The Vortex March Edition 2014

March 2014

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CONTENTS | March

ART Imagine – Amber Rolland 11 Jaws – Rebecca Bennett 13 Water Drops – Rebecca Bennett 14 Snow Covered Woods – Rebecca Bennett 22 Jaded Pixels – Katelyn Spencer 25 Graceful – Rebecca Bennett 33 Plum Burst – Rebecca Bennett (BOW) 38 New York City – Sarah Irvin 46 Vacant Rest Stop – Elizabeth Sneed 50 Julie – Rebecca Bennett 53 Vibrant Italy – Amber Rolland 56

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CONTENTS | March

fiction Bedtime Story – Lyren Grate 6 Cleanse – Taylor Trevizo 12 Grains of Sand – Chris Tedeschi (BOW) 17 Snow White Gets A Life Before Marriage – Lyren Grate 26 The Lie – Adrianna Davis 34 The Next, Great Uninspired American Novelists – Chris Tedeschi 42

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CONTENTS | March

POETRY Black Walnuts – Emily Walter

Never Again – Candace Baker

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40

Don’t Be An Imbecile – Courtney Ragland

Perfection – Elizabeth Gambertoglio

24

41

Guilt – Elizabeth Gambertoglio

Posing Like Carly Simon – Jessica Avant

31

48

Hopeless(ly) in Love – Jessica Summers

Smear (Revisited) – John Beegle

32

49

Low Budget Spider-Telepathy – Candace Baker

Strangers – Chloe Zedlitz

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51

Moving On – Tre Sandlin

Unrequited – Ernest Goldwood

37

52

My Daughter – Christian Ward

Veracious Travels – Emily Walter

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54

On The Cover Plum Burst – Rebecca Bennett (BOW)

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STAFF | March

PROSE Fiction Judge / Alicia Brautigan Fiction Judge / Candace Baker Fiction Editor / Emily Qualls Fiction & Poetry Judge / Emily Walter

Fiction Judge / Tabitha Galbraith Poetry Editor / Christopher Hall Poetry Judge / Courtney Ragland Poetry Judge / Jeremy Wade

LITERATURE & ARTS

MEDIA

thevortexmagazine.com

Media Editor / Michael Tatum Editor-In-Chief / Taylor Lea Hicks Asst. Editor / Kayelin Roberts Layout Editor / Ashley Thomas Asst. Layout Editor / Ernesto Pe単a Copy Editor / Savannah Moix Asst. Copy Editor / Sara Cervantes PR Consultant / Sheldon Slinkard Faculty Advisor / Garry Craig Powell

art Art Art Art Art

Editor / Shane Hawkins Judge / Anastassiya Khvan Judge / Katelyn Spencer Judge / Marissa Brantley

Scriptwriting Scriptwriting Judge / Isabella Evans Scriptwriting Judge / Michael Tatum Scriptwriting Editor / Tre Sandlin Scriptwriting Judge / Rachel Glenn nonfiction

The Vortex is the student-operated literary magazine for the University of Central Arkansas located at 201 Donaghey Avenue Conway, AR 72035.

NONFICTION EDITOR / Chase Night NONFICTION JUDGE / Candace Baker NONFICTION JUDGE / Elise Williams 5

He groans, “Jesus Christ, why do you always

Bedtime Story

by Lyren Grate

think I’m lying to you?”

“Aren’t you? When we dated before, practically everything you said was a lie.” She removes her head from his chest and turns away from him onto her side.

“Come here,” he says. Digging his arm under

her, he picks her up and turns her back over. “I’m not “Tell me a story,” she says, lying next to him

doing that anymore.”

on the disheveled bed. She rests her head on his broad, bare chest. He moves his arm around her, stroking her upper arm.

“What kind of story?” he asks, rubbing his eyes with his other hand.

She reaches her hand up and tugs on his curls, pulling them soothingly. He smiles, relaxed. His mother used to do the same when he was a child, when he would lie with his head in her lap. She looks up at him with wide eyes and says, “A story from your childhood. Those are my favorite.” He remains silent.

She closes her eyes and listens to his breathing, then says, “The angel one. When you fell and broke your nose, when you were wearing the angel costume.”

“You know that one?”

“It’s my favorite one,” she says.

“You know it better than I do by now,” he replies, yawning.

“You don’t want to tell me because you made it up and you can’t remember how it goes,” she says, withdrawing her hand from his hair.

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“Heroin?”

He winces. His lips clamp together, teeth

grinding. He shuts his eyes and then opens them, breathing deep. “Shit.” He stops talking for a moment and then says, “I have nothing to say about that.”

“Of course, you don’t,” she says bitterly as she turns on to her back, with her head now resting uncomfortably on his shoulder. She pulls on the sheets they both lie under until they no longer cover him and only cover her.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” His arm lays limp and heavy under her stiffening body. The invading, encumbering silence wraps around them, tightening their thoughts.

They listen to the faint, laborious churning of the ceiling fan until she reluctantly surrenders. Turning back toward him, she nestles her head on his chest.

He sighs, hugging her closer to his body, desperate to close the distance between them. Drawing circles on his skin with diffident fingers, she says, “Tell me a story, and we’ll forget about it for another night.

Remember, you told me – you said that, if I give you

Mom held the needle like it was the heaviest thing she

another chance, you would spend every night telling

had ever held in her hand. She looked up at me and

me a story.”

said, “I don’t want to do this.” She kept making eyes

“Fine, I’ll tell you a story. Let me think.”

“Don’t make it up. I’ll find out; I always do,” she warns as she closes her eyes.

“We were all in the room – my parents’

at me and said, “I mean, I can’t do this.”

“Have Barb do it,” I said, looking at the nurse.

Barb nodded all sad and stuff. I mean, it was like she was sad, but she didn’t even know us that well. And,

bedroom. It used to be the garage, but, one summer,

she reached for the needle again, but Mom cupped her

my uncles and I turned it into a bedroom. It was after

hand, pulling away from her.

my dad got sick. It was more comfortable for him,

“Barb can’t do that. He doesn’t know Barb.”

more space, and we were able to build-in a bathroom

Mom opened her hand again. “You do it.” She held it

that made it easier for my mom to help him . . .

out to me.

anyway, it was in the morning, and the windows were open. I could hear some birds chirping, and my dog

I shook my head, folding my hands together.

“Make Nathan do it. He’s older.”

barking, and the neighbors’ cars starting as they got

“I’m not gonna ask Nathan to do this.”

ready to leave for work. I remember thinking how

I could feel myself getting angry. “Why?” I

normal that morning was for them and how their lives

crossed my arms over my chest. “Make the god damn

probably weren’t going to change that day.

dog do it,” I said. “I’m not doing it.”

My brother, Nathan, wheeled out of the room. He didn’t want to be in there anymore when

Her hand shook. “You have to do it. Take it.”

Emily slanted her eyes down, picking at a

we decided – or Mom decided, and so it was just

hangnail on her thumb. Of course, mom wouldn’t ask

me, Mom, Emily, the nurse, and Dad’s dog, Mandy.

her to do it; she was Daddy’s little girl. Barb stood

Mandy spent all her time in Dad’s room, lying under

with her hands at her sides, her mouth frowning at our

his bed because Mom wouldn’t let her on Dad’s bed

pathetic family still in pajamas and Mom and Emily in

even when he would ask for her. Mom took the needle

cat slippers. I felt so embarrassed and angry at Mom.

from the nurse. She stopped crying, which I was

That spoiled bitch always got what she wanted, so I

happy about because, when Mom gets hysterical, it’s

took the needle from her and listened to Barb as she

dramatic and I can’t stand listening to her cry. I just

gave me the instructions to put the needle into the IV.

want to tell the bitch to shut up. Emily sat next to her.

And, it slid in so easily, like a key made to fit. Dad lay

She just sat there silently; she wasn’t saying anything.

there with his eyes closed, breathing . . .”

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“I don’t want to hear this,” she interrupts, lifting her head so that her chin pokes sharply into his chest. “That’s not the type of story I want to listen to.”

He ran his hand down his face, pulling on his lips. “You want a happy story?”

“No.” She strokes his face with the tips of her finger, her nails subtly scratching his cheeks. He jerks his head away. “I want a story from your childhood.”

again. “That isn’t about Bear. I don’t care about you changing tires – that’s boring.”

“I am. I am telling you about Bear,” he says defensively. She taps his chest with her fingers, waiting. He rests his other arm behind his head, staring at the fan rotating slowly in the dark room. He licks his dry lips and begins again.

“We were on our way home from church.

“I didn’t have a happy childhood like you.”

Nathan was in the front of the van not speaking to

“If I had a happy childhood, I wouldn’t have

anybody. He was high, so he kept laughing in this

put up with you for as long as I have.”

“That’s a shitty thing to say.” He removes his

high-pitched laugh. That got Emily laughing, and that made me mad because why should Nathan get

arm from around her and then pushes her away from

to smoke all the time in his room while Mom and

him. “Haven’t you forgiven me?” he asks, turning his

Dad always told me if they ever caught me smoking

head and slanting his gaze down to meet hers.

with Nathan they’d beat me every day for a month.

She scoots closer to him and picks up his arm,

Anyway, he was laughing at Mom and Dad because

placing it back around her. “Tell me something about

they were fighting. They began fighting as soon as we

your first pet – your dog, Bear.” She looks up at him

started driving up the lane to the house because all

briefly then settles her attention on subtly digging her

the lights were on, which meant Mom forgot to turn

nails into his skin. She traces the black inked letters

off the lights before we left. Dad was yelling at her

Invictus on the inside of his arm.

for wasting electricity, which meant she was wasting

“Dad made a point to teach me things, even

money, and he started in on how expensive things

though Nathan was older. It became almost an

were going to get with medical stuff, which made her

obsession of his for a short time. It seems like every

start crying, and she started yelling at him to shut up.

day he had something new to show me like how to

Nathan thought that was hilarious, so he was laughing,

measure the air in my tires, change a flat, check my

and then Emily was laughing until I got so annoyed

oil, balance my check book. I didn’t think I’d learn it

I started hitting her, which made her start hitting me.

all; it seemed like he knew so much about everything,

So, we were in the back of the van hitting each other.

and I couldn’t even get the bolts off the tire . . .”

Anyway, by the time we got out of the van, we were

“I said tell me about Bear,” she interjects

all mad at each other except for Nathan. He just kept

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laughing.

As soon as we got into the house, Emily and I started fighting over the remote. We were wrestling

started crying. She clutched at Mom and together they shrieked and hollered as Dad and I covered Bear with a towel.

on the couch when we heard Mom scream and Dad

“She ain’t dead yet,” Dad said, lifting her

cussing. So, we followed their voices down the hall

gently up into his arms. He motioned for me to follow

and into their bedroom where Mom stood with her

him, and we walked back through the house and out

head buried in Dad’s chest, sobbing and asking God

the back door. Dad laid Bear softly on the ground a

what he did, and Dad was looking at his feet, cussing

little ways behind our house but still close enough for

in the same breath that he was trying to reassure Mom

us to be able to hear Mom and Emily screaming and

it was okay, everything would be okay.

crying that Bear was dead or dying. Dad went to the

“What’s wrong?” Emily asked in the doorway.

shed and got two shovels.

“Did you hit mom?” I asked.

“Jesus, no. I’d never hit your mother.” he said.

“What’d you think of the service tonight?

Youth group okay?” he asked as we dug.

He let go of her and knelt down at his feet, his back to us. “Come here,” he said to me.

Emily and I both started forward, but Mom

After we got the hole decent enough, he instructed me to put Bear in the hole while he went back to the shed. He returned with his rifle.

stopped Emily, pulling her into a hug, “Not you, honey. You stay here with me.”

So, I walked over, smirking that I was going to know what was going on and Emily wouldn’t. I went

“Take the towel off,” he said. “That’s your mother’s good towel, and they come in a set. I’ll never hear the end of it if I have to bury the damn dog in her good towel.”

over to Dad. Bear was lying at his feet on her side.

I kneeled down into the hole and peeled the

Her tongue was out of her mouth and her head was

towel back from Bear’s heaving body. I straightened

in a pile of throw up and damp with foam. I covered

myself up and stood next to Dad as he lifted the rifle

my mouth, feeling as if I was about to vomit all over

in the air. I covered my ears with the palms of my

Bear’s head.

hands and shut my eyes waiting, but then I felt Dad

“I think she got in to some of that rat poison under the sink in the bathroom,” Dad said.

“What is it?” Emily asked from behind me.

I turned my head with a numb smile on my face and said, “Bear’s dead.” Emily shrieked and

nudging me. So, I opened my eyes, and there he was still looking down into the hole as he handed the rifle to me.

“You do it,” he said.

I didn’t reach for the gun. “I don’t want to.

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Make Nathan do it. He’s older. You never make him do anything.”

Dad shook his head, not breaking

God, he did it! He killed the dog.”

I looked down at Bear. Not moving, mouth still damp, blood thickening from her stomach that

concentration with Bear. “Nathan’s paralyzed. You

disappeared under the dirt. She was now like that,

wanna be him?” He held the gun higher. “Take it.”

lifeless in the hole, because of me, because of one

I looked behind me. All the lights were still on,

little thing I did. If I hadn’t pulled the trigger, she’d

and Mom and Emily could still be heard screaming,

still be heaving; maybe we could’ve gotten her to a

“He’s gonna kill Bear. I can’t believe he’s killing the

vet; maybe she could’ve been saved – but Dad always

dog. We could take him to the vet. Nathan! Nathan,

thought it was best to end the misery than prolong it.

he’s killing the dog!” All that stuff they were saying

Dad threw the other shovel at me. It thudded at my

meant they didn’t realize how bad-off Bear was, and

feet. “Help me, damn it,” he said.

it also meant they were going to blame who ever shot the gun.

I took the rifle from him and did as he told me:

Maybe he knew in that moment when he passed the rifle to me. He knew exactly what he was doing and why I had to be the one to pull the trigger.

hold it steady, and aim, put pressure on the trigger.

But, what he didn’t realize was that Mom and Emily

“Uh huh,” I said as he rattled off instructions out of

would never get over it. People don’t get over things.

the side of his mouth. I never thought that’d be the

The bitches still blame me.”

moment my dad would teach me how to shoot a gun.

He tilts his head, looking for her in the dark

Then, he told me to pull the trigger, and I closed my

as he says, “There you go. There’s your story. But,

eyes. But, all I could still see was the image of Bear’s

I’m probably lying, right?” The stillness of the room

chest rising and falling. I pulled the trigger. Just one

extinguishes his words, and the only sound is the

shot. The sound echoed, traveling through the hills

shallow breathing of her, whose body, limp and

around us and then back to me, hitting me in the gut.

relaxed, lies curled away from his.

And, then, everything went silent. It felt as if I had cotton in my ears; it wasn’t just Bear I had shot, but all of life. Then, I opened my eyes, and everything came back. Dad stood with his hand on my shoulder for a brief second before bending to pick the shovel back up. He began to toss the dirt back into the hole.

Mom and Emily’s voices found us again. “Oh 10

Imagine Amber Rolland Pencil 11

CLEANSE

Taylor Trevizo

i don’t know what washed over me (maybe it was 409 or Clorox bleach), but it thoroughly cleansed the toxins so that they poured out in the form of words. you sat still and listened as i spoke about her, telling you things i have picked up and shelved away upon my ribcage. i don’t know if i spoke slowly or hastily, uncovering the secrets buried so deeply inside of me. moving past the pearls and ribbons that first greet the eye, i told you the stories that lay side by side crawling with insects and dust bunnies. sentence-by-sentence, gasoline leaked out of my mouth, and the one tear that fell from my eye was enough to ignite the night on fire.

and now i’m all cleaned up, so thank you.

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JAWS

Rebecca Bennett Printmaking/Watercolor

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WATER DROPS Rebecca Bennett Digital Photography 14

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Voice shouts from my stomach: I’m eating your muscles—

Need them to fight off trouble and people.

Make me stop!!

I want to keep working for you, Darling.

BLACK WALNUTS

FEED ME.

Emily Walter

As I’m walking along,

Green, black walnuts I’m crushing under my feet,

Bleeding brown blood, coloring the grass and my sole— They pique the memories of long-ago years When I gathered and sold thousands For the price of one cent per nut.

One-time seasonal commodities once made for fun hobbies, In the days of cotton trade barter.

Funny what good kindling Andrew Jackson would’ve made, I think when reminded of the cotton in my lost wallet.

Funny how I’ve never tasted a black walnut,

I think when my stomach begs and pleads further.

Funny the way things inexplicably change,

I think as I stomp a nut with the heel of my boot.

Beauty the color green in the black age of famine.

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GRAINS of Sand

Chris Tedeschi

I saw her for the first time at the bar on the

it’s probably time to find some. Unfortunately, so far

corner of 4th Street. She was sitting at a booth with

every night had had the same result: me sitting at the

two of her friends. Both of them were less attractive

bar, nursing a beer, and trying to hide my disgust.

than her, but I could tell she wasn’t the type of girl who made a conscious effort to have plain girls around to make her look better. She didn’t need that.

I tried to think of what I would say to her

if I got the chance. I was never good at this kind of thing. I was very aware of my limitations. It’s not that I was ugly, but I was really nothing special. Not skinny, not chubby. I had unstyled, brown hair that hung right above my forgettable, brown eyes. I knew, if somehow I did get to talk to her, I’d just mess it up, so I wondered why I should even bother.

I took a seat at the bar and ordered a Blue

“Three blow jobs, please.”

That got my attention. I looked up and saw

her. She was right beside me. I knew I needed to say something, but, like usual, I drew a blank. I tried to think of some joke about the drink she ordered, but I was too afraid none of them would make her laugh.

Shots named after the fact that you pick them up with your mouth and throw them back, making it seem as if you’re performing an act of fellatio, should be packed-full of comedic opportunity, but I’ve never been one for making much of opportunities. Besides that, I didn’t want her to notice that the term “blow

Moon. I hated beer. I really didn’t care for any kind

jobs” was what got my attention before I registered

of alcohol. I don’t even know why I started coming

that she was referring to the drink.

to bars in the first place, but I did. I guess I thought it would be a good place to make friends. I’d just moved to Chicago a few months ago, and, I have to admit, I was lonely. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t lonely in any weird way where I had dolls at my house or anything, but you can only watch so many episodes of “Friends” by yourself until you decide

“Emma.”

“What?” I stammered.

“My name is Emma. What’s yours?”

She was talking to me. She was actually using

words that were aimed in my direction. “Miles,” I

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answered. “My name’s Miles.”

was used to getting her way.

“Well, Miles, if you’d like, you could join me

“So, Miles, what do you do?” grumbled

and my friends over there, unless, of course, you’re

Lauren. It was noticeable that she really had no

waiting on someone or have better plans.”

interest in knowing what I did, but she would rather

We walked back to the booth, and I wondered

talk than sit in silence with me.

if I should pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t in one

of my daydreams that I often find myself in.

of a simple answer to her question. I thought about

“This is Miles.”

“Why the fuck would you bring a stranger

I thought for a few seconds. I didn’t just think

many things. What did I do? Is there really one thing that a person can claim as what they do? Whose funeral was it? Why did Emma bring me over here

over here right now?” the thin redhead asked,

after a funeral? I never could think of one singular

completely stone-faced.

thing like a “normal” person.

I decided on an answer. “I interpret data.”

“Fucking fascinating.” I could already

Emma calmly replied, “I thought it was a

good idea.”

The chubbier brunette piped up then with

something that completely took me aback. “We just left a funeral, Emma.”

I looked back and forth between the three

tell I really didn’t care much for Lauren, but this statement cemented my opinion.

She was right, though. It wasn’t that

fascinating. I studied English literature in college,

girls, trying to decide if I should leave. I knew I

and, after quickly realizing in less than two years that

probably should, but Emma was so pretty.

I wasn’t going to find any job related to being able

“And, then we came to a bar,” said Emma

with a very serious look on her face.

“To drink and be sad,” the thinner one said.

“Miles is sad. Now, we can drink and be

sad with Miles.” How did she know? Emma then introduced the girl with red hair as Lauren and the chubby brunette as Sarah. Both girls now had a defeated look on their face. I could tell that Emma

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to argue to what extent the fact that Walt Whitman was a homosexual affected his work, I bullshitted my way into this job that I’d been at for seven months by claiming that the I honed the ability to solve problems creatively in school and I could apply that to this job because blah blah blah. However, I knew there was nothing even slightly creative about data.

Emma looked over at me and said, “I

think that’s really cool, Miles. The way I look at it,

everything in the world is in a way similar to data.

immediately felt awful. Then, I noticed just how

Most people just accept the world as is, but some

green her eyes were when I saw the tears. They were

gifted people see that there’s a lot more to it, and they

beautiful. I felt even more awful for noticing this

try their best to interpret the little things.”

right then.

I laughed. “I wish that’s what I did. However,

“I’m so sorry. I never should have sat down

I don’t know if anyone would pay me to search for

with you guys. This is all my fault. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

the answers to that big of questions. I mainly just

What can I do? Is there anything?” I was a mess

look at trends in sales and such.”

trying to find the right thing to say in that moment.

Emma smiled while Sarah looked

She wiped the tears from her eyes, looked up,

uncomfortable, and Lauren said something under

and said, “It’s not your fault. It’s me. I’m messed

her breath that was probably mean. Of Emma’s two

up. I should have been sad and I wasn’t, or at least I

friend, I definitely liked Sarah more. She was quiet.

wasn’t allowing myself, to be sad.”

I asked the girls what they did. Sarah was

I quickly told her that she was wrong. I told

a kindergarten teacher, and Lauren was a bitch. I

her that I didn’t know her that well, but that she

mean, Lauren was studying fashion while living off

couldn’t possibly have done anything wrong because

the salaries of her parents. Emma told me she was

I thought she was an angel. She laughed at that and

in her last year of art school and that she had high

asked what kind of person says that to someone they

hopes of getting a job as a barista after she graduated

have just met. I knew she was right. I shouldn’t have

because she didn’t know what the hell else you can

said that. She didn’t seem to mind, though. It made

do with an art degree. I laughed and told her that I

her smile for a split second.

thought she could do whatever she wants.

Lauren suddenly stood up. “This is far too

Then, she told me. “This girl I knew from

my hometown just died. We were at her funeral. I

weird, Emma. We did just get here from a funeral,

didn’t even know her that well. I mean, actually, I

and we’re not drinking and being sad. We’re

knew her really well at one time. I should have been

drinking and making small talk with this weirdo we

sad, but I wasn’t. We grew up together. I remember

don’t even know. Come on, Sarah, we’re leaving.”

playing in the sandbox with her as a kid. I can still

The two girls made their way to the exit,

and I looked at Emma. She had tears in her eyes.

She wasn’t like bawling or anything, but I still

see her as a child with the sand falling out of her hand as we tested just how loosely you can hold sand until it all starts spilling out. Then, we got older and we just started hanging out with different people. It

19

wasn’t like an intentional thing. We just weren’t as

person. I promise, whenever you’re around me, you

close anymore. We weren’t close at all really. I can’t

will feel so sad.”

even say I knew who she was. I knew her name, but I didn’t know her hobbies or what inspired her. Then, we graduated and went off to different colleges, and I never saw her again. The truth is I never even really thought about her after those sandbox days. She was there for most of my life, but I wasn’t aware of it.

Now, she’s gone, and all I know I’ll be able to think

“Hitting on me after I tell you about someone

I know dying? Wow! Some nerve.” Then, she smiled.

“But, really, I don’t know, Miles. I don’t think you’re that pathetic. You’re a good listener, and I’m afraid spending more time with you just wouldn’t make me quite sad enough.”

After I hastily assured her that I was indeed

about is that fucking sandbox and how, if we didn’t hold on tightly to the sand, it all fell back into the

quite pathetic and capable of making any poor

box. You could pick up more sand, but you’d never

soul within a ten-mile proximity of myself sad, we

really know if you were holding the same sand that

exchanged numbers and went our separate ways.

you had before.”

This was the first time I saw her, but it wasn’t the

We sat there a while longer, long enough for

last.

her to drink three beers and long enough for me to almost finish my bottle of Blue Moon. Eventually, we gathered our things and stepped out into the cold.

She looked at me and hesitated before saying,

“Thanks for listening to me tonight. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have unloaded on a stranger like that. I had been keeping myself so numb ever since I got the call. I brought you to the booth because I didn’t want to allow myself to be sad. I thought you could distract me and, everything would be fine, but you helped so much more. You let me be sad. That’s what I needed.”

I let out a small laugh and said, “Well, I’m

glad I was able to make you sad. If you ever want to be sad again, I’ll be around. I’m a really pathetic

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BEST OF WRITING

Company

Zach Hughes

My quiet affinity for the ambiance, of ephemeral, fall winds departs,

faded, having made way for winter, replaced by pleasant, warm

conversation with consanguinity.

Ruminating and oblivious at our

benighted, racket-wrapped table;

this scarlet, sweat-covered salsa dancer’s visceral, elegant, sharp steps

cut up my care and concerns.

Stranger, she’s no more a stranger

than the moon or December night’s chill.

Similar, her familiar mysteries and calming appeal. Try,

try and hold close the warmth that you feel. Try, thrive clutching tight the sublime and surreal, or die in the cold, alone like you fear.

It’s a fool who freezes with fire so near.

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Snow Covered Woods Rebecca Bennett Digital Photography 22

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Don’t be an imbecile How’s that for an opening line?

Sure we all make mistakes but The world is saying, practically screaming

Dont Be An Imbecile Courtney Ragland

You need to make mistakes Just make them, as many as you can!

And you’ll learn, right?

You’ll learn the way a toddler does When a hot stove sparks curiosity And the world will coddle you, saying “You’ll know better next time” and The burn will heal after a while and You can muddle through your life on a trial-and-error basis But what about the big mistakes?

The giant ones that leave jagged, patchy scars on your spirit The life-altering ones that brand bad memories

into your brain A perpetual pang of regret

And leave you to live with yourself Are you still a toddler in the face of monsters?

Have a little self-respect Reflect — and understand that You’re worth protecting Thoughtlessness is the thing that hurts people— Not love, not pain Don’t be an imbecile 24

Jaded Pixels Katelyn Spencer Digital 25

Snow White Gets A Life Before Marriage

Lyren Grate

Once upon a time, in a kingdom that was

them as a compliment or an insult, Dad,” Prince

not so far away, there was a prince. His name was

Wesley would say. But, Harnsel did not car. Because

Wesley. Prince Wesley was a young man in his

he had all the power in the kingdom, he felt he could

twenties. He was of average height and average

do what he wanted and could not understand why

build with a little bit of beer gut budding under his

women would not like to hear how hot they are.

shirt. His hair was thinning, and he had acne scars

There was a special woman both Harnsel

across his face, but he was regarded as the most

and Wesley swooned over. Her name was Snow

beautiful man in the kingdom because his heart

White. Snow White was a plump, eighteen year old

was so filled with compassion and empathy that it

with dull hair and crooked teeth. She, like Wesley,

glowed within his chest and made everyone love

was also average. But, she, also like Wesley, had

him instantly, except for his wicked stepfather.

a beautiful heart that shimmered and hummed

Wesley’s wicked stepfather, Harnsel, was so

glorious melodies. Her heart was so beautiful

consumed with greed and power that his poor heart

because she was kind and genuine. She thought of

shriveled up until it was no more. He often spent

others often and, with a mind as open as hers, she

his leisurely time leaning against the brick wall of

befriended almost everyone, even those who were

the castle and yelling obscene catcalls to the young

drastically different from her because she believed

ladies who would walk by. The young ladies of

no one’s opinion is right or wrong, but unique to

the kingdom were so much disturbed by this that

themselves. And, even though they are different,

it made even walking down the street a horrible,

they are valuable.

uncomfortable experience. And, although not all of Harnsel’s cat calls were obscene, even the nice ones

One evening, after dinner, Harnsel stood in his drawing room. He had asked Snow to marry

still made the ladies run hurriedly past him to escape him, but, to his dismay, Snow rejected him. Harnsel his unwanted jeering.

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“Catcalls are harassment whether you mean

could not understand; he was handsome, rich, and powerful. But, when he pled his case to Snow, she

responded that she could not be with someone so

share it with others already?”

morally hideous, poor in empathy, and corrupted

by power. She said only the kindest shall have her

yours.”

heart. Now, Harnsel stood in front of his magic

mirror picking his teeth.

He stared Sabrina in the eyes and said, “You can

“Mirror, Mirror, on my wall,” Harnsel said.

“Who is the kindest of them all?”

“Prince Wesley has the kindest heart in all

“He wishes to have Snow’s heart by taking Wesley sighed. This was most upsetting.

shoot me, if you want, but you must be ready for the responsibility that comes with taking my life.

In a fleeting moment, your life will change forever.

the land and surely will have Snow White’s heart,”

Perhaps you will not think much of it now, but, one

the Mirror replied.

day, it will rest heavy on your heart – that you took

Harnsel yelled in anger and aggravation. If only he too had a heart, then he could be kind and, if he had Wesley’s heart, then Snow would love

an innocent life. This is something that you will not be able to undo. There is no justice in it.”

Sabrina fell to her knees in tears for she

him. Thus, he formulated a plan to send his best

loved Wesley. His beauty was overwhelming

hunter, Sabrina, to lead Wesley into the woods and

and intoxicating; she could not kill such a gentle

shoot him dead, but not in the heart because Harnsel

soul, so she told him to go, to run far away, and to

would need Wesley’s heart for his own doing.

never return. She watched him leave the clearing

The next day, Sabrina and Wesley took off on and disappear in the trees before returning to the a walk in the neighboring woods. They talked about

kingdom with a slain donkey’s heart in her hands.

little things like the weather and mutual friends until

When she returned, she gave Harnsel the heart, as

they reached the center of the woods and Sabrina

well as the gun, and said, “No more killing. Not

pulled a gun from her satchel. She pointed it directly

even animals. For every living creature and even

at Wesley with shaking hands; she had never taken a

non-living creatures, deserves love and respect.”

human life before.

“Now, now, Sabrina, what is this?” he asked gently.

Harnsel was pleased with his new heart and sent for his doctor right away to implant the heart into his empty chest. Soon, Snow would be his.

“Your father has told me to shoot you and take your heart back to him.”

“What does he want with my heart? Don’t I

Meanwhile, Wesley broke free from the woods and, stopping only briefly to look behind his shoulder at the towering trees, the woods that 27

belonged to the kingdom he once called home, he

and cleaned, and cooked. Wesley scratched his head

said goodbye and continued to walk forward toward

and thought this over. “No,” he said. “No, we should

a little log cabin in the middle of a sunny field.

all go to work, and then come home, and we should

He knocked at the door of the cabin and

all clean and cook together.” The women looked

was greeted by seven women. They introduced

at one another and shrugged their shoulders. It

themselves as Bimbo, Slutty, Prude, Girly, Pure,

sounded fair.

Naggy, and Hag. “What interesting names you all have. How

Meanwhile, back in the kingdom, Harnsel had just had his new heart implanted, and it made

did you get them?” Wesley asked as he was ushered

him skittish. He didn’t like it. It was uncomfortable

inside the cabin.

having something in his chest when, for so long, it

“We don’t choose our names. We are given our names. They are called labels attributed to us.”

had been empty, but nonetheless he put a smile on his face and left to find Snow.

He looked at the seven frowning faces. “But, why are you sad?”

“We do not want these labels because we feel

She was sitting on a bench in the park reading a book, as her favorite hobbies were reading and educating herself. Harnsel trotted up to her and,

as if they construct how people see us and, it makes

taking a seat next to her, he said, “Notice anything

it very difficult to be ourselves.”

different, Snow?’

“Well, who gives you these labels?”

“The Kingdom of Dominant Discourse,”

her book in her lap. She took in the man sitting next

Naggy replied.

Wesley clapped his hands. “But, that is my kingdom! Or it was.”

And, the seven women became intrigued by

Snow folded the corner of her page and set

to her. “You’ve got a heart.”

Harnsel gave her a sly smile and said, “I

have the kindest heart.” Just as he said this, a woman jogged by on her nightly jog. “Hey, baby,”

their visitor and asked him why the kingdom was

he whistled.

no longer his. They were so affected by his story

that they made up a room for him in the loft of their

She stood up from her seat and stormed off.

cabin, and so he moved in with the seven women.

The next morning, the women told Wesley

they had to go to work while he stayed at the cabin, 28

“You surely do not. You have an ass’ heart.”

Harnsel looked after her glimmering

silhouette until it disappeared around the corner and, though she was no longer in his view, he could

still hear the beautiful, harmonious hum of her

them. When he walked up the path toward the cabin,

kind heart. He was left perplexed and outraged.

he came to a stop as his eyes set on the old man

He returned to his castle and looking in his magic

huddled in the shadows.

mirror he asked again: “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall who has the kindest heart of them all?”

Once again, the Mirror replied, “Prince Wesley has the kindest heart in all the land and surely will have Snow White’s heart.” The mirror

“Are you alright?” Wesley asked with concern.

“I am so poor and so thirsty,” the man replied.

Wesley dropped his bag to the ground and hurried over to the man. “I will carry you to the

revealed an image of Prince Wesley in the kitchen of fountain to get a drink and rest your feet.” a little cabin chopping onions.

Harnsel, infuriated, called Sabrina forward to find the truth about his heart, but he was told by a lanky, teenage messenger that Sabrina had left

“Let me pay you for your kindness.”

“I am kind with no reward expected. I am kind because it is just,” Wesley said.

The old man rolled his eyes without Wesley

the kingdom to pursue a journey of peace and left

noticing and then said, “But, please, let me give you

behind a note for Harnsel explaining the folly of his

something. Have an apple.”

donkey heart.

Harnsel took the note and ripped it to shreds.

Wesley smiled and took the apple. Although it smelled peculiar, he didn’t want to hurt the old

He knew what he must do to get Wesley’s heart

man’s feelings so he took a bite of the apple and,

for himself. He stormed off to the kitchen and took

just as he made to thank the man, his eyes rolled

from a shiny cabinet, an apple. He dipped it in the

back in his head, and he fell into deep slumber.

strongest poison he could find. Disguising himself

When the seven women returned from work,

as an old, weak man – because nobody cared about

they found poor Wesley in the middle of the path.

old people in the Kingdom of Dominant Discourse

They tried everything to wake him but nothing

except for Wesley and Snow – he rode off into the

worked. They made him a comfortable bed and laid

woods on his horse and toward the cabin.

him to rest. Finally, they knew what to do: They sent

Wesley had arrived home early from work.

He planned to surprise the seven women with a home-cooked meal and do all their laundry for

for Snow.

When Snow arrived, she was delighted to see Wesley’s kind heart still beaming from his chest and 29

making him so beautiful. She rushed over to him

loved herself. She knelt next to Wesley and gave

and swept back is thin wisps of hair.

him a kiss. He woke up with a smile. Snow took

“True love’s kiss, that’s how the story goes,”

him by the hand.

said Bimbo.

“Where should we go?” asked Wesley.

Snow nodded. She knew the myth. She

“Let’s not go back to Dominant Discourse.

began to pucker her lips and lower her head, but,

It’s an unhappy place,” Snow said.

just millimeters away from his lips, she stopped. She

Wesley thought this over. “I know what we

lifted her head. “Wait, I have to consider this,” she

will do. We will make our own kingdom where there

said.

are no labels. You, my friends,” he said to the seven “Consider what? Wake him so you can live

women, “will have names you give yourself. You

happily ever after,” said Pure.

will construct your own identities, and I will respect

Snow drew back further. “You know what,

and love who you are despite how different you may

I’m only eighteen. There is so much I want to do

be from who I am.”

before I get married and have kids. I’ve never even

The seven women hugged Wesley. They

lived on my own. I have to learn how to take care of

were so happy to hear that they would be allowed to

myself. I want to go to school! I want to move away.

be themselves and be condemned for it by Dominant

I want to find myself.” She stood.

Discourse no longer. The lovely tunes of Wesley and

“But, what about Wesley?” the women cried.

Snow’s beautiful hearts could be heard throughout

Snow turned on her way out. “He’s not going

all the lands as the two, each on their own horse,

anywhere.”

rode off into the sinking sun, and they lived in a

And, so, Snow went off to school and,

healthy relationship for the majority of the time

after receiving her Bachelor’s degree in sociology, she went to graduate school and got her Ph.D. in women’s studies and focused her dissertation on the social gender constructions of the stepmother/ princess relationship. She traveled abroad and lived on her own. When she returned to the cabin at age 30, she finally felt ready to get married and settle down because she was sure in who she was and she 30

after.

GUILT

Guilt – Elizabeth

Trees, lending shade to me.

Their leaves caring as I sit beneath them.

The sky, an explosion of color as the sun sets.

I breathe in,

no sympathy.

Hell, the inferno, waits for my life to end.

Is it wrong that I will go on living?

*Discuss “slayed” versus “slew” with poet before publishing, please.

feel the ache in my lungs.

Death, a plague in which I was an accomplice.

These hands that slew, these feet that fled.

This mind that bore

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HOPELESS(LY) IN LOVE Jessica Summers

Do you remember the day that we met?

Apologies over foreign movies and shared Kit-Kat Bars Before jamming out to “Bohemian Rhapsody,” guitar necks to the stars.

It seemed like our destinies were intertwined, and the game was set.

You just remember the bird, of course. You never were one to forget One significant little finger, sticking up jokingly to your joshing. I’ll admit I took it too far, But, after years of being together, you’d think a trivial thing like that wouldn’t mar Our relationship any more than it was in the beginning or cause one to fret.

And yet, it’s always something little with us, isn’t it?

Today’s might have the “retard” comments or the misuse of money But tomorrow’s are promises filled with knick-knacks, made by a teddy bear with a peace wreath.

Stuck in a paradox, I sit somewhere between nostalgia and annoyance As you look up at me, those bright eyes crooning as you say, “I love you, honey.”

“I love you, too,” I reply, half-serious and half through gritted teeth.

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Graceful Rebecca Bennett Digital Photography

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The Lie Adrianna Davis

Daniel yanked open his front door, stomped into his apartment, and slammed it shut. He stomped to the kitchen, turned on the tap, and leaned his back against the stove. His muddied boots left footprints leading from the door to the kitchen. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. His hair fell back, out of his dark brown eyes. The anger he felt boiled up inside of him. He couldn’t contain it, how betrayed he felt. He felt broken. He honestly didn’t need the water turned on; he just liked the sound. He inhaled and released.

He couldn’t erase what he just witnessed. There are some things that you can never un-see. That image – it was branded on his memory and on his heart. It was a sick tattoo that was constantly in his line of vision. He blinked, trying to push the image into his subconscious so he could forget about it. He felt his heart ache. He slowly opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer.

He made his way to the couch and plopped down on it.

He took a swig, closed his eyes, and kicked his feet up onto the opposite end of the torn, stained couch.

The weight of the lie crushed him.

All he could think of was her kissing his best friend.

His heart turned. His head pounded. The image was burned into his very core. Him. Her. “Danny, please!” she cried out. She was scared. She just lost control of her pet. That’s all he was. He seethed. He never could have imagined them being together. The very thought made him unable to breathe properly.

Daniel rocked back and forth. The image was driving him insane. If only he could have seen clearly. He finished off his beer, got up, and moved lethargically to the refrigerator to grab another one. He opened it and lay back down on the couch, trying to forget.

“Danny! Let me in! I can explain.”

He snorted. There was nothing to explain.

“DANNY!” she screamed for him. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on anything but the sound of her voice.

She wanted to gain back control.

He saw their relationship play out like scenes from a movie.

Lie 1:

A soft knock came at the door. He groaned, knowing who it was. Allee. He ignored it. Her voice called out to him.

“I love you, Danny.” She had promised to be his girl.

She said yes and she said she loved him. That’s where it started. That fist lie set the next five years up.

“Danny, open up.”

Lie 2:

He ignored her.

“I love you, Danny.” The passion in her voice made it hard for her to talk. That and the fact that she was breathless as their bodies finally became one. She felt her bare skin on his, and he was transported somewhere in between consciousness and Heaven.

He remembered the nights they would lie together, and she would whisper against his neck, “I love you.”

It was a lie. It was The Lie. The biggest lie you could ever tell anyone. She lied to him for five years. It took five years for him to catch her in it. His stomach turned at the thought. He had been played.

When he met Allee, he was captivated by her. She was different, and he liked that. Being popular in school afforded him the right to date anyone he wanted. They expected him to get with Dianne, or Riley, or maybe even Jessica. They never once imagined he would fall hard for Allee, the outcast. She became everything to him. She took him by the collar and dragged his head out of the clouds. She made him a better person.

That’s why the lie hurt as bad as it did. She made him.

Of course, she did, he thought. She was molding him to how she wanted him to be. Ignorant.

34

“I love you, Allee.” His declaration was sincere. He loved her with everything in him.

Lie 3: “Will you marry me?” Danny asked, bent down in front of the most beautiful creature to exist.

“Oh, Daniel! I’d be crazy to say no. Of course, I’ll marry you! I love you so much.” He grinned from ear to ear, putting the beautiful diamond ring on her finger.

He stood up, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her up. He kissed her deeply as the witnesses in the restaurant burst into applause. He kissed his to-be wife.

“I love you so much, Allee. You are my world.”

The lies were too much. Remembering all their “precious” moments was pure torture.

HER! He opened his eyes and jumped off the couch, launching himself toward the door. He jerked it open. ~ “And, that’s all you remember?”

“Yes, Officer,” Daniel replied.

“You don’t remember killing Allee Thompson and Morgan Tyler?” asked the detective.

“No. I didn’t kill anyone.” Daniel replied.

“Okay, so, if you didn’t kill them, who did? And, more importantly, why are you covered in blood?”

Daniel looked down at his blood-stained body.

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Low Budget Spider-telepathy

Candace Baker

I’m not really a spider mind reader.

I can’t tell you the thoughts it has if its fangs stick into me, causing me to decay without sympathy after or before it’s even jumped on my body until I blur or fog away from its poisons, heck no. I’m not actually a spider mind reader, so I’m not sure that, as it’s crawling on my hips and between my clothes, it won’t get lost in there, burying itself into the holes and openings of my body, making me become a mindless breeder . . .

See, I’m a no-good spider mind reader that can’t reassure or stop myself from shrieking and thinking these things when walking blindly through their webs of chaos because my imagination is too impure; With the cobbed net’s contact, I can visualize the nests of 8 leggers entwined around me, stopping the air flow to my lungs as I waste away by liqueur and let the multi-legged, tiger of a spider cascade down my spine.

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Moving On Tre Sandlin

What’s in a RHYME? nothin’ the Spit TSAR approves NO matchin’ the words together like puzzle pieces HAM take a M to your work bend the words to your will E R All out of the creative JUICES? get out the anvil and SMITH some new lyrics into existence

let us venture into S P

A

C

I

o

N G or F r m

so we pursue to ABANDON the concept of rhyme to further ourselves from the ANNALS of time . . .

FUCK

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38

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My Daughter Christian Ward Did you know my daughter? She is a teacher, you know. I am proud of her. I wish she would come around more often though.

I am not going to be around much longer. My mind is going . . .

I know, mom, I know.

Never Again

Candace Baker

A hangover demon tells of euphor-erratic nights while the

40

semen between virgin-painted thighs speak contrarily.

P E R F E C T I O N

A blank landscape, endless possibilities.

Empty lines urging me to confide in them.

White, the color of safety, the color of beginnings.

The smell pulls me in, and renders me powerless.

A tool, used for escape, enlightenment.

Bitter to the tongue, but smooth to the touch, seducing me.

I cannot ignore its calling, I must act.

And in the moment, that sweet, glorious moment, when the two collide— the sound is like a heavenly host of angels.

Elizabeth Gambertoglio 41

The Next Great, Uninspired American Novelist

Chris Tedeschi

It’s the middle of the afternoon. You’ve just got

back from hanging out with a few friends. You guys saw

that shit new horror film where everyone dies. Everyone had a great time. Your phone rings as you walk through the door. You pick it up, expecting another call from a salesman trying to sell you soap. This soap is almost so good that it’s magical. It will change your life. It’s bullshit.

It turns out the person on your phone is your

mother. You’ve never been good at communicating with

your parents. Every time you see them, you leave feeling like a huge dick. It’s not that you don’t love them. It’s just that something about you is fucked up. You just

can’t seem to have an actual conversation with them.

Your mom says, “How are you?”

You reply, “Fine.”

It goes on like this for about ten minutes. Then,

cares. You wonder if anyone did know, if they would

care. Sometimes you feel so God damn invisible. You used to have so many friends. In this new town, you

have three. Three friends that you don’t even really like.

You’re at your computer trying to write. When

you were fresh out of college, you had your first novel published. It was well received, and a movie studio

actually decided to buy the rights to turn it into a film.

All the profits from your work have allowed you to live relatively worry-free, but you have noticed that the

funds are shrinking little-by-little. You haven’t written anything that’s been published in so long. Your agent

tells you he thinks it’s because you don’t put yourself

out there enough. If you don’t participate in life, it will

be quite hard for you to make up stories that people can

relate to. You think to yourself, “Fuck him,” but maybe he is right.

You decide to take a break from your writing

your mom says she has something to tell you. She just

and log on to Facebook. You feel like a failure as an

found a lump in her breast. It might be cancer. She says

daughter write a request asking that everyone pray for

went to a doctor’s check-up earlier in the day, and they

it will be fine, though. She’s so positive. She’s so strong.

You’re so worried and weak. She has an appointment soon and she’ll tell you more then.

The next few days go by. Worries are constantly

in the back of your head, but no one knows, so no one

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artist for still using Facebook. You see a family friend’s her mom’s friend who has just been diagnosed with

breast cancer. You know it’s your mom. You call her to

ask. She confirms. You ask why she didn’t tell you. She

says she didn’t want to worry you until she knew more information about it. That pisses you off. It pisses you

off that it pisses you off. You try to hide the fact that

She calls you later in the day and tells you that it went

pisses you off even more.

to where she will find out if she needs to go through

you’re pissed off, but you know she can tell, and that Almost a week goes by and you realize that it’s

the middle of October. October is the month of national

fine. She has one more doctor’s appointment to go chemo, as well.

Later that night, you think about how awful it

breast cancer awareness. This is the month your mother

must look that your mother is going through all of this

You wonder if you should write about it. You feel like

New York now. She still lives in Tennessee. People will

is diagnosed. Everything around you is so full of irony.

that would be wrong. You think again about the fact that nothing you write has sold lately. You remember your

agent telling you that nothing you’ve written as of late has come off as even slightly genuine. Your agent is an

honest man and he is an asshole. This would be genuine, though. This is real. This is what you’re going through.

Others would relate. Then, you remind yourself that this is none of their damn business.

You go out to a bar on a Tuesday night. You

drink your beer and think about how much you hate the taste of alcohol. That’s probably because your dad is an alcoholic. You think about the fact that he’s probably

drinking right now. That scares the shit out of you. You don’t want to be like him. You start to get up and leave when a girl approaches you. You guys talk for a while at the bar. She tells you she read your book. You take

her home. You sleep with her. You forget about all your troubles for the night. You never mention any of said

troubles and you never call her after she leaves in the morning. You’re never like this.

Your mom calls the next day and tells you that

she is about to have surgery. You tell her it will be okay,

hang up the phone, and wonder if it will in fact be okay.

and you haven’t been around for any of it. You live in understand. Hopefully, people won’t understand the

entire truth, though. You’re scared shitless and are too afraid to go be there for your family.

A few more days pass by and you get up the

nerve to fly to Tennessee. You’re going to drive your

mom to her appointment. When you arrive at the house you grew up in, your mom greets you at the door. You

hug, and she doesn’t let go for what must be at least two minutes. She’s smiling and so happy to see you. You’re trying your best not to cry. Your dad sits there looking

grave with a Coors in his hand. Not much has changed.

I’m sure now it looks like your dad has a reason to be

drinking so heavily, but you grew up in the house with him. You know he always drank this much, and it’s because he’s an alcoholic.

At the appointment, you learn that everything

is fine. She doesn’t have to do chemo and is expected to make a full recovery. You’re so happy. She’s so happy.

She said she knew God would protect her through all of this. Everyone around you tells you how much of a miracle this is. You think about how you don’t really

believe in God or miracles. You think about how this makes you sound like a cynical ass. You think how

43

the fact that you’re currently in the South infinitely

exacerbates the fact that you look like a cynical ass.

You stay out and waste time in the middle of

nowhere with your family. You feel so happy for your

mom. Tennessee is filled with joy, and no troubles are in your life. Everything is better than it has been in a long time.

After the plane lands in New York a few days

later, you see you have a voicemail from your agent. You listen to it and find out that he’s expecting a draft of

something in two weeks. He says people are starting to forget who you are. It’s only going to become harder to be published the longer you wait. He says you need to

strike while the iron is still relatively hot or you’re not going to be able to get anything read, your money will

run out, and who knows what the fuck will happen next.

You sit at home and try to write, but nothing

comes to you. You think about the fact that all the

sadness that was surrounding you was going to be so

helpful. You had something to write about. You’re almost mad that everything is okay. You realize how despicable of a person that makes you seem to be. You can’t decide

whether the fact that you’re a piece-of-shit human being or the fact that you’re a writer who can’t imagine any material that is relatively engaging unless it actually happens infuriates you more.

Later that night, you have a dream that seems

very real. You have cancer. Old friends from school call.

They’re crying. In your dream, you’re looking through

books at a bookstore when a pretty girl approaches you.

She sees the book in your hands. You see the sympathy

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in her eyes. The two of you fuck, and it’s good. It’s better than any sex you’ve had in your entire life. Your agent

leaves you alone because you have cancer, but you write anyways. The book gets published. Then comes another movie deal. You wake up. You wake up back in your shitty life where everything is okay.

The next day, after you wake up, you go to a

doctor. You say you think you have cancer. You have

him check. You hope that something is wrong with you.

Something that you can write about. Something that

people will read so they won’t forget you. He says you look fine. God damn fine. You consider starting a fight

with a stranger in the street that you’re sure you’ll lose.

You think maybe having the shit beat out of you will

give you something to write about. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. The truth is that you’re so numb that

you’d do whatever it takes to see that you still bleed. If

you bleed, you must be alive. You decide to just go home instead.

The gun’s cold in your mouth. You stop to think

for a second if this is a good idea. Sure. This will get

people’s attention, but you won’t be around to receive

the attention. Is it even worth it? You can’t write about

it afterwards, but you’re sure someone else will. You’re

not even sad, though. You consider whether most people that shoot themselves are sad. You decide they probably are, but you’re not sad. You’re not anything. You’re still

just numb. You click the safety off. The soft click reminds you of the click of Maggie’s nails on a desk in eighth grade. You think about how she’s the first girl that

let you finger her. It was in the woods behind the old

basketball court that you and your friends used to play

at. You wonder what Maggie’s doing now. Your finger

reaches toward the trigger. You remember that she got

married in her junior year of college and is happy with three kids. You wonder if you had kids with Maggie if she’d still be happy or if you would have brought her down. You wonder if you’d be happy with Maggie. If

you’d be happy with anyone. The phone rings. It’s your doctor. He says they missed a very small lump on your

testicles that was visible on an x-ray. They will need you come in for further testing. You thank God.

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New York City Sarah Irvin photo

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Posing Like

Carly Simon

Jessica Avant

The goddess’ wrath is sharp and angry. Bluntly put, she is as rustic as the steel that makes her tongue. Her words arouse the Avenger and thunder screams.

Prayer is useless now. Her justice would freeze fire. I stand here, a Castle, Punished for the right I cannot give. “La donna e mobile” “Detaché” is sung loud and clear.

I take in airs and throw on my shades.

No one talks to you when you’ve got a pair over your face in public. Ever notice that?

For now it works to hide. I still feel naked, though. So open. Exposed. black and white.

These boots were made dominant by leather and rage. I’ll wear them for now, hoping that when she’s finished I can take them off and relax.

For now, I smile and play possum.

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S m e a r John Beegle

She took form and in that instant regarded me.

She, blurred by water, raised her dark eyes to mine and I felt my name upon my lips.

Yet, unblinking, I remained silent and she shuffled on through the puddle-littered streets.

I watched the rain again take her shape away, run the ink into the mud and with it any hue that may have marked her.

The bum waits for his change as my right hand places it in his and the old woman pushes past me bitching about her grimy boots. The sound of sirens takes the last of the dark-eyed girl away and I know she too cannot see.

I couldn’t think if she did.

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Vacant Rest Stop

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Elizabeth Sneed

Strangers Chloe Zedlitz She does not recognize their faces.

A moment passes, they are strangers.

They hold all of the cards, all of the aces Ready for flight or fight, she knows the dangers

A moment passes, they are strangers Once lovers, once joyous, now shattered Ready for flight or fight, she knows the dangers Of a bond that has been broken, surrendered

Once lovers, once joyous, now shattered She flees from the darkness and rust Of a bond that has been broken, surrendered The strangers stand holding in their hands, dust

She flees from the darkness and the rust The hateful words, her destructive nature The strangers stand holding in their hands, dust Of the idea she loved. The idea of danger.

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Unrequited Ernest Goldwood

I tried to ignore the crimson roses,

Bearing no fear for slashing thorn, rather,

The dark nightmare of fragrance and beauty

Embraces my heart like a cold iron vice.

If only the talons of winter

Could for eternity never be undone.

The ring of her laughter and brilliant mind

Would have remained apart from my soul.

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Julie

Rebecca Bennett Digital Photography

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I believe in the simple statements of the soul, Personas of one’s being:

Veracious Travels

She is the master mistress of my world,

Emily Walter

A peasant in the real one, A puppeteer of the pen, A clown of the voice.

A maiden of the song, A student of the country, A snake in the woods.

A rat in a house condemned, A liar.

Crack her skull open and I pour out in steam, All whiffs of identity swept forward From behind a façade, A complexion, A veneer.

Subatomic rainfall Coming out in drones, Coming out my eyes, Bleeding purple and transparent.

I wanna make her wrists run red, I wanna hold her breath, a contest of chicken with me.

I wanna drink until her laughter envelops all ounces of my mind and exsanguinates.

I wanna dream forever about singularity.

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She tells me, this world’s gonna eat you. nerves shock my veins And stop my heart, When they touch that rainfall.

Might as well tie me to a wall, Whip my toes, one by two by ten.

Makes me pick my lips raw, The blood sucked out my fingertips— Vast, the signal of fear.

Sand sticks in my chapstick, Healing with the temporary scars that Brown darker with layers of lost skin, White with each layer of broken routine.

I come to believe in change, absolute certainty of choice.

Tell them, I say, to love their selves When they are born my children.

I persist and fight to maintain vigil, Though it’s believed she died in a fit a fever— Scars on my skull signal enough.

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vibrant italy

Amber Rolland

Photo

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COLOPHON Vortex was created on a MacBook Pro using Adobe InDesign CC and Adobe Photoshop CC. Theme fonts are Times, Calibri, OptimusPrinceps, Channel, Marchesa, Brannboll Smal and other fonts.

Design by Ernesto A. Pe単a

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LITERATURE & ARTS

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