffit were going to be the worst part of the job. They started to paint. Well, actually, they had to finish up scrapping and then priming the exposed wood. Then they started to paint. The owners of the cabin said they were gone for the week, so they didn’t have to worry about them. At this house, it was Sebastian’s turn to handle the music, and so the whole time EDM and the Beatles blared with the occasional Johnny Cash song. Starting on the west side which faced the lake, Sebastian used the sprayer for large swaths of woods, with Elisha smoothing the paint behind him with a roller. Jude had the steadiest hand, so he handled all the close angles of the door frames and windows. Ella worked twenty feet up handling all the soffits. They made their way rotating clockwise around the house for the rest of the day. By noon two days later, the house was almost completely done, and they just needed to do touch-ups around it. Eating lunch together on old five-gallon paint buckets in the shade of the house, the friends complained about the job. “Know what would make this all so much better?” Jude said. Elisha asked what. “A swim in the nice, cold, beautiful lake,” Jude replied. Elisha said nope. “But we’re definitely finishing today,” Jude countered. Elisha said still not a chance. “Sebastian, back me up,” Jude said, “Tell your brother he’s an idiot and let’s swim.” Sebastian looked out to the lake and again appreciated Jude’s

idea. It seems like a fantastic idea. Especially today, not a cloud in the sky and there wasn’t even a hint of wind. And, they were definitely going to finish today, even with an extended swim. And he hadn’t been out swimming at a lake all summer. Elisha and Jude both looked for his support. “I don’t really care, whatever you guys decide,” Sebastian said. He looked down and took another bite of his peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich. Elisha and Jude looked back at each other. “Why not?” Ella said, taking advantage of the pause, “It’ll only be for a short bit.” “I believe that makes you overruled screwball,” Jude said to Elisha, “I have the majority with that.” And with that, Elisha conceded. Sebastian smiled at Ella. Down by the lake changed, they stood on the dock looking out onto the lake, each indecisive about being the first to jump in. Elisha mistakenly tested out the temperature of the water with his foot as he got tackled from behind by Jude. Sebastian and Ella jumped on their own accord into the water. With the water up to his neck, Sebastian could feel the sandy bottom with the occasional weed touching his foot. His muscles became more relaxed as his body adjusted to the water temperature as they progressively swam farther out. “Jude, good idea,” Sebastian said, “This is fantastic.” “See there we go, Elisha,” Jude said, “Fantastic. You think we would be saying that if we hadn’t jumped in?” Elisha acknowledged the comment while laughing and trying to grab and pull Jude underneath the water. Countering, Jude voluntarily went underwater, slipped to the other side of Elisha, and pulled him under for a second. Sebastian knew this would soon involve him, so he escaped the situation by saying he was going to do a flip off the dock. As Sebastian neared the dock, he swam in the neck-deep water as the weeds increased. Climbing on the dock, he felt like a walrus trying to get on land first getting his upper body on and

then pulling himself up. Up top, the wind chilled his dripping body. Ella was watching both him and Jude and Elisha wrestling. It had been a few years since he had last done a flip, but he was confident it was still within his abilities. He stood at the very edge of the dock, his toes trying to grip the edge, tensing his quads to get ready. And he jumped. Now, Sebastian had a few problems with his jump: he was out of shape since the last time he did it, he didn’t have the greatest grip on the dock, and people were watching. And in hindsight, it makes perfect sense that people were watching him while he encountered his problems with the jump. All those problems combined made for a rather unimpressive and underwhelming jump but did produce a climactic ending. Namely, a violent collision of an underrotated head and a dock. “Sebastian!” yelled Ella. Sebastian came out of the water feeling slightly dazed. “I’m f-fine,” said Sebastian. He knew he wasn’t fine; having thoughts felt like they were being dragged through the mud. Everyone around him had little bits of light surrounding him. Ella swam closer to him. “Do I look good?” he asked. “I guess?” said Ella, “How do you feel? Are you okay?” Nope, I’m definitely not okay. I am the literal definition of shit right now. “For sure. Like that hurt a bit but otherwise I’m golden.” “He does seem fine El,” said Jude. Elisha chimed in, “Next time, we’ll just have to get a video of it.” Sebastian was not feeling well at this point, as it felt like he was getting swayed with every ripple of water touching his body. “I’m sure it looked hilarious,” Sebastian said, “I’m just going to head up for a bit. You guys stay down here for however long you want.” He saw that Ella looked concerned, but he turned around

before she could object. Focusing on swimming and then walking normally, Sebastian somehow made it back up to the house. He continued to walk around the house to make it to the front when he felt intense nausea. Stumbling towards a bush, Sebastian retched whatever his body could force out of his system. He stayed on his knees with his head leaned over until the pounding and shaking in his head quieted to background noise. More cognizant of himself, he noticed a peculiar smell. Raising his head, he saw the broken, bloodied skull, and the beginnings of the rotting body of the black lab. The eyes of the lab were covered in mites, while the rest of the body had a few maggots interspersed throughout. Hair was beginning to fall out from the dog’s body and the skin was becoming even tauter against the bones. Flies hovered over the body, occasionally landing only to start flying again. “Oh hell.” Sebastian tried to move away but another round of nausea began. All he could do was feel his body try to expel itself while acknowledging the presence of the corpse inches from him. The pounding in his head transformed from being background noise to physical waves of pain resounding at each clash inside his brain. Sebastian groaned and rolled onto his side. He opened his eyes and saw that the dead dog now looked directly at him. He closed his eyes but doing so made the pounding even worse. So, Sebastian opened his eyes and the killed dog stared at him. Looking at the rotting corpse, he noticed one thing: it never moved. After a moment’s hesitation, he got to his knees, stood up, yelled for help, and then blackness came over his eyes.

Precariously Through The Wind

~Sion Williams~

“Ahh that movie was great, wasn’t it?” “Yeah, it wasn’t even scary at all, I don’t know why it was rated R.” “Yeah me either” “Say, Scotty? What time is it? My ma’ wants me home by 9.” “It’s 8:03, you wanna wait till 8:30 so my Ma can drop you off?” “Nah it’s cool, by the time your Ma gets here I could be at home already.” Scotty and Jeb got up from the couch. Before they reached the stairs Jeb walks around the pole, not thinking twice about it. “Stop. Don’tcha know that you not suppose to split poles? They say it gives you bad luck. And you don’t want no bad luck walking by yourself at night.” “I ain’t gon get no bad luck, don’t you know that stuff is just a bunch of mumbo jumbo? You actually believe in that stuff?” Scotty stood there looking at Jeb with wild eyes. Then said, “Well obviously Jeb” and continued to stare at him. It felt like Scotty was staring into his soul, Jeb knew that they’d be standing there for hours if he didn’t do what Scotty said. So, he rolled his eyes and walked back to Jeb’s side, and together they walked around the pole and up the basement stairs. As Scotty walked Jeb to the front door, he said “Come over tomorrow? We could watch another scary movie.” “I’ll think about it, my Pa thinks we should spend more time together as a family… but maybe he’ll let you come over,” Jeb said, as he put on his red Polo jacket. ~~~ Scotty closed the door and Jeb walked down the front steps, and onto the sidewalk. As he walked down the street, he thought about The Shining. “I can’t believe that the kid had an imaginary friend, that’s wicked. I wish I had an imaginary friend.” Jeb routinely walked down to the corner of the street, checking for traffic before crossing to the other side. Before he stepped off the sidewalk, he saw three big orange traffic signs, one in

the road and two on each sidewalk. The one across the street from him said “Wet Cement, Sidewalk Closed” and the big one in the middle of the street said, “Road closed”. He had forgotten that there was construction, on his usual route home. He turned and began to walk over onto the next block. Jeb had never been down this street before; all of the houses were dark and poorly manicured. He was a little way into the block before he remembered that Scotty told him that the Witicker house was on this street. All of the kids in town were afraid of the house, they said it was haunted, but Jeb didn’t really believe in all that superstitious ghost mumbo-jumbo. As he ventured deeper into the block, he heard a dog barking in the distance. The further he went into the block, the barking got louder and louder. Jeb looked around and tried to see where it came from. He saw a small white Yorkie barking from inside the fence, three houses in front of him. The dog’s dingy white coat was terribly camouflaged behind the white picket fence. The fence was littered with dried vines and leaves but had a small clearing that the dog peered out of. When Jeb reached the house, he looked in the dog’s line of view to see what he was barking at. He saw a red ‘65 Volkswagen Beetle parked in front of the neighboring house. The car was rusted at the bottom and the doors were a little dented, it had a picture painted on the side, but it was so covered in dirt, Jeb couldn’t make out what the image was. To him, it kind of just looked like a distorted Jack-o’-lantern. Despite all the dirt and rust, he was able to make out the back-license plate, it read “Friend.” As Jeb neared the car to get a better look, he lingered in the lawn in order to remain at a safe distance. The closer he got; he was able to make out what the dog was barking at. There was a black cat perched mockingly on the hood of the beetle. Jeb chuckled a bit, then slowly turned and began walking back to the sidewalk. Before he made it back, the cat sprinted ahead of him and onto the porch of the corner house. Jeb looked up at the house and noticed faint candlelight that flickered in one

of the windows. The wind blew, thrusting the dried leaves from the pavement up into the air. The branches on the tree next to the old white house shivered in the breeze. The curtains in the window blew back and forth and Jeb thought he saw someone standing in the window. He moved closer to the black iron gate, to get a better look but, the closer he got, the straighter the hairs stood on the back of his neck. Jeb knew that he shouldn’t have lingered at that house any longer, but he couldn’t help it. The house called to him, and he was eager to respond. He reached out to put his hand on the gate when he got a sharp pain in his gut. He stopped moving and looked down at his watch. “8:15… he said aloud. I really should get home.” He glanced up at the window for the last time and continued on his way home. The cat and the old house kind of freaked him out, because he could have sworn, he saw someone standing in the window, but maybe his eyes played tricks on him. Jeb tried to take his mind off of the old Witicker house, so he refocused his attention on the sound of windchimes clattering in the distance, but he couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that he was being… watched him. His mother had always lectured him about the importance of being on high alert when he walked anywhere alone. Jeb crossed the street and entered the downtown area. He loved Columbus in the fall, he felt like the town just naturally gave off a creepy Halloweentown vibe and he loved that. As he passed them, Jeb gawked at the store windows that were so beautifully decorated for Halloween. The mannequins in most of the windows wore Halloween costumes, and the windows had jelly decorations stuck on them, it was very festive. As he looked at the different costumes, the cold autumn breeze picked up and embraced his cheeks, but he didn’t mind much, he liked the cold. He flicked up the collar of his jacket and kept walking looking at the store windows. There was one display that fascinated Jeb the most, there was a mannequin dressed ghost costume. The costume was nothing that really caught the eye, just a plain white sheet with

~Jillian Alekna~ Frosted Berries some holes in it. BUT that was not what fascinated Jeb, the ghost was floating, yet still had the mannequin’s hands and arms. He moved closer to the window, to get a better look. He wanted to see if the display is being supported by anything. As he moved closer to the window, he noticed that the eyes on the mannequin followed him the closer he got. Jeb stopped dead in his tracks, too skeptical to go any closer to the window, yet still curious about the display. It’s only a costume, he thought, as he cautiously approached the store window. As neared the storefront, he saw his breath float out into the cold fall night through the reflection in the glass. He stood face to face with the display, looking up at the top of the mannequin. He moved closer, shoving his face into the window. He squinted trying to get a better look at the display when the ghost jumped out at him and boomed 40

“OOOOOHHH!” Jeb fell back to the ground in horror, he watched the ghost jump back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, before it returned to its original position. “It was only a machine” he shivered from his teeth , he sighed and grasped at his chest, checking to see if his heart was still there. He looked up at the sign of the store “Halloween Terrors Shop”, go figure. Jeb was getting up off the ground when a voice said to him. “That was scary right? You’re the third person I’ve seen that happen to today.” As he dusted off his track pants, he turned his head to see a man leaned on the door of the Halloween shop. He wore dirty blue jeans, a dingy white shirt, and a black motorcycle jacket with “AF” embroidered on the side in yellow and red thread. His face was tinted with a yellowish pale hue in the rays of streetlights, and he sported dark round sunglasses. “Really… sunglasses at night? He can’t be serious” Jeb wondered to himself, he thought it was ridiculous, but he didn’t really understand, let alone really care to understand teenagers these days. Jeb’s first week at Columbus Middle School, all of the high schoolers followed him and bullied him on his way home so, he didn’t really care for the older kids in town. “Uh, I wouldn’t say it was scary… it more so took me by surprise,” Jeb replied to the stranger. “I call bull. That display nearly scared you half to death. You can’t lie to me, I saw the look on your face, I was right there the whole time. No need to be embarrassed about it champ, it happens to everyone.” the stranger replied moving closer towards Jeb… “Say what are you doing out here alone at night anyway kid?” the stranger continued. The closer, he got towards him, the harder the hairs on the back of Jeb’s neck tried to get up and run away. He became overcome with fear and slowly backed away from the man. The man continued advancing towards him, Jeb noticed that he walked funny, kind of

like a drunken pirate and that the grey hairs speckled throughout his hair meant he was a lot older than Jeb initially thought he was. “He-hey why don’t’cha leave me alone” Jeb declared, taking a big step to the side away from the strange man. Jeb’s warning was like an invitation to the stranger, a smile appeared on his face and he moved even closer. The stranger liked it when his prey scrambled. “I’m not gonna hurt you. My name is A.F but most people call me Friend, don’t be scared I just wanna get a better look at your face.” Friend said… “You look familiar do you know Susy Collins? She goes to the middle school too, that’s my niece” Friend urged on as he peered through the top of his sunglasses. Through the small crack between the man’s glasses and his face, Jeb saw that he had big hazel eyes. They were kind eyes, very warm and inviting. “Why don’t you come with me so we can make amends with Susy? We can even watch movies and eat popcorn; I know how much you like them” Friend said with his hand firmly on Jeb’s shoulder. Jeb was skeptically but he wasn’t frighted anymore, he was curious. Something about Friend’s offer made him feel safe. He was a little uneasy about whoever this Susy girl was though, he didn’t know a Susy. Jeb knew that he shouldn’t let his guard down, but he felt compelled to. “Uhh, I don’t know a Susy” Jeb replied looking into Friend’s eyes. The longer Jeb stared; the closer Friend drew to him. Jeb was backed against a parking meter with nowhere else to turn. A smile grew on his face as Friend lifted up his other hand to touch Jeb’s face when suddenly a voice said, “Are you okay kid?” Jeb’s eyes moved from Friend onto a group of people coming out of the diner next door to the Halloween shop. A woman was walking towards them, and when she got closer, she repeated “Are you okay?”

“No, I-” “He’s fine ma’am, why don’t you just gon’ and mind yo business” Friend replied before Jeb could even get the words out. “He’s my kid sister’s friend and she told me that he had been being a real prick lately, I’m just trying to get him to fess up. You know how it is” Friend said innocently. “Jenny? Is everything okay?” said some Jock in a red Letterman’s jacket. “Chris, I think this guy is bothering this kid,” she said to him “Hey guys come on or we’re gonna be late for the movie… What’s going on over here?” a curly-haired girl said as she pranced over to her friends. The rest of the group heard the altercation and walked over towards Jeb and Friend as well. Friend’s body language began to tense, and Jeb saw that as his chance to flee, he slid out from under Friend and stood next to the lady. “I don’t know that guy,” Jeb said “Why are you bothering him you creep” “Yeah, leave him alone weirdo.” Jenny and the curly-haired girl said pulling me out of Friend’s vicinity. “Right, stop picking on kids you creep.” What are you? Like 38? Messing with little kids? That’s sick” “You’re sick” Chris and his friends said closing in around Friend. “No, what are you talking about? Be smooth, I’m just trying to teach him a lesson for messing with niece Susy. You know how these things go; I’m just trying to be a good uncle” said Friend trying to be confident “Can it freak, we know your type, you’re too grown to be picking on little kids” said one of the guys in Lettermen jackets. “Clear out sicko, before we before teach YOU a lesson,” Chris said grabbing Friend by his jacket. A small opening was created in the circle and Friend slipped out and glared at me before he headed off down the street. “Thank you,” Jeb said to Jenny “No problem kid, where you headed?” Jenny said

“Home, I live past Jess’s Cupcakes” Jeb replied “Oh, that’s right past the movie theater, why don’t you walk with us the rest of the way just to make sure that creep doesn’t double back,” said Chris, wrapping his arm around Jenny. His tone had changed, and he was a lot nicer to Jeb than he was to Friend. As they walked the curly-haired girl, Bonnie, made small talk with Jeb. “You know, you should carry some pepper spray with you in case you run into a creep like that again,” Bonnie said showing Jeb the pepper spray she keeps on her keychain. “I should, we have some at home, but my Dad says I’m not allowed to touch it because I’d probably hurt myself,” Jeb said Bonnie nodded in understanding before she said, “I understand but giving the circumstances I think you should have some, this is how it works.” Bonnie showed Jeb how to work the container of pepper spray. “Okay, so I remove the lock then aim and point. Got it.” Jeb said as he looked a Bonnie holding the pepper spray in his hands. “Wait how will I give this back to you?” Jeb asked. Bonnie was quiet for a minute then pulled a pen and a slip of paper out of her purse. She wrote something down on the paper then handed it to Jeb. “Here, this is my phone number. When you get home, give the pepper spray to your parents and call me in the morning, and I’ll come to get it,” she said. By now the group had reached the movie theater and it was time for Jeb to go on about his way. He thanked Bonnie again for her pepper spray and the rest of the group for letting him walk with them and made his way across the street. Halfway down the block, Jeb noticed a car with its lights flashing but there was no sound going off with it. As he approached the car, he noticed it was similar to the red beetle, he had seen earlier. Something told him that he should cross the street. There wasn’t anyone on this side of the street, and there was and an old couple sitting on their porch on the other side. Initially, he decided

against it but as he neared the car the sharp pain in his stomach returned. Jeb crossed the street and said hello to the elderly couple. “Hey there sugar, what are you doing walking alone in the street so late at night?” the women replied. “I’m on my way home ma’am, I live on Mulberry St” Jeb replied pointing “It’s just down the road” “Okay honey be safe, there are some questionable people outside at this time of night.” the woman said. Jeb continued walking down the street passing where the red beetle was parked on the other side of the street. He turned his head to the right and squinted to see if the license plate was the same, but it wasn’t, this one said “Arnold”. A small wave of relief fell over Jeb, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched and he didn’t mean by the elderly couple. He turned and looked back in the direction of the car, it was dark, but he could just barely make out the silhouette of a figure in the car. Jeb turned and began to walk swiftly. He heard the car start behind him, Jeb picked up his speed and began to move a bit faster. His jacket swished, louder and louder with every step he took. He was almost at the end of the block, almost home free. The car caught up with him and turned the corner in front of him. The car drove slowly, and Jeb was able to see that the driver was a woman. He felt a little relieved, but that feeling soon left when he saw the pair of shaded eyes that peered out at him through the back window. Jeb had an unsettled feeling he knew who was in the car. He took off, dashing around the back of the beetle and down the street clinching the pepper spray in his pocket. When he was halfway down the block looked back to see if the car had followed him, but it wasn’t there. But he kept running anyway, fighting his urge to keep looking back. He heard footsteps behind him and kept running for about a block and a half before he’d run out of energy. Sweat drenched his brows and his lungs burned but he knew that he should keep going. “Just one more block” Suddenly the

footsteps returned but he was too out of breath to run again. He tried to walk as normally as he could with his hands in his pockets, trying not to draw attention to himself. The footsteps get louder and louder. They were practically right behind him now. He clenched his fist around the pepper spray and closed his eyes and wished that he was invisible. The person settled next to him, Jeb slowly opened his eyes and saw a man about 24 years old jogging. “Of all the times to jog why did he pick now?” The jogger stopped and said to Jeb. “Hey little dude, I saw that you were running before, way to work on your fitness man. Stay healthy” and ran off. Jeb noticed that the back of the jogger’s tracksuit said “Old Fien Running Org”. The name “Old Fien” sounded familiar to him but he couldn’t put his finger on where he had heard it before. In a daze, Jeb shook off the encounter and continued on his way home. Jeb crossed the street into his neighborhood when he saw something glistening on the ground next to the streetlight. Jeb went to get a closer look and saw a penny on the ground. He remembered what Scotty told him about how finding a penny facing up brought good luck and he could really use some good luck. Jeb bent down to pick up the penny, but before he touched it, he sang aloud, “Find a penny, pick it up all day long, you’ll have good luck,” he reached out and grabbed the penny. “Tails “ Jeb quickly threw the penny back to the ground in anger, “Bad luck, that’s all I’ve been having today. Stupid support beam, stupid superstitions, stupid black cat, stupid Friend.” he sighed in frustration and continued to walk to his house. After being scared half to death the entire walk back home. He finally felt that his night was coming to an end when he saw he was close to his house. As he made his way down the street, he saw something moving amongst his neighbor’s gate. Not again, he huffed, having been spooked ever since he met that man at the

~Maggie Black~ The Treehouse City costume store. He moved toward the outer side of the sidewalk, closer to the street. And quickly walked past the gate, he couldn’t make anything out, so he brushed it off. Nearing his house, Jeb reached in his pockets for his keys, they weren’t there, so he reached in his pants pocket for them. Not there either. Just his luck, he probably left them at Scotty’s house. He hoped that his family would be at home, so he wouldn’t have to wait outside. When he walked up to his house, he saw that the lights were off, and the driveway was empty. “Great, I’ll have to sit on the porch until they come home, who knows how long that will be.” Walking up the porch steps, Jeb saw a black cat sitting on the porch swing, almost like it was waiting for him. Jeb was immediately a little freaked out by the cat, he thought it was weird how he kept seeing black cats when he had never seen this many in the neighborhood before tonight. 47

“Go one shoo… Get. Go.” Jeb said jumping and swatting at the cat. The cat stared at him blankly not at all moved by his efforts. Jeb got bored and decided to let it be. So, he turned around and sat down on the porch steps. He checked his watch to see what time it was “8:40”. They should be home by now, he doesn’t understand why they weren’t here. The wind began to blow restlessly sending the leaves in the yard swirling off of the ground into a mini-tornado. Jeb sat on the steps a little while longer, watching the wind and leaves play in the yard. Before he remembered the spare key, his mother hid under the window seal for times like this. He got up from the porch step and walked over to the window to grab the key. He walked back over to the doorway when he saw a car turn onto the block, it has to be them. Jeb got excited because he was freezing, the headlights on the car were so bright that he couldn’t get a good look at the car itself, he just assumed that it was his parents because the car pulled into the driveway. But boy was he wrong, when Jeb got up to greet his family, he saw that it was a red Volkswagen Beetle that parked in the driveway with the license plate “aoldfien”. It all started to come back to Jeb and he started connecting the dots from the signs on his journey home. This was the same red beetle he saw parked outside that strange house, and the one that he was on that was following him on his way home. He didn’t understand why the license plates had appeared differently, but it was a minor detail at this point. Then suddenly he realized where he had heard the name “An Old Fien” before. “An Old Fien... my mom told me about that, about a girl in her town, Connie, who got abducted by an old fien.” Jeb realized what this meant and understood that there was no escape. Arnold Friend got out of the car and stumbled into Jeb’s yard.

“You tried to outrun me kid but there’s no outrunning Arnold Friend kiddo” Friend said finally halting underneath the sycamore tree. Jeb was panicked on the inside; he didn’t know what to do or if he could even do anything or if he should do anything. He had brought a psychopath home, even if he did manage to escape, his family would return home any minute now and unwarned they’d be in danger. Friend interrupted Jeb’s panicked thoughts saying “Let it go kid, you’ve got nowhere to turn to,” he said with a devilish grin flashing his face. “I remember the day that I first saw you. You and your little friend walked right past my car, going on about some movie you two had watched. I was sitting outside of the, waiting for my sister’s God-forsaken child to come out of the school. The dang child never comes out and comes to the car like she’s supposed to, says her mom told her to wait in the building. Something about how I can’t get her if she was there. Can you believe that? The kid talks about me like I’m the goddamn boogie man stalking her in her closet. You know, it’s just so frustrating when you’re trying to help people and all they do is throw it back into your face… but you wouldn’t do that to me would you Jeb?” Friend said, taking off his sunglasses to reveal his big hazel eyes. Jeb stared at Friend blankly desperately trying to think of a plan. “I know you’re worried about your family, just come with me and I promise I won’t hurt them, I promise I won’t ever visit this place again,” Friend said in a soothing tone. Jeb glance at his house, thinking about how sad his mother would be. Then he remembered the pepper spray in his pocket. He knew that if he got close enough to use it, he could probably get away, but where would he go? He didn’t want to encourage Friend to break into the house. “Come on kid what’s the verdict? We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Friend doesn’t have all night”. Jeb looked down at his shoes, tears forming in his eyes, he knew he had to play the part even though he had a plan. The wind

whipped his face causing him to sniffle a little, he shoved his hands in pockets trying to appear bashful. But none of that really mattered now. Friend had his answer. Friend motioned for Jeb to come towards the car, Jeb obeyed, and slowly walked toward him. When Jeb came in arm’s length of Friend he stopped. “Come on Kid let’s go, I promise it’ll be fun we can play games and watch my favorite movie The Shining.” Jeb hesitated for a moment, it sounded like a pretty good offer to him. But, ever since Chris had pointed out that he knew what Friend, Jeb wasn’t been easily sidelined by Friend’s smooth persona. But he needed to pretend to be in order for his plan to work. “Seriously kid, let’s go,” Friend said reaching his hand out to grab Jeb. Jeb whipped the pepper spray out of pocket and sprayed Friend in his eyes. Friend yelped and grasped at his eyes. Jeb kicked him in the shin real hard before dashing off into the backyard and down the alleyway and into his neighbor’s backyard. Jeb viciously ranged the doorbell twice before Mr. Johnson opened his door. Jeb pushed his way inside his house closing and locking the door behind him. Jeb quickly explained to Mr. Johnson what happened pulling him to the side window showing him Arnold Friend screaming on the ground in pain. “Gon in the kitchen and phone the Police Jeb, I’ll make sure he don’t get away” Mr. Johnson went into his hall closet and grab his shotgun before going outside to confront Friend. Jeb called the police, who promptly arrived 15 minutes later. Friend treated and then handcuffed and forced into the back of the cop car. Not a moment later, Jeb’s family arrived. His mother jumped out of the car and ran to Jeb who was sitting on the porch swing being questioned by an officer. The officer then adverted his attention to Jeb’s mom filling her in on what happened. Jeb turned towards the cop car and watched as they carried Friend off down the street. The next day, the tow truck arrived to take Friend’s Beatle to

impound. The tow truck driver backed the car out of the driveway and hooked it up to the tow truck and hauled it off down the street. Jeb watched from the window, the leaves frolicking behind it precariously in the wind.

Tame Impala at Midnight ~Sion Williams~ ~Kati Keller~

Essence

A poem is like a drop Of sensation condensed Fireworks for the mind

~Jillian Alekna~ Splash of Pink

Love Considered True

~Paul A. X. Rupert~

Inspired by Shakespeare’s 116th Sonnet:

Love, so that it may be considered true, Must needs be true indeed, and not truant. As a compass takes those trusting it through Straits wide, narrow, baff’ling, or confluent. Love must be the axis of a man’s life, That point around which he must be turning. Earth, imperceptibly with motion rife, Gives its example exemplarily. It is staid and steady throughout and through, Calmly keeping time to an unheard beat. It pauses not, nor does it misconstrue Its swiftness. It would not its own good cheat. Yet though it is a fixéd point, it guides Through an Odyssey on passionate tides.

The Little Happy Moments ~Terra Lieser~

Tea Time

~Mandy Schmidt~

“I sure hope you kids aren’t bout to go in there,” a woman whispered from behind us. As we froze in our tracks, we could feel dark eyes shooting lasers through our backs and a warm breath on the back of our necks. I withdrew my hand from the doorknob and slowly returned it to my side. Charlie had been recording our adventure, but he quickly turned off the camera on his phone and slid it into his pocket. We fell silent and slowed our breaths, hoping that we could somehow disappear. I turned inch by inch until I finally faced the person. I was too blinded by the flashlight shining down on me against the black sky to make out their face. My mind raced as I tried to think of an excuse, but there was no use. They already knew what we were doing.

“Miss Maggie, what would your sweet mother think if I told her you were sneakin’ around at this time of night?” My body relaxed at the sound of Mrs. Johnson’s voice. I took a large sigh of relief and let the tension escape my body. I could now see the light reflecting off of the silver curls sticking up from under her hood. Her small, frail body stood strong without so much as a twitch. The flashlight followed our every move like a lighthouse in the night. “I’m sorry ma’am. Please don’t tell her. We weren’t trying to cause any trouble.” “You should both be in bed right now. Not out bothering people who don’t want to see you,” said Mrs. Johnson. “I promise we’ll go straight back to our houses and you will never have any trouble with us again,” Charlie pleaded. Mrs. Johnson slowly lowered the flashlight to her side and flipped the switch off. I couldn’t see anything but stars as my eyes readjusted. I rubbed my eyes to clear them, and when I opened them again, I was met with a familiar face. I could now see her fragile face lit up by the light of the full moon. Her soft features brought me a sense of comfort despite the anger that had settled across her face. Her dark, brown eyes were locked on mine. I could see the disappointment on her face. She had looked after me for my entire life, and she always thought so highly of me. I typically was not one to cause trouble like this, so I felt guilty disappointing her. “Well, let’s get you kids back home,” she said with a long sigh. I looked at Charlie with relief, and we slowly turned to head back down the street to our houses. Mrs. Johnson lived right next to Old Man Joe’s property, but she insisted that she would walk us both to our houses down the street. She hobbled along with us as we walked in silence. We first dropped off Charlie and watched as he crept into his house through the back door. Once Charlie had successfully closed the door without making a sound, we continued our walk to my house. As we approached my house, I was relieved to see all of the lights off. No one was awake, which

shouldn’t have been a surprise to me. We stopped just before my porch steps and I thanked her for walking me home. She promised to keep our secret as long as she never saw us near Old Man Joe’s property ever again. Mrs. Johnson gave me a light pat on the head and turned to walk away without another word. I watched as she slowly hobbled down the sidewalk and disappeared into the night. I grabbed the cold doorknob, twisted it, and slowly pushed open my front door without making a sound. My parents should be sound asleep at this time and I was hoping I could keep it that way. I shoved my coat and shoes back into their place in the closet. Then, I crept up the stairs step-by-step. As I passed my parents’ room, I remembered what Mrs. Johnson had said. My mother would faint if she knew I went anywhere close to the barn. Ever since I started to walk, she had warned me to keep my distance. Ten years of those warnings were all ignored tonight. I continued tiptoeing down the hall, careful to miss the creaky floorboard in front of my room. As I slipped back into my bed, the adrenaline of the night began to wear off. I could feel my eyelids slowly closing as I snuggled into my warm blankets, but my brain was not ready to turn off. I couldn’t help but think about what we could’ve seen in that barn. The rumor in town was that he kept an alligator in there that he caught with his bare hands. My sister once told me that his bed was floating in the creek behind his house and he’d sneak down there at night to sleep. He’d talk to the birds and fish all night before retreating to his barn. Now, none of us had confirmed this with our own eyes, but we were content with the truth that we had created for ourselves. As this scene played in my head, I slowly drifted off, dreaming of all the possibilities hidden behind that door. I was awoken the next morning by a phone call from Charlie asking me where I was at. I frantically leaped out of my bed, threw on the first clothes I could find in my closet, and slammed my door behind me. I went running downstairs, taking two steps

at a time. I had completely forgotten that I was going fishing with Charlie and his brother today. I whipped open the closet door to see my coat and boots exactly where I had left them just hours ago. I threw on my coat without taking an extra second to zip it. As I flung on my boots, I heard my mom calling me from the kitchen. “Maggie, is that you?” “Yeah Mom. I gotta go, Charlie’s waiting for me” “Well, what do you have that’s so important on a Sunday morning. Come eat breakfast with us.” With a loud groan, I dropped my shoes at the door and threw my coat on top of them. I stomped my way down the hallway towards the kitchen. The table was overflowing with fresh fruit, pancakes, and sizzling bacon. I took a heaping plate of pancakes and plopped into my chair. Mom topped off my pancakes with whipped cream and took a seat in the chair next to me. “What’s wrong with you today? Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” my mom questioned. She still wasn’t accustomed to having a preteen daughter and the moodiness that comes with it. “I’m just not hungry,” I replied. “You’re not leaving until you eat everything on your plate. A growing girl like you needs to eat if you expect to reel in those fish today.” My dad came waltzing into the kitchen and sat down in the last chair at the table. We both thanked my mom for the food and began to eat. I inhaled the pancakes, washed them down with orange juice, and threw my dishes in the sink as I ran out the door. I didn’t stop running until I reached Charlie’s house, where he was eagerly waiting for me on the front steps. “What took you so long?” Charlie yelled as I approached. I ran straight past him to his garage, where I stored my fishing pole. Charlie was soon beside me, grabbing his pole and tackle box. We loaded up the back of the truck and skipped into Charlie’s house. We found Charlie’s older brother, Andrew, sitting in the kitchen finishing his breakfast. His curly hair fell out of his hair

and perfectly framed his sharp jawline. He looked at me with his ocean blue eyes, and I could feel my cheeks turning red. Andrew was the captain of the high school football team, so all the girls at school had a crush on him. “Bout time you show up,” Andrew said to me. I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. Charlie nudged me to snap me out of my trance, and I followed them out into Andrew’s truck. We drove just a few miles down the road to the nearest lake. As I jumped out of the truck, my head was pounding from Andrew’s blaring rap music. We each grabbed our things from the back of the truck and marched down to the shoreline. Andrew wandered off on his own to avoid being seen with us. Charlie opened the box of worms and slid one onto each of our hooks. I cast my line and took a seat on a rock as I waited for the fish to show up. I looked over at Charlie and I smiled as I thought about all the fun we had together. “Do ya think we’ll be friends forever?” I yelled over to Charlie. “Well, of course we will Maggie. You know the plan. We’re gonna go to college together, then open Oklahoma’s best cupcake store, and our kids will be best friends and we’ll travel the world together,” Charlie replied. Charlie was cut off when he finally got a tug on his line, and we both leaped up from our rocks. We spent 20 minutes fighting with this monster until we could finally drag him up into the sand. The fish laid there flopping as I grabbed it and ripped the hook out of its mouth. We quickly realized that we had forgotten our bucket in the back of the truck. Charlie ran up the hill to grab it while I waited with the fish. When he returned, we filled the bucket with water and plopped the fish in. We cast our lines again in hopes of catching another prize to make our day a success. Shortly after, Andrew came running over dragging his gear behind him. “We’ve gotta go. I forgot I have a group assignment today.” With a groan, we loaded our gear back into the truck and hopped in. We assumed that he would drop us off at Charlie’s house, but instead he kept driving straight into town. After just a short

10-minute drive into town, we finally came to a screeching halt in front of the library. Andrew jumped out of the truck and ran in as Charlie and I slowly followed behind. The library was not where we wanted to spend our Sunday afternoon. Andrew sat down at a table with five other teenagers hovering over a laptop. Charlie and I wandered off down the hallways. Our voices echoed through the empty building as we ran and laughed. We stopped in front of a wall of pictures at the back of the library. The wall commemorated over 60 years of Cotton Grove High School homecoming kings and queens. We found Charlie’s parents on the wall as the 1985 king and queen. We were laughing at the outfits and hairstyles when the picture from 1953 caught my eye. “Alice Johnson & Joe Callihan” I read. “Huh?” Charlie questioned. “Who’s that?” “Well, duh! It’s Mrs. Johnson.” “Who’s Joe Callihan?” Charlie questioned. “The name sounds familiar” “Well, I think I know how we can figure it out.” We looked at each other and then looked back at the picture. A tall handsome boy stood grinning ear to ear with his arm slung around a beautiful blonde girl. I took off sprinting down the hallway, and Charlie followed right behind. We ran into the library and found Andrew still hard at work with his friends. We couldn’t interrupt them, but we needed to find a way back home. I didn’t want to wait any longer to ask Mrs. Johnson about this picture, so we walked outside and sat on the stairs as we thought of a way to get back home. I caught a glimpse of the Monroe kids playing down the street. They had just dropped their bicycles in the grass and went running inside. I saw the opportunity and knew we needed to take advantage of it. I lead Charlie over to the bikes and we each grabbed one. We technically weren’t stealing because we’d bring them right back here later. We were simply borrowing the bikes for a very important mission. I’m sure they wouldn’t even miss them, and I’d be able to explain the whole situation to them

tomorrow at school. We took off down the road as if nothing had happened. I lead us back to our neighborhood, where we ditched the bikes in my front yard. “Well, now what?” Charlie questioned. Without replying, I snatched his hand as we ran as fast as we could down the empty road. The only thing I could hear was our shoes clashing with the pavement as we moved them hastily. We almost didn’t see the car backing out in front of us, but at the last-minute Charlie jerked my arm back. We both tumbled into the grass and found ourselves flat on our backs. We sat up cackling as we watched the red car drive away unaware of what had almost happened. I pushed myself up and brushed off the leaves from my coat. Charlie, still sitting in the grass panting, reaching up his hand asking for assistance. I yanked his hand and launched him up onto his feet. We continued our run, but this time with more caution. The pavement suddenly stopped as we reached a gravel driveway. I could feel the dust rising behind us as we sprinted down the driveway toward Mrs. Johnson’s house. Her pristine white house seemed to glisten in the morning sun. The house was well over a hundred years old but showed no signs of aging. The porch wrapped around the house and then disappeared out of our sight. On the front of the porch sat two large rocking chairs separated by a small wooden table. On the other side, a porch swing hung from the ceiling. The pink pillows made me want to jump up onto the swing and go back to sleep. The two-story house towered over us like a castle. Massive, orange trees surrounded the entire property, hiding us from the outside world. Behind us, I heard water flowing and turned to find a beautiful fishpond in the middle of the yard. I had lived just down the street my whole life, but I had never seen the beauty of this hidden gem. We marched up the steps and I plopped down onto the chair beside her. Charlie squished into the chair beside me without an extra inch to spare between us. We sat awkwardly unsure of what to do or say next. “Now what brings you here?” Mrs. Johnson asked.

“Ohh nothing we just wanted to talk,” I replied. “You used to be HOT!” Charlie blurted out. I punched his bicep and gave him a look that shut him up quickly. Mrs. Johnson laughed but looked at us puzzled. I explained to her that we had seen her picture at the high school and wanted to ask her about the man with her. Her lips moved as if she was talking to us but no sound came out. My eyes drifted out into the yard trying to see what was so interesting to her. As we anxiously waited to hear her response, she was in no hurry to reveal her secret. She rocked back and forth as we listened to the creaking of the chair. “Let me get you kids some lemonade.” She said. She pushed herself up out of the rocking chair and took off towards the front door. Still mumbling to herself, she flung the door open and disappeared into the house. We sat in silence appreciating the beauty of the house as we waited for her to return. When she returned a few minutes later, she was now carrying a platter. She brought a teapot and two glasses of lemonade for us. She also had a plateful of chocolate chip cookies. We each snatched a cookie off of the plate the second she placed it on the table. I broke mine in half and watched the gooey chocolate split into two. As I bit down, I could feel it melting in my mouth. Charlie giggled as the chocolate dripped down onto his chin. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Johnson. These are amazing,” I exclaimed. “Yeah, you’ve got that right,” Charlie agreed. “I suppose you kids are old enough to understand the story behind that picture.” We were beyond confused. We just assumed it was Mr. Johnson in the picture and wanted to get to know him. No one ever really talked about Mr. Johnson since he passed away a few years ago. This boy must be someone special based on the smile that spread across her face when we showed her the picture. “Joe and I grew up together in this neighborhood. We used to run around this neighborhood causing trouble just like you

two. We thought we’d be best friends til’ the day that we die, but I guess life doesn’t work that way.” Me and Charlie were on the edge of our seat. We didn’t want to pry, but something big must’ve happened to make them stop being best friends. As we waited, I was suddenly hit with fear that we would end up just like them. I quickly pushed that thought out of my brain and redirected my attention to her story. Mrs. Johnson’s eyes began to glisten as the tears accumulated in her eyes. A single tear streaked down her cheek. We sat in silence taking in the story as we sipped our lemonade. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and continued. I noticed a stack of pictures sitting on the tray that she had brought the lemonade out on. Mrs. Johnson saw me staring at them and pushed the stack towards me. I slowly dug through them and watched as Mrs. Johnson and Joe grew up together. They played baseball on the same team, went fishing together, and stood side by side in every single school concert. The stack ended with the same picture that we had brought from the library. I had so many questions once I finished, but I didn’t even know where to start. “Oh, this is beautiful. You guys seem like you had so much fun together,” I said. “So, why aren’t you friends anymore?” Charlie asked. This was met with a punch to the ribs and another stern glare from me. Charlie has the manners of a five-year-old, so I basically have to act like his mom. “Well, life happened. It was time to go off to college, but we didn’t get accepted into the same school. Joe decided to go to LSU, but I could only go to a small community college. He met all new friends there and never looked back to this town. We didn’t have cell phones like you kids do to Snapchat all day.” Charlie jumped out of his seat suddenly with a shriek. We both turned to him startled, but he quickly just stood there frozen. I could see that he was thinking about something, but he couldn’t quite figure it out.

Geometric Sky ~Sarah Hannan~

“So, your friend’s name is Joe Callihan…” Charlie muttered. “And your neighbor’s name is also Joe.” Mrs. Johnson giggled. “Oh, Charlie you’ve got quite the imagination, but they’re not the same Joe. How I wish it was my dear friend living next door.” Charlie slumped back into the chair defeated. He really thought that he had cracked the code, but Mrs. Johnson quickly brought him back to reality. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnson. I can’t imagine how tough that would’ve been,” I said. My eyes started to fill with tears as the fear of what the future would hold for me and Charlie overwhelmed me. I couldn’t imagine going through life without him or not fulfilling our dream of owning a cupcake store. She grabbed my hand and looked me in the eye. “Hold onto each other. Don’t make the same mistake that I did and let the world tear you apart,” she said. I turned and smiled at Charlie knowing that no matter what happens, we will always have each other. We both thanked Mrs. Johnson for talking with us and began our walk back to my house. We walked side by side laughing until we cried just like we always will.

Eight Minutes, Forty-Six Seconds

~Destiny Walker~

Eight Minutes forty six seconds. Is all the time it takes to steal the lifespan, liberty, justice, and freedom from a black man. Seven minutes Thirty seconds. Of air that he had left to breathe. Before his family made the preparations that they needed grieve. Six minutes Fifty seven seconds. Was enough time for a knee to be raised, connected to a murderer who was seemingly unfazed. Five minutes Twenty two seconds. Of cries and pleas that had no weight. Crying for his mama As he realized his fate. Four Minutes Fifteen seconds and twenty dollars. Was enough to place blame on a suffering black man slandering his name. Three Minutes Fifty nine seconds. All that’s left, for a brother in need. Hands tied behind his back, crying I can’t breathe.

Power Out

~Maggie Black~

Two minutes Three seconds. The time counts down As enablers form a circle in the middle of town. The narrative of my people alive and well now. One Minute. Gives them enough evidence to claim that they are fighting for freedom and using his name Thirty seconds. Is enough time to tell who’s really here for justice. Cause the white hoods hidden behind BLM masks can’t be trusted One second. Is all it takes for me to think, how my black life can go from something to nothing in one blink.

The Soldier of Light

~Jack Broaders~

Sit back, relax. Listen to the story I will tell. For a story, I will give you. This is a story of one man, one man blessed by the gods with magic. Blessed with Hope as his weapon. This is a story of Gaines Pherda, and how he fought against the bleak darkness of despair. But enough with me describing, away from the appetizer we move on to the main course. The battle had been going poorly for our side. We were short in number and the enemy had cornered us into a small passage between two mountains of the Skilforn Range, the only entrance to the Northern Lands. We stand here, in this practical ravine, with our homeland behind us and the fire of The Dragon’s forces in front of us. We were exhausted, wounded, and near death. Our morale was shattered as we stood there, no hope in our hearts or minds. The only thought keeping us there, our homes and families that lay behind us that the enemy would surely have slaughtered and burned if they broke through. Fear. No! Despair! Lay in all of our hearts like a weight of a thousand stones keeping a bag at the bottom of a lake. Then a figure stood atop a rock not too far from me. He looked like any other soldier, his black hair was short, his face clean-shaven. What was not like an ordinary soldier was that his amber eyes were glowing with golden light and he stood tall and proud, unlike the people he looked upon. From his dais of rock gave a speech that I will not soon forget, “Is this the proud army of the Land of Wheat and War? Of Henechar? An army priding itself on its warriors? On their honor, their stubbornness? Is this an army that is said to stand against endless waves and remain strong, remain unified? No! So why do we cower like rodents in a trap? Do we forget what is at stake?” He said pointing at the stretch of land behind the lines of soldiers, “Do we forget what we protect from the enemy?” He paused as if waiting for a response, none came. “Do we!?” As he said this last part, his eyes glowed brighter and a wave of golden light emanated from him like waves made by a stone splashing into water.

In that moment, I felt my strength return, my exhaustion fade like taking off a great weight. In my heart, I felt something mingling, no overcoming, the despair. Hope. It felt like a small spark that kept growing, becoming bigger and brighter until it became a roaring bonfire within me. The man repeated once more, his voice riding the wind, “Do we forget?” Then like the sound of an ocean beating against the stones of the shore, we responded with renewed vigor, “No!” “Good! Remember what we protect, what we defend from the monsters who would seek it all burned, desecrated, destroyed! I would rather die than see the lands that I call home suffer that fate! Would you?” There was no verbal response, but people started shuffling. They were picking up weapons dropped in despair, they were picking up their fallen weapons feeling their strength of mind and body return to them. Then I felt it. I felt my wounds reknitting themselves. I touched my shoulder, where I had taken a rather nasty cut and found that the wound was nonexistent. The feeling of having your wounds heal is not something I can put into words. I looked around and saw that everyone around me was also healed. The injured which we had rescued were standing by themselves next to those who had just moments before been carrying them. I am a magic user myself, but this was nothing like I had ever seen. This one man had the power to heal well over a thousand men at once, a power thought to only be held by the gods themselves. I felt as if I was looking upon one of the Seven themself. The man continued, “Then by all rights, let’s drive them back! Let’s show them what Henecharans do to those who corner them! Let’s show them we are not broken this easily!” As he said this he raised his right hand, and within it appeared a massive great sword, nearly as tall as the man himself. The blade, however, looked like a piece of the first sun, Eadas, was pounded into a sword. It shone not with a searing light, but with the warmth of a 66 life-giving fire.

Untitled ~Sion Williams~ As he raised his sword on high, cheering like the roar of a defiant lion erupted through the ravine. That is when I saw something. I saw a man next to the soldier. Even though it was only an instant, it had been ingrained in my mind. I saw a man who wore a dark-blue suit and purple tie. His mess of hair started out brown and became golden at the edges. Then just as fast as he appeared, the figure disappeared. The soldier turned towards the waiting army. Taking his great sword in two hands, he charged. Like water rushing out from a collapsing dam, we followed. The ensuing battle turned the tide. With renewed vigor, we fought, fought for our homes, our families, for hope. Without him, we would have never found victory, we would have never saved all that we held dear. Without him, we all would have surely perished. He gave us hope where there was despair, light where there was darkness. Everyone that day owed their lives to him, to 67 the Soldier of Light.

~Kati Keller~

Indelible

Your fingerprints linger on my psyche Like a film of curdled milk Pressureless marks that don’t fade Unlike the mottled blue purple black Skin that balmy time will soothe Indelible marks that unsanctify What holy waters and sacred words Two decades ago cleansed Slivers of red moons and unruly rows of Jagged lightning bolts Pepper my body like scattered confetti From a graduation party Wet, Squirt, Lather, Smooth. Wipe. Rub. Scrub~ Claw~ Pinch~ Pierce— Rip— Shred— Nothing removes the phantoms Phantoms of curling hands And clinging and damp skin That left dead flakes Among unreachable folds That bled Bled and oozed Oozed and shed red All I can do is scour my skin Scour with reclaiming marks To yield innocence Ignorant of any indelible.

Happiness Collage ~Maggie Black~

I’m Falling

~Elliott Rysavy~

I’m falling. I never thought I would again, but here I am now, doing just that… falling. I can feel the air rushing around me, vibrating in my ears. I think back to the day that my life fell to pieces, and suddenly I’m back in my old house, a place I used to call home. I stormed out of the door, tears in my eyes. I couldn’t look back. I couldn’t look at him. “Wait, Heather, I can explain,” he said to me. I just shook my head and kept on walking. “It’s not what you think,” he said, catching up to me and grabbing my arm. I shook him off and just kept going. I wanted to scream at him but when I looked back, all that came out were sobs. I turned away and got into the driver’s seat of the SUV parked in the driveway. Technically, it was his. I had bought it with money that he had earned. But that didn’t matter, I just needed to get away. I put the vehicle into reverse through clouded eyes and pushed down the gas. Thud. I hit something with the car, but I didn’t care; I was getting away. I could see him staring after me next to

the broken mailbox in my rear-view mirror. That was the last time I ever looked back. I’m falling. After that experience, I never thought that I would fall in love again. But I guess my mother was right—it might be hard to believe it sometimes, but people fall in love more than once. I met him a year later. The bell rang as we entered the coffee shop. “I can’t believe you did that last night, Allison,” my friend, Kathy, said, grabbing Allison’s arm and giggling at her and I. We made up an odd trio, but I considered these two my best friends. Me, the second-grade teacher, Allison, a mother of three, and Kathy, the one who married big—the heir to Arizona’s biggest toothpaste company. It was actually Arizona’s only toothpaste company, but it was distributed nationally. “I just can’t help it when my friends are involved,” she said as we walked up to the counter to place our orders. I laughed, something which I was finally starting to do again. “Getting on a table to yell at a DJ? Allison, I know you don’t think so, but you really are the craziest person I know.” “I couldn’t just let him play that song,” she said. The DJ at Tommy’s had put on When You Love a Woman by Journey, a good song by any standards. Unfortunately, it was my exhusband’s favorite band, and that had been our song. “You’re way better off without he-who-shall-not-be-named anyways.” I nodded appreciatively, glancing down at my phone. 10:00 AM. We had stayed out pretty late the night before. We liked to go out every so often to have some fun and let off a little steam. Only on weekend nights, though. As a teacher, I always put my job first. We all placed our orders and took a seat next to the window to wait for our coffees to be made. Once we were all situated and discussing the night before, a black truck pulled into the parking lot. I didn’t take much notice, but my attention was soon directed at the person getting out. “Daaamn, check out that guy,” Kathy said, not so inconspicuously looking out the window at the guy getting out of

the truck. He appeared to be in his early thirties—right around my age. Scruff covered his chiseled face, and he wore a flannel shirt and a baseball cap. He had a jawline comparable to the likes of Brad Pitt and the wavy hair to go with it. “Cutie alert,” replied Allison, giving us a knowing glance. We all knew that we could admire from afar, but with me being the only single woman in the trio, we all knew that men were essentially off-limits at the moment. “Allison,” called the barista, holding a cardboard tray with three steaming coffees inside. Allison went over, grabbed the coffees, and we headed back to her SUV. “Uh, Allison? You might want to come look at this,” said Kathy on the passenger side, making a cringing face as she looked down at the tire. “Don’t tell me,” Allison said, walking over and throwing up her hands. “Not another flat!” “Do I need to call someone?” I asked, heading over and looking at the tire, the rim almost touching the ground. Before I could even get out my phone, though, help had arrived. “Do you ladies need some help?” asked the guy that we had been admiring earlier. He smiled, and it looked genuine. “I have some extra time, though. Do you have a spare?” “Yeah, in the trunk underneath the floor mat,” said Allison, opening the back for him. “I hope it’s not too much trouble.” “None at all, I could do this in my sleep,” he said, giving us another charming grin as he pulled the tire out of the back. Kathy and I sat on the nearby bench just outside the coffee shop while he worked. The man efficiently took the old tire off and placed the new one on, barely taking even 15 minutes. “Wait, before you go, what’s your name?” asked Allison. “I’m Ben,” he said. “It was a pleasure to meet you all.” He tipped his hat at us and got back into his truck, backing out the spot and driving out of the parking lot. “Well he was cute,” said Allison, giving Kathy and me a

~Maggie Black~ My Heart 72

side-long glance. “And helpful.” “Allison!” exclaimed Kathy, giggling. “You are a married woman!” “Well, I might be taken, but Heather here isn’t.” She winked as she pulled out her keys. We all hopped into the car and drove off. ~~~ I’m falling. That wasn’t the last that I saw of Mr. Handsome Farmer Man. Less than a week later, I was shopping in the Safeway near my house. I was talking to my dad on the phone as I looked at the endless options of the cereal aisle. I had made it my personal mission to try every single kind there. As a single woman, I had a lot more time on my hands. “So how has school been treating you?” he asked me. He knew how much my kids meant to me. After the divorce, they were all that were keeping me sane. “It’s going great, Dad,” I responded. “My new students are totally awesome. This one, Tyler, gets a little rowdy

sometimes, but it’s nothing I can’t…” I trailed off as I looked up. There I was, face to face with the grinning mug of the guy from the coffee shop. “Hello? Heather, you there?” asked my dad. I shook myself out of my shock of seeing the not-so-familiar face. “Sorry, Dad. Can I call you back later?” “No problem, sweetie,” he said, barely finishing the sentence before I took the phone from my ear and ended the call. “What are you doing here?” he asked me, casually browsing the cereal beside me. “Probably the same thing as you are… looking for cereal?” I said, finally deciding on a box of seasonal Lucky Charms and putting it in my cart. “Oh phew,” he said, grinning at me and pretending to wipe the sweat off of his brow. “I was worried you were stalking me.” “Oh please,” I replied. Is he trying to flirt with me? “Well, you know how it is,” he said, “Boy meets girl. Girl stalks boy. Boy falls in love with a girl. The age-old story.” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help letting out a laugh. This guy was trying way too hard. My mind flashed back to Allison the other night: Well he was cute… I might be taken, but Heather here isn’t… He was obviously hitting on me. Maybe I should just take a chance and roll with it. “You got me,” I said, trying out a flirtatious laugh. It wasn’t working for me. Wow, my dating skills have gotten rusty, I thought to myself, cringing a little bit. “We’ve already run into each other twice,” he said, tilting his head a little. “Do you believe in fate?” he said as he examined my face for a reaction. He was wearing that stupid grin. “I don’t know about fate, but I don’t believe in coincidences.” “Well perfect, because I don’t either,” he said, smiling. There was a bit of pause. “Could I get your number by any chance?” he said, giving a nervous smile. “I think you’re really pretty, and I would love to hang out sometime.”

“Sure,” I said a little hesitantly, “I would like that.” I knew that I needed to put myself back out there, and this guy seemed really sweet. He handed his phone over to me, and I put in my number. For my name, I just put Heather—no need for last names yet. “Perfect,” he said, winking, then continuing his way down the aisle. “Wait!” I said. “What was your name again?” I paused. “I’m Heather.” “It’s Ben,” he said, turning around for a second and giving a little salute. He turned around and kept walking. As soon as he was gone, I pulled out my phone. “You’ll never believe what just happened to me,” I said to my Dad, as I called him and resumed our phone call. ~~~ I’m falling. We talked over text for a week or so, and when he asked me if I wanted to get drinks at Tommy’s, I said yes. A month later, we had gone on a number of dates. He had finally asked me if I wanted to make it exclusive outside of Tommy’s, and later that night, we were sitting in the back of his truck, cuddling in a pile of blankets, looking out over the city lights. We were at a “lover’s lane” type of spot called “The Ridge” where all of the kids went to make out with their significant others. We weren’t exactly young anymore, but I think part of me wanted that feeling—the feeling that you get when you’re falling in love at sixteen and nothing else really matters. All I could hear were the crickets chirping all around us. I could feel the warmth of his chest against my head. I felt safe, and I liked that. I never really liked silence, though. “You never talk about your past,” I said to him, leaving it open-ended so that he could jump in with an explanation. I looked up at him so that I could see his eyes. They glittered blue in the moonlight. I couldn’t read them. They were beautiful, but I could never see past their surface. “I know,” he said, his usually cheerful features becoming

expressionless as he looked out over the city. I waited a moment for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “Why don’t you talk about it? I know you were married, but what happened? What happened to her?” I asked. He continued to gaze out at the city, giving me no indication of what he was thinking. “It’s because it still hurts,” he said after a long silence. He didn’t look too sad, but I guess we all have different ways of dealing with emotions. “Do you still have feelings for her?” I asked, dreading the answer that was coming. Whenever we talked about our histories, he grew a little distant, like he was now. There was a long pause. “She’s… She’s dead,” he whispered, breaking the silence. I had rested my head back on his chest, but I quickly turned back toward him. I hadn’t known. At all. “I didn’t know,” I said, trailing off. “There was no way for you to know. I hadn’t said anything.” He looked away. “It just still hurts to talk about it,” he trailed off. He looked over at me, and I could see that there were tears in his eyes—those beautiful eyes. They came quickly, like the sudden rain after the silence before a storm. They rolled down his cheek, and suddenly his head was on my chest, but they stopped as quickly as they had started, his face once again settling into the familiar expressionless state I had come to know. He looked at me, and we kissed. ~~~ I’m falling. After that, I did some Googling. I wanted to know more about my boyfriend. It didn’t look like he was going to tell me anything, so I put on my internet sleuth hat and started digging. I expected an obituary, but that wasn’t what I got. All I had to do was put in his name, and there it was, the tragic headline. Wife murdered while husband away at work. My jaw dropped. He had been helping his father on their family farm when it happened. I scrolled through the article. She had been shot with a gun found by the intruder in their house. A burglary

~Sion Williams~ Black Tint 76

gone awry it said, as there was missing jewelry and money. They were referred to as “the young couple” and the incident “a tragedy, ripping apart the entire family.” She had been pregnant. I looked at the date—five years ago. I couldn’t imagine what Ben was going through. No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it. I shut my laptop screen completely speechless. I wasn’t sure what to feel. Should I talk to him about it? Should I respect his obvious desire not to bring it up? Why hadn’t he told me? Was this a red flag? Over the next few weeks, I tried bringing it up a couple of times, but he shut it down quickly. Obviously, he wasn’t ready to talk about it. Maybe I had gotten it wrong. Maybe the article wasn’t about his wife. And even if it was about him, he was still the victim. That was no reason to end things. Besides, I couldn’t help myself… I was already falling for him.

We were having a picnic in a field on the outskirts of town. It was a Friday night, and the first stars were just beginning to dot the sky. “I brought pie,” he said, smiling over at me. “Your favorite—apple.” I took the piece that he handed to me on a paper plate. It was delicious. “Let’s play the question game,” I said in between bites. “Okay, ask away.” I paused for a moment. I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for a question. He had already finished his pie and I set mine down on the edge of our picnic blanket. “Have you ever been in love?” I asked slowly, pulling at a nearby dandelion so that I didn’t have to meet his eyes. I knew it was an uncomfortable question, but I was curious. He looked like he was thinking. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment, looking up at the sky. “I think so.” “Are you in love with me?” I replied abruptly. We had been dating for a while, and he still hadn’t said the l-word. He took his eyes off the sky and looked over at me. “I think I just might be.” My heart skipped a beat. “Look Heather,” he said, grabbing my hand and moving over to face me. “I know I don’t really talk about my past.” He looked down at the ground. “My old wife, she didn’t just die… She was murdered.” “I know,” I said quietly. He looked back up at me. “I know I come with baggage, Heather, but… I really like you.” He smiled again. “It’s okay,” I said, “After all, I have some baggage as well.” “Well how about this,” he said, giving me that goofy grin that I couldn’t resist. “If you’ll let me, I would be honored to be your own personal baggage handler, and maybe eventually, you could do the same for me.” He paused. “How does that sound?” he asked, brushing a hair away from my face. “I think I would like that,” I said, laughing. We kissed. ~~~

I’m falling. He lived in a farmhouse near where he grew up so that he could do farmwork for his father. The house still smelled new, and he told me it was built the previous year. I’m assuming after the tragedy, Ben couldn’t bear to live in the house where his wife was murdered, so he decided to have this place built, a small but homey house in the middle of the country. We were out on a walk in the forest along the back edge of the property. “You know, I didn’t think that I would ever fall in love again,” he said, looking over at me. “Me neither,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze. “You proved me wrong, though,” he said, smiling down at me. All of a sudden, he stopped and let go. Before I knew it, I was looking down at him. The sun twinked off of his warm eyes, blue like the sky. I felt like I was falling into them. He pulled a small leather-coated box out of his pocket and snapped it open, revealing a glittering ring beneath. “Heather,” he said, “From the moment I saw you, I knew that you were someone special, and I never want to spend a moment without you.” I could see the emotion in his face, a rare occurrence. “I love you and… I just know that I always will. Will you marry me?” I let out a squeal of delight. “Yes!” I said, surprised at how excited I really was. We had only been dating for less than a year, but I felt like I truly knew this man. I felt like I truly loved him. On the way back to his house, I couldn’t stop smiling. I’m falling. The wedding was small, mostly just our immediate families in a small church house surrounded by yellow fields. His father was there, but that was it for his family. He didn’t have grandparents that were living, and as far as I knew, no aunts or uncles. My sister and parents were there, along with Allison, Kathy, and the pastor to make the marriage official. If it hadn’t been for his father’s insistence, I doubt we would have gotten married in a church at all. Neither of us were especially religious. I feel like I’m more spiritual than anything else, believing in souls more than any specific deity. I don’t know

what happens to us after we die. Part of me wants to know what happens to us after we die. The other part is completely terrified by the idea. I am terrified. After the wedding, we had a little celebration back at the farm, and it was beautiful. The whole thing was nothing like my last marriage, but I liked that. “I hope you’re ready to settle back down again,” Allison said jokingly to me after the ceremony. “More than ready,” I said back to her, grinning with the glee of a recent bride. I wasn’t ready. ~~~ Five years later, my life was looking great. I had the best friends I could ever ask for, a husband who loved me, a beautiful house, a good job… But I guess I have a way of messing good things up because that’s when it happened. Sitting at my desk during my lunch break, I looked down at my phone as it gave a buzz. I looked down, and a feeling of guilt washed over me. It was a text from my ex-husband. “Last night was fun ;),” it read. I unlocked my phone and deleted it as regret flooded my brain. I felt stupid for falling for his tricks yet again. I could feel his skin. I remembered his body on mine. After the horror of my last marriage, I remember swearing to myself that I would never let that happen again. I would never let myself feel the pain of being cheated on. Instead, I did the opposite. I put myself through the pain of cheating. Ben didn’t know as far as I was aware, and the secret was eating me alive. It was a one-time thing, I told myself. Maybe he didn’t have to know? I think it was a kind of defense. If I cheated on Ben, it wouldn’t hurt as much if he cheated on me. I know it’s messed up, but I guess I was a little messed up. I think I still might be. I’m falling. The wind tears at my clothes, bringing tears to my eyes. I’m falling. A month later, I stopped at the drugstore. I picked up the pregnancy test. I was late, and I couldn’t take any chances. When I got home and took the test, it came back positive.

I shoved my face into my hands, horrified that I could have let this happen. And the worst part—I didn’t even know for sure whose baby it was. From that moment, I made a decision. Whoever’s baby it actually was, from this moment, forward it would be Ben’s. It had to be. I was carrying Ben’s baby. When he came home that night, I showed him the test. I didn’t say anything. “You’re pregnant,” he said. He didn’t sound as excited as I had hoped. He paused, setting down his things. “It’s mine, right?” My heart skipped a beat. “Yes,” I said, my voice wavering. “What makes you think it wouldn’t be?” He glared at me, his face an expressionless mask. “I know about your friend.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How did he know? I knew that he had been a bit distant lately, but he had always been a little distant. It wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary. Oh well, it didn’t matter. I needed to do damage control. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Yes you do,” he said to me coldly. Instead of getting angry, as I would have, he just looked away. I guess he was disgusted. “I’m going to bed,” he said. That night, we slept on our sides of the bed like nothing had happened. I’m falling. The next day, I felt his hand gently push me awake. “I felt like we needed a change of pace,” he said. “I have a surprise for you. Get ready, and we’ll take the car.” I was astonished. Why was he even talking to me? I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve Ben. He put on a jacket and stepped out of the room. I got ready quickly and went outside. He was sitting at the island in the kitchen and met my eyes as I walked out of our bedroom. “Let’s go,” he said, walking toward the door. We got into his car, and he started driving. We didn’t talk. I looked out the window at the scenery, my mind going a million miles a second. Where were we going? Soon, we pulled into a

gravel parking lot, and Ben shut off the car. A sign to my right said, “Lookout, This Way.” We stepped out. “I thought it would be good to get outside. Maybe we can talk about everything that’s been going on,” he said to me, barely meeting my eyes. It’s okay, I would be mad, too. “Thanks,” I said lamely. “For this. For everything.” We walked down a trail and soon we approached the canyon’s edge. “It’s beautiful,” I said, staring in awe at the giant chasm before me. “So beautiful,” he said, echoing my words. We stood there for a moment, looking out at the fatal beauty of mother nature. “I want to take a picture of you,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Okay,” I said, pausing. I wasn’t sure if now was the time for pictures, considering the circumstances, but I agreed. He pointed to a ledge a ways down the path. “Right there,” he said. We walked over, and I stood at the edge, smiling and waiting for him to snap a picture. He didn’t. “Stand a little to the left.” I moved to the left. “No, that doesn’t look right. Let me help you.” He came over to position me. He had never been this into photography before. He grabbed my shoulders. “A little this way,” he said, moving me backward. I took a step. “Ben, no,” I said. “I’m too close to the edge. I’m scared.” “Just a little bit further.” “Ben, no,” I said, a little more frantically. “Wait, Ben, wait.” A push. I’m falling. My life. My lie. I’m falling.

~Kelly Ferguson~ Arches ~Isaac Barutha~

Inheritance

The drive to her father’s house took just under three hours from where Caroline lived in the city. She had made the trip only a few times during her time spent away at university and she never enjoyed the slow build-up of anxiety she experienced as she approached the county line. Caroline always regretted not speaking to her father. He wasn’t much of a “feelings” person, as he had worded it himself. The tension between them lingered and whenever Caroline attempted to slide the topic into the conversation, he would brush her off or say something along the lines of, “We’re just two different people.” That phrase never made a lot of sense to her as she and her father had a great relationship when she was a child in elementary and parts of middle school. He would come to all her dance recitals and even took her out to

ice cream or fries after a positive experience at parent-teacher conferences or when her report card came back with straight A’s. They would always go to the park down the road from the farm on the weekends and spend the entire day there, laughing and playing together with Caroline’s childhood dog before coming home to a warm dinner prepared by her mother. She had initially tried to attribute it to her mother’s passing when she was seventeen. Caroline had been in hysterics when she arrived at the hospital after school, her friend dropping her off with well wishes and a hug. That was when the first time Caroline had felt the rift emerge between her and her dad; when she had gotten a text from her father saying that her mother was in the hospital for a stroke rather than coming to pick her up from school and telling her in person. She tried not to hold it against him as she got older, thinking that her father just didn’t know how to cope with something like that and didn’t know how to tell her. But it was never brought up nor an incident that she ever received an apology for. She had also only visited him a few times while he was in the hospital for cancer treatment. It hadn’t done much though as Caroline could tell by the way he slowly began to wither like a flower in the winter on one of her annual holiday visits. He would never admit that out loud though, no matter how many times a specialist or a hospital counselor would come in to attempt to help him come to grips with his situation. He had always said when Caroline was a child that he wasn’t afraid to die; a lesson that was regularly mentioned when they had to euthanize a sick pig or slaughter a chicken for dinner. He had snapped at her when she came to visit one day. She had brought him a bouquet of white daisies, thinking he would recognize his late wife’s favorite flowers. “What the hell are those?” he barked. Caroline felt her smile falter and was grateful that the mask she was required to wear hid the fault in her expression. “I figured I’d bring something to brighten the room. These

were the ones mom—” He immediately cut her off. “Don’t talk to me about your mother. I don’t need no damn flowers or no pity.” Deep breath. Caroline pulled into the drive of her childhood home. She stretched her arms up and behind her head when she got out of the car, hearing the pops from her back and the relief from the tension that had built up in her shoulders from holding her arms up to the steering wheel. The house itself was nothing special. A simple white paneled, single-story townhouse with a wooden front porch and her mother’s left-over garden sitting just in front. Caroline smiled when she noticed that some of the annual wildflowers planted there were still in bloom despite the chill of the autumn air. The trees up the drive and around the front of the house had all lost their leaves and the crop field just beyond the hill remained uncomfortably barren for yet another year. Her father wasn’t able to farm since his diagnosis, which was coming up on 4 years ago now. Caroline had emailed him—seeing as how he didn’t text and never answered her calls—about taking some time off of school to help him and his former farm-hands out with some of the fieldwork that she used to do as a child. To her dismay, he had emailed her back stating unfairly simply that he was in the process of selling the farm and that she didn’t need to worry about it. End of email. She had sent back a reply asking where exactly all the money would be going, considering it was a decent chunk of land as well as a fully paid off house he was selling. There would have been enough money to help her pay off some of her student loans as well as take a big chunk out of his piling medical bills. Unfortunately, the response she got back only mentioned the money going towards his medical bills. Caroline didn’t want to seem selfish in asking for a share seeing as, well, her father was dying, and she had never asked for money before. She felt hurt by what she would call a lack of consideration but knew that

she would probably be the last person her father would consider giving such a large sum of money to given the attitude he adopted towards her after she had told him she was gay when she was nineteen. It wasn’t the biggest deal in Caroline’s eyes. It was what it was. But after a heated 30-minute over-the-phone argument, “the word of God’ being tossed her way a couple of times, she figured it wasn’t worth the effort and avoided the topic any further in the presence of her father. “Hi, Caroline!” Diana called. Diana was her father’s hospice and at-home nurse and had been assigned her mother’s case while she was still in the hospital on life-support. She and Caroline, as well as Caroline’s father, had become good friends over the years after her mother’s passing. When she found out that Caroline’s father was entering a local hospice program several months ago, she voluntarily took a position change into hospice care and asked to be assigned to his case. She was standing on the front porch of the home and waved excitedly at Caroline. “I thought I heard you pullin’ up! Ain’t no one else comin’ to visit your father.” Caroline chuckled and hugged Diana once she stepped up onto the porch. She seemed to be the only other person to get along with Caroline’s father besides the few friends that were still capable of making the trip over in their older age. “Hi, Diana. How’s my dad?” Caroline asked. “Oh, he’s all right. He sleeps most of the time now, which is good for me because I can finally get some work done.” Diana laughed. She was always so upbeat, even when her father had a bad health day, or he and Caroline would get into an argument. The bad days were far worse than any of the arguments they had ever had, usually because they were always one-sided. Caroline trying to confront her father about his behavior or try to be honest with him about herself, her father either ignoring her and retreating into his bedroom or telling her to leave. Unfortunately, his bad days affected everyone in and outside of the house who was close to him. The vomiting, the pain, his crying, Diana

exhausting her options of pain relief medications that were safe to take in high doses, Caroline waiting nervously next to her phone for Diana to call and either say that he had finally fallen asleep or he was being taken to urgent care. Both women had tried to encourage him to take advantage of stronger pain medicines available to him or different “wholistic” state-approved remedies. He always refused, a strong conviction against becoming addicted to drugs while already suffering. “A good Catholic man accepts his suffering as Jesus did for us,” he had said. “I’m not afraid of pain, nor am I afraid of dyin’. I made my peace with the Lord. No need to go screwin’ around with drugs.” ~~~ Caroline and Diana had chatted in the kitchen for some time. Caroline took to whipping up her father’s favorite dish—corn chowder and baked rosemary chicken—seeing as it was creeping close to supper time when she had initially arrived. Diana kept her company while updating her father’s medical chart and medication checklist while periodically going into his room to check if he was still asleep. “You didn’t tell me you were coming to visit. It’s not Thanksgiving yet,” Diana mentioned. The comment was mostly casual with a hint of selfish curiosity that took the form of a slightly melodramatic eyebrow raise and glance in Caroline’s direction. Caroline paused from washing a used pot and turned to look at Diana, eyebrows furrowed. “He didn’t say anything to you?” “No. Was he s’pposed to?” Diana was now also as confused as Caroline was. “He emailed me asking me to come down this weekend I figured if it was something important that he definitely would have mentioned it to you,” Caroline explained. She went back to the dishes and heard Diana sigh behind her. “Maybe it’s the new meds he started up this past weekend.

En Pointe ~Sarah Hannan~ S’pposed to help with the drowsiness.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I just think it makes him more confused.” Caroline hummed in response absentmindedly. “How’s that lady-friend of yours? What’s her name? Jane? How’re y’all doin’?” Diana inquired. “June. And we’re just fine. Just found a place together not too far from campus. They accept pets so we’re looking into adopting a cat when the semester ends,” Caroline said. She felt a gentle smile form at the thought of her girlfriend. They had been together for almost two years now, since before Christmas break their freshman year, and things were going better than Caroline could have ever planned. They both had been accepted to their

first internships at the same local clinic, their credits had been accepted by their landlords despite the mounting student loans, and they were both thriving in the best ways, together. “That’s great! Maybe your father and I could make a trip up there for Thanksgiving instead of you comin’ down here alone!” Diana said excitedly. “That would be nice,” Caroline spoke quietly but kept her tone casual. Diana wasn’t entirely aware of the tension it caused between her and her father. Caroline felt it would be unfair to allow Diana that knowledge, nor did she want Diana to quit or become upset with him because he was “out of touch” with the times they were currently living in. Before Diana could ask anything else, a groan came from Caroline’s father’s room and Diana’s nurse-call signal lit up against her hip. “That’ll be your father. I’ll get him all set up for supper.” Diana said before disappearing down the hall. ~~~ Dinner was casual, which made Caroline a bit nervous. She had put their meals onto plates and brought them into her father’s room where Diana had sat him up in bed and moved his table over his lap. Caroline had brought the food in and they gathered around his bed and ate while the T.V. played Grey’s Anatomy in the background. “What season you on, dad?” Caroline asked. “Five! I’m so glad that Diana set up this Netflix thing for me. Hearing all this medical talk makes me kinda understand what on earth they were mentionin’ in the hospital,” he raved. He wasn’t usually so upbeat, always having some sort of cynical commentary to add to whatever anyone was trying to enjoy. He did it regularly to Caroline when she still lived with him; making what felt like snide comments about the hobbies she would pick up or books she would read. Calling anything that didn’t pertain to the academics she was participating in while at school “impractical.”

“Thank you, Diana,” Caroline mentioned. Diana smiled genuinely in her direction and continued digging at her plate. “Hey, dad?” Caroline started. “Huh?” he responded bluntly. His eyes were still looking at the screen and his mouth moved with the chewing of his food. Caroline wasn’t sure how to start. She was nervous that there might be a problem or something that would be so devastating that she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye for the rest of his very limited amount of time left. The amount of good news that he had given her since her mother’s passing had been few and far between. She could feel her heart pounding away in her chest and her stomach rolled uncomfortably, resulting in food being pushed around her plate that she had to hold because her knee was bouncing too much to rest it on her lap. Diana, thankfully, interrupted, “Caroline found herself a new apartment near campus. Did she tell ya? She said she’s gonna start adopting animals is almost done with school. Ain’t she just so grown now?” Her tone was endearing, and she smiled warmly again at Caroline. Caroline’s father paused for just a moment and looked in her direction. She sat frozen, like a dear in headlights, waiting for his response. The anticipation enveloped her, and she stuffed a fork full of chowder into her mouth in a last attempt to not look at nervous as she was feeling. “She’s doing very well,” he said softly. ~~~ Diana said she would do after-dinner dishes since Caroline had done all the cooking and her father didn’t need any medications or to move around for a while. With that, Caroline was alone with her father in his room, sat in the same place she was for dinner, eyes bouncing around from the T.V., the floor, the wall in front of her, her father, then back again. “Was the drive down decent?” her father asked after a few moments of silence. “Oh, yeah. It was just fine,” she said. He nodded. Another

Passing On

~Kati Keller~

moment of silence passed. “You doin’ good in school?” he asked. “Made the dean’s list again this past semester.” “That’s a good thing, right? Ain’t for troublemakers?” “It’s a good thing. It’s recognition for high academic performance.” He nodded. More silence. “The sale on the house went through last week. I had the realtor come over so I could sign some paperwork but otherwise, payments should be comin’ through,” he said. “Okay,” Caroline replied. Her voice was flat, and her eyes moved away from her father and back towards the T.V. until he spoke again.

“The money from the house and land is going to you. I put the payments in your name.” Caroline stared at him for a second, her mouth slightly open and her brown raised. The commotion in her stomach and chest stopped and instead her head felt as if it were spinning. “Why would you do that?” He scoffed, almost as if offended by the question. “Because you need it. You got school loans, rent now, animals and yourself to feed, whatever you need it for. Since I expanded the bathrooms and fixed up the roofing a few years ago, the property value went up.” Caroline was still in a state of shock. “Dad, I don’t understand.” He paused, his eyes moving to look at the cross he had hanging on the wall next to his bed. He signed and his head dropped a little. “I know I haven’t been the best father to you, not since your mama passed. That’s my cross to bear,” he started. “I know this money ain’t gonna make up for the years since, but as a father, my duty is to help you. Make your life better. “We ain’t gonna agree on everything, I know that. But I know this world’s changin’ and it’d be damn foolish of me to try and keep you tied to times that don’t exist no more. I know June’s your girlfriend, and I know you’re into ladies. It ain’t my place to judge, God made me right aware of that.” Caroline had tears running down her face and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She felt mildly embarrassed about not being able to keep her composure during such a serious conversation, but she knew her dad needed the time and space to say what he needed to say in a way that she would finally be able to hear. “God gave me a child who’s using her talents to help other people in need. Ain’t nothin’ better than that. You use the money however you need. I know it probably don’t make up for selling the house or not talking with you when you needed it, but it’s all I 91 got left.”

Driver

~Joel Zabel~

Caroline knew that he was apologizing. He was giving her everything he had as a way to hold on to what was left of their relationship before he passed, something she never thought that he would do. “Thank you,” Caroline choked through tears. She and her father came together in a long-overdue hug. Caroline was squeezing so hard that she thought she was going to break the frail man in her arms, but he was hugging her back just as tight, with everything he had.

Wilhelm gripped the steering wheel anxiously as the company unloaded the truck. The sound of gunfire in the distance had quieted down, but this did not leave him with ease. He and all the other men knew what was coming. It didn’t take much to understand the Soviets were preparing to push with a massive counterattack. How could they not when the city they lost had the namesake of their leader? Along with that, Stalingrad was known for two things, which both sides desired: tank factories, and oil. The Reich wanted both, and the Soviets did too. It was clear to Wilhelm though that the Reich was hurting. Desperation was in the air, morale was low, and his orders were borderline insane. He looked into his satchel and pulled out a small brown piece of paper. On it was stamped the swastika and eagle of the Third Reich. The logistics officer handed this to him yesterday before he left. His hands shook nervously as he reread the orders. He was to drive into Stalingrad and help resupply B company, which was clearly low on ammunition, food, tools, weaponry, and the like… based on his contents list for this haul. They were then supposed to fill his truck with oil canisters taken from the oilfields to the south, and return with oil to the tank divisions to the west. Previously his life as a supply truck driver had been typical. But now he was scared. Never before had he been ordered to drive directly into a battlefield, and even worse he had never been

asked to haul oil drums at the same time. Luckily this trip to B company was successful and uneventful. The German Army had captured Stalingrad and thus set up safe supply routes, but he was skeptical. High command was telling him and the men that the battle was essentially won and there was nothing to fear. But why then was he being ordered to drive into fresh battlegrounds? Why was he being ordered to deliver oil to the tank companies? Are they out of oil? How could this battle, even more so the war, be won if the tanks were out of commission? Why did the men here look broken, expressionless, like walking corpses? The only emotions evident being anger, ambivalence, and apathy. He began to long for his naivety from the early days of the war. Memories of him delivering fresh sheets and tea to the commander’s head quartets in Poland, back in 1939. It was now mid-winter of 1944, and oh how things had fallen apart since. Life was so much easier back then. His train of thought was broken by a sudden heavy banging on his driver’s door. A man in a peaked cap and winter trench coat was staring at him. His face was wrinkled with stress, and his eyes hung tired. “HEY!” The officer yelled. “Get out of the damn truck and check off the supplies, you’re holding up the rest of the convoy!” “Right away sir!” Wilhelm said as he jumped out of the driver’s seat. With supply list in hand, he ran to the back of the truck. A squad of 6 men was sorting the contents of the truck on the ground to the right. Wilhelm approached them and began checking off the list. “15 Panzerfausts.” “35 Stielhandgranates.” “700 round of rifle ammo” “50 belts of ammo for the MG-34’s and 42’s” “73 Pak 40 rounds” “17 loaves of bread” “5 field spades” “30 summer uniform sets”

“200 80mm mortar rou-“ “What did you just say?!” Screamed a familiar voice from behind him. Wilhelm turned around to see the officer storming towards him. “I said 30 summer unifor-“ Wilhelm muttered before being cut off. “I KNOW DAMN WELL WHAT YOU SAID ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” The officer screamed in his face. “I specifically ordered and demanded WINTER CLOTHING.” “I’m sorry sir I just load and drive the truck; I don’t choose what goes in or out,” Wilhelm spoke quickly. “Look around you! we are freezing to death out here! How can we fight the Soviets when we can barely stop from freezing to death?” The officer’s voice began to grow raw as the spit continued to fly onto Wilhelm’s face. Wilhelm looked around. Men were standing about waist high in the snow looking at him. It was silent except for the sound of the cold winter wind rustling through the trees and buildings. As Wilhelm looked at the exhausted expressions on the men’s faces, he felt the spit from the officer begin to freeze to his skin. “And 17 loaves of bread?! Is this a joke? We’ve been rationing food for 3 weeks now and all they can suffer to bring us is 17 loaves of bread? FOR 15,000 MEN?!” “But sir, there are more trucks all carrying similar supplies!” Wilhelm gestured to the column of trucks behind them. “You imbecile! You think I don’t know this!? Yes, there are what? Twenty-four other trucks with varying supplies? We were expecting emergency rations of clothing, food, and ammo. He began to scream. “That means we were expecting at least 500 loaves of bread and 135 kilograms of winter clothing, which is already nothing! And you bring us a handful? Do they want us to die?!” The officer’s voice finally gave out. “Sir I’m terribly sorry, perhaps it was a mistake!” Wilhelm attempted to rationalize, but before he had finished talking the officer had stormed off in a rage. As the officer disappeared from

vision, the last thing Wilhelm heard the man say was, “I knew we were all going to fucking die here.” Wilhelm turned around and finished counting supplies. Shaken, filled with adrenaline and fear, he walked back to the truck. Another man ran up to him. “Drive forward and you’ll be directed towards the oil depo to be loaded up.” Wilhelm nodded as he pulled himself into the truck. Wilhelm turned the truck on and placed the list of orders into his breast pocket. His breath was visible in the cold air. Before he proceeded, he went through his mental checklist, drilled into him from training. He grasped around his belt and felt his holster, doing so he looked in and saw his pistol sitting comfortably inside. “Good.” He said. He then made sure his gear was snug, tightened his belt, and adjusted his mirrors. The swastika on his uniform reflected some light. He began driving forward being directed by the men. The calm of the truck cabin allowed Wilhelm to hear the startup of light gunfire in the far-off distance. ~~~ Wilhelm pulled into the oil depo. The men stopped him and he shut off the truck, once again jumping out. As Wilhelm rounded the rear of the truck a man covered in grease approached him, an engineer lieutenant. “Sieg Heil!” They both exclaimed in unison as their hands stuck out diagonally into the air. “Supply driver from the 6th Wehrmacht?” “Jawohl!” “As you know, we will be loading your truck up with cans of gasoline and oil drums, with which you will be driving west two hours to resupply the tank divisions.” “Yes sir. I’ve got it all right here” Wilhelm said as he waived his papers from command. “Keep that paper on you.” The man said “That’s my intention...” Wilhelm said with a look of confusion on his face. “Because when the Russians get you, they might spare you

~Jillian Alekna~ Frozen Pine if they think you are valuable. Just might save your life.” The man spoke straight. “What do you mean?” Wilhelm’s voice trembled. “You didn’t hear? The Soviets are expected to begin a massive counterattack. Some divisions to the north and south have reported seeing massive amounts of men and tanks preparing for what looks like an encirclement. Command has been silent. Spewing their bullshit about how everything is fine. They don’t want us to be fearful. But we are the men on the ground. We see it all. It’s clear we soon to be in for the fight of our lives.” “I know, but so soon?! We aren’t even close to ready! I was told they wouldn’t counterattack some time yet!” “Have fun with that wish!” snarked the engineer. “I wish you the best! Drive safe, and pray to god we all can get out of this alive!” 96

The man slapped him on the back before giving another Sieg Heil. After doing so he ordered the men to begin loading the truck with oil and gas. Wilhelm stood in dismay and concern. He had never seen such a defeatist attitude from the same army that had blitzkrieg all of Europe. How could this be? He too had his doubts but never at this level. He huffed in frustration. In all his confusion, one thing was certain now. The end was coming, it was just a matter of time. He held on tightly to the paper as he stuffed it into his jacket. “Huh. Just might save my life…” Wilhelm hopped in the truck and went about his routine. Once the whole convoy of trucks had done the same and been loaded with oil, they set a course for the panzer divisions to the west. An hour had passed, and expectedly, nothing of interest had happened. Wilhelm observed his surroundings as he drove. Some light snow blowing, relatively clear skies, and the rumble of the convoy. He was about dead center in the line of transport. Thirteen or so trucks in front of him, give or take the same behind. The snow made it hard to drive anything over 40 Kilometers per hour. He looked at his wristwatch and checked the time. The hands on the watch read 4:56 PM. Thirteen hours. Nearly thirteen hours awake and many more to go. Daydreaming filled his head. Flashes of home and memories back in Berlin. Back home Wilhelm had recently graduated from school in 1938 before the war broke out a year later. He had been preparing to follow in his father’s footsteps as a bartender at his family’s pub. That is until the war broke out. He almost immediately enlisted. It was a chance to escape from the family trade and with it an adventure. He had grown up hearing war stories from all the veterans in The Great War. When they did talk that is. they told tales of horror and gore more than they did tales of valor. He and all the other young boys thought of them as frail old men who had lost their edge. He and the others were certain they would win great medals and come back with epic stories for the fatherland. The times had changed. His mother tried to stop him but he refused. He now missed his

mother’s cooking and his warm bed. The blankets, the room, the lighting, all of it. To his surprise, he yearned to be back in his family tavern, pouring drinks. Wilhelm is jolted out of his fond memories as his vehicle skidded lightly on the packed snow. He rubbed his eyes and looked up. He let the cold air fill his lungs as he struggled to keep his eyes focused. That is until he saw movement in the clear sky. His eyes focused on the disturbance in his vision with anxious accuracy. Three black shapes dotted the skyline. They raised into the air at a steady pace. His heart rate spiked and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. PLANES? BOMBERS? FIGHTERS? “Birds.” He exhaled. He felt a wave of relief go over him as the dots disappeared behind the skyline. He took a deep breath and let out his stress. He rubbed his eyes once more and as his hand pulled away from his eyes, a stream of bullets ripped into the trucks in front of him. He looked in horror as a massive explosion followed by a jet of flame erupted in front of him at the head of the convoy. One by one, supply tucks began exploding, almost in a domino fashion towards him. A garbled scream leaped out of him as he swerved off the road. He looked at the skyline to see three planes flying in a B line, strafing the front of the convoy with rockets and heavy machine gunfire. The lines of bullets crept up to him in seconds, but luckily missed his truck as he swerved. He continued driving along the road, straight forward. Wilhelm began to step on the gas, and while doing so he glanced at his rear-view mirrors to see the planes still flying down the line. They began to disappear from view after a few bombs were dropped hitting the back of the convoy. As he drove past the trucks that had been hit, he saw men on fire, screaming in agony. Wilhelm couldn’t look at them, he didn’t want to. His vision grew crystal clear and his hands trembled on the steering wheel as the adrenaline surged through him. To his horror, he continued to drive as they pleaded for help. He was disgusted to feel pleasure at the realization that others

were far luckier and had been immediately incinerated in the explosion of the fuel they were carrying. “I knew this was a damn suicide mission!” he screamed to himself. “How are there planes behind our lines!? Were we not told that we had secure routes out?!” As he continued on, all trucks that could began to follow his lead, pulling out of the death trap, maneuvering past men, dead and alive, while dodging the wreckage of their comrades. He counted the destroyed trucks as he went by. “One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven…” With severe paranoia he looked to the skies. Driving as fast as he could, the convoy headed west. He felt a cool breeze as he drove. He looked to his driver’s side windshield to see four neat little bullet holes punctured through the metal. As the cold air bit his cheeks, a teardrop froze to his face. Wilhelm pulled into the restock yard, where he saw rows of panzers sitting still. Dozens of tanks of all types, all frozen. Another thing to reassure him of the end. Wilhelm stumbled his way out of the truck, only to be caught by two men, keeping him from falling. As they tried to balance him out, a man dressed in black tankers garment sprinted up to him. “Sieg heil!” yelled the tanker. Wilhelm stared at him, unimpressed. “Are you ok?!” “Yes and no. Check the others, I will survive” “We have field medics running up to check on them now.” “Good.” “How many trucks made it out?” The tanker asked. “I wonder the same thing.” Wilhelm replied. As they spoke, they turned and directed their eyes towards the incoming trucks and began to count. To their horror, only 11 trucks followed behind Wilhelm’s, making a grand total of 12. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” the tanker began to rant. “Three planes took out 13 trucks? There’s no way. How are we supposed to keep this panzer division running? We have 40 tanks.

~Gabriel Rysavy~ Tilting at Windmills 100

With the fuel and supplies that made it out, we can maybe get 15 operational for less than five days. We don’t have the fighting strength to reinforce the front lines for the counter attack. The Italian divisions to the south will get obliterated without us! Of course this would happen. They promised us fuel and oil. Now they can’t even keep our own skies clear, let alone our tanks running.” Wilhelm sat in silence for some time. His emotions now desensitized to defeatism. “Get me some food and a place to rest.” Wilhelm said sternly. “I understand, these men will walk you over to the med bay tents. We had set aside sleeping quarters for you guys, expecting your arrival.” As Wilhelm parted with the tank commander and began to walk towards the tents, his vision grew blurry. Bits of light and color flashed in his peripheral vision. Everything looked like clay to him. Is this what shell shock felt like? Was he going insane? What

was to come? If he wasn’t even safe behind his own lines, what about when he’s back at the front? Wilhelm dropped into bed as reality seemed to phase in and out. As he rolled around under the covers other drivers wandered in. Some with bandages, some with burns, some just shaken up. His eyes fluttered as he entered the realm of sleep, while a deafening silence held the room. ~~~ Wilhelm awoke to the sound of alarms mixed with urgent and agitated yelling. He jumped up to see what was going on. As he and the others quickly got out of the tent, they saw an officer running up and down the med bay pulling men out as the assembly alarm blared. The men, disoriented and tired grouped up in rank around the division HQ. A division commander sprinted out of the building and looked at them with terror in his eyes. “THE SOVIETS HAVE BEGUN THE ENCIRCLEMENT!” the commander screamed. “You men have one job, you are to empty your trucks out, drive into Stalingrad and link up with B company! You are acting as an emergency evacuation for them! They are taking heavy casualties and will suffer utter and complete annihilation if we can’t break them out soon! As for the Panzer division, you are to send as many tanks as you can muster to the southern front to help the Italian divisions. The news is grim, as apparently three Italian divisions have already broken. The reports indicate that we may be potentially dealing with a soviet army around one million men in size! May god be with you. GO!” The alarms began blaring once again as the men jumped in their trucks while the rumble of a handful of tanks kicked up. The trucks began driving due east for Stalingrad, and the tanks split south. Two hours had passed in the truck. Wilhelm felt the pit in his stomach get worse as the gun fire grew louder and louder. Stalingrad was now in sight. He and the other trucks began driving straight towards the location of B company. The gun fire was unrelenting and deafening, unlike he had ever heard. As they neared the city, handfuls of German soldiers were sprinting

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passed them, retreating. Planes flew overhead and battles roared, near and far. As they entered the city limits the neighborhoods got thicker and thicker. No longer was it just sound. They too were being shot at. With every blink a bullet whizzed by, a building collapsed, a truck crashed, or an explosion shook the convoy. They were clearly targets now. Wilhelm focused on his task. Get to B company. The deeper into Stalingrad they drove, the more immersed in war they became. Finally, Wilhelm and what remained of the convoy made it to the center of Stalingrad. As Wilhelm pulled in, the same familiar officer who had screamed at him the day before ran up to him, covered in blood, with the fuel of war in his veins. “GET US THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! THEY ARE EVERYWHERE, WE CAN’T HOLD THEM!” Wilhelm jumped out of his truck and opened up the tailgate. Hundreds of men were in disorder. Dozens of men were attempting to enter the back of his truck. Consumed in gun fire and chaos he turned around heading for the drivers’ seat. Suddenly an explosion sent him sky high. The whole world seemed to fly away from him as his body soared through the air. He landed with a thud and the world went silent. Wilhelm opened his eyes to see the sky. There was no sound except a deafening ringing, slowly rising in pitch. Above him planes flew over, seemingly in slow motion, dropping bombs, being shot down, and strafing the ground around him. In his confusion he rolled over. Men were still loading into the truck. It was now that Wilhelm started to notice men in unfamiliar tan uniforms in his vision. Russians. The soviets were on top of them now, so close in fact that the men began resorting to hand to hand combat. To the right some distance away one of his comrades was rolling on the ground with their adversary. Their turmoil was interrupted when another soldier struck the Soviet down with a shovel. He struggled on the ground with the spade in his neck before going still. Behind that, a group of Germans behind a flipped truck were having an intense gunfight with a soviet squad down the street. Men dropped

like flies. Out of the buildings came multiple Soviet squads, who were stopped in their tracks the moment the German machine guns opened up. Wilhelm had never seen men truly fight before. He had seen bodies, and he had seen them die, but never in the act. Wilhelm was filled with horror as he slowly regained control of his senses. He could hear again, unfortunately. He attempted to muscle himself to his knees. A glance to his left shocked him, as a man with a canister on his back ran forward, followed by a jet of flames spewing out of his flamethrower igniting a squad of young Wehrmacht soldiers. “Keep moving.” He urged himself. As Wilhelm struggled to his feet, he felt a violent shaking beneath him. Out of the smoke rolled a soviet tank. It fired its canon and obliterated a truck full of men. Its rampage was stopped when a soldier fired a rocket directly into its side, igniting its ammunition. It exploded in a spectacular array of color. Wilhelm kept staring at the chaos around him, entranced by the fire. “Get out of here!” The soldier yelled. Wilhelm was pulled out of his trance as the infamous “URAH” of the Soviet war cry covered the landscape. Wilhelm fought for his composure and staggered for the truck. The back was full of men, arguments were breaking out as soldiers were still attempting to get on, some even clinging to the sides, but it had reached its limit. It looked like an opossum carrying her children. Wilhelm heaved himself into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. To his right sat the engineer and the officer looking at him frantically. “GET MOVING!” Wilhelm slammed on the gas and began driving back the direction from which he came. Gunfire ripped through and around the truck. He heard men in the back scream, some gurgle, some returning fire. He accelerated down the road and was nearly to the outer city limits. As he took a sharp corner, hope refilled his heart as hundreds of men in front of him were seen on the rolling hills of the Russian farmland. “The reinforcements made it!” He exclaimed with joy! “NO, YOU FOOL, THOSE ARE THE RUSSIANS!” The officer screamed. 103

~Jillian Alekna~ Sharp, Yet Soft 104

Wilhelm slammed the wheel as hard as he could to the left as a blanket of gunfire hit the truck. The truck tipped violently and began to roll. It was at that moment, as the truck began to tip over, their fate revealed itself to them. The realization was cut short as Wilhelm smashed his head off the steering wheel. Wilhelm began to open his eyes. He was hanging upside down. His head ached like never before. Glass covered the ceiling of the truck, which was now the floor. The cabin was empty, but men and gunfire roared right outside. As war raged merely feet away from him fear filled his heart. He needed to escape this metal coffin. He struggled with his seat belt but the metal was bent and twisted. He was stuck. Wilhelm fumbled up around his belt for his knife. Terror filled his heart as no knife presented itself to his fingers. Looking down at the glass, his knife laid on the floor. He stretched for the blade and pulled it frantically with

his fingertips. The blade inched into his grasp, and once secure he began sawing at his seat belt. He collapsed with a thud onto the floor as the glass dug into his arms and neck. Wilhelm got his orientation back and took in his surroundings. He took a breath to ease his throbbing head and pulled himself out of the front windshield. He was now successfully outside, but far from safe. Men stumbled over him as their bullets raged about. They were far too focused in their own fights to bother with the half dead truck driver. Many dead men were around him. Soviet and German alike. But it was clear that he was not to escape this fight. Once horror of reality expressed itself to him, he flipped on his back. It didn’t take long for his rolling about to attract attention. Men were fighting all around him. Wilhelm began fumbling around his belt for his pistol. He pulled it out and just in time to fire at a soviet officer who was turning to shoot him. Following the officer came his squad. Wilhelm fired the rest of his magazine blindly into the waves of men coming at him. Around him German men dropped dead while the rest began to throw down their weapons and raise their hands. Wilhelm couldn’t help but think how death was nothing like he and the boys from his childhood thought it would be like. But this was not the time for it. He threw his pistol down and held his hands high. The gun fire slowly petered off, and once the smoke cleared, dozens of soviet soldiers ran up to the rolled truck. Doing so, they kicked over bodies and rounded up the living. They pulled Wilhelm to his feet and he was stood in a line with the other surrendering soldiers. A Soviet officer spoke to a soldier who then began to search all the prisoners one by one. Wilhelm looked down the line. To his surprise the engineer and officer from the cab of his truck were still alive. It seemed almost comical to Wilhelm how the day before he had simply talked to the engineer who filled up his truck with oil. Now he was standing as a prisoner with him. The Russian approached the engineer and searched him. After patting the engineer down the man shook his head and pointed towards a different wall across from them. The engineer walked over as ordered and stood still.

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~John Rothering~

Cigarettes in the Silverado

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The soviet continued down the line. He continued patting down the men and ordered each one to join the engineer. The then Russian approached the German officer. After some incoherent rambling the Russian made it clear the officer was to stay here. He searched two more men and ordered them to stand with the others by the wall. Lastly, he approached Wilhelm. The soldier patted him down and emptied out Wilhelm’s pockets. The man slowly began to shake his head. Wilhelm looked up to see the engineer staring at him. The engineer tapped his own breast pocket and nodded. Wilhelm in confusion imitated and put his hand on his own breast. The Soviet soldier ripped down his hand and began digging in his breast pocket. His hand violently pulled out the Swastika stamped letter with the commander’s orders from days before. The soldier looked pleased and made it clear to Wilhelm to remain where he was standing. Wilhelm looked up and smiled at the engineer, until he realized what was happening. The engineer winked at him, but Wilhelm shook his head in sorrow. Wilhelm couldn’t look. A ripple of machine gun fire tore through the engineers’ line. And the thud of bodies echoed across the ruined block. Blood rolled over the rubble as the engineer unraveled on the ground. Before Wilhelm and the officer could soak in what had just happened, they were violently tugged away with the rest of the prisoners. Wilhelm looked to the officer and shook his head. “Just might save your life…”. Jerry wakes up to the sound of his irritating alarm clock at 5:30 in the morning, as he always does. He turns and looks to the other side of the queen-sized mattress: empty. That side of the mattress has sat dormant for six years, five months, and three days since his wife, Marjorie, laid her head to sleep in an oak box. Jerry turns back over to his nightstand and turns the notch on the lamp to illuminate the room. He sits up and swings his legs to the side of the bed, sliding into his moccasin slippers to

make a pot of coffee. Jerry passes through the hallway to the kitchen, walls covered with pictures of him and his wife. Ear-to-ear smiles in every picture, even after he returned home from Vietnam. Bomb blasts and jungle warfare took the lives of many that stood beside him. Loud gunfire, painful cries for help, red droplets scattered about the lush greenery. He’s gotten better over time, but memories of the war still haunt him. Jerry pours the Folgers grounds into the coffee maker, presses the large black button, and waits patiently. Jerry glances out the window of his Madison apartment, located just blocks from the Veterans Affairs Medical Center. I don’t need no doctor telling me how to think, how to live my life. Jerry doesn’t frequent the VA as much as his few surviving friends that also served in Vietnam. It’s a crisp fall day, the leaves fading from army greens to mustard yellows, goldfish oranges, and blood reds. The sounds of the city leak through the small gap of his open window: college students are waking from their liquor-induced slumber and venturing home, forgetful of last night’s adventures. Young couples walking their rescue dogs that are eager to break free from their leash, kids strapped into their strollers. The farmers market hums with millennials inquiring if the hummus is made from all local, naturally sourced ingredients. Starbucks pumpkin spice lattes in hand. Jerry walks into the living room of his small apartment and turns on his tube television to channel 15 to watch the morning news as he does every day. Today’s Top Story: Ten Dead in a Mass shooting overnight in Oregon. “I killed commies in ‘Nam for this? What the hell is that about, boy?” Jerry turns to his old mutt, Patriot, and pats his head. The coffee machine beeps, and Jerry walks back into the kitchen for a fresh cup. He grabs his 1991 Super Bowl mug, right next to Marjorie’s Red Hat Society mug, from the kitchen cupboard. He pours the steaming coffee into his mug, grabs his

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pack of Marlboro Red cigarettes, and walks out onto his small patio overlooking John Nolen Drive. His neighbor, Thomas, also sat outside with some of his friends, donning Wisconsin Badger clothing. “Mornin’ Jerry! It’s a beautiful morning for Badger football, isn’t it?” “Suppose it is, Tom, suppose it is. Y’all going to the game I take it,” Jerry asks. “That’s right. It’s senior day, gotta go support the boys one last time.” Thomas claims himself as a student, but he’s been a “student” for a while now. Jerry can’t wait until Thomas moves out so it will finally be peaceful. Jerry has always told himself he would eventually move out into the desolate Northwoods, away from the craziness and noise of the city. He has yet to pull the trigger. Jerry finishes his coffee and smoke to continue his morning routine. After his lukewarm shower, he pulls on his Levi’s, Red Wing’s, and breast pocketed Carhartt shirt. Jerry tops his outfit off with a navy-blue hat stamped with “Vietnam Veteran.” He’s had the same morning routine since his first day of retirement from a long career as a welder. Deep burns from hot metal have taken a toll over the years, the outline of screwheads replacing some of his fingerprints. The only change in the routine is that he’s become acclimated to the silence of the apartment over the past few years; no hairdryers or caps clicking back onto beauty products to be heard. Jerry walks down the stairs of his apartment complex and opens the door to the parking lot, welcoming the crisp air into his lungs. His eyes scan the block and notice a young couple prancing down the street as they hold hands. In that instant, Jerry remembers all the times Marjorie and himself would take morning walks, getting fresh air to combat the cheap 100-proof they had ingested the night before. When they got their first apartment together, they would always go to the six-table breakfast joint down on Paterson Street. They would talk about friends, work,

literature, their future together. We were so young then. So damn happy. Where’d it go? He snarls and walks over to his 1989 Chevrolet Silverado, hoisting himself into the driver’s seat. The engine roars and black smoke fills the air as Jerry flips the ignition, just like the olive-colored Jeep Willys with the white star on the hood. On the dash sits church bulletins dating back three weeks. The driver’s side door has a high-pitched squeak when it opens and closes. The passenger’s seat is coated with a thin layer of golden hair, courtesy of his usual companion, Patriot. In the back window, a sticker calling for God to “bless the troops.” Marjorie always wanted Jerry to get a more compact car for “city life,” but Jerry had always refused. After all, why would he get a new car when the truck has been good enough for 26 years? Jerry pulls out of the parking lot, bound for his usual Saturday stops. First is the Kwik Trip down on the corner where he gasses up the truck and gets a fresh carton of Marbs for the new week to come. Jerry enters the parking lot and parks at a pump. Taking off the gas cap to his truck and inserting the nozzle, Jerry clamps down on the lever that fills the air with a sweet but deadly scent. Jerry leaves the pump running and strolls into the gas station, ready to purchase his smokes and gas with a single 100-dollar bill—the way he always pays for things. Jerry did not recognize the attendant at the counter, instantly annoying him that he couldn’t just say “give me the usual.” “Hey, how you doing today,” asks the cashier. “I got pump four and I’ll take a carton of reds,” Jerry mumbles. “I’m sorry, a carton of what?” “Reds? Marlboro Reds? The big red box with the two lions on it behind ya’ there.” “Oh, those. My bad,” the cashier says. Jerry lets out a puff of warm air through his pressed lips, handing the cashier a 100-dollar bill in exchange for the carton of smokes. “Thanks for stopping in, we’ll see you next time,” says the cashier. Jerry accepts his change and walks out of the store. “Damn kids don’t even know what cigarettes are

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~Kati Keller~ Setting Off anymore,” Jerry mutters to himself. With the squeak of his truck door, Jerry lets out a grunt fueled by his old age and immobility while climbing in. Jerry’s next stop is always Binny’s breakfast diner on University and Shorewood. Binny’s is one of the only places in town where he can eat in peace, not being hounded if he wants a refill on coffee when he’s only taken a few sips. On the drive over, the truck radio is playing Luke Bryan. That nearly ruins Jerry’s entire day. He cannot stand Luke Bryan. Jerry pulls into the “veteran parking only” spot right next to the front door of the diner and shifts the truck into park. He gets out of his old Silverado, stretches his back, and walks into the diner. To Jerry’s relief, he’s greeted by his usual waitress, Dorothy. “Good to see you, Jerry. How we doing this morning?” “Fine,” mumbles Jerry. Dorothy motions to Jerry’s usual table in the back-left corner of the diner. Jerry sits down in his nook as Dorothy pours him a hot cup of dark roast. Jerry nods in appreciation and says that he’ll take his usual. As Dorothy walks 110

to the kitchen to put in Jerry’s order, he turns and looks out the window onto University Avenue. Nearly everyone is wearing a combination of red and white, walking to the bus stop shouldering heavy backpacks that aren’t filled with textbooks or laptops. Some of the people appear to be ready for a full day of activities. Others appear to be zombies, not fully recovered from partying the night before. This is Jerry’s favorite part of his Saturday breakfast: people watching. He loves to observe people and fabricate their life stories with his imagination. It allows him to focus on things other than his own thoughts—his sad, lonely thoughts. A group of kids are standing at the bus stop, undoubtedly going to a tailgate party before the game. Jerry focuses on one young man in particular, wearing rectangular glasses, a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and a beat-up pair of black Converse. He looks out of his element compared to the rest of the group. Jerry mentally scripts the movie he sees out the window: Really wanting to impress this girl he is standing next to; he agrees to go with her friend group to the game. He’s been looking forward to this for the entire week—spending some time with her. But he knows close to nothing about her or her friends. He can’t relate to them on many things—he’s just a normal kid while they’re extraordinary at anything they do. He’s been trying to think of conversation starters to use, but they’re all stupid. All he can do is just stand there and look around; hands sunk into his pockets. He’s blowing it. The girl and her friends are all talking, laughing, having a grand time. But here he stands, appearing uninterested, pulling out his phone to look at yesterday’s stock market numbers for the sixth time this morning. A few people behind that group at the bus stop stands a young woman. Blonde hair with an hourglass figure, dressed in a way that any practicing Catholic mother would not be fond of. She’s got to pay for her education somehow. Dad left before she was born, mom unemployed for as long as she can remember— it’s a wonder how she even got into college. Student by day, prostitute by night, there’s no such thing as a “normal day.” She’s

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gotten good at reading people though; knowing what they want. She knows a paying customer just from a quick glance. On the surface, she’s as confident as they come. The way she walks, talks, just standing there emits an aura that some men can’t pass up. She doesn’t think of herself that way, though. She’s not good enough for anybody. The only reason men pay her is for quick love, the only kind love she’s capable of providing. Perhaps selling herself is the only way other people actually pay attention to her. If she wasn’t selling herself, would she still have all the phone numbers of people that “care about her?” Would she even have half of those? What she does is her only form of acceptance, and acceptance is everything to her. Dorothy arrives back to the table with three eggs, three slices of bacon, greasy hash browns, and two well-done pieces of toast. As Jerry eats his meal, he rewrites the story of a balding middle-aged male who bet his mortgage on the game, the young kid in the stroller that will be the next Jeff Bezos, and the kid who drank an entire bottle of ten-dollar vodka the night before, currently leaning over a red trash can. It’s now 9:47 in the morning according to the clock hanging across the dining room. As Jerry finishes up his third cup of coffee on the day, Dorothy approaches his table with the handwritten bill. “Will that be it for you, Jerry?” “Yes, ma’am, here ya’ go,” says Jerry. As he hands her the change he received from Kwik Trip, a faint buzz enters Jerry’s ears. The low hum slowly becomes more recognizable: a passenger plane at low altitude, incoming for landing at the regional airport. Jerry feels a sharp chill creep up his spine. The noise of the plane becomes louder as it flies over the restaurant, the sound of air being sliced in half by the rotors approaching Binny’s. AC-130: Hell in the sky. Jerry’s skin begins to crawl, unable to control his jitters. Dorothy comes back with his change and Jerry snatches it out of her hands, storming out without thanking her. Before Jerry even notices he’s outside, he’s already lit a cigarette. Jerry’s gotten used to the spice of the tobacco, the

Frozen Stream ~Gabriel Rysavy~ old, familiar sting in his lungs. It’s comfort; home in a three-inch stick. The noise of the plane eventually fades into the regular noise of the city, and Jerry feels his shoulders relaxing. ~~~ Jerry’s final stop on his Saturday mornings is buying groceries. Depending on Jerry’s mood, he’ll either go to Michelle’s Meats and More, the small grocery store just a few blocks down from his apartment, or Woodman’s, the big grocery store that’s more out of his way. Jerry doesn’t mind the drive today and decides to go the extra few miles to Woodman’s. Jerry is much happier with the music during this commute: Garth Brooks, Jason Aldean, George Jones, and Jerry’s favorite artist, Johnny Cash. Johnny Cash’s music was one of the only things that kept Jerry sane during his time in Vietnam. Marjorie would always send new Johnny Cash albums and the squadron would gather around the record player, listening to “What is Truth,” “Folsom Prison Blues” and “I Walk the Line.” 113

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~~~ Jerry pulls out his shopping list as he enters Woodman’s: ground hamburger, steak, chips, corn, apples, paper towel, and a big bone for Patriot. A simple list for a simple man. Jerry walks over to the cart corral and retrieves his steed, making sure this one doesn’t have any defects like a noisy wheel. The aisles are packed with impatient shoppers getting their last-minute appetizers and liquor before the game. Jerry calls an audible and starts with the paper towels, hoping the crowded food aisles will dissipate by the time he gets the other things on his list. Jerry turns into aisle six, walking past the plastic dining utensils, paper plates, napkins and reaches the paper towels. Marjorie would never let Jerry get the cheap paper towel; it never worked as well as the expensive brands. Jerry scans the Woodman’s selection, keeping track of which roll is cheaper than the last one, and finds his champion, 69 cents. Nice. Jerry grabs two rolls of the cheap paper towel and flicks them into his cart, impersonating former Milwaukee Buck, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Jerry exits aisle six and continues walking toward the corner of the store, searching for something to make Patriot happy. On the endcap of aisle fourteen sits big, rawhide bones. Jerry grabs the biggest bone he sees and tosses it into the cart. That’ll keep Pat busy. Jerry swings the cart around and begins the walk back to get the rest of the items on his list. The football crowd is now in the checkout lanes, so at least Jerry can somewhat move around to get what he needs. Jerry comes upon the produce section and carefully considers what apples he’d be purchasing today. He usually gets either McIntosh Reds or Honeycrisps. Jerry recalls seeing a recent Facebook post about someone biting into store-bought McIntosh Reds to find an inchworm inside. Jerry isn’t sure if the story is legitimate, but he certainly doesn’t want to take any chances. He settles on Honeycrisps and grabs the biggest bag. In pursuit of the meat counter, Jerry bypasses the vegetable selection and the bakery counter, arriving at his destination. No

different than a young boy in the candy store, Jerry salivates as he gazes upon the cuts of meat. The butcher appears from the back room, his white apron a canvas splattered with red. “Howdy, sir, what can I get for ya’ today?” “Yeah, hi. I’ll just, um, take a pound of that, er, ground beef. And then, um, a New York strip.” The butcher wraps up the cuts and hands them to Jerry. “If that’ll be it, you have a good one sir, and thank you for your service.” “Th—thank you,” Jerry stutters, swiping the two packages. Looking at the butcher’s apron, Jerry is teleported back to the battle of Khe Sanh. His combat partner shot from close range; his uniform bloodied like the butcher’s apron. Jerry will always remember his partner’s last moments on earth, fading until his glossy eyes stared into Jerry’s soul. Jerry is starting to feel moisture form along the brim of his cap. I need a cig. He kicks it into high gear and shuffles over to the check-out lanes. He sees lane seven with only one customer in line and rushes to secure his spot, beating a family with two fully loaded carts. The seconds it’s taking in real time for the woman in front of Jerry to check out lasts an eternity in his world. Jerry unloads his cart onto the conveyor belt, showing urgency in the way he throws down the paper towels. “Find everything alright,” asks the teenage cashier. Jerry responds with silence. He is now profusely sweating, looking as if he’s fresh out of the shower. His eyes darting back and forth between the cash register and the front doors of the store. His hands fluttering. “Are you okay sir, do you need hel—” “Just hurry the hell up, will ya’?” Jerry feels the glares of other customers falling upon him. The cashier quickly scans Jerry’s remaining items, squeaking out that his total is $35.72. Jerry hands the girl two 20-dollar bills. Scooping his bags in one swift motion, he scurries to the exit without his change. Thankful he found a parking spot as close to the entrance as he 115

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did, Jerry doesn’t think he would have been able to get back to his truck if it was parked any farther away. Tossing his bags into the rusty bed, Jerry retrieves his pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. Lifting a stick from the pack, Jerry simultaneously flicks his lighter and places the cigarette into his mouth. He tastes the spicy tobacco on his lips and tongue, the first puff of smoke filling his chest. Jerry leans over the bed of his truck, calming himself using a technique from “shell shock” therapy that Marjorie made him attend after returning home from Vietnam. Starting in his toes, he relaxes all of his muscles, envisioning the body parts as he releases the tension. Feet, shins, knees, thighs, butt, stomach, chest. Jerry’s heart is no longer pounding out of his chest, sweat no longer collecting at his brows. Not realizing it, he rips through the entire cigarette in 50 seconds. Under control at last, Jerry sighs as he opens his squeaky door and climbs into his truck. As he turns the key in the ignition, he pulls out another cigarette and lights it. Luke Bryan plays on the radio. Jerry punches the power button of the truck radio as he backs out of the parking spot. ~~~ Grocery bags in hand, Jerry opens the door of his apartment to the wagging tail of Patriot. “Hey bud, I missed ya’. But I got somethin’ for ya’ though.” Jerry places the bags onto his kitchen island and finds Patriot’s big bone. As Jerry lifts it out of the Woodman’s paper bag, Patriot starts running around the apartment, unable to control his excitement. Jerry calls Patriot back into the kitchen and demands that he sit. Patriot complies, knowing he will be rewarded for his service. Jerry lowers the bone and Patriot grasps it with his slobbery mouth. Patriot then walks away to begin work on his newest assignment. Jerry continues to put away the remaining items he has just purchased and realizes he never got the potato chips he has on the grocery list. Eh, gives me something to do tomorrow. He throws away the paper bags and goes to relax in his electric recliner that

sits in the corner of the living room, dubbed as the ‘nap nook’ by Marjorie. Placing his hat on the end table next to the landline telephone, Jerry sinks into the recliner. He lights a cigarette and closes his eyes, repeating the same calming techniques he just performed a short time ago. As the tobacco burns from the tip of his Marlboro, Jerry’s eyelids begin to weigh heavier and heavier. Chest, arms, shoulders, neck, mouth, eyes, forehead. Near the sliding door to the patio, Patriot is well underway gnawing at the rawhide bone. Jerry’s bottom jaw begins to droop as he falls into a deep slumber, his cigarette falling onto his shirt. The summer of 2020 will go down as the farthest I ever fell.

You Are Wrong

~Kathleen Blissenbach~

I was drowning and couldn’t ask for help; I was sinking. Neck deep and I didn’t call out. And why? Why did I suffer in silence, Letting my brain self-destruct? Because there was a statement I didn’t want to admit. As my depression spiraled on Farther down the well I fell. I was isolated from everyone, And I didn’t want to tell them that I wasn’t okay. Because I didn’t want to admit to myself that I wasn’t okay; I had to remain my same, cheerful, happy self Because I so desperately wanted to be someone That they didn’t have to worry about. To be conflict free. I didn’t want to be broken, But I was. I was a shattered porcelain doll on the foot of the stairs Trapped on a single recording, “Not good enough”

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“Not good enough” “Not good enough” My heart and head at war screaming at each other While my sanity clung to the hope that I was fine Because I had to be fine. I refused to be a burden to anyone, So, I collapsed in on myself. Blaming and cursing my own incompetence: Why couldn’t I just snap out of it? Why was I sleeping so much? Why wasn’t I good enough anymore? Why was I so easily forgotten? Joseph, the Dreamer, I understand you Trapped at the bottom of a well Wondering where all the people who loved you had gone. I wasn’t okay And I was lying to myself, and my family, and everyone else who mattered Because I couldn’t be broken, I refused to be. But as I tried to pick up my shattered pieces, I became hopeless. There were too many pieces and not enough glue I was dust, Returned to the form I came from. I was unfixable I would never be the same. I would never be loveable. Or worthy. Or enough, for anyone Ever again. A sad broken girl At the bottom of a well waiting for everyone to realize That she wasn’t worth their time. To all my friends at the bottom of your own wells

I promise you, I understand, and I promise you That you are wrong. Because with the help of my friends I not just rose, I flew. This is something I say to you now, Talk to someone. I don’t care who. Be honest, brutally so. And I promise that they will say what I am saying now.

You are wrong. No one in this entire world is unlovable, is unworthy, is unfixable, is unimportant And I say this to you now You may feel broken, but it is not a matter of fixing It is a matter of healing. And it is something you have to allow yourself to do. Be not just honest with them, be honest with yourself. Allow yourself to feel sad, allow yourself to feel joy when it comes And relish in it, my friends I say this to you now: Look up. Look at the stars. Burning, Millions of miles away. There is beauty in the flames that roar throughout the universe. There is beauty in their baptism through fire. There is beauty in the pain. From my ashes I rose and found friends willing to be there When I can’t see the stars. I promise you, There are people out there who care, You just need to let them know. And if you are afraid of being a burden,

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Afraid of putting more weight on their shoulders, I ask you this: Would you want your friend to suffer alone? Would you leave them in their hour of need? And the answer to this question is no. Wouldn’t you hold on tight no matter the cost? No matter the perils or the late nights. So, why on Earth would you let yourself suffer alone? This is not to shame you or call you out I know what it’s like, believe me. Because I have stood where you have stood, Have faltered where you have faltered, Have hidden behind the same masks of insecurity and fear, Have plastered on smiles to mask the hurt, But I can promise you. True friends are not ashamed of you, They are worried, They want to help you And they love you. I promise you, You are not a burden. You are wrong, So wondrously and remarkably wrong. So, I say this to you now, My friends, look up, See the stars. Know that in this burning there will be pain But there will also be beauty. Look up my friends, Look around, And discover That you are never truly alone.

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Dreambird ~Maggie Black~

Post tenebras, lux. After the darkness, light

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