Beanswitch spring 18 by The Pacer

BeanSwitch would like to thank our advisors To m i M c C u t c h e n & C h r i s H i l l

Our People

Lauren Maddox

Caitlynn Dowland

Executive Editor

Visual Editor

Ben Reiter

Jessica Schaefer

Michael Zulpa

Emily Stewart

Colby Anderson

Alex Halbrook

Caitlin Marin 1

Beau Reynolds

Ta b l e o f C o n t e n t s Willie McNeal James Robert Jarboe Libby Taylor Alex Sheppard Jessica Schaefer Rachel Melton Shannon Merrell Tanya Chopra Cat Sanchez Mic Zulpa Taylor Connett Beau Reynolds Hunter Wanser Violet Durden Elizabeth Haan Ethan Ellison Bailey Radnitzer Kelsey Faith Jordan Copeland Kyle Kelly McKayla Cunningham Kaylyn Campbell Delilah Presson Ivie Pfenning Chelsey Marie Gordon Heather Wilson Josiah Phelps Emily Hedges Brittney Rose Dillon Faith Caitlin Marino Ellie Headrick Ben Reiter

82 3, 22, 59 3 4 5 8, 43, 63, 64, 84 11, 35, 53, 65, 79 12, 21, 75, 13, 56 14, 19, 50 15 17 18 23, 24 25, 39 28, 37, 47 30, 52 31, 54 32 33, 34, 74, 81 36 38, 55 46, 61 48, 62 49, 51, 57, 83 58 67, 68 69 71 73 76 77 78

Great Deeds of Sisyphus James Robert Jarboe

Burdened with a manmade godhood –In forced isolation as a deity perceived – I was made to stand atop the marble, Coerced to bear the gilded, golden laurel Of a fleeting eternity And was obliged to look out and to see those who marveled At my legendary deeds –Feats of renown done in frantic futility.

B l u e | L i b b y Ta y l o r

Pins and Needles Alex Shepherd

Change of Heart Jessica Schaefer

shaky breath of crisp, earthy air filled Thomas’s lungs. Nerves, he knew, were a normal thing for a teen’s first night out. Surrounded by trees that loomed to the night sky like watchful giants, a small home sat crouched at the end of a gravel path. He eyed the house as he crept uneasily forward, in awe of being so close to a building that only had five missing shingles and dented, rusty, decorative metal support pillars that still managed to hold the sagging roof over the porch. This was a mansion of the caliber which his tin-can of a mobile home could not compare. Waves of chilled excitement trembled down his spine, pulled nearer to the paint-chipped door as his thoughts swirled and clashed in a waking dream-like state. Thomas’s head throbbed as he finally reached the front steps. He blinked several times in an attempt to clear his mind from the swirling fog. Clear thoughts and choice words meant everything right now. The fresh memories of his father’s lecturing words flitted down in the winds of the slightly subsiding storm within his head. The nagging he had constantly repeated on up to this night had always boiled down to two simple things, “Keep your cool. First impressions are everything.” 5

With sweaty palms, Thomas felt the object he hid behind his back, feeling its weight in an attempt to redirect his thoughts. With a trembling finger, he pulled at the collar of his best jacket, which suddenly seemed five sizes too small. He put on his mask of confidence; it was now or never. With one swift swing of the sledgehammer, Thomas knocked the crooked doorknob clean off its mount with a powerful “KLANG,” taking the lock with it. The door flew open with ease. There was a clatter followed by a male shout from somewhere within the building. Thomas fumbled for his gun, managing to pull it out and point it at the young homeowner as he sprung into the living room. The hostage’s blue eyes widened, repeatedly flitting from the open door, to the boy, and to the loaded weapon in disbelief. “HANDS UP! SHOW ME WHERE THE VALUABLES ARE!” Thomas was both scared and surprised at the force that burst forth from his own throat. The thin, short man paled as white as a sheet, his hands slowly rising above his head. His bushy eyebrows had since vanished into his locks of unruly and somewhat curly dark brown hair. His mouth opened, wordless as he tried to remember how to speak.

“… Kiddo,” He breathed. “I’m just as broke as you are…,” the captive finally replied, his voice was surprisingly collected, though, an edge of fear glimmered through. Thomas’s eyes scanned around the room, an index finger floating over to cover the trigger. The house seemed sparsely yet humbly decorated. With walls painted a honey gold, the living room looked more like it belonged to a thrifty grandparent than a young adult. Scuffed, patched, and mismatched – the living room was an oddly cozy retirement home for well-loved flea market furniture. He had a couch sitting against the wall under the window. Thomas had never seen one of those big limo-chairs in person, and to him, it didn’t make much sense. Why would a family want to sit in such close proximity to each other? It was a sure way to incite fights. Thomas’s eyes turned to the table. A familiar blurry shape sat amongst a pile of paper white. It was the allimportant little package his dad would often bring home from ‘work.’ Thomas looked his victim dead in the eye, took a few steps forward, and tried to speak with the same fire. “GIVE ME THE WALLET!” The homeowner caught a cough in his throat before it could escape. “It’s empty. I know, I’m disappointed, too.” His victim’s steadied joking tone caught the teen off guard. The gun started to feel a bit heavier in his hands as he realized how badly they shook. Thomas felt his face grow warmer, like the hot tears that were beginning to spring up. The

stranger tensed again the young teen suddenly pointed the gun straight at his face, eyebrows again flying north. “D-don’t you dare call the cops!” The boy sniffled, his wolfish exterior falling away to reveal a scared cub. The dark side of his father terrified him more than the looming hand of the law. The young man heaved a shaky sigh, blue eyes staring down the void of the pistol barrel. “Easy. I’m not gonna call anybody. I might call the pizza man if you don’t blow my face off first.” “But you said you had no-“ “I don’t have any bills. I have money on plastic, though. I didn’t think you wanted to rob a guy for his Dominos gift card.” Thomas felt an uncontrollable, small smile crack through the tense stone of his face. He shrugged, twisting to put the gun back in its place. “Got it on safety?” The homeowner asked, causing the unexpecting teen to jump. “Y-yeah…” He replied, tucking the vile killing machine away. “Good. I’m gonna call the pizza guy, aight? Toppings?” “…Pineapple and ham?” He said reluctantly, still shrouded in a daze of confusion. It was as if he was spending the day in a long-lost relative’s house rather than that of the stranger he was threatening to put a bullet in only a minute ago. “Alrighty.” He breathed, his squared shoulders falling finally into their natural place. “It will only take a second. Don’t, like, hide or anything.” He snapped both fingers and gave a dorky double thumbs up before walking backward into the 6

kitchen to the landline phone. He continued keeping Thomas in his line of sight, although the teen could hardly blame him. Thomas stood uneasily as the man dialed in the numbers but was somewhat amazed and reassured when the other actually addressed the pizza place rather than the cops. Thomas shuffled into the kitchen to be out of the chilled air billowing in from the gaping door. The kind guy eyed him warily as he entered, but seemed to relax some as the teen simply sat at the table. Thomas eyed the other’s peeling faux leather wallet with a sigh, his eyes falling to the pool of paper it floated upon. They were bills and lots of them. Some were for college loans, home payments, but they were mostly medical: echocardiogram, electrocardiogram, stress test, …surgery? Cardio…heart? Was this man actually taking care of an elderly relative and not deeming it a waste of time? He looked about; there was no sign of anyone else living here and not a single sound of another resident. Thomas sighed, assuming the worst. He scanned and found a reoccurring name on all the cold-hearted legal sheets. Ryan Carter, the unfortunate old man he assumed. Thomas glanced up at the homeowner as he concluded his call, surprised to see something of a tired scowl directed at him. “Really? Looking through my mail? It’s considered rude by most people.” He sighed once he had hung up. “Ryan Carter…what happened to him?” The teen inquired timidly. “Wha…” 7

“It’s the name at the top.” “Me. Those are mine. I’m alive, I think. The surgery went fine; I’m just recuperating before I go back to work.” Ryan had an edge of agitation in his voice, gesturing as if to brush the topic away. “The pizza should be here in ten-ish minutes. The place is right down the road.” He pulled up a chair adjacent from the troubled boy at the small table, sliding down into a slouch and crossing his arms. “What’s your story? Mean, deviant parents? Tight on money?” Thomas looked up from nervously staring holes in the table, misty-eyed. “…How’d you know?” The young man simply shrugged. “I write play scripts on the side. Characters function on psychology, just like people. No kid comes out of the womb wanting to rob a guy.” Thomas gave a few tearful, silent nods. “How bad are they?...Your parents,” Ryan inquired, a genuine worry in his voice that Thomas had scarcely heard addressed to him. “Uh…um… I dunno where my mom went off to. She’s probably with some new boyfriend. She comes and gives me stuff sometimes. She never stays long - always getting into a fight with my dad then leaving. Dad is…strict. He thinks the law is put in place by rich people to keep the poor from getting any money. H-he tells me, ‘If you’re stronger, take it. They have the money to replace it. If they die in the process, money won’t matter to them anyway.’” Thomas took a deep breath. “He’s…he’s abusive. He blames me a lot for lots of things that go wrong. He wants me to toughen up and pull my weight.” With a trembling hand, he

pulled back the sleeve of his light jacket and shirt, revealing a greenish bruise. “I may be stupid, but being hit isn’t any sort of training for a ‘real world’ that I want to live in...” The teen choked back a sob. He hadn’t intended to pour his soul out to the stranger, but he felt like a cracked dam as it was. The makeshift counselor gave a long, pitying sigh. “Kiddo, you’re anything but stupid. If anyone is dense it’s definitely your father. Whatever baggage he carries still doesn’t make it right to take it out on you—” “Don’t call the cops on him! It’ll make him madder,” Thomas blurted. “It’s not gonna get any better for him or the

people he runs into if no one helps him out. I’ll call after pizza. I’ll specify to the cops that we want him to see some sort of counselor or therapist during his stay,” Ryan reasoned. “You can do that?...Uh, where will I stay?” Thomas ventured, his voice faltering in uncertainty. “You can stay with someone in your extended family…If not, it just so happens my sis and her husband can’t have any kids and are thinking about fostering. I can hook you up.” Ryan smirked with pride at the quick, witty thought. “Whatever happens, we’ll sort it out.” The boy stared with wide tearful eyes, feeling the warmth of hope for the first time in a while. Blue is a Primary Color | Rachel Melton

He wanted to pay back this kind man somehow. Thomas wanted to give him a hug; one he knew wouldn’t end in a scolding shove about being too soft or come to a crushing squeeze. A trembling “T-thank you…” was all the boy could muster, wiping the tears that finally fell with the back of his sleeve. Several sharp knocks sounded suddenly from the doorway, causing both the befuddled boy and thoughtful heart patient to nearly jump out of their skins. They both turned to see a rather perplexed pizza delivery boy knocking on the outside wall while he pondered the slightly splintered open door, as well as the front steps littered with the fallen doorknob and sledgehammer. “Uh…pizza delivery?” The redhead announced, peeking into the open doorway likely to ensure there were no bodies or hostages. “I got it,” Ryan replied, stretching and snatching up the battered wallet. He hopped up to stand but consequently found himself swaying a little. The young man closed his eyes and drew a quick breath, then continued over before Thomas could even say a word. Ryan held up the gift card to the lanky teen, who was almost comically taller than he was - easily a whole head. The pizza boy fished out a machine from his pocket as he balanced the large pie on his other hand. It took Ryan a few swipes and flipping of the card, but the reader finally recognized it. Ryan took the box and nodded his thanks. The delivery boy gave an uncertain wave and headed back to the company car. “Dinner’s ready.” Ryan set the pizza on the table, 9

and flipped opened the top to reveal the golden cheesy delicacy within. “I’ll get drinks.” While Ryan went to fill some plastic glasses with tap water, Thomas decided to busy himself with scooting over the piles of paper out of the way, paranoid he’d be the one to accidentally knock his glass of water over and betray the trust of the one person that didn’t tear him down. His eyes got lost in the numbers again, the prices of each expense snapping together like a puzzle. However, something didn’t quite add up. “Um…I think they’re overcharging you…” “Tell me about it.” Ryan sounded slightly irritated at the fact, picking up the cups in one hand and some paper towels and a pair of plastic plates in the other. “No, really. The total due is higher than the actual total. It must have been some computer glitch…” “Really?” Ryan’s brows furrowed as he came over and divided up the items. He grabbed the paper and brought it to his face as he sat down, crunching numbers on the little calculator in his spot. “You did it all in your head?” “Yeah…math is easy. It’s the only thing I can make a ‘B’ on.” The boy hesitantly took a small slice of pizza that he put on his plate. “That’s awesome! I can’t even do math in my head anymore. I had to take one math class two years ago in college. Man, was I thankful for grading curves.” Ryan clicked a pen and scribbled down a new number on a stray sheet of paper and set the things aside. He grabbed up two smallish slices from the box and plopped them onto his own plate. “Keep up the good work. A math brain

can really take you far…And you can have as many slices as you want. I’m on some stupid health-diet thing and pizza isn’t high on the list of things I should eat.” The teen grabbed out two more pieces and added them to his plate sheepishly. It was the first time he’d ever been praised for anything academic. His father had drilled the notion into his son’s head that school smarts were useless unless you were some rich snob who could afford to waste money on higher education. Maybe, if this new life thing worked out, he’ll have a shot at going to some sort of college after all. Perhaps he could amount to more than what his father wanted him to be. What’s next? Could he actually be a computer or even a math professor? Thomas was hesitant to get his career hopes up just yet. As the two chatted, Thomas began to relax more. Was this what family was supposed to be like? Was this what it was like to have a friend that didn’t shove you and taunt you because it was “cool” and “tough”? Afterwards, Ryan called down to the police station, and Thomas stood nearby relaying him the info. The teen shifted uncomfortably, knowing that ratting the old man out would have equated to a hefty punishment if he was to go home. Tears bubbled up once more from nerves alone. He tried to reassure himself that he didn’t have to see that despised false father for a long time, and perhaps never again if he so wished. When the phone returned to the cradle, Ryan sighed and took the sobbing teen into his arms, another piece of warmth he had been missing in his life.

“Hey, it’s alright kiddo. They’re gonna take care of everything. You can stay here until they’re finished with him. When the officers get here, after a small chat, Rachel - my sister - should be home from work. If the cops are okay with it, I’ll give her the lowdown on what’s going on.” The young man paused for a moment, thinking. “You’re…you’re brave kid. Brave enough to borrow my Netflix while we wait. Is there anything in particular you wanted to see?” “Not that I can think of…” Thomas sniffled. “What’s on there? “Just about everything,” Ryan replied. “Let’s go have a look, I’ll let you pick.” Thomas gave a small smile through his tears as Ryan let go. Ryan then led him back into the living room, right to the limo-chair that was the couch. The two sat, Ryan pulling a blanket over himself before turning on the TV and handing Thomas the remote. The teen was surprised about the volume of the cartoons he missed out on during childhood and was amazed to finally be able to see what he chose on the big screen rather than on illegal virus-infected sites. Settling with a buddy comedy, the two laughed and joked, each making comments about the hijinks on the screen that made the other laugh even more. At one point the boy looked up to the blue-eyed hero. Once a stranger, Ryan now felt like a family member he never truly had. “Thanks for everything…Uncle Ryan.” Thomas said, only half-jokingly. Ryan’s chuckle was weary but nonetheless joyful. “Thank you, Thomas, for renewing my hope.” 10

Collapsed Shannon Merrell

Collapsed, I lead myself through the darkness, into the forest of fear. Where the trees are dead, the sky is dark, and the water tastes of tears. The enchanters they play their pipes, with lonely, swollen smoke. Opening their eyes to hear their cries, of all their spirits broke. There are no flowers, only weeds-- yet most of those are dead. The ghosts of sorrow listen hard to the sermons that were said. The peasants there remember times they drowned themselves in dope. Like addict children of bastard parents who have finally lost their hope. The waves of anguish flood the land, with their painful slaps. Shaming all the living things, that havenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t yet collapsed. Walking through this sullen world, where nothings left to die. I bow my head & close my eyes and softly begin to cry....

T h e B e s t Ke p t S e c r e t Tanya Chopra

Cat Sanchez

Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t Blink Mic Zulpa

A heartbeat breaks the silence, followed by a whisper of velvet on skin. In that moment, he turns to her and smiles, a tear in the corner of his eye. He says nothing - no words will come. but for the time being, none are necessary. She begs him to talk, demands it, even. but again, he only smiles quietly. A spark of anger ignites her features, but she simply sighs and turns away. In the silence that follows, she glares at him, searching for emotion, any emotion. And the sad little smile remains upon his lips - he makes no attempt to speak. Time passes around them, the world goes on. a clock on the wall chimes. He smiles again, his thoughts afire in his head, searing his vision black. Still he sits, watching her fiddle with her hands nervously. still he smiles. In the blink of an eye, all they had made, all they had done, was gone. He smiles at her Says two words

And walks away.

C i n c i n n a t i - O h , W h a t a B e a u t i f u l S i g h t ! | Ta y l o r C o n n e t t

Broken Beau Reynolds

en. You see most

I am brok

That is the break that left me broken.

th the nea be ed

m a n , tha t br e 17

k, the b r e a brea kb u ible ri vis

most damagi e h ng st i . ak

break. But, it is y the m of in

Silent Noise Hunter Wanser

Holy Cow Mic Zulpa

hey couldn’t have known what was going to happen, of course. They were only doing their jobs. But in doing so, they inadvertently set into motion a chain of events that would ultimately cause the end of the world as we know it. They weren’t the only contributing factor – society was already going to Hell in a handbasket, but their win certainly didn’t help. It was an election year. Both surviving political candidates were vainglorious, narrowminded, and in the case of the Democrat, completely insane. But none of the populace seemed to care, or even notice. They, like so many sheep, simply voted on how much shit one candidate could shovel on the other’s reputation. And that was precisely what they would do, a few days after the first event. But it was that event that started the ball rolling. More than a century earlier, the same episode had taken place, but anyone who had been there to witness it had long since passed away. So, history had eventually repeated itself, and this time, it was one of the signs. The signs of the Apocalypse. People were celebrating all around the world. It was a glorious victory, and one that was 19

more than a hundred years in the making. People cheered, danced in the streets, rioted in their joy. Fireworks were lit and soared into the skies, exploding and filling the night with neon reds, blues, and whites. The world was ecstatic, and no more so than in the city which had birthed the harbingers. There was a fan – his name was Matt – cordoned away inside a mountain in the middle of the country. He served in his country’s military, holding a fairly high rank, but was bored most of the time nonetheless. He had access to the nation’s most powerful weaponry in his cave, but more importantly, he could watch the coverage of the game from his station. And when his team won, he happily, almost totally mechanically, began punching letters and numbers into a secured keypad, the codes taken from a previously locked file. Codes entered, Matt took a key from a chain around his neck, inserted it into its proper slot, turned it, flipped up an ominously red plastic cover, and pressed a button. Several thousands of miles away, alarms began to blare in another concealed bunker full of military personnel. A missile launch had been detected, from the heart of the enemy’s continent.

Orders were shouted, relayed, acted upon. Keys were inserted in retaliation, codes were inputted. A Lieutenant Colonel – named Svetlana – looked down at an enlisted woman she was fond of and sighed. With a surge of defiance, she went to the soldier and took the pixie-like face in her hands. The officer kissed her subordinate; deeply, passionately. When she met the younger woman’s eyes, she simply said “Because.” Nothing more was really necessary. At first, the people of Manhattan thought the bright orange light was simply another firework. Moments later, comprehension slowly began to dawn on the revelers in Times Square. The light was getting larger, swelling, coming towards them. Some of the more clear-sighted fans realized what it was, and tried to run. Others, caught up in their newly born terror, dropped to their knees and began to pray, praying with far more piety than they’d done in the past. Prayers notwithstanding, the missile continued on its inexorable path. With a silent flash, New York City was gone. Moments later, so was Moscow. Other countries decided to join in on the fun. North Korea launched her ICBM’s at just about everybody, starting with Paris. France did not retaliate, of course. England fired previously unknown missiles at Australia, although no one was quite sure why. World leaders ran for shelter, leaving their constituents to cower in fear of the next strike, the next air-raid siren. Hours went by thusly, people crying openly, weeping and tearing at their hair. Fanatics waved signs proclaiming the

end in the faces of oncoming nuclear ordinance, at least until the next flash. Then they, too, were silent. In America, the sitting President and VicePresident, along with most of Congress and the House of Representatives, were dead. Nuclear missiles have that effect on people. What was left of the government and the citizenry quickly swore in a new President, a toupee, as the other candidate could not be located and was assumed dead as well. Things in the world as we knew it had never been so confused, so discordant. And in the end, it was all the survivors could do not to recall, ruefully, the words of a long-deceased prophet, of sorts. Those understated, but wholly appropriate words were simple… “HOLY COW!”

A Fading Childhood James Robert Jarboe

C l e a n s e d S o u l | Ta n y a C h o p r a

I am growing Far beyond the face That you once knew – I am growing into Far more than my memory of you. But miles away, You haven’t a clue. I am growing, you see, Into far much more Than the little one you used to lead. But miles away, You haven’t a clue. When the past falls to the present, And my thoughts turn to you, I am reminded that I have grown Into far more than the one You once knew. But often I feel so much less, That I haven’t a clue.

Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m Hungry Violet Durden

T h e Wa l k Violet Durden

H a l l e l u j a h f o r Tr i c k e r y Elizabeth Haan

t was a scream that jarred me out of my thoughts. The scream was unlike anything I had heard before. The scream sounded like it came from an adult, maybe a young adult. Female. High pitched and the scream sounded very sad, but that couldn’t be. What thirty-year-old adult in their right mind would scream in the children’s toy area of Walmart? It was the month before Christmas when I decided to go to Walmart. You see, my two nieces and one nephew were coming over to my Mother’s, my Step-father’s and my house for Christmas. My two nieces were such beautiful, young things. The eldest was twelve-years-old. My sister, let’s call her Betty, had my oldest niece, let’s call her Rose, when she was sixteen- years-old. You know? Like from that one tv show Sixteen and Pregnant? Rose’s father isn’t the same man as the one who fathered my youngest niece and my only nephew. In fact, my only nephew, let’s call him Jay, came first out of that marriage. He’s five-years-old. My youngest niece, let’s call her Tori, was the third and hopefully the last child Betty will ever have. I hope so. Even though Rose, Jay, and Tori seemed to be good kids, they never were. The girls...Oh, man, 25

the girls. You wouldn’t think they would be worse than Jay because they seemed like angels. They can sure behave like the perfect little girls. In fact, I like Jay better than the girls. He’s cool, laid-back, and certainly didn’t care for beauty, makeup, Instagram, vlogging or what the next fashion trend is. I know that as a nineteen-year-old female, I should be all about that stuff, but it just confuses me and makes me want to gag. What do you think of this dress, Auntie? It looks way too bright. What do you think about this color, Auntie? Neon Yellow is a fashion trend now? No, Auntie, it’s not Neon Yellow. It is Peach Yellow. Peach Yellow? What the hell is Peach Yellow? It looks like Neon Yellow to me. Language! Yes, Betty, Mom. As you can guess, I was forbidden from going shopping with the girls ever again. But, this isn’t a tale about my two vain nieces and only nephew. Though my nieces and nephew are the reason why I was at Walmart that day I heard the sad scream. If it wasn’t for them and the fact that they were visiting us all the way in Tennessee from Texas, I wouldn’t even be in the toy section. It’s always too pink and they have it split into board games, babies, girls, and boys! Why would

Walmart do that? Are they trying to make my feet bleed? I have always believed so. You see, my family is known for being very picky. I guess it is in the genes. Can pickiness even be a gene? I believe so. Once, I spent the whole halfa-day with my mom inside of Khols. We were looking for a shirt for my mom. Needless to say, I, at ten-years-old, hated it. I absolutely hated it! Why do you need to look at the neck? What the difference between Red and Sunshine Red? How Red even be Sunshine? Isn’t that the same shirt you just said you didn’t like before? Urgh, shopping with my mom is always soooooo long and confusing. That’s why I always bring my iPod and just sit in the car listening to music. Where was I going with this again? Ah, yes, my picky nieces and nephew and that scream. You see, I had no clue what to get them for their Christmas gifts. I probably shouldn’t have waited until almost the last minute, but I was attending my university classes three, maybe five hours away. The drive always feels like three hours. But, then again, I have my favorite music playing while I drive and only pay attention to the song and the road, of course. Anyways, this was the day after I finally got home and there were so many people already shopping for Christmas gifts. I went early. Boy, am I glad I went early, but that’s another story for another day. Anyways, the scream was four aisles away. I think it was in the babies aisle. It might have been the girl’s aisle. Blegh, I don’t care. I was just finishing up my shopping list. I had already picked up the gift for my nephew and I was just about to leave

that pink, blue, messy monstrosity of a toy section when I heard the scream. I think I was possessed by something. If I wasn’t then why would I have even walked into the aisle where the scream came from? I was a minute away from checking out. No, I wasn’t even a minute away from checking out. I was a minute away from leaving the mammoth of a monster known as Walmart! I turned into the aisle and I just couldn’t believe my eyes! There, right there in front of me was this twenty-five-year-old lady, maybe even thirty-yearold...She was older than me. Yeah, let’s go with that. This lady was with another lady. I swear the other lady was a grandma. She was all wrinkly and had gray hair. And, guess what the lady and the old lady were doing? I bet you wouldn’t have guessed it correctly. Hell, I didn’t even know what they were doing and I was standing right there! Like how close you and the desk are right now. Are you even sitting at a desk? Nevermind. Do you give up on guessing? I don’t blame you. It was the strangest moment I have ever witnessed. I didn’t think I was even on planet Earth anymore. I can never get it out of my head. The lady, the younger one not the older one, was holding a Bratz doll. I think the doll’s name was Cloe. Maybe Jade? Yes, the twenty-five-thirtyyear-old lady was clutching a Cloe- Jade Bratz doll to her breast like she would never be sane without that Cloe-Jade doll! And, and, guess what? She was bawling! This twenty-fivethirty-year-old lady was bawling like a two- yearold girl who had been told Christmas was ruined! 26

And, and, the old lady was trying to calm her down like those really nice, but really stressed out mothers do when their darling, beautiful, baby girl is throwing a tantrum! By the time my brain processed this confusing and odd sight of this way older than me lady crying over a Bratz doll, I just wanted the crying to stop. So, I walked up to Lady-older- than-me and ask, I was still sooo very confused so it might have been heard in my voice or something, “Are you okay?” I probably shouldn’t have asked if she was okay. Actually, I take that back. I really should not have opened my mouth. I should have ignored it and paid for my things. But, in my defense, it sounded like she broke a finger or something. “Will you buy Jade for me?” .......I really should have just left. Six words. Six, small, words combined with big eyes full of tears and pouty lips to form the ultimate question. Seriously. I really should have just left. I want to leave now. “Uhhhh, sorry?” “Will you buy Jade for me? My mom says she won’t, but you will, right?” Seriously? Are you serious? Lady, you are way older than me and you’re throwing a tantrum because your mother said you can’t have whatever a Jade is? Don’t you have some money? Why can’t you pay for it yourself? That’s what I would have loved to ask, but I guess I am too polite or something because what came out of my mouth is “I’m sorry, but I don’t have enough to pay for these toys in my cart and Jade.” “Can’t you put back that car and pay for my Jade 27

instead?” Nu-uh, I better not have just heard that! Put back my nephew’s car to get your stupid Jade? Jay is the only kid out of my sister’s family that I can stand! I can’t even stand my oldest niece and I practically grew up with her! There is no way in hell that I am putting this car back just for a silly Jade doll! This car is what Jay wants and Jay is getting this car! It’s only fair since he deals with three girls and their shopping habits every single day. Actually, you know what? That Jade looks like something Tori would love. “Sure, I will pay for Jade. Just let me put away this My-First-Baby Doll and I will pay for Jade. But you have to stay here until I come back. Okay?” “Okay.” So, I put the baby doll that was for Tori away. Back on the shelf. Wrong shelf. Oh, who cares? This aisle is so messed up right now. As I was coming back towards Older-than-me-lady, I passed her old-mother-lady and I felt really bad for her. Here she is, out shopping for food, at least that is what was in her cart, and her older-than-me-ladydaughter is behaving like a, a, crying two-yearold? Yeah, I still don’t know what I was seeing and I still don’t to this day. Regardless, I felt really bad..? Sorry? Pity? Yeah, I felt pity for her. Here’s this old lady, out with her adult daughter, a cart full of food, very delicious food and her daughter doesn’t want the food. No, her daughter wants a Jade doll. What kind of daughter wants a Jade doll when you have pounds and pounds and pounds of bacon in

Static | Ethan Ellison

the cart? If I had this lady as my mom, I would ask for more bacon instead of a stupid doll. Anyways, I wanted to do something for this old mother, but I didn’t want to pay for anything. My nieces, nephew, mom, step-father, and college bills were taking a lot of my money that day. But, what I did have was a can of beer, unopened of course, in my purse. I know what you might be thinking. You are nineteen-years-old! It is against the law to drink at that age! Well, it wasn’t for me. I actually forgot I still had a can of beer in my purse. It was from the box that my mom asked me to carry for her to the park earlier that day. There were only four cans in the box. Why should I carry the whole box when I can just put four cans in my purse? Saves me from having to walk back and throw away the box. So, yes, I had an unopened can of beer in my purse, but it wasn’t for me. In fact, it was for this old lady who really should have been my mom. I would take food shopping over clothes shopping any day of the week. Yep. If you guessed that I gave old mother-lady a can of beer in exchange for tricking her older-than-me-daughter-tantrumlady, then you would have guessed correctly. You should have seen her face. It was like Christmas came early for her. Just for her. I got rid of the beer can, paid for my nieces’ and nephew’s gifts, including the Jade doll, and I have put all of that shit in my car. But, wait! Just wait because this story isn’t over. As I was leaving, some a-hole behind me decides to honk their horn and signal for me to pull over. Again, I think I was possessed. But, boy am I glad I did because 29

guess what? It was little-old- best-mom-everlady! Apparently, she saw that I was eyeing her pounds and pounds and pounds of bacon. Since she was so glad because in tricking her daughter, I got her daughter to shut up and actually think about what she was doing with her life for once. And, she wanted to repay me for “opening up her daughter’s eyes.” That’s her exact words, not mine. So, guess what? Yep. I got free bacon. Free, delicious bacon and a littleold-mother-lady-friend who now always cooks bacon for me. Hallelujah for trickery!

B l vd . Bailey Radnitzer

Te a r A Kelsey Faith

Kindred Spirit Jordan Copeland

Dynamic BNA Kyle Kelly

G ra d i e n t Tr e e Kyle Kelly

What Matters Shannon Merrell

To feel you, your gaze... heavy on me, whispered words not forgotten... the touch of your lips lightly on my skin you take my breath for your own and paralyze me above me ,beneath me I am lost in you, to you...now... hear me and know, you have me, I am yours; as you are mine... and worlds cannot separate nor destroy what you are... to me now and nothing else matters no one else matters but the look in your eyes when you whisper.... you love me.

A . M . L . (A l l M y L o v e ) McKayla Cunningham

Tr e s s Ethan Ellison

R o a d Tr i p a t D u s k Kaylyn Campbell

H a l l e l u j a h f o r Tr i c k e r y Elizabeth Haan

eff Hillbrook finished packing the last of his things into the back of his mint 1955 Chevy Bel Air, tapped the for sale sign down in his front yard, and placed the keys to the house inside his mailbox. It was time for him to move on. The small Missouri town of Joplin had all but dried up, and Jeff needed a change. He didn’t have any family, other than his sister Sherry that lived in Tennessee, and they rarely ever spoke. He was a night owl who enjoyed working nights, simply due to the peace and quiet. He didn’t like being disturbed during his work, and his neighbors were growing suspicious of the lights that always stayed on inside his home. Jeff wasn’t your traditional type of fellow. He came and went at weird hours of the night and early mornings, and most people in town observed that he had very few friends. It was this constant surveillance that made Jeff feel uncomfortable, so it was a blessing when he received a job offer in California as the new caretaker for a wealthy estate owner in Santa Monica. He took the job without even so much as asking about the salary. Jeff was more than ready for his change. He knew the people in California lived very different lives than the one he had grown accustomed to, and figured he would blend into the scenery to get the 39

kind of peace and quiet that he had always longed for. The one thing that Jeff did love was his car. His grandfather had willed him that mint green 1955 Chevy Bel Air when he died, and it was more than sentimental to Jeff. It was the one good memory that Jeff had of his childhood. His grandfather would let him drive when he would come to visit, and Jeff had pretty much grown up in that old car. He had never been married, nor wanted any children. He enjoyed his work too much for that type of distraction. Time had slowly passed him by, and at forty-seven years old, it was a little too late to consider starting a family now. Jeff took one last look around the house, grabbed his coat and keys, and climbed inside his car. His started the engine and let it idle as he perused the road map planning his route. He took the time to circle his fuel and food stops, and couldn’t wait to hit the road on a cross country trip on the infamous route 66. He had wanted to do a trip like this since his early twenties, and now his dream had become a reality. He grabbed a cassette of Roger Miller, slid it into the slot, and put the car in reverse backing out into the street. Jeff watched the home that had been the source of his stress

and misery disappear over the hill in the rear-view mirror. A few miles outside of Joplin he decided to roll down the windows, and take in the air of freedom. He was well on his way to his new life, and for him, it couldn’t get here fast enough. He cranked the music as loud as it would go and sang along in uninterrupted joy. Long into the night he drove. First through Missouri, then Kansas, before stopping for a tasty burger at “Pops” in Arcadia, Oklahoma. Jeff was surprised at how different things were becoming already. The southwestern climate was hotter than he was used to, and soon enough he had no use for his coat, even in the middle of Fall. The people too were also very friendly, they didn’t seem the type to poke their nose into other people’s business. Jeff knew that he had made the right choice in leaving Joplin, it just wasn’t the place for a guy like him. He finished his food, and was in the middle of his Dr. Pepper ice cream float when the waitress came to bring him his check. “Can I get you anything else sweetheart?” The waitress asked. “No thank you ma’am, I don’t think I could hold anymore, I’m as full as a tick,” Jeff answered. “Well, we sure enjoyed having you. Come back anytime you are out this way, you hear?” “I’ll do that ma’am. You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of today’s newspaper, would you?” “Let me go check for you.” The waitress walked to the counter, where some of the older men had gathered watching the evening news, picked up a used copy, and brought it over to Jeff.

“Take your time and leave when you are ready,” the waitress said smiling at him before one of the older men hollered “quiet!” as he turned up the volume on the television above the counter. Police are still searching for the person responsible for the murder of nine people at a New Mexico motel earlier this week. The victims have been mutilated and parts of their bodies are missing. The suspect is considered armed and very dangerous. If you have any information concerning the deaths of these individuals or the suspect please contact the New Mexico State Police. “Oh, my lord,” the waitress said, grabbing her mouth. “Who could do such a thing?” “A monster for sure. I sure hope they catch that guy,” Jeff said. “I hope they catch him, and fry him. You should’ve seen the mess he made of those people. He cut parts of them off. Nobody wants to go to that motel anymore.” “Do they have any idea who did it?” Jeff asked. “I don’t guess. It’s probably one of those damn devil worshippers. Makes you lose your faith in humanity, doesn’t it?” The waitress asked. “Yes ma’am, those kids were young. I just hate the sight of blood. Only an animal could do something like that.” Jeff paid his bill and left a tip. He got a chocolate milk for the road, and thanked the waitress for her excellent service. He walked out of the restaurant disturbed at what he had saw on the television. He climbed back in his car, and checked the map to see that it ran right through New Mexico. “I sure 40

hope I don’t run into that guy,” he thought as he fired up the engine and got back onto the highway. He crossed into Texas at sundown, but now was wary of staying at a motel. He decided that he would pull off at the rest area at Gray County and sleep in his car. He moved his jug of tea off the back seat and climbed in the back with his coat. It was so nice outside that evening that he decided to sleep with the windows down. There were plenty of other people around, and Jeff felt safe for the night. He fell asleep humming Roger Miller. Jeff was awakened to the sounds of cars and trucks flying by on the highway. The sun was burning bright, and the dew had turned into a fog as it slowly evaporated from the grass. He stepped out of his car and stretched. A long yawn escaped his mouth, and he was in desperate need of a cup of coffee, but all he had was a jug of tea that he was in no way remotely interested in. He needed something stronger. He got on the road, and was lucky enough to find a gas station about five miles from the rest stop. He topped off his tank, got a piping hot cup of black coffee, and settled in for a long day of driving. After two hours of driving he crossed the border into New Mexico. Ahead in the distance he saw a line of flashing lights. It was the New Mexico State Police, and they had set up a roadblock across route 66. Jeff pulled in behind the long line of cars. A state trooper approached his car with his eyes wide open. Jeff rolled his window down. “Woo-wee, now that’s an automobile,” The trooper said, as he took off his hat beginning to fan himself. 41

“Thanks. What seems to the be the problem officer?” Jeff asked. “We’re looking for the person responsible for killing them folks in Albuquerque. You heard anything about it?” The trooper asked. “Yeah, I saw something about it on TV last night. It sure was awful.” “I need to see your license sir.” “Sure, no problem.” “It says here you live in Joplin.” “Yes sir, I’m in the process of moving to California for a new job.” “Well, you’ll have to get your license updated when you get settled there. Do you mind if I take a look in your trunk?” “I don’t mind at all officer.” Jeff stepped out of his car, and popped the trunk. The officer looked around through Jeff’s things before telling him to close it up. He handed Jeff his license back, and waved him on through the checkpoint. “Be careful out there, people are crazy these days,” the officer warned. “Will do, hope you catch that fellow soon,” Jeff remarked. Then he pulled back onto the highway. Jeff watched the police lights die out in the rearview mirror as he headed on down route 66 toward Albuquerque. He had never seen the desert before, and was like a child at the sight of the sand and mountains. It looked like the old western movies he used to watch with his grandfather when he was a kid, complete with tumbleweeds that occasionally blew across the highway. Jeff laughed to himself every time he saw one go by.

It was just him and his car. He was a new-age cowboy travelling across the open desert. When he got to Tinkertown it was time to refuel. He stretched his stiff legs, used the restroom, and got himself some more coffee. Before he left, he checked his tires and his oil level. Jeff babied that car. He always kept a close eye on the fluid levels. He was diligent like that. He could never imagine letting someone else do the maintenance on his grandfather’s car. He took pride in keeping it pristine. By midday, the sun was blazing, the heat hung visible on the surface of the road, as Jeff drove on hour after hour. He listened to the radio, singing along to the local oldies station. He was living the dream. Jeff had already been through five states, and his car purred like a kitten on the open road. Jeff hadn’t felt this kind of freedom since he moved out of his parent’s house, before their accident. Jeff’s parents had died in a car collision with a drunk driver when he was nineteen. Afterwards, he was afraid of being behind the wheel of a vehicle. His parents didn’t have a will, and as a result most of their things were sold at an estate auction to cover the bills. Jeff gave most of their personal things to his sister, except for his mother’s recipes. Jeff loved his mother’s sweet tea. He kept a jug of it with him always. Everyone in Joplin used to make fun of him for it, but he didn’t care. It reminded him of a simpler time when he was a kid, back when he used to have friends. He would play ball all day long, and come rushing in for a cold glass of it. Every time he took a sip of that ice tea it was like drinking it

for the first time. His grandfather willed him the car after he died, because he knew that it would be the only way Jeff would ever drive again, and he was right. After his grandfather passed, it was all that Jeff had. Jeff passed Albuquerque in good time, and was on schedule to make it to Arizona before sundown. He stopped and grabbed a sandwich at the roadside dive before continuing down the highway. Everything was peace and quiet along this stretch of the road, and Jeff reflected on how things could’ve been much worse had he decided to stay in Joplin. Just the thought of what his life could’ve been made him nervous, and validated his decision to flee. As he approached Red Rock State park he noticed a van on the side of the road. “Who could be stuck out here,” he wondered. He pulled over to offer assistance, but after looking for a while and finding no one around, he figured that someone else must have given the driver a ride. Jeff wasn’t a saint by any means, but hated the thought of someone being stranded way out here in the middle of nowhere. He continued on toward Arizona, and after five miles saw somebody walking in the distance. As he got closer he saw a young man carrying an army duffle bag with his thumb to the sky. Jeff slowed and pulled up beside him. “Thanks for stopping man, my van broke down a few miles back, and I think the motor is shot. It was knocking really bad. My name is Gary Boker, but my friends call me Bo,” the young man said. “You need a lift Bo?” Jeff asked. 42

“I sure do, if it isn’t too much trouble,” Gary replied. Jeff looked the boy up and down. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen years old. His clothes were a mess, his hair was unwashed, and he was covered in sweat. There was something about Gary that reminded Jeff of himself, back in his younger days. Jeff looked around, noticed how desolate the area was, and felt sorry for the young man. The temperature had risen to well over one hundred degrees, and he knew the young man wouldn’t make it long without some help. Besides, with a killer on the Lindell Street in Snow | Rachel Melton

loose, he would feel responsible if anything bad were to happen to him. “You live around here?” Jeff asked. “No sir, I’m from Texas. I’m heading out west to see some friends,” Gary replied. “How far are you going?” “As far as you are willing to take me.” “Throw your stuff in the back, and hop in Bo, but be careful with the seats.” “Solid man, thanks I really appreciate it.” Gary threw his bag in the back seat, and sat down in the front closing the door. Jeff looked him over once more, he smelled like he hadn’t had a shower in over a week. His hands were filthy, and he hated the thought of him messing up his car’s interior. Jeff was already rethinking his offer, and wished someone else had offered him a ride. “Do you mind if I smoke?” asked Gary. “Look around at this car, son, of course I mind,” Jeff replied. “My bad, she sure is a beauty. I’d love to have a car like this someday. What year is she?” “A fifty-five, in mint condition, and I’ve had her a long time.” “Solid man. Solid.” “Just be careful with your boots, I take a lot of pride in her,” Jeff said. “Oh, sorry.”

Gary fidgeted as he looked around inside the car, running his fingers along the dash and smiling at Jeff in a way that alarmed him. Jeff was starting to have a bad feeling about this kid. He wondered why the boy didn’t care enough about his own vehicle to just abandon it in the middle of nowhere. The sun was beginning to set as they hit the Arizona border. “What are you going to do about your van?” Jeff asked. “It’s a piece of crap. I’ve been having some trouble out of it for a while, I’ll just get another one when I get where I’m going,” Gary replied. “Where are you going?” “California, to meet some friends. We are going to the Burning Man festival to party.” “Burning Man huh? I’m headed to California too.” “You’re going to the festival too?” “Nah, I’m going to start a new life. I’ve got a new job out there.” “You must get paid really well to have a car like this.” “I’m a man of means by no means, but I do ok. Hey, did you hear about those people that got killed at that motel?” Gary grew quiet at the question. “I heard something about it.” Gary quickly changed the subject to the usual short talk of weather, sports, and girls before finally growing quiet. “I’m tired Mister. If it’s alright with you I’m going to grab a little nap,” said Gary. “It’s going to get real dark soon, we should probably find a rest area as soon as possible. Get

some rest, and I’ll wake you when we stop,” Jeff replied. Jeff drove on through the night, but started having problems focusing on the road, due to the horrible smell that was coming from inside the car. “What the hell is that?” he thought to himself, as he looked around for what it could be. He smelled over by Gary and he was ripe, but that’s not what it was. He looked in the rear-view mirror at Gary’s bag sitting in the back seat. “What’s in that fucking bag,” he wondered? He reached over the seat to grab it, but Gary sprung to life when he noticed him. “What are you doing man?” Gary asked. “What is that awful smell man?” Jeff asked. “It’s nothing, just some dirty clothes, keep your hands off my stuff. Alright?” “Well, if you don’t do something with it, I’m going to be sick.” “Then roll down the window man, and mind your own business.” Jeff just looked at him in amazement. This kid was rougher than he first thought. He saw the animalistic look he had in his eyes, like a rabid dog when you get too close to his feeding bowl. Jeff knew he would have to keep an eye on him, but also that he would have to establish some rules and authority with the young man. Jeff wasn’t a confrontational kind of guy. He was soft-spoken, but held his ground when he had to. Jeff drove on, and Gary went back to sleep. Jeff wondered as he drove if he was going to have any problems out of this kid. He regretted giving him a lift, and was anxious to part ways with Gary. 44

The two men drove on for a couple hours more until Jeff started to get stiff. He saw an exit sign for the Walnut Canyon National Monument just outside of Flagstaff. He pulled over. It was an eerie place to be at night. He grabbed his keys, and stepped out of his car looking at the desert. He had come a long way from Joplin in just two days, and would be in California by the third. He stepped behind his car to relieve himself. Just as he was finishing, Gary opened the door and stepped out to relieve himself as well. Jeff listened to the sounds of the coyotes in the distance, amazed at how remote the place was. The desert was a beautiful place at night. The moon was full, and you could see for miles. It was almost as if the place had never been discovered, like no other human being had ever set foot on it. Gary finished up, and the two men got back into the car, and pulled onto the highway. They made it just to the other side of Flagstaff, when Jeff spotted a sign for a rest area. “We should pull over here and get some sleep, I’m bushed,” Jeff spoke. “You don’t want to stop at a motel?” Gary asked. “Not after what happened to those people in Albuquerque.” Gary went quiet again before shrugging his shoulders and nodding “Whatever man.” Jeff pulled into the rest area, shut the car off, and put the keys in his pocket. He didn’t trust Gary, not since the way he had earlier looked at him. He had to find a way to get rid of him. Gary snapped to, rubbed his eyes, and looked at Jeff. “You got anything to drink man?” Gary asked. 45

“I’ve got a jug of my mother’s famous sweet tea. It’s in the back seat in the floor,” Jeff answered. “I’d drink my own piss right now if I had to. I’ve got the worst cottonmouth.” “Help yourself.” “So, we’re staying here tonight?” Gary asked taking a big gulp from the jug. “It’s just as good a place as any. Besides, the stars are out tonight. It’s nice,” Jeff replied. “Just don’t try to feel me up in my sleep.” “If I can even get any sleep, with the smell coming off that bag of yours.” “Man, I told you to mind your own business.” Gary took another drink from the jug. “This is some really good tea bro, it really hits the spot. “It’ll cool you off when you are running hot,” said Jeff. “You want some?” Gary asked. “Nah, I’m good, but if you’d throw that bag out of here, you’d be doing me a huge favor,” Jeff replied. Gary threw the tea at Jeff, then pulled a knife out of his pocket pointing it at him. “You just won’t leave well enough alone will you? You want to see what’s in the bag? Man, I’ll show you. Gary reached in the backseat and grabbed his bag. “You know those people that got murdered in Albuquerque? I did it, and not just them either. I’ve killed over a dozen others, mainly in Texas, but I left before anybody caught on. New Mexico is fertile killing ground. They’ve never had a serial killer there that I know of, just a bunch of Native Americans, and stupid cops.”

Gary reached in his bag and pulled out a woman’s severed head. “Isn’t she pretty?” Gary asked. Jeff looked at the man in horror. He had always been squeamish at the sight of blood. “You know Jeff, you should really be careful who you pick up hitch-hiking. It looks like you won’t be making it to California after all. I am going to enjoy driving this car though. Just so you know, I like to take my time with my victims. I love hearing their screams as I bleed them dry, and I’m going to have a lot of fun with y--.” Gary’s vision started becoming blurry, and his words began to slur. Jeff looked in the rear-view

mirror, and then at Gary. He had a sinister grin on his face, as he began to laugh at him. “I told you my mother’s tea was special, that’s the Diprivan kicking in Gary. I told you it would cool you off.” Gary began to shake, as Jeff reached over taking the knife out of his hand, placing it on the dash. “Reach for it Gary, Hahahaha. You know, you should be careful who you get in cars with, you never know when you are going to hitch a ride with a real serial killer.” Jeff reached over opening his glove box to expose countless polaroids of his own victims, that began to spill out all over Gary’s feet. Gary just sat with a

I Wa v e H e l l o, S h e Wa v e s G o o d b y e | Delilah Presson

stupefied look on his face. “I keep souvenirs as well Gary, but I’m not an animal like you. I kill them clean. I leave them with a little dignity when I’m through with them. I’ve been all over the Midwest. The people there are more cautious, but I must admit, I am looking forward to life in the Southwest. You people are so trusting, even bad people like you Gary.”

fighting with every breath to remain conscious. “I’m usually really quick with my victims Gary, but I respect your patience. The night is still young, and you’re right, we are going to have a lot of fun.” Jeff turned the volume up, as he made a right turn off the highway into the desert. Roger Miller played on as the two men disappeared over a hill in the distance.

Jeff started the car, threw Gary’s bag out the window, and popped in his Roger Miller cassette. He turned his Bel Air back onto the highway, and looked over at Gary. He sat slumped in his seat, unable to speak, with barely enough wherewithal to even acknowledge Jeff’s glance. He was

Butter | Ethan Ellison

Ivie Pfenning

L i t t l e R e c y c l e d C i t y / Tr y p o p h o b i a Chelsey Marie Gordon

D e s p a ra t i o n G a m b i t Mic Zulpa

Barnaby was starting to sweat a little under his collar – the kid was good, he had to give

him that. Barnaby had been playing the game for most of his adult life, and that amounted for a great many years indeed. But this boy seemed to have been born with a gift for cold hard strategy. His every move was planned out in advance, meticulous and calculated. The old man was continually being tricked into devastating pitfalls and clever traps from which there was no escape.

Think, Barnaby, think! his mind raged. Had old age stolen his tactical acumen from him?

Impossible. He’d been a champion at this greatest of games for more than forty years. And yet. And yet. This…boy…was challenging him in ways he’d not thought possible. One by one, his pieces were removed from the arena of battle, with nothing more than a thought, it seemed.

While the boy planned his next strike or three, Barnaby surveyed the playing field with a

well-practiced eye. If he moved from here to…no, his opponent would counter from…yes, there. Instead, he could…no, too obvious. The challenger would easily sweep in from that corner and destroy what remained of that detachment. Think, Barnaby…

That was when the old man realized the horrifying truth – there were no options left to him.

The boy had systematically eliminated any move Barnaby could make and still scrape together a victory. No, that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all, no sir. With a flash of realization, the old man realized there was still one avenue open to him. It was a sneaky, dirty, underhanded sort of trick, but it would probably turn the tables in his favor. It would turn the tables, he knew in that instant.

With exaggerated gravity, Barnaby unbuttoned his collar and grasped his chest. Looking

into his opponent’s eyes, he wheezed “Heart…attack!” Tears filled the eyes of his challenger, this upstart boy…

“Grandpa! Grandpa! Please don’t die, it was only checkers! You win! GRANDMA!!!” screamed

the ten-year-old boy…Victory, thought Barnaby, cackling like a madman on the inside as he feigned falling to the floor. Victory…

Love for the Rif leman Chelsey Marie Gordon

M i r r o r, M i r r o r Bailey Radnitzer

Still Shannon Merrell

I can still feel your icy fingers scraping, pulling, shoving my helpless body.... unable to run, scream, hide I can still feel your eyes.... the pain inflictedâ&#x20AC;Ś to be trapped alone inside yourself not wanting to be touched-left so empty by a broken road in the mud covered with blood and all the humility that you left me with, I try to run, I scream alone at night still feeling the blood running freely wanting to be free... free from your clutching hands... that are still choking me... that hold me still-there is no safety here....................

A D o ra Kelsey Faith

Forrest Romance Kaylyn Campbell

Cat Sanchez

Content Matters Over Size Chelsey Marie Gordon

G .T. F. O. O. M . F. ( G e t t h e F u k O u t o f M y F a c e ) Heather Wilson

Never Another James Robert Jarboe

You and I Alone in this crowded, crammed place. I look into Your warm eyes And I get lost in your tender expression. Before, I never pondered If there is such a thing As a last lover. You and I Lazily watching, Lost in a mindless, pixilated fantasy, Simply enjoying the warmth Of the other. I gaze into your curiously fond eyes, And I cannot help But to be lost in your affectionate expression. I know now That there just might be Such a thing as a last lover. Separated though close, Each struggling With weights of our own –Lending an unspoken shoulder to the other. Hopelessly heartfelt eyes, I drown in your smirk.

I wonder –In the shadowed corners of my mind – If I have found

The last one, my last lover. I wonder: Could really be any other? You and I, A newfound certainty –A silently shared sentiment held in a quiet determination – Blossoming in our hearts. I look into your loving eyes, Getting lost In the beat of your heart And the fire within. I know now: I have found my last lover. The seasons blur together, What once was whole Has now been halved once more. I see your face everyday In the marble stone And your lovely words upon it. I place these roses And I chat to the empty air, Because I know, Somewhere, you can hear me –You’ve always been such a good listener. The sun sets And the sky becomes a vibrant flame Of mixed colors and gradient hues. As I turn to leave, I turn not my collar To the winter’s biting wind –I have a far greater thing To shield against this colder weather.

At the Quack of Dawn Delilah Presson

Ivie Pfenning

Barge Line Gas Co. Rachel Melton

University Plaza Coming Soon Rachel Melton

A Mother’s Son In Memory of My Brother Shannon Merrell

These tears of mine, they never cease ever since that awful day My heart won’t ever find the peace it had before you went away. I don’t know what to do each day I spend without you here If only God had let you stay So I could once more hold you near. I know some may think it’s crazy that I still talk to you but you will always be my baby and it helps to pull me through. I hear your voice, I see your face through every room in here I hope you’re in a better place with nothing left to fear. Your scent on all the shirts you wore I still hold near to me Just like it always was before It becomes a haunting memory.

I miss your smile, your laugh, your jokes long talks while on the phone this house, so empty I could choke Knowing you can’t ever come home. I wanted the chance to say goodbye can I scream away my pain? I close my tear-filled eyes to dream hoping to see you once again. I wish I would’ve hugged you more the night before If I’d known it’d be the last time Id hold you close just once more. A piece of me left with you knowing nothing can be undone a Mothers heart torn through and through to lose her one and only son.

Drenched Josiah Phelps

Three Attitudes Josiah Phelps

Lightening and Fear Emily Hedges

hen I was young, maybe 9 or 10, my family, (my mom, brother, sister, two aunts, 2 cousins and one uncle,) went to SeaWorld in San Antonio, Texas. I remember it being sunny and hot; we had fun, riding rides such as the Steel Eel and its three hundred sixty-foot drop. I went on that ride, when my siblings chickened out. I am not a big fan of roller coasters, and that is the first one I can ever remember riding. When we decided it was hot and we wanted to go to the wave pool after riding all the rides, we decided to head to the Lost Lagoon. Along the way, we stopped at a bathroom first. I remember taking longer than the others, and when I came back out, my family was nowhere to be seen. Fear filled me as I looked around at this beautiful, fun place, which was suddenly not as much fun or beautiful. I went back into the bathroom, calling for my mom, for anyone. There was no one and everyone was looking at me oddly. When it was apparent that no one was there, I sat down on a bench, crying. However, I stayed in that same spot, terrified that I would never find my family. After maybe ten or fifteen minutes, I heard my mom calling my name. I ran over to her and hugged her as tightly as a nine or ten-year-old could. She apologized for leaving me there and

explained that my uncle Rick had been the one to notice I was missing, since he was walking behind the group. Once we got to the Lost Lagoon, it was all fun and games once more, as I ran into the water, playing and splashing. But after some time, it began to rain, and the news came that there was a thunderstorm coming and the park needed to close. Our family regrouped, and we packed our things, heading out of the park, trying to keep track of everyone. I recall singing the little song â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Rain Rain, Go Away..â&#x20AC;? but it only began to rain harder and harder. By the time we made it to the parking lot, the rain was coming down in torrents and the thunder had begun to boom in the sky. I vividly recall looking off in the distance as my family packed the car. I remember looking at a lamppost in the parking lot and as I was staring at it, thunder booming loudly overhead, (enough for me to feel it reverberate through my ribs,) a forked flash of lightning lit the sky. I was terrified once again and began crying. My sister wrapped her arms around me and comforted me, something she does not often do. Seeing that forked flash of lightning filled me with fear. I was frozen in one spot, unable to move. Shivers travelled from the top of my head,

through my body to my toes. Storms can strike without warning. Nature can change. One moment the weather may be nice and pleasant and sunny. And in the next moment, dark, gloomy and foreboding. Storms are not something to be feared. In several of my science classes in school I remember learning that the thunder and the lightning were just due to changes in the atmosphere with static electricity, with charged electrons, etc. I have always been fascinated with thunderstorms, I actually enjoy them sometimes. I love the sound of thunder rolling through the sky and the flashes of lightning that light the backdrop of clouds. The only time I do not like them is when I am sleeping, and a crack of thunder resounds overhead, waking me from my deep sleep. Lightning is both refreshing to see but also terrifying. It is something beautiful yet something to be feared. You sometimes hear the stories on the news of a tree being split in half after lightning strikes it, or those rare stories of people being struck by those beautiful yet terrifying forks of lightning that light the sky. Lightning fills me with fear but it also fills me with wonder. It is something that ignites in the sky several times a year but only a few times a month. Sometimes you will see them as a single flash or several in different places in the sky. That is one of the best sights to witness in the evening sky during a storm. A row of lightning lighting up the sky and flashing once in the left field of your vision across to the right field. As I grew older, I realized that I had nothing to

fear, and perhaps I was so scared of lighting at SeaWorld because of everything that went on that day. I was left behind in a bathroom and then torrential rain and a thunderstorm were taking place as we were trying to pack our car. My mother leaving me behind in a bathroom is no fault of hers, we all had a lot going on. Besides, now my mother and I laugh about it when I tease her saying, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Mom, when we stop at this rest area, you wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t leave me right?â&#x20AC;? My initial small fear of lightning has grown into fearing other, larger matters of a more realistic scale. Getting into a car crash and being killed by another driver. Getting sick, something like cancer or diseases such as that. The chance of getting struck by lightning is minimal, but my chances of getting into a car accident and it being potentially fatal is much higher. My fear of being in a car accident has proven to be a valid one, though luckily it was not fatal and did not result in me being injured, other than suffering whiplash. I remember that day vividly, it was April 11, 2016. I was driving to my 8:00 AM Intro to Biology class at Nashville State Community College, that is twenty to twenty-five minutes away from my house. It was at the T-intersection of Old Hickory Blvd and TN Hwy 100, a stoplight intersection, with two lanes extending both ways on Hwy 100, the road I was travelling on. I was in the left lane and had the green light. Two cars from the opposite direction had gotten in the middle of the intersection and turned left on Old Hickory Blvd. A third car, a Cadillac Escalade, inched out of the 70

left lane, preparing to turn left. I slowed down, anticipating that he would turn left as had the other two cars. When he did not, I sped back up, the speed limit being forty-five miles an hour. Just before I crossed the white line, heading into the intersection, the shiny black Escalade changed course and cut me off, trying to complete the left turn. I slammed on my brakes, closed my eyes, heard my front bumper scrape O l d H a n g N e w Wa v e | Brittney Rose

the ground and not a second after that, heard the crunch of metal on metal and felt my car jerk to the right. During those few seconds, my body jolted forward as my seatbelt went rigid, holding me back from slamming my face into my steering wheel or the airbag that inevitably deployed from it. When I opened my eyes, I was gripping the steering wheel as tightly as I could with my fists and my glasses slid off my face, falling to the left of my seat, between it and the car door. A panic attack set in next, as I lifted my right hand from the wheel and it began shaking uncontrollably. I began to hyperventilate, and tears streamed down my face. Right then and there, I was more terrified than I had ever felt before. No fork of lightning in the sky and resulting fear from that could compare to what I felt in the moments after my accident. My brain was taxing itself to both come to grips with what I was going through and assess if I was hurt in any way shape or form. Everything after the initial contact of cars happened rather quickly but I remember all of it. I would calm down and then begin thinking of what happened and panic

more. I called my parents, sobbing, and told them I was in an accident and where I was. I called the police and told them what happened. A few nice women came up and asked me if I was hurt, and when I tried to get out of my car, they told me I was to stay in, though I had unbuckled my seatbelt and I felt fine. The man in the Escalade came over, apologizing and asking if I was hurt. I always responded that no, I was fine and did not feel hurt. Emergency services came, as did my parents (though it took them longer since traffic was backed up and they had to park a few yards away). When I was finally allowed out of my car, the front end was completely wrecked. My front bumper was completely off, and a hubcap laid on the ground in front of my car and one of my headlights was just gone. My Dad later explained to me that the insurance company would be calling in the next couple of days and that they would be asking several questions about the accident. This was all new to me, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d never been in an accident before. I do not remember much of what they asked, other than they asked for what happened and what the weather was like. There it was again, the weather. Nature plays such a big part in our lives, I do not believe that many people think about just how much it affects us. Nature is the weather, it is what refreshes and cleanses the Earth. Snow and ice make the roads hazardous to drive on. Rain makes them slick and people drive on roads wet with rain in the same fashion as they do when it is beautiful and sunny outside.

Nature does not constitute only one thing. It is several things in one. It is summer storms and blizzards. It is the flowers that bloom in the spring and the leaves that spill onto the roads and sidewalks and litter our walking spaces in the fall. Nature is always evolving, changing minute details here and there over time. Nature is the weather, 24/7, three hundred sixty-five days a year. It is all around us all the time. It is the flashes of lightning in the thunderous skies and the one thing that plays a part in a car accident. Nature is the cycle of death and rebirth, it is always there and always will be.

To t a l S u p p r e s s i o n o f S u r r e a l i s m ( T. O. S . S . ) Dillon Faith

Blue Shadow Kyle Kelly

We l c o m e H o m e Tanya Chopra

J u s t a n O rd i n a r y D a y Caitlin Marino

The water was hot as it cascaded down her back collecting the dirt and grime of the day.

She took her time, why not? She did not have any plans for the rest of the evening. She hummed to herself, listening to the radio that played her favorite station in the background. It was a jolly little tune, the female vocalistâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s voice soothing to her ears. She lathered the shampoo into her hair, orange bloom, her favorite. The soap from her hair also washed down the drain. She stared at it in fascination. For a moment she was dazed, her head filling with so many wonderful and interesting ideas causing her to smile. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and grabbed her conditioner bottle. Pouring a small amount in her hands she dragged and combed her fingers slowly through her long blonde hair. She would have to dye it soon. Her dark brown roots were just starting to show and she had an image to uphold.

She turned off the water pulling her fluffy black towel from the rack and draping it around

her form. Patting away the moisture from the shower she carefully pulled on the short black dress. She put in light blue contacts with practiced ease and applied make up. Not too much, she really did not like the feeling. Just a little eyeshadow and liner with mascara to make her eyes pop. Her head spun to the right and her eyes narrowed in a hard glare. She turned off the radio with a harsh click, stepping over the bloody body of her latest victim. It had been a male voice low and disgusting to her ears. How she hated men. That is why she was determined to rid the world of as many as he could. Her last one had been so dull, so pathetic. Screaming and begging for mercy with such a pitiful voice. So she silenced it.

She bent down to kiss the head of her large python. He would dispose of her victim. Oh,

look, he is already starting his meal. She grabbed her purse, slipped into her coat, and walked out the door. Well, it was off to find her next victim.

P r o g r e s s i o n o f F e e l i n g s ( P. O. F. ) Ellie Headrick

T h e Ke y t o t h e C y p h e r Ben Reiter

Mom Shannon Merrell

I know I’m not a perfect child, I won’t pretend to be I haven’t always taken paths, that you’d have chose for me.

As I get older I have learned how much I put you through And when I look back through the years I remember things I didn’t do.

I’m sorry for the hurt and pain and tears throughout your nights For your worries and your fears 79

and all those senseless fights.

I don’t know why I couldn’t see how much you really cared that through everything that I have done you have always been there.

Now I can say I finally know what I failed to realize then that it was you that carried me through it all and your love will never end.

So know now just one thing through all the years I’ve grownyou’ll always be my hero momthe greatest woman I’ll ever know.... 80

Silhouette Kyle Kelly

Good Olâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Days Romanticized in Reminiscence Willie McNeal

Sneak Peak Chelsey Marie Gordon

M a r t i n Wa t e r To w e r Rachel Melton

From the Editors

These last two years working on BeanSwitch have been quite a journey! I have

learned so much during my time with this magazine but only because there were so many people there to help me along the way. I would like to thank our advisors, Dr. Chris Hill and Tomi McCutchen, for helping us add our own additions to the BeanSwitch collection. I would also like to thank LSA and Jason Stout for being there when things went very wrong. But most of all, I would like to thank Caitlynnâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;it isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t very often that an editor and art director work together as long as we have! So, thank you, for working with me to make something that I am so, so proud of. - Lauren Maddox

The past two years as BeanSwitch’s visual editor have been nothing less than an

adventure. I could not have asked for a more joyful group of people to be around. They were always helpful, always understanding, and always ready to hit the ground running with whatever Lauren and I had for them next, and for that I will always be thankful. I would like to thank our advisors, Tomi McCutchen, and Dr. Chris Hill, for being so supportive of whatever vision Lauren and I had for the magazine as well as constantly working with us to ensure that everything went smoothly. I’d like to thank Jason Stout and my LSA officer team for running to help in my time of troubles. You guys mean more to me than you will every know. There aren’t enough thank you’s in the world for you guys and I will forever keep you in my heart. I would like to thank Lauren. Being able to get to know you over the past two years is something that I will cherish forever. You have truly made this experience enjoyable, and for that I will always be thankful. We did it! -Caitlynn Dowland

Congratulations! ... to our graduating BeanSwitch executive staff, Lauren Maddox and Caitlynn Dowland. Thank you for your tremendous effort in making BeanSwitch an excellent literary and visual arts magazine. We are proud of you and wish you all the best! â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Dr. Chris Hill â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Tomi McCutchen