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Marine Creek Reflections
VOLUME XV TARRANT COUNTY COLLEGE NORTHWEST

Lyndon Johnson, on signing into existence the National Endowment on the Arts
Art is a nations most precious heritage. For it is in
our works of art that we reveal to ourselves and to
others the inner vision which guides us as a nation.
And where there is no vision, the people perish.
Mari ne Creek Refl ections
Editor s Note
There is freedom in the creation of art. In ever y piece, artists share a glimpse into their souls,
desires they have felt to express. An intimate bond is created between artist and audience. In
the fleeting moment in which we immerse ourselves into a form of literature or work of visual art, we
share the emotion and the experience that inspires creativity. In this way, we find ourselves more
deeply connected to our fellow man.
As you turn the pages of this edition of Marine Creek Reflections, allow yourself the freedom to
accept what piece of their souls the artists have offered in their works, threads of connectivity.
Kimberly VanKirk | 2014
Ray Haney | 2014

i
STAFF
Faculty Editor
Theresa D. Heflin, B.S., M.S., Ed.S.
General Editor
Kimberly VanKirk
Ray Haney
Student Staff Editors
Tony Caballero | Psychology
Daquirie Chavez | Public Relations
Sam Cook | Public Relations
Charilyn Davis | English
Dalise Devos | Advertising/Public Relations
Taylor Evans | Respirator y Therapy
Hannah Gough | Human Resources Management
Analiese Smith | Histor y
Terr y Taylor | Marketing
Samantha Walker | Microbiology
Sarah Williams | English
Graphic Design
John Van Pelt
Photography
Peter Hiatt
Invaluable Faculty Editing Services:
LeeAnn Olivier, Poetr y
Ayanna Jackson-Fowler, Ph.D., Fiction
ii
HUMANITIES
Art Department
The Tarrant County College Northwest Art Department offers survey courses in art histor y and art appreciation
as well as studio art instruction that enables students to attain a professional skill level in production of art while
developing individual creative voices.
Performing Arts
The Tarrant County College Northwest Campus Performing Arts Department provides the opportunity for our students, faculty and staff
to enrich their lives and their communities through creativity and imagination. We believe that education in music, dance, and theatre
is vital to our cultural heritage and is an inseparable part of the human experience: The arts are an essential element of education,
just like reading, writing, and arithmeticmusic, dance, painting, and theater are all keys that unlock profound human understanding
and accomplishment.
William Bennett, Former US Secretar y of Education
Developmental/ESOL
The Tarrant County College Northwest Academic Foundations Department, which includes the Academic Learning Center, prepares
students for success in college level courses and technical programs dependent on reading and writing proficiency. Students may
participate in courses, workshops, and tutoring sessions.
Humanities and Philosophy
Philosophy and Humanities are the study of human thought and ideas in action. They are the disciplines that explore and explain, at
a profoundly fundamental level, what makes us human and why being human matters. Engagement with philosophy and humanities has
the potential to elevate us from being reactive subjects of our environment to being the proactive creators of the world around us.
English
The Tarrant County College Northwest Campus English Department offers courses in Composition I and II, Literature, Creative Writing,
and Technical and Business Writing. We are focused on innovative course design with student success at the forefront of all we do.

iii
POETRY
Melinda Randall Gonzalez MadHatters Teapot 45
Melinda Randall Gonzalez Upcysled Teapot 45
Amy Hatley Lost 2
Amy Hatley Temptest 64
Amy Hatley Restoration 65
Northwest Student* Fist in Wood 12
CERAMICS
Brittany Blanchett Tiger 63
Tony Caballero Love is a Cup of Coffee (Prose Poem) 8
Crystal Castellanos Something to Give 15
Samuel Cook Free to Soar 40
On the Corner Street 65
Dalise DeVos White Life 13
Emily Garcia As They Hand Me the Ticket 23
Laura Haubrich Cornfelds (Prose Poem) 17
Scott Kelly The Backroads 17
Neil Lamar-Emminger Coal Black 57
Scott Kelly Love like Simile 16
Hannah Lee Your Fault 2
Blake McDonnell The Sense of Time 26
Kristin Morton The Monster of Soulless Fire 10
LeeAnn Olivier Carnivore 64
In April Persephone 25
Letters from the Crittenden County Jail 6
Kishan Pathak Oceans of Gray 3
Sadie Rae Greening 1
Amber Roberson Ben Likes Yellow 35
Marys Psalm 8
Untidy Gratifcation 33
Natalie Score I Relive Dark Visions of Gunpowder 37
Sired by Grey 24
Amber Shepard Mr. Bear 71
Camille Shockler Burdened 71
Analiese Smith Ballerina 40
Jared Smith King of Flowers 24
Kimberly VanKirk Quandary 26
Samantha Walker Fade to Black 70
Lens 70
Matt Ward Clear (Prose Poem) 62
Arielle Washington About Nothing at All 27
Humidity 56
Sarah Williams Baby 14
Fiction of Misery 39
Jerilyn Womack Affected 23
iv
Crystal Castellanos Little Reds Dinner (One Act) 46
DRAMA
E.P. Brown Love Lessons 41
Tony Caballero Peter s Confession 21
Michael Scott Cushman Golf 4
Charilyn Davis Camoufaged Under the Red and Black 67
Dalise DeVos The Fairest of Them All 59
Taylor Evans For the Children 18
Sadie Rae Tale of Want and Wing 29
Nora Roberts 6:08 A.M. 11
Brad Sauls Night Perimeter 19
Matt Ward Clear 62
Sarah Williams Auschwitz 1943 38
Kevin Zhen My Sister s Fault 7
SHORT
STORIES
Charilyn Davis Tiger 69
Shirley Gangwere Cotopoxi 3
Shirley Gangwere Shore Plants of Galapagos Islands 13
Shirley Gangwere Palm with Many Roots 56
Shirley Gangwere Nice Sunset Back Cover
PHOTO
GRAPHY
ART
Monica Alaniz Heartbreaker 57
John Bird Childhood WMD's 70
Elisha Bryant Utopia 25
Echo Burrows Comfort 45
Venesa Caban Withstanding 9
Melissa Corson Stew Pot 58
Maxwell Eunjoo Movement 40
Bill Fannes Friends 34
Third Avenue 66
David Herring Guitar Boy 44
Suzie Leiber Still Opening 55
John Martin Subway 14
Whitley McLendon Self Portrait 28
Catherine Reyes Lollipops 36
Greg Rodriguez Self Portrait 15
Heidi Taylor Siblings 39
Northwest Student* Meditation Front Cover
Northwest Student* Tropics Serpent 1
Northwest Student* Garden Abstract 31
Northwest Student* Myth 32
* These students' artworks are anonymous.

v
Greening
by Sadie Rae
Tranquility out of reach with
Seeds of desire planted.
Jealousy overtaking soul-
Oozing infecting the mind.
Body ripe for earthly touch
Never to flower. For emerald
Eyes eclipsed with envy; devotion
Her sickness, fertilizing his
Greed. He consumes and conquers
Naivety, never dulling the budding
Passion; teasing her hope.
Women- assembled with slimy
Intent.. for a jaded man of
Swampy heart and gangrenous love.
Tropics Serpent
Northwest Student
1
Navet shushed by slithering lies;
Innocence raped and disparaged .
Bright eyes dimmed by disdain
Soured kindness glazed upon corroded taste buds.
A darkened smudge a lifeless follower,
A puppeteer s accomplishment paraded to the crowd
Evermore packaged as wares on auction.
All because of you.
Your Fault
by Hannah Lee
Lost
Amy Hatley

2
Oceans of Gray
by Kishan Pathak
Statues crumbled, their dull expressions erased;
Silhouettes shredded by the smoky horizon.
The air filled with corroded pieces of apathy,
Clouds dispersed,
Smeared themselves across the sky.
Waves of metal dismantled all life.
Silence.
No hope. No warmth. No light.
Cotopoxi
Shirley Gangwere
3
Golf
by Michael Scott Cushman
Golf, at one point in my life, was the very meaning of
my existence. I lived and breathed the sport with a pas-
sion, finding an excitement, solace, and joy I had never felt
before. It is strange, looking back now, how much I have
changed not just physically, but emotionally and mentally.
The transformations we undertake throughout the expanse
of time often leaves many areas of life lacking what they
so desperately need. The origins of such things as hobbies
seemingly always begin with passion: a love and reverence
for a thing that has no equal, regardless of our ability. How-
ever, as time persists and human nature takes flight, we lose
sight of those once humble and joyous beginnings. I myself
have given in to such a plight, and something that once
was held so dear, became a chore, a job, and ultimately,
a meaningless task. Because of this loss, I have chosen to
remember, re-visit, and share its humble beginnings with
the hope that others may remember the passion they once
held for their personal endeavors and their values.

The passion I felt for golf was instantaneous. The
moment I held that worn down sand wedge of my grand-
mothers, I was enamored with the sport. With every swing
of that rusty iron, I found an excitement unequaled by any
other endeavor. Laying witness to the joy I showed hitting
balls back and forth in the yard, my parents decided to aid
my enthusiasm with lessons upon our return home. With-
in the weeks and months to come, I practiced day in and
day out, progressing with an aptitude only surpassed by my
love for the game. Roland Harper, my coach, was amazed
by the eagerness I showed and expressed his pride in my
ability like a proud grandfather. Seeing my mentor respond
in this manner was the pinnacle of my journey thus far. I
was now and forever would be hooked.

In the summer of my fourteenth year, I would finally
play in my first tournament. This, however, would not be
just a simple round of golf, but rather an A.J.G.A. Tourna-
ment held at Colonial Country Club. Although I had been
practicing for four months, I began to feel an anxiety I had
never felt. What if I couldnt play? What if I let everyone
down? What ifs. They were the constant echo in my ear,
torturing me, beating me down to the point that my dad
had to walk me to the sign-in table and help me register.
My shaking hands barely able to grasp my scorecard, I fled
from the check-in area with an unbridled earnestness, my
Dad waving goodbye and wishing me luck as I disappeared
over the hill. It was then and there that I saw my passion
and felt its meaning. Stepping over the white rope label-
ing the first tee, I stood there looking out over the dew
covered grass. A soft cool breeze flowed through me as I
closed my eyes and inhaled the fragrant air. Listening to
the sound of the trees dancing in the early morning sun,
I began to picture the flight of my first shot, and with that
felt a warmth slowly consume my body. Opening my eyes,
finally, to a calmness and solace overtaking my thoughts, I
gathered my clubs and made my way to the practice range.
There I stayed, practicing that first shot over and over
again, until the time would come for me to begin.

4
Stepping onto that tee box for the second time was not
as calming as the first. Now looking out, down the fairway,
I saw not only natures beauty, but a sea of onlookers
awaiting play to begin. At once I was consumed with fear;
I could no longer picture my first shot and felt a rush that
drained my body of movement. Suddenly my name was
announced, and without thought or emotion, I stood there
over my ball, frozen. In what seemed like an eternity I held
my position until once again that cool wind blew through
me, and I stepped back carrying with me the image of that
first flight. Swallowing the fear, and after a few practice
swings, I took position once more and struck the ball with
a confidence I never knew I possessed. The ball soared,
much like I had envisioned, only veering slightly to the
right. From there, I went on to par my first hole and ulti-
mately shoot an eighty-seven, only hitting one bystander
along the way.

That first round is still as fresh in my memory as
the day after its completion. I would go on from there
to playing daily, spending every moment possible on the
course or range. Little did I know my eagerness to prog-
ress would surpass the original joy I took from chipping in
my grandmothers backyard. After four years of playing, I
held a plus two handicap and had scholarships to six major
Universities. However, by that time, I no longer loved the
game. It had become a means of gratification in all aspects
of life except one. The love I had once found in playing
was gone, and soon the drive and determination needed to
continue was gone as well. In the remaining months of my
senior year, I gradually quit playing, and did not play again
for seven years.
Listening to the sound of the trees
dancing in the early morning sun,
I began to picture the flight of my
first shot, and with that felt a
warmth slowly consume my body.
I am now thirty-five, and in the course of seventeen
years, I have learned, through hardships and accomplish-
ments, that there is no better feeling than the passion one
can have for an individual, hobby, or endeavor. We as
a society, however, all too often lose sight of the simple
joys everyday life has to offer. We take on roles created
by ourselves and others, causing resentments, regrets, and
unnecessary conflict. I lost sight of why I played and began
to play for reasons that others expressed. In doing so, I
perhaps lost a gift that had not yet fully developed. I now
play weekly and love every step I take as I walk the course,
spending the time not only playing, but remembering why
I play. After all, doing anything without passion, or love for
it, is not really living, and I refuse to ever go through life
again without giving it my all. Simply, I want to enjoy that
moment on lifes first tee box.
5
Im a lotus eater, a
bon vivant. Sick with
want, the quiet velvet cult
of it, I tap the rosaries
of your vowels,one
by one, cosseted in the
honeyed vellum of
your Southern tongue, your letters
gossamer, the silken
seam that holds my spine in place.
But Im keen to learn your
palms gravel, the muslin of
your neck where Ill coil,
dreaming cities from your flesh,
your jugular my
equator. Debased to cur,
Ill gnaw at you for
seven minutes in a squalid
Letters from Crittenden County Jail
by LeeAnn Olivier
cell, knowing you by
the dark map of your eyes--a
mating dance of cranes.
West Memphis is the greyest world,
its skies like bleak sheets
of poplin dipped in pewter.
How I ache, navigating
this verbal labyrinth,
to weave of our skin one skein
*Inspired by the love stor y of Lorri Davis and her husband Damien Echols, a member of the
West Memphis Three, who served 18 years on Arkansas Death Row for a crime he didnt commit.

6
My Sister s Fault
by Kevin Zhen
Yesterday, I redecorated my room and got rid of all the sports stuff Dad put all over my
walls. Dad used to get really grumpy about it, but, hes started to give up on it, luckily. So, now I can finally have a room
free of basketballs and soccer balls tossed around everywhere! My sister apparently had way too many plushies, so she
let me borrow some. I went and placed them around my room, which had looked pretty plain after getting rid of Dads
junk. She was weird about that though and had made me promise to do something with her today, but she wouldnt tell
me what she wanted to do....
Id been passing time by drawing as usual and by chatting a little with my internet friends. I really wanna meet with
them sometime, but, my parents think everybody online is out to do horrible things to me... not that it matters much...
its really embarrassing meeting people anyway. As I was thinking about that, my sister barged into my room.
Teina! Teina! About that promise you made... My sister had called me by my internet name ever since she found
out about it. I guess I dont mind, but it still felt kind of weird after all that time...
Erm... yeah? You never told me what you wanted, sooo...,I said.
Well... I thought itd be nice if you went out a little more, and --
You know what my problem is with that!
And I know how to solve it!
She grinned widely and basically dragged me to her room. Her domain had pink wallpaper and flowers painted every-
where. Dads fault again, though, she didnt hate it as I did. She went over to her closet and started picking through her
clothes. I quickly figured out what she was going to do and became embarrassed.
Well, what do you think, Teina?
I dont think Dad would like that at all! And, you know I dont like being stared at and stuff...
If you didnt act all nervous, nobodyd have suspected a thing, anyways! So dont do it this time!
Im embarrassed already just talking about it, you know! What makes you think I can do that when...
She started giggling and tossed me the clothes. You promised, so, youre going to have to do it anyway! You dont
wanna wait until after Dads finished watching sports, right? Meet me in the garage!
She walked off, closed the door behind her. She had been really excited when she found out about what I was like
on the internet, and, of course, when I told her about my interest in dressing up and what I felt about gender, but I defi-
nitely didnt think she would be so enthusiastic about it. I stared at the clothes she had tossed at me: a light pink sun-
dress with a white ribbon around the waist and plain white slippers. I finally decided to start changing into the garments.
Stupid sister!! Buuttt.... I guess I should make the best out of it...
About that promise you made...
7
Mar ys Psalm
by Amber Roberson
Holding myself, my main security,
The mirror tells an ugly truth of me.
Worthlessness defines my entirety-
Ungraceful, lanky, disgusting to see.
Puerile are current passions of men,
Artifice is masked by some fair ytale.
The drug of desire my main acumen,
Starving to please someone, to no avail.
The cruel injustice, each hint of a curve
No deprivation can keep them at bay.
One cannot deny oneself, so I serve,
Yet this yearning consumes me ever y day.
Perhaps my efforts will spawn a disease,
To the death if it makes my looks appease.
Love is a Cup of Coffee (Prose Poem)
by Tony Caballero
It's ever ywhere. We're young, we see others enjoy it ever y
day, but we don't understand. We have a sip, but hate
the taste. How can anyone like this?
Then we grow up. We find, with a little cream and sugar,
it's delicious. Delectable. Dreamy.
Some become addicted, filling their day with cup after
cup, until they can't function without it.
Some have their single cup, in a familiar mug, and it's
perfect for them.
Some never acquire the taste, and live their whole lives
caffeine free. And that's perfectly fine.
As for me, I'm young, and I find it bitter. But as I take an-
other sip, I find that the taste is growing on me.

8
Withstanding
Venesa Caban
9
The Monster of Soulless Fire
by Kristen Morton
A match is lit, ready for battle.
The flicker of flames snaps like a whip,
Kissing the air with its smoke,
Becoming stronger as oxygen gives it power.
The match falls as a secret plan happens,
Flames touch gasoline with graceful fingers,
Fire explodes and spreads through the liquid - hungr y for prey.
Fire becomes a monster as it destroys ever ything in its path.
Screams as smoke twists into lungs.
Striking without a touch,
Blood steams as the fire licks it up.
Fire snaps, burns with bloodlust,
Lost in perpetual hellish eternity.

10
6:08 a.m.
by Nora Roberts
To me, in the shortest definition possible, I know myself for my sleeping habits. Im known to my bed for being
an infrequent visitor, always restless and always awake. Im an unworthy tenant in a place I sincerely cannot afford. It
likes this though, its like an out of body me, its like Im a you, and I isnt even real anymore. Its like you lay down
to go to sleep at 11PM, and then 11PM meets 12AM; they shake hands and shoot the breeze; jokes all around. Until
1AM enters, and they both just stare, eventually though they intermingle and turn into a small close knit group of hourly
friends. But then,2AM walks through that door. He wasnt invited, he never is, and he makes you hold your breath now.
Hold your breath and imagine youre somewhere else being someone else who is doing something else. 2:45AM rolls
like tires on loose gravel, leaving you completely naked on the side of the road, clothes thrown in your already bruising
face; feeling unwanted, not invited, never told yes, not ever.
3AM begins to nudge you to get off the ground and put your torn clothes on your equally torn body and begin to
walk. 2:45AM kept your underwear, and youll always remember that part. Youd worn heels that night, one was in the
middle of the road and the other had been run over like an afterthought in all of this. 4AM tells you youre close to
town finally and reassures you that youll never be this tired in your life again. 5AM reminds you to breathe, reminds
you youre alive, reminds you youre in town now, reminds you your house isnt too far. But then theres no way around
this part. There really isnt. 6:08AM is what the clock tells you once youve come through the front door. Through the
front door thats all too familiar, white on the outside, and beaten and bruised and abused on the inside. Through the
front door that is so obviously mine, into a house thats so clearly mine as well, only to feel about as foreign as a you
rather than an I.
I couldnt stand the sight of any of it. I couldnt especially stand the sight of time. I took a chair from the kitchen
table, a table that didnt need chairs, because no one ever used it, we didnt have time to pretend we were alike enough
to sit down together. I stood on this chair, and it was the most use it probably ever had since Id been born, my tired
legs shaking, my bare feet still bleeding, and I took 6:08AM off the wall. I cradled it in my bruising arms, and pressed it
against my chest, the only thing that night that had permission to touch me. The hallways in my Oregon home would be
first to confirm that Im known for a long walk of shame. Im known for that night, and Im known for stopping time at
6:08AM. What I know Im known for is that I left blood on the carpet from my feet and the blood of my own inno-
cence that ran down my legs, but no one ever asked about it later. I know Im known for never giving that clock back
and playing dumb the next three days when it was asked about. I know Im known for staring at every single photo in
the hallway, touching my faces in each of them, and just knowing there would be a difference. The whole night, all the
hours, it was going to be on my face now, a torn up expression of myself. And though I had not looked in the mirror
yet, I already knew that Id always be known for this in my own eyes, and I would never look the same again.
I cradled it in my bruising arms, and
pressed it against my chest, the
only thing that night that had
permission to touch me.
11
Fist In Wood
Northwest Student

12
White Life
by Dalise DeVos
Life bursts from familiar darkness into
incriminating white; intensified by blinding light -
reflection off white-washed walls and
bleached tile floors; wrapped tightly in
a thin blanket by sterile hands in
long, white coat - gift to a beaming mother.
Life leaps on beads of glistening dew in the
pale glow of spring sunrise; engulfed by
foam of oceans waves on salty days
of summer; rolled in soft flour, then
smothered in sticky sugar on sweet
days leading up to crisp winter;
illuminated by birthday cards arriving
in shining, white envelopes.
Life climbs into pupils, glaring from achingly
bright computer screens; listed on professional,
colorless paper, then printed and titled Resume;
puffed in a haze of cigarettes smoked
while staring outside at fluffy clouds;
trapped in daydreams of hours passed by
like the encompassing fog; interrupted
by the dazzling smile of a handsome passerby.
Life peaks in sparkling diamonds placed on
a trembling finger; adorned in a white dress an
ivor y cocoon for metamorphosis from girl to woman;
thrown in piles of sheets caught in flames
of white-hot passion, resulting in explosion
Shore Plants of Galapagos Islands
Shirley Gangwere
of white seed planted into womb;
maintained by bills arriving
in plain white envelopes.
Life expands including a bundle of
white diapers; Destroyed like shards of
porcelain on the floor from dropped china;
Soiled like spilt white milk that crept
unreachable under the refrigerator;
yet, washed with suds of bath time;
Intertwined by laces of new white
sneakers on first days of school.
Life resolves squinting through frames at white
pages of newspaper; swallowed like white pills
needed ever y day (sometimes twice); thinned
like white hair that came without invitation; lost
among white sands of time; and, covered
by bare sheet by sterile hands
in long, white coat.
13
Baby
by Sarah Williams
Crooked smile Frankenstein-stitched;
Worn, nubby fur patched;
Shades of Lascaux aged
My years minus one.
Glossy coffee eyes dulled tan;
Slashed schnozzle from a
Toothy taste testing toddler.
Tot-sized and tagless,
Fat bottomed and un-grizzly.
Polyfilled paws placate panging,
Pacifying the mature soul.
Dries tears like the sun after rain;
Inspiring calm to endure storms.
Holding a heart heavy with worr y;
He loves unconditionally unending.
Subway Family
John Martin

14
I remember waking up,
Stumbling for my coffee cup.
Breathing in strong earthy steam,
Rubbing my eyes, recalling my dream.
You ran, you laughed, you played, you smiled,
Mine, again, for a little while.
Alarm clock jangled me back to reality,
Cold tile, bare feet; hot tears mixed with hot coffee.
A dead son makes mothers die on the inside
No Christmas or New Year, I just want to hide.
Endless days dragged, Christmas break shuttled past.
No way to avoid it; first day of Spring class.
Hot shower, forever, I tried to compose.
Emotions a jumble while putting on clothes.
Heavy back pack and heart headed out the door,
Hes dead if I live...all my thoughts...at war.
From my warm, safe cocoon, into cold, harsh light,
It took all of my will to close that door tight.
As I took a deep breath, then turned the key,
Commotion rose up from behind in the tree.
Something to Give
by Cr ystal Castellanos
What right to intrude on this moment of grief?
I turned and stood stunned in complete disbelief!
There in the tree, a flurr y of wings!
So many, the colors; songs the birds sing!
Cardinals, blue jays, doves, all there
Fluttered branch to branch without a care.
For a few minutes, I stood and stared.
Knew through it all, God really cared.
A smile crossed my lips and stayed for a time,
Beautiful joy of the birds became mine.
I remember that day; I decided to live.
Even with loss, there is love yet to give.
15
Love like Simile
by Scott Kelly
As skies turn black, his soul searches.
Dawn or dusk it plays like melody
Unknowing what behind shadows lurches,
Destination or an isolation remedy.
His thoughts run together like a Coltrane improv
Rhythmic, smooth, with a dash of calamity.
Smirking expression says hes suave,
Then, fumbled words bring home reality.
As a wear y blind man travels
And grasps for a canes security,
His troubled heart unravels
Grip with loves impurity.
Bankrupt of emotions,
Heart an empty well,
Going through the motions,
Praying no one can tell.
He picks at love like it s a writer s callous.
This comes from using the eraser
After the pencil speaks nothing but malice,
Knowing theres nobody to replace her.
Nights of restless sleep.
Heart pounding from a dream so real
Alarmingly accompanied by only his hearts beat.
Loneliness is the blanket he can feel.
Hes the man at the bar with no place to go
Entertaining strangers with stories and humor,
Emptiness like a diminuendo
Swiftly fading like a paparazzi rumor.
He stumbles into the night again,
Derailed by the thought on his mind,
Peering through the darkness in search of his life friend.
This must be why they say love is blind.

16
Cornfields (Prose Poem)
by Laura Haubrich
The Backroads
by Scott Kelly
I remember large luscious fields of green-
Sunset backdrops dropping from the sky to the ground,
Red, orange, and yellow melting away with daylight,
Into green columns and rows of cornfields.
Wind moving stalks with a brushing noise,
Like a symphony of paint brushes stroking canvases-
Painting colors of the wind into a beautiful sunset.
Wandering to the edges on warm summer evenings-
Walks, time alone, crickets-
Countless hours winding through ripe mazes of green
Rows of cornstalks towering above me.
While strolling, searching for internal peace
Calming, soothing, and relaxing the soul-
Essence of purity and freshness in the air,
With calmness comes flooding thoughts,
Deluging memories of happiness, sadness, and regret
Regret overpowering all others quickly and easily.
Until the rustle of wind sweeps emotions away
Bringing back the serenity of nature.
My sanctuar y, my home,
Wisconsin.
I drive with no destination in mind.
The breeze smells like burning gas,
Cruising is my Lazyboy.
The air tastes like underage drinking --
Serenity sounds like wind traveling amidst corn stalks.
The radio announces, Let the music take control
17
For the Children
by Taylor Evans
He felt a heat on his face, cheeks full of blood as he ascended the metal fire escape,
lumbering up the steps with a gas can in each hand. His pulse grew erratic as the full
realization of what he was here for set in. It felt as though he was having an out of body
experience. But he wasnt hovering over himself; he was hundreds of yards away in the
dark, looking through a telescope at his own feverish body.

He came back to his own consciousness in a rush, and found himself peering
through a window at the family within: son, daughter, mother, babyfather. They were
playing a game together, each of them enjoying each others presence, the room full
of familial spirit. Suddenly, his heart filled with regret for what he had yet to do. He
hesitated; he knew that he was crazy, that he was sick. In the distance, he heard the
blades of a police helicopter chopping the brisk city air. Maybe he could turn himself
in? They could get him help, get him a doctor

Instantaneously, he was looking through a window of time. He saw himself in that
room, looking down the barrel of a loaded revolver. His fathers finger was on the
trigger; his mother bloody and sobbing, had collapsed in the doorway. He couldnt
breathe, couldnt move as he watched his fathers thumb pull back the hammer. His
own breath choked him as he heard the clicks of the gun being cocked. A scream tore
itself from his throat as the chambers rotated and that hammer fell. All at once, it was
gone; replaced, instead, with the happy lie he had observed moments before. Sweat
covered his being, soaked into his clothes and plastered his hair to his face. His grip on
the gas cans tightened, and, in that moment, he knewhe knew he couldnt let those
kids go through that betrayal. He had to save them. He had to burn IT down!
His grip on the gas cans tightened,
and, in that moment, he knew --

18
Night Perimeter
by Brad Sauls
The jungles heat and humidity were stifling, making it a labor to breathe. Jesus, even at night this place is freakin
hot, Pvt. Jackson thought to himself as he picked at the nickel-sized ants feasting on the back of his neck. Hey! F-N-G,
your dumb asses got first watch tonight. Try not to get us all killed! Jackson looked over at Rooster, who addressed
him. Rooster, the squads machine gunner, was the typical corn-fed country boy: dumb, strong as an ox, and boisterous.
Seems only a year ago he was in high school poking fun at shit-kickers like Rooster. Jackson never thought hed end
up subordinate to one. The squad leader, Staff Sergeant Harper, was making Jackson serve as Roosters ammo bearer.
This was probably the lowliest job in an infantry squad. Not only did he have to hump his own gear, but he had to hump
the heavy 7.62-mm ammo for the squad machine gun, as well. Jackson was sure that Rooster, picking up on his city
accent, had shoved a few extra pounds of gear into his rucksack. The Army sure did have a sense of irony. Realizing this
brought a grin to Jacksons face. Dont just grin at me like an idiot! Do you reckon what I told ya before we headed out,
Boy? shouted Rooster.
Sure, Rooster, if I fall asleep, youll cut my throat before I wake up, Jackson said and rolled his eyes. Still, part
of him wondered if that cretin Neanderthal would make good on his threat. Thats right F-N-G! One more thing . . .
youre the new guy, and you aint earned the right to have a name, let alone call me by mine. We aint drinking buddies.
You address me as Specialist or Ill beat your pretty, rich-boy face in; got it?

Roger, Jackson said, sheepishly. This place was worse than Basic; at least there, everyone in the squad was
dumped on equally by the Drills. That night, Pvt. Jackson began his watch, confident that no one in the platoon would
relieve him.
~~~~~~ ~~~~~~
There was something horrifically beautiful about this place. Sure it was as humid and as hot as Satans rear end, but
as the full moon lit the jungle, a strange, otherworldly glow lit up the landscape. The creatures of the jungle struck up
an orchestra of sounds that blended into a beautiful harmony with the world. A cacophony of birds and bugs serenaded
Jackson in a private concert. The rest of the squad, on the line, slept in their hastily dug fighting positions. For a brief
moment, Pvt. Jackson was the only person in this world, and that solitude was an awesome feeling for him. A warm blan-
ket of calming peace enveloped Jackson, and he felt himself lulled into a strange sense of security. As this soothing peace
19
surrounded Jackson, something suddenly yanked him back to that damp, stinking, hot jungle. Something was wrong!
The bugs . . . the birds . . . everything was silent. All Jackson could hear was the snoring of the mouth-breather next to
him. Then, directly in front of him, about half a football field away, he could see an outline of a man. Did I fall asleep?
Am I dreaming? Is that a squad-mate going to relieve himself? These were just a few of the multitude of questions Jack-
son asked himself.

For some reason Jackson, without thinking, placed the safety on his rifle to auto and depressed his trigger. The
report of Jacksons rifle awoke the entire squad. Without skipping a beat, Rooster rolled over and unleashed a torrent of
death with his M-60 machine gun. Rooster cut a swath through the jungle with the hog like it was the devils paintbrush.
Jackson, weapon now empty, stared in awe at the destruction that rained down upon the landscape that, just until a few
moments ago, had been so peaceful and serene.
The battle, if the onslaught could be called that --- Jackson doesnt remember a single shot coming from the other
direction --- lasted only about a minute. The entire squad scanned the jungle, weapons at the high ready. Jackson over-
heard Staff Sergeant Harper shout, All up; Jackson hadnt killed anyone in the squad. Jackson said a silent prayer over
that. That small victory was overshadowed by the fact that everyone in the squad had to pull a hundred-percent security
for the rest of the night. Murmurs from fighting position to fighting position spread word of Jackson firing the first shot.
Soldiers can abide hardships but not a guy who screws them out of their sleep, so Jackson dreaded getting back to the
operations base.
~~~~~~~~~~~
As dawn broke, it became clear to Jackson that there would be no reprisal from the squad. Laying fifty meters from
the squads line were three dead enemy Sappers, their suicide bombs still strapped to their chests. Woo! Would ya
look at that! That boys head is split like a thirty-thirty will split a melon! Rooster exclaimed, as he slapped Jackson
hard enough on the back to make him throw up a little in his mouth. Staff Sergeant Harper gave the order to move out,
back to base to report enemy activity in the AO. Rooster looked at Jackson, Well, lets go, Jackson; beer is on me.
Picking up his ruck, Jackson noticed it was half the weight it had been. Hey, Jackson, by the way, I shot up a whole
bunch of that seven-six-two last night and had to replenish out of your bag; hope ya dont mind, Rooster said. He re-ad-
justed his weapon, turned, and sauntered off.

No, Rooster, thats. Jackson stared into his half-empty pack then at the back of the seasoned gunner and realized
there was no beauty in Southeast Asia; nothing would ever be the same for him.

20
Peter:
Well, what can I say about Bernadette? Sweet,
sweet Bernadette. Well, we got married right out of
high school. Thats a plus. You know, when you get
married youre pretty much flipping heads or tails on
whether the whole things gonna work out. Heads
youre good. Tailswell, you dont get any tail. But it
looks like things worked out pretty well for Berny and
me. A beautiful house in the country, a timeshare on
the beach, and a killer 401K. We . . . were pretty solid,
her and I. (Puh) Pretty dang solid.
You know there was this one time (turn around) I .
. . this is a good time for stories, right? There was this
one time when I was sitting in bed typing on my little
computerwhen she comes up to me with a glass of
wine. Silent, not saying a word, she just stands there.
So I look up. Something wrong Berny? BAM! She
throws it in my face. The sheets are soaked. Im
soaked. And needless to say, my laptop was fried. And
she laughed so damn hard, too. Looking back on it
now, it was kind of funny. I mean sure, the laptop was
dead. Six-hundred bucks down the drain and all. My
dissertation on foreign developmental linkages and
consumption behavior was saved on that thing. Took
me four hours to write, had to do it all over again. But
funny!
And then I cant help but be reminded of the time I
did the laundry and she ended up with pink underwear
instead of the white. She, um, she went to stay with her
sister that week. Her underwear is important to her.
Sort of. Its not worth six hundred dollars. Or getting
chewed out by your college professor. But still, very
important.
Want to know a secret about Berny? Behind her
smile, her perfect teeth and her genuine personality,
youve got someone else. Someone that at times . . .
might seem a little manipulative. They say that you
have to stand back to really appreciate a painting.
Bernys not that kind of girl. Which isnt to say she
wasnt a beautiful and loving wife. She just sometimes
. . . sometimes . . . could be a little controlling. A little
neurotic. But you know, you have to go with it when
youre married. Isnt that right, Berny? (Takes a swig
from a flask) Huh? Oh, dont mind me, please. And
Im not done, by the way.
Peter s Confession
by Tony Caballero
21
Not many of you know this, but I once cheated
on Berny. Oh yeah, nows as good a time as any to
admit it. Seven months ago, she saw a documentary
on the Discovery Channel about where pork comes
from, and suddenly, we were vegetarians. I lasted four
months. But one day, I was driving home after picking
up Bernys veggie chips from a store sixteen miles out of
town, and I drove past this billboard. And on it, was an
ad for the new triple bacon cheeseburger. And I pulled
over and just stared at it. You could see the grease just
oozing out of the sides, bacon peeking out of the edges
like little wings. The cheese was just melted enough
to make you think deeply about the taste. And my
mouth was watering so bad. I felt such . . . hot desire
for this sandwich. I just ogled it for two minutes before
I realized that I felt more desire to tear into this burger
than I felt for my wife.
So I had seven. You wouldnt think I could
have that many at one time. But I did. I had seven
sandwiches, and they were delicious. I almost threw
up twice, but it was so beautiful. The bacon mingling
with the cheese in my mouth. And when it was over
. . . I found myself happier than I had been in a long
time. Bernadette didnt make me that happy anymore.
(Takes another swig of the flask) But then again, I cant
remember the last time I felt that happy. I mean what
kind of girl was this? Someone who threw wine at me
out of the blue? Someone whos incredibly neurotic
about the color of their underwear despite the fact that
no one, not even her husband, will ever see it!
This might not seem like the best time to talk about
Berny like this, but we just . . . ah, you know what?
Forget it. Throw it out the window. Berny and I were
happy. Happy as anything and everything. We were
just the best dang couple you ever did see. No one
ever yelled. No one got demasculinized in front of his
poker buddies. No one ever got his PS3 thrown out the
window to make room for a blue ray player! (Turning
to face the coffin) Did you know that a PS3 is a freaking
blu-ray player, Berny? Did you? Because it would have
saved us another four hundred dollars! Were not made
of money! We cant afford to do things like that, and
your weekend job as a volunteer librarian is a joke! Its
a joke Bernadette!
(Pulls off wedding ring) So this is two years too
late, but Bernadette? Were through! I dont care that
you gave up your promising career as a belly dancer
to be with me, I dont care that you think you won the
marriage game by dying on me, and I dont care that Im
at your damn funeral! (Throws wedding ring at coffin)
Were through! (Takes sip of flask) Sorry you had to
see that folks.
I felt such . . . hot desire for this sandwich. I just ogled
it for two minutes before I realized that I felt more
desire to tear into this burger than I felt for my wife

22
As They Hand Me the Ticket
by Emily Garcia
Affected
by Jerilyn Womack
As they hand me the ticket, I tremble
With fear. My father rejoices, his son won!
He proudly lifts me up, we assemble,
Ever yone cheers, but we are but pawns
In this celebration we call Pruning;
As I stagger toward the stage, my heart stops;
The panic, never ending, is consuming
Me, and as I reach the top, my crown drops
To the ground; this celebration must end.
Why have my parents allowed this to occur?
Years and years of this and no one tries to mend
This Pruning, this idea to stop aging is absurd;
Alas, this is the time for my demise;
No one sees as the light from my eyes dies.
She sits waiting in the middle of the night,
Slouched and demoralized.
Armpits damp, heart pounding;
She begins to feel woozy.
Staring down into the plastic wine cup,
Circles form under her eyes.
After a short, excruciating while,
He comes home and turns to look at her face.
It is giant and blank as a vandalized clock.
He puts an arm around her burdened shoulders.
She tries to smile,
But wonders how the hell she ended up here.
23
King of Flowers
by Jared Smith
Sired by Grey
by Natasha Score
As they hand me the ticket, I tremble
With fear. My father rejoices, his son won!
He proudly lifts me up, we assemble,
Ever yone cheers, but we are but pawns
In this celebration we call Pruning;
As I stagger toward the stage, my heart stops;
The panic, never ending, is consuming
Me, and as I reach the top, my crown drops
To the ground; this celebration must end.
Why have my parents allowed this to occur?
Years and years of this and no one tries to mend
This Pruning, this idea to stop aging is absurd;
Alas, this is the time for my demise;
No one sees as the light from my eyes dies.
Grey patriarch-
of an infant world wans into
Chronos silver dominion.
His hearth of life grows desolate,
its fading embers turns to ash.
Amongst the shades of black and white,
his scions convert to bellum.
Cemented cores writhe
in wicked violence.
Air, saturated
with charcoal smoke of
combat, clouds
the once beautiful paradise.
No metal armor against fate!
Slate faade of the ancient father
weeps, as he mourns
his once unalloyed creations.
The great patriarch diminishes
into the shadows stoic embrace,
Gray stone guardians await
his advent at the iron gates
of eternity

24
In April Persephone
by LeeAnn Olivier
grows her hair long and wilda river
of blood slipping down her back in a flood
so black it could stain the carpet, paints
her fingernails pagan-green like Liza
Minnelli in Cabaret, eats the dead
until they bloom in her, sea stars spreading
their fingers, pomegranates purpling her lips,
her stomach a fractal lampburst, an electric
roadmap lighting up her veins. She lolls
in the sun for hours, her hair your wrap, her
back your leather nap. Come lie, she says.
The grass smells of flesh. The moon grunts with envy.
Utopia
Elisha Bryant
25
Quandar y
by Kimberly VanKirk
Tangled in a thick, symbiotic sickness,
Im in love with your critical tongue.
It turns sweet in my mouth,
and breathes vital life into my lungs.
The pieces of my wild heart which you have yet to crush
beat boisterous symphonies with ever y little touch,
be it anger
or be it lust
... I crave more.
The Sense of Time
by Blake McDonnell
If you are never watching time, it slips away.
But time forever watches us, so we will never get away.
But away is a state of sense,
and yesterday is now referred to as past tense.
So in dreams, this world makes no sense;
sense is a state of where, or whence, so there!
Some things do not have to add up to make sense:
touching or being close, to what I wish to call mine,
to slow the sense before it slips away with time.

26
About Nothing at All
by Arielle Washington
Tony likes you because you smoke tobacco
from an old pipe; it s gold with green flowers wrapped
around the stem. With it in hand, you remind him
of a Christmas ornament he is afraid to break.
On warm nights, when your mom and dad fall asleep,
he comes over and sits on your back porch.
Sometimes, there are stars in the sky.
Sometimes, Tony gets stoned and talks about
nothing. Together, you watch white-cloud ghosts
grow tired of haunting your lungs as you exhale.
Member those picture books, from when
We were kids? He says. The kind with
pop-outs and stickers?
Yeah, you muse, nodding.
I had a few; one with dinosaurs,
one with the alphabet,
one with the planets, Tony tells you.
He puffs from his joint and feels the cool
concrete beneath his free palm. It becomes
the most comforting feeling in the world
the safest. Tony wishes he could love
you as much as he loves being safe.
The planets were my favrit, he continues.
In the book, the stripes and rings had glitter
that d rub off on my fingers if I touched em
too much. There wasnt any glitter left on
Jupiter s rings, cause I liked it the best.
How come? You wonder.
Tony shrugs, says, Dunno. Maybe
because it s so far, so goddamn far.
You know, you say in the matter-of-fact
Tone your mother hates, Neptune is the farthest
planet from Earth.
Tony inhales; the sky fills him up.
He is an astronaut.
He is a satellite.
He is the farthest planet from Earth.
27
Self Portrait
Whitley McLendon

28
A Tale of Want and Wing
by Sadie Rae
Once upon a time, a curse was broken. Under the curse, a young man named Suluk lived in the form of a swan, and when he
was freed, he was once again human; however, his left arm remained a swans wing. Suluk felt the burden of his unlovable form. He
became discouraged at the thought of being around other people. If he had both wings, he could fly and be seen as an angel, beautiful
and mysterious. But with his one wing, he was handicapped, an outsider.
Suluk withdrew from the world into Ravenswood Forest. It was whispered that those who ventured into the forest never returned.
Suluk was not afraid to take the chance, for he did not wish to return to a world that excluded him so. Vivid greens dazzled the eyes
and vibrant vines bursting with flowers grew amongst the trees. It was an enchanting place, and Suluk did not see why so many feared
it. The animals were pleasant and friendly, even walking alongside him. A rather large raven flew above him for most of his journey,
keeping a friendly eye on him.
He traveled for days until he found an abandoned cottage to make his home. Suluk felt he could now be free of peoples cruelty
and live a happy life on his own. But after some time, his loneliness grew. He longed for companionship, but he knew what waited for
him if he returned to the village. He dreamed of the life he could have had if he did not have the wing.
One day, a storm began to brew, darkening his world. Vivid greens turned sickly and tinged with rot just as his thoughts turned
dark. He must be rid of his feathery affliction. He sharpened his knife as he sat outside the cottage, thinking to himself that the rain
would wash away the blood. Suluk eyed the heavens for courage as the same protective raven circled above. As soon as the rain began,
he raised the knife. Determined, he slashed at his wing, sending searing stabs of pain through his body. Rich, red blood drenched his
white wing as he hacked again at the cursed wing, but in his agony he missed his final attempt to cleanly remove himself of the wing, but
he also knew he would die if he continued to bleed. He decided this was an acceptable fate. As he closed his eyes to welcome death, a
dizzying image of black feathers filled his mind.
Suluk opened his eyes and realized he was lying in his own bed. He jolted up, causing pain to shoot through his wounded wing.
Oh, youre awake! the girl exclaimed.
Who are you? And why are you in my house? Suluk demanded.
I bandaged your wounds. My name is Milada. I do hope I did enough to save your wing, but only time will tell. What attacked
you? she inquired.
Suluk felt frustrated, he had beckoned death, yet he was alive. She was the first person he had seen in months, and his heart flut-
tered at the thought. He did not want to admit that he had been attempting to cut his wing off, but he saw no reason to lie to the girl.
I was trying to cut my wing off. I wanted it gone so that I could try to live a normal life. I would be different, but at least not a
cursed freak with a wing for an arm, he dejectedly answered.
You need not change yourself. Your wing is beautiful, it is surely a gift to feel the wind among the feathers and to feel the softness of it
against your skin, she beamed.
29
Suluk and Miladas friendship grew. Milada had run away from her cruel father to Ravenswood Forest. She, too, had no fear of
the wicked stories of the forest, for she had already known fear in her life. Suluks wing healed, and along with it, his heart grew to love
Miladas pure spirit. In two years time, Suluk and Milada bore a baby girl named Svanna. Svanna had inherited his swan arm. Milada
loved Svanna and saw no infirmity, but Suluk feared for her. He thought it miraculous for Milada to have found him acceptable to love,
and wondered if the same kind of miracle could happen for their Svanna one day.
As Suluk walked in the woods, he pondered what to do about his fears for his beautiful baby girl. Suddenly, he saw a large raven
land in front of him. His eye was drawn to the raven when it promptly glowed with a reddish, amber light. The raven transformed into
a statuesque enchantress with blazing red hair wearing a long black robe.
I am Ravenna, mistress of the forest. And I know what weighs heavy on your heart. I can offer you a way to save your child from
the life you dread she will have, her seductive voice echoed.
Suluk did not trust the woman, but his love for Svanna made him listen to this mysterious woman. What can you do,
enchantress?
I will give her the human form you wish her to have, but it will cost you one memory from your lifetime, she replied, raising one
eyebrow.
Suluk feared what might happen if he acquiesced, but his wish for Svannas happiness overshadowed the fear. If you promise to
make my daughter whole, then I will agree.
Ravenna spread her arms, and her body burst into thousands of black feathers before him. Ravenna had taken a memory from
Suluk and transformed his daughters arm in an instant. Suluk felt strange and unexpectedly empty. Some significant change had taken
place after seeing the enchantress feathers, yet he could not put into words the change he knew had taken place. He returned home to
find Milada holding a baby he did not recognize. Irrational rage boiled inside him; his love had betrayed him!
Milada! How could you do this to me? Whose child have you birthed? I thought your love was only for me, Suluks heart
broke into shards.
Suluk, what is wrong? This is our child, Svanna. What has happened to you? she questioned, as she laid the baby
on their bed.
Blinded by confusion, Suluk replied, You are a clever witch, hiding a pregnancy from me, lying to me about your love!
Suluk shivered with anger, unable to control how much his hate boiled. Suluk raised the knife he had lifted on himself years ago.
Miladas scream was muted by the sharpness of Suluks anger. He watched as the life pooled out of her, all the while believing she was
a devil in disguise for pretending to love him. In his wrath and sorrow, he ran from the small home in the forest and left the baby for
nature to dispose of.
As Suluk wandered the forest bewildered and alone, he wanted nothing now that his only love had deceived him. Death would be
a sweet release compared to the cruelty of his world. Suluk looked to the heavens and, again, saw the raven circling above him. As he
plunged the murderous knife into his chest, Suluk, at last, felt that all was well, and the red life drained down the white feathers of his
wing.

30
Garden Abstract
Northwest Student
31
Myth
Northwest Student

32
Untidy Gratification
by Amber Roberson
In love with selfish
pleasures, sins
of the skin.
She is his errand.
Coming home from the office,
He needs a good
Fuck.
Untidy gratification-
Using her body,
then out the door.
She wakes alone at night,
shivering, hardly whole.
He reads by firelight,
lazily slides into satin sheets
next to his wife,
Until tomorrows stress
calls for another
errand.
No deeper meaning.
Just a good
Fuck.
33
Friends
Bill Fannes

34
Ben Likes Yellow
by Amber Roberson
Playtime is here.
Yellow butterflies with saffron wings flit
among arms of drooping willow.
A childs laughter bubbles from the depths of his tickled belly,
rejoicing in springs warmth.
Sunshine caressing each flaxen curl,
highlighting ever y golden ringlet upon his crown.
Roaming in untamed wonder,
his curious eyes dancing back and forth
Little feet pattering, pausing for primrose
between sidewalk cracks.
Tightly gripping his chalk, adorning the pavement with marigold
scribbles, shaping his world from indiscernible drawings-
glyphs of a childs imagination.
Such pretty pictures!
Rinsing from between chubby fingers,
ochre suds stream down the basin.
Splashing with glee,
His waves capsize a rubber ducky.
Displaying colorful illustrations to a rapt audience of one,
Dr. Seuss yellowed pages cling to their worn bindings.
Fleece footie pajamas warm tiny toes
As his blonde eyelashes flutter,
closing out aureolin,
inviting deep slumber.
Naptime is here.
35
Lollipops
Catherine Reyes

36
I Relive Dark Visions of Gunpowder
by Natasha Score
I relive dark visions of gunpowder
Bangs, lighting-up mangled urban soldiers
And yellow police tape; screeching louder
Inciting quivers upon my shoulders;
Whiskey-splashed sweaters drown my memories
Purging me of gore and dignity, sheathed
Fingers clench in agony, larcenies
Against reality, in pain I breathed;
Tarnished purity clamps me down like a vice,
Holding me taut with red and white yarn chains;
Wild chance of fate rolling like loaded dice
And rivers of violence flow through veins;
When I give into my darkest of dreams,
Restraints shall pull, unraveled at the seams.
37
Auschwitz 1943
by Sarah Williams
Frost burned through my ragged feet.
I assembled in line with a sea of glum look-a-likes;
Our numbers screamed out in Germanic speech
I muttered to myself, Will I survive today?
The staunch scent of my friends burns through my body;
Their ashes tumble from the molten sky.
Guards laugh from balconies while sipping coffee;
Visions of death occupy my mind.
One lash, Two lash, Three lash, Four:
What brutal fun I provided for the guards.
Afterward, my eyes stay fixed on the locked prison door.
Another punishment I receive for my religious scar.
At nightfall, vicious guards herd us into barracks;
the rough wooden planks provide a sense of comfort.
Frigid air seeps through the timbered cracks.
Prisoners cry and scream from their constant hurt.
Starved, I swallow whole chunks of dry bread;
Imagining it is a decadent cake.
My envious eyes drift to the well fed
guards, who I wished suffered my fate.
Miles of barbed wire separate the living
from the almost dead. Cows graze slowly on delicate grass;
I look to them as hope and that,
one day, suffering and persecution will pass.

38
Fiction in Miser y
by Sarah Williams
He decided her face was important.
He once wrote a villanelle about her pores;
Never struggling to find time to dream
Of her. Years ticked by: nine, ten, eleven,
Thirteen Alone with his memories.
In his black-inked experiments with fiction
His crime is undone instead, an accident.
Conclusion of shots to each other s heads;
Results of an inexplicable malfunction
Of a shotgun. His true memor y held no sense
Of plot, only a tragic finale faintly scrawled
In pencil and roughly erased to veil his mind.
He felt plots were not for dead people anyway.
Siblings
Heidi Taylor
39
Movement
Maxwell Eunjoo
Ballerina
by Analiese Smith
Free To Soar
by Samuel Cook
Feet are pointed and stretched,
brushing and pounding against wood floors.
Art is created through unnatural beauty;
perfection is expected but never achieved,

and the music plays
5, 6, 7, 8

Physical effort becomes a mental game;
passion becomes routine becomes mundane.
But master y does not come without struggle -
for all forms of beauty are born from some pain,

and the music plays
5, 6, 7, 8
Let regret not linger
But burn beneath you to fuel your ascent.
Skyward you climb,
Forsaking past pain,
Transforming burdens into power.
Youre free to soar.

40
Sterling, please pick I need you
Its Me. Ya know the drill Beeeeeppp.
Its Libby. I need you please call me.

She didnt know why she ever expected him to
answer. That was one thing she could trust about
Sterling Mathers he wouldnt answer the phone.
Whether creativity barred the effort or he was sincerely
away, it was always a lost cause. He might get the
message a week from receiving it or not at all it getting
lost in the so-called telephonic warp many a message
has vaporized into as he frequently put it. Sterling
could be a strange bird. He was a creature of habits
or non-habits, maybe both depending on the month,
the season, or whichever melodramatic chick he had
glued to his side. Rarely alone, but always lonely a
methodical masochist of sorts. Sterlings way of shuffling
through life seeking out the boroughs of chaotic distaste
to flavor his music and penmanship was a true art in
itself.
Laura had once been drawn in like a moth to a
flame the ship in the night lured to the fantasized
lighthouse atop the craggy banks of a deserted isle.
Laura and Sterling were perfect and completely wrong
all in the same mouthful of words. Their love a
poisoned berry brilliantly colored and flavorfully toxic.
They were the best of friends, confidantes and cohorts
in crime, but something seemed to come between them
as lovers as if they were the opposite ends of the same
magnet. They were so much alike, yet so different.
Laura wanted the fairytale; Sterling wanted whatever
right now had to offer.

Shed been his good for right now back in high
school; thats when they met. With Sterling, it was either
instant love affair or instant rejection; he never had
bought into the love grows bit. It was either there,
or it wasnt, and hed lose interest way before the bud
took bloom. It was all about the adventure of exploring
a new territory and having a new mystery to solve.
For Laura, however, it was the beginning of a lifetime
commitment the rest of their lives with children and
a white picket fence around a quaint house on the edge
of town. It only took ten months; the fairytale turned
into a fallen dream the adventure into a past vacation.
Two creative souls had entwined and a deeply respective
friendship had been born; the love was nothing more
than a mint aftertaste, sweet yet fleeting with each
swallow.
Those ten short months seemed so long ago, for
the friendship flourished as if thered never been an
ounce of hard feeling. Last September, when Heath
left and Laura got back to singing with The Sheriffs,
Sterling and she had never been closer. Hence, the call.
He was her rock and late night Savior from her family.
Damn everyone and their judgmental agendas! When
Laura broke up with Sterling and he lit out those years
ago, no one had much to say other than Itll be okay;
life goes on. You dont need a man to survive. Yet let
an asshole, like Heath, up and leave her as if she were
four-day leftover peas shoved to the back of the fridge to
rot and everyone felt the need to have an opinion on her
heart and vagina.

When you gonna start dating againI hear that
Darrens single. Youre 28. I want grandkids; you need
a husband. BAH!!
A phone call, a truck ride, a few stiff drinks and
Sterlings shoulder always took the venom out of her
throat. Laura could wake up to tolerate her family until
the barrage of bullshit would start again.
Riiiiinnnnnggg.
Oh thank goodness.I was hoping youd call.
Hey Doll. Whats up?
The usual. Got any plans?
Naw. You know me. 8 oclock sound good?
Works for me. Ill jump in the shower. Today was
Love Lessons
by E.P. Brown
41
exceptionally shitty.
Oh. Le me guess: Agie and your Mum with a dash of
Miranda?
And Michael via Lucy.
Babe. Ya gotta be straight with em. Tell em to back
off and give you a chance to breath. You got time. Aint
nuthin got to happen right now. Besides, youre a grown-
ass woman. Ya do what ya want. You aint no ones
puppet.
Exactly. I try, they just dont listen. Im done trying to
live my life for someone else. I got to live for me. Heath
took that away from me. Im getting it back and I aint
lettin go.
Preach it!
Word! Ha ha
Alright. Ill see yur sexy self in a bit.
Yep yep Ill be waiting. Well talk more when you get
here. Bye.
Yep.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The faint waft of Old Spice, coupled with a dull
ringing in her ears, forced Lauras eyes open. Through
a drunken haze, she stared into a blue comforter and a
mismatched pillowcase. Where the hell was she? From
across the room a life-size poster of Johnny Cash stared
deep into her face and flipped her off as she rolled her
alcohol-soaked frame to the edge of the mattress and
threw her feet to the floor. Ah, Sterlings, but where
Mownin Sunshine. Did I wake ya?
Laura half-ass shifted her gaze towards the kitchen.
Attempting a smile, she meekly let out, Naw, dont think
so. Sterling, clad in a pair of boxers Laura was sure
shed bought for him at some point or another, sauntered
over and handed her a plastic cup full of an orange-red
concoction about the consistency of tomato soup.
Might not be the best Bloody Mary youll ever choke
down, but drink up. Itll help the room stop spinnin. Oh,
and by-the-way, yur clothes will be dry here in a bit.
She carefully grasped the cup, only then realizing
her nakedness, which she was obviously too hung over to
notice before. Muttering, oh shit, she clumsily pulled
at the covers attempting to cover her bare breasts. Did
we
Before ya ask, no. I was a perfect gentleman.
The effort to cover herself was wasted energy, so
she gave up and pulled a deep swallow from the remedy
Sterling had offered.
How ya feelin?
Swallowing hard to force the remaining acid in her
throat down with the thick swill, Laura groggily replied,
Like warmed over shitdid I throw up?

Yea, I didnt get ya to the bathroom in time. Ya got it
all over yaself. I cleaned ya up best I could and got ya in
the bed. Like I said, yur clothes will be done here in a bit.
Do ya member anything from last night?
With a slight bemusement, Laura ran her empty hand
through her damp hair, then down her naked frame,
cupping her breast in a second attempt to cover up. No,
not really. I remember getting to Alley Cats. I remember
seeing the guys and us getting the first two or three beers,
but yea, after that its pretty much a blur.
Grabbing a button up off a nearby lounger, Sterling
tossed it Lauras direction. Here, put this on and Ill
catch ya up. Ya need an aspirin?
Advil, if ya got it.
I should. Gimme a sec.
Should I be embarrassed? Laura raised her voice
so Sterling could hear her inquiry from the bathroom.
Without replying, Sterling returned with some Equate
ibuprofen.
Equate okay?
Itll do. Let me have three.

42
As Sterling dispensed the pills into her hand, he
answered her question.
Nah. Almost, but I got ya to say yur good-byes and
got ya in the truck before ya climbed on any tables. Ya
did give one helluva performance tho. I dont think Ive
ever heard ya sing Im a Little Teapot with SO MUCH
CONVICTION!!

As the mortification ran hot over Lauras face,
she jabbed Sterling in his side. I thought you said I
didnt embarrass myself?!? What the fuck Im a Little
Teapot?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME? You ass hat! I can
freakin see it now Libby Goodall in Concert Im a
Fucking Little Teapot.
Sterling, rubbing his side, broke into uncontrollable
laughter. There wasnt any better entertainment in
his eyes than watching Laura get mad. Choking on his
laughter, Sterling managed to squeal out, Id figured yad
go for that! Blushing red, now from anger more than
embarrassment, Laura shouted, Well, did I or didnt I?
Naw, but ya did sing a couple of songs. Thought I
was gonna have to start charging admission!
You just wait. Ill get your ass back!
Back for whut saving yur hind end last nite?
For all I know, you did let me sing Im a Teapot.
How dare you let me embarrass myself like that?
OH, NOW. Ya know better than that Luby. Id
embarrass my ass right outta town, but I wouldnt let
you do that to yerserf. Scouts Honor! Sterling flashed
his normal cocky grin and a foul attempt of a Boy Scout
Honor salute.
Boy Scout my drunk ass!
Setting her cup down, Laura finally drug the buttoned
shirt over her head and begun trying to remember if shed
asked, surely she had, but Wheres Lexi? Lexi, as in
Alexandria, was the latest chick whod been hanging
around.
Yur guess is as good as any. Said she needed space.
Ah, so good riddance, huh?
Purdy much. Her and that damn yappin mutt. Not
sure what she needed the space for, but I know I needed
the quiet.
Anytime Sterling said your guess is as good as
any, Laura could rest assured he was done with the
subject at hand. He never saw it as good sense to hold
on to anything or anyone resisting being found in such
a position. Hed say, Chase down a runaway train and
two things will be certain...the train will keep going and
youll be tired. For 30 years old, Sterling possessed a
deep well of knowledge, wisdom and horse-sense. He
learned quickly, though only through repetition. Hed let
go of one falling star only to hitch a ride with the very next
bright gazer to come along. Laura knew Sterling maybe
better than she knew herself. In times of quiet reflection,
she often caught herself thinking of him analyzing his
tics and speculating the reasons behind his deep demure
and her intense love. The love in their relationship may
have fizzled right after their break up, but it never truly
left. Some would say her feelings were an obsession, but
they had it all wrong. Unless theyd been there and felt
the bond, they could never understand.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
At the sink rinsing her glass, Laura felt Sterlings arm
wrap around her waist and his breath fall upon her ear.
He didnt always have the best manners, but he could
sure turn on the charm.
Hey good lookin, our songs on.
Laura couldnt help but laughtheir song wasnt
romantic, but it was quite unforgettable. It was the
very song which had played the night they first made
love. Sterling twirled her around and pulled her close.
Together they swayed across the kitchen as Ole Merle
belted out Thats the way love goes Babe, thats the
music With her face buried in his chest breathing in
Sterlings essence, Laura held on and allowed herself to
reminisce. thats the way love goes Just as she drifted
into that sweet spot of memory, Sterling slipped his hand
to her neck and with a gentle tug, pulled her face to his
laying the most intimate kiss shed had in quite some
time. Sterling had this way, this subtle little touch with
his tongue almost a licking sensation on her bottom lip
anytime he kissed her. The electricity raced through her
43
body so fast shed thought shed been struck by lightning.
If there was a paradise, it wasnt a plane ride away it was
right there. Damn him she couldnt help but love him.

Why couldnt they work? Why hadnt they worked?
Shed been wrong about the love fading. It wasnt gone; it
was like a light switch. How could they turn it on and off
so easily, yet love so deeply? How did they have so much
passion? Were they the 9th wonder of the world? Just
minutes ago she was content with him dating Lexi. Did
he have this effect on all the girls? If he did, why did they
always leave? Laura had been with Heath for six years a
million kisses, endless love-making, but nothing held a
candle to this. She thought she had truly loved Heath, and
maybe she still did, for his name continued to bother her,
but whatever she might have felt meant nothing now. At
least not right now. The honest truth was no matter who
had laid beside her, Sterling was never far from thought.
Did he ever think of her like that?

As their lips parted, Laura stared deeply into
Sterlings blue eyes; they were thoughtful and sincere. In
the thirteen years theyd been friends, theyd both spoken
the three little words countless times to each other and
now, even though they werent verbalized, Sterlings eyes
spoke them. Sterling had just made love to her without
moving an inch. He didnt have to. It was in the air, in
the way he breathed, the way he held her, and the way
his hands felt against her skin. God. Did he even know
he could make her heart stop? Was she even breathing?
She was certain that kiss had stolen her breath away. Was
it deliberate and calculated? Was she his lab rat? His test
subject to see her reactions, so he may improve with the
others or was he Surely. No. He couldnt be in love
with her. She knew he loved her, but for Sterling to be IN
love with her was preposterous. That would mean that he
pined for her touch, her scent. That wasnt him or was
it? Laura felt so secure in his arms, yet so confused. Oh
Sterling, I.I
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Yo Sterling, MAN! Let us in.
The guys are hereya up to sing?
Suddenly snapped out of her rambling thought, Laura
dazedly stared through him, ignoring his question.
Luby, you okay babe?
Yea. As she shook her head and rubbed her face,
Yea, Im okay. I guess Im still a bit hung over, but I
think I can swing it.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Oh GA DAMNIT, Im comin Im comin already!
Sterling gave a wink and a playful finger scratch to
her side and heavy-footed to the door to unlatch the lock.
Laura couldnt help to wonder if Sterling would ever give
her a sign if hed ever confess and let her know one way
or the other of how he truly felt. Collecting some nerve,
Laura abruptly piped out, Hey.
Sterling stopped short of the door and swung around.
Yea, doll?
Lets play Love Lessons.
Grinning with his signature smirk, Sterling quipped,
Sounds like a goodn to me!
Guitar Boy
David Herring

44
Break for Tea
Upcysled Teapot
Melinda Randall Gonzalez
Comfort
Echo Burrows
MadHatters Teapot
Melinda Randall Gonzalez
45
Little Red's Dinner
by Cr ystal Castellanos
LITTLE REDS DINNER
A Play
In One Act
by Crystal Castellanos

CAST OF CHARACTERS
Cathy about 43, a mom
Shawn, about 35, a male roommate
Jane, about 38, a female roommate
Tammy, about 25, a female roommate
- 0 -
The action throughout takes place
in the kitchen of the home all four share.
- 0 -
Time: The present.
- 0 -
SYNOPSES OF SCENES
ACT I
Scene 1 Cathys kitchen of her home in the
Midwest which she shares with
three roommates, night time on
a snowy Christmas Eve.
I-1
ACT I
Scene 1
TIME: The present. Christmas Eve night.

46
SCENE: The kitchen of Cathys home. A table
with food at C, a kitchen counter and
stove covered with pots and pans and
baking items at L. Front door fanked
by two windows UC, archway at UP
and UL.
AT RISE: SHAWN is sitting at the table, iPhone
in hand, iPad on the table looking
between the two as he eats cookies.
(DOORBELL RINGS ONCE)
SHAWN
The doorbell is ringing!
(He absently stuffs another cookie into His mouth
and continues looking at His electronic devices.)
(DOORBELL RINGS TWICE IN A ROW)
JANE
Is somebody going to get that?
(Irritated. She enters thru the arch at UL wearing a short
kimono carrying a nail polish bottle and sporting
wet toenails and fngernails. She stops short of UC.
Stares daggers at SHAWN who doesnt look up at all.)
SHAWN
I thought you were going to get it. Im really busy.
(Stuffs another cookie into His mouth and looks at devices.)
JANE
(Sarcastically.)
Yes, oh so very busy.
(DOOR BELL RINGS SEVERAL TIMES IN A ROW)
Ill get that, since I just got out of the shower and have sixteen things to do to get ready for drinks
with Frank after dinner.
I-2
SHAWN
(Distracted. Oblivious.)
Thanks.
(DOOR BELL RINGING JOINED BY POUNDING ON DOOR)
JANE
(Stares at SHAWN another few seconds. Crosses to
UC to open front door. CATHY juggles three bags
of groceries and stands with foot up, mid-kick.)
(SNOW BLOWS IN THRU OPEN DOOR)

Yipes! Its freezing out there! Maybe you could stand there a little longer because Im really dressed for this!
(JANE shivers and steps back holding the door. Yelling.)
Thanks for all the help Shawn!
(JANE runs from UC out arch at UL.)
47
CATHY
(Stands for a few seconds looking at SHAWN.)
Shawn, can you help me please?
(Starts to lose Her grip on a bag and dives into the
room to catch Her balance. After a few seconds of
juggling, she rushes to the table at C and drops bags
on table next to SHAWN who starts.)
SHAWN
(Looks indignantly at CATHY and says with air of
importance.)
Wow Cathy! Way to really disrupt what Im doing! And way to leave the door open so I freeze! Dont you have any consider-
ation for anyone but yourself!
(Looks back at His iPad, then at His iPod)
CATHY
(Sighs and goes back to UC to shut the door. She smiles,
trying to be friendly as She takes off Her winter outer
garments and hangs them on the coat tree by the door.)
Whats the important project?
SHAWN
(Fully animated, looking from one device to the
other then back again.)
You wont believe what Jennifer Franklin just posted on Facebook! She is going out with Robert
New and she just broke up with Scott Anderson two days ago...
I-3
TAMMY
(Shuffes through arch at UP and crosses slowly to table
at C and looks at the cookies.)
Is somebody here? I thought I heard the doorbell.
SHAWN
Cathy was out there banging on the door and throwing groceries around.
(Twists in His chair toward CATHY.)
So whats for dinner? Im starved!
CATHY
(Continues to unload bags. SHAWN reaches for a jar
of olives. CATHY slaps His hand then begins folding
up empty grocery bags.)
Thats for later! I could use some help unloading this stuff though and setting out things.
SHAWN
(Suddenly jumps up and gathers His iPad and iPhone.)
Not me! Listen honey, Id love to stay and help, but I have to get to the bottom of this thing with Jen and Robert. After all, its
Christmas Eve and the Andersons will never let me live it down if I dont do something to stop this. It will be all over the society
pages on Sunday if they show up at church together tomorrow! Everyone knows Im her best friend!
(SHAWN grabs the bottle of olives from the table as
He dashes out the arch at UL.)
CATHY
(Picks up grocery bags and takes them to cabinet at LC.)
What about you Tammy? Think you can give me a hand getting this dinner on the table? Theres
still plenty that needs to be done and I could sure use your help.

48
(CATHY puts on her apron and pulls Her red hair back
in a pony tail then turns to lift lids and stir things on stove.)
TAMMY
Not me. Im not really hungry.
(She picks up a napkin. While watching Cathys turned back
puts several cookies into the napkin. She turns and crosses
to exit UP.)
CATHY
(Turns from stove in time to see Tammy with cookies.
Sighs and as She turns to recipe book and mixing bowl
on counter next to stove.)
Ok. Ill do it myself.
I-4
JANE
(Enters UL and crosses to table at C. She is free of wet
nail polish, but still in Her robe. She carries a mostly
empty glass of wine and seems relaxed now.)
You work too much! You need to have some fun in life!
(Jane grabs a cookie, pops it into Her mouth, makes a
funny face, and washes it down with some wine.)
CATHY
Well, I could use some help here, and then Id be glad to sit down and relax a bit before my kids
arrive.
(Cathy switches on the mixer and turns around to Jane.)
You could slice up some of that cheddar cheese and put it on the tray with the crackers for me. I
have plenty to do over here with getting the rest of the cake mixed up and then putting
together the icing while the cake bakes.
(Cathy pulls a knife out of the drawer next to Her and
turns to hand it to Jane who has reflled Her glass with
some more wine from the bottle on the table.)
JANE
Not me! I would, but I have to call Alex and see if we are going out tonight since Frank canceled
our plans to go have a drink after dinner at the last minute!
(Jane grabs a couple cookies off the tray and scurries
quickly past Cathy thru arch at UL. Cathy looks after Her.)
TAMMY
(Enters silently thru arch at UP and inches Her way to
table at C as She eyes the cookies and Cathy alternately.)
What are you doing?
CATHY
(Gestures at the general chaos and returns to Her work.)
Im cooking dinner.
TAMMY
(Inching closer to the table and the cookies.)
What are you making?
CATHY
(Continues at Her work.)
Well, theres a ham in the oven, and sweet potatoes, and an apple pie. I really need to fnish up
what Im doing here.
TAMMY
Ok. I'll do it myself
49
(Now at the table begins slipping cookies into a napkin.)
Sounds yummy!
I-5
CATHY
(Turns on the mixer.)
I could use some help slicing up that cheese. Im really busy getting this cake ready to go into
the oven.
TAMMY
Mmmm! Cake! I love cake! What kind?
CATHY
Its carrot cake.
TAMMY
My favorite! I cant wait to have some!
CATHY
Would you mind helping me slice up that cheese? It really wont take that long and it doesnt have to be fancy or anything.
TAMMY
(Inches away from the table.)
Not me! Im not so good at slicing. And Im not really hungry.
CATHY
(Cathy turns to look at Tammy as Tammy exits UP.)
Ok. Ill do it myself. Im never going to get all this done.
(Walks to the table and sets down the knife by the cheese.
She turns back to the counter. Shawn comes strolling
thru arch at UL iPad in hand.)
SHAWN
Do we have any more of that Cabernet?
CATHY
On the table.
SHAWN
(Crosses to table at C and sets down His iPad then crosses
L where Cathy is scraping contents of mixing bowl into
cake pan.)
Mmm...dinner is sure smelling good.
CATHY
Thanks Shawn. Im trying to make everyones favorites since its Christmas Eve and all. I really
tried to pick up on on one things that each person remembers most about their past Christmas
dinners before we all came to live here together. I did cookies for Tammy, and you and Jane
both seemed to really remember the appetizers.
I-6
SHAWN
(Shawn opens cabinet over Cathys head almost hitting Her
with the door. Removes wine glass from cabinet and
closes door. As He walks back to table at C with glass,
uncorks wine bottle, pours and stares dreamily remembering.)
You know, thats not how Julia taught me to do that. When I spent those three days cooking with her
in California, she always used a wooden spoon when emptying bowls like that to be sure she

50
got everything out of them. Did I ever tell you about that? When I spent three days cooking
with Julia Child? We stayed at her home and she was so gracious.
CATHY
Yes, Shawn, you have told me a hundred times if youve told me once. Its great that you could
have the opportunity to cook with someone like her. Maybe you wouldnt mind cooking with
little old me for a while? Help me out here?
(Cathy sets down the bowl, picks up the cake pan
with both hands and walks to the oven at L. She stops
and waits looking at Shawn who was now looking at Her.
She looks at the oven door, at Shawn again. She sighs.
She sets the pan down on top of the stove, opens the oven
door, picks up the pan, puts it into the oven, and closes the
door.)
SHAWN
So when will dinner be done?
(Reaches down, grabs another cookie and washes it down
with a big swig of wine.)
CATHY
Well, it will be done sooner if I have a little help.
(Cathy calls over Her shoulder as She scrapes butter
and cream cheese into a fresh mixing bowl.)
Could you slice up that cheddar cheese for me please? Its right there on the table and so is the
knife. It will only take a minute and it would help me out a lot.
SHAWN
Not me! Cathy, did you just hear me say that I cooked with Julia Child? I not going to do
something like slice up cheese after Ive cooked with one of the greatest chefs in the world!
(Shawn scoops up His iPad from the table and as He
crosses to exit UL, he meets Jane in the archway and says
before continuing his exit.)
Be careful, shes going to try to put you to work, too!
CATHY
(Leaves mixer running and crosses to C. Begins to unwrap
and slice cheese.)
I-7
JANE
(After watching Cathy a few seconds, crosses to table at C. Uncorks the
wine bottle and empties the last into her glass.)
You work too hard Cathy. Really? Is that all you ever do is work?
CATHY
Well, dinner isnt going to make itself. Its not easy making dinner for so many with such
different tastes and memories of such an important day. I love to cook, you know that, but this is
a tall order.
JANE
(Crosses to cabinets at L and takes another bottle of
wine from cabinet.)
Why dont you come down the hall and let me fx your hair? It looks so plain up in a pony tail
just like that.
51
CATHY
I cant right now. Would you reach over and turn off that mixer for me please?
JANE
Not me! I hear my phone ringing! Thats probably Jeff. I called to ask if hed take me out to
drinks later!
(Jane leave wins bottle on counter and runs out UL.)
CATHY
(Cathy crosses L to turn off the mixer.)
TAMMY
(Enters UP and walks straight to table C.)
Oooo! Cheese!
CATHY
Thats for dinner!
TAMMY
(Jumps and casts Her eyes down at the foor.)
Gosh, you dont have to bite my head off. I was just saying how nice it looked.
(She looks innocent for a few seconds, then begins
sneaking cheese and crackers into a napkin as Cathy
works at the counter.)
CATHY
Listen Tammy, I have the cake in the oven, but if you could mash the mashed potatoes while I
put the powdered sugar into this frosting. Thats the last thing to do before dinner, and then I can
sit down for a minute before my kids get here. It would really help me out a lot.
(Cathy reaches for the powdered sugar.)
The potato masher is right in that drawer.
I-8
TAMMY
Not me. Im not really hungry.
(She slips down the hall UP.)
CATHY
(Cathy leaves the mixer on and starts mashing potatoes.)
SHAWN
(Enters thru arch at UL and comes to counter L with His
now empty wine glass. He grabs a corkscrew, opens the
bottle and pours Himself more wine.)
Still at it? I see were ready to start another bottle. You know, when I was in Paris, we never
mashed potatoes with one of those things, we always used a ricer. Julia used a ricer, too, when I
was there. Said it made the potatoes much more smooth when they were done.
CATHY
Well, Im sure I saw your potato ricer on your shelf in the pantry. Maybe you could grab it and
fnish the potatoes while I add the vanilla to this icing? Then I can sit down and have a glass of
wine with you before the kids get here. It would be nice to put my feet up for a few minutes
before everyone gets here.
(Cathy turns back to the mixer and reaches for the vanilla.)
SHAWN
Not me! I have a very important Facetime chat with a knock out gal I met at the club last night.

52
(Shawn grabs a handful of crackers and as He exits UL.)
Ta!
CATHY
(Turns off mixer and fnishes mashing potatoes.
She looked up at the clock above the stove.)
Oh my! The kids will be here any minute! Id better go clean up a bit
(She undoes Her apron and pulls her down her ponytail.)
JANE
(Enters UL and Cathy exits same. Jane is dressed
now and has an empty wine glass again. She crosses
to table C to refll.)
Man, that girl never slows down.
(Pops a piece of cheese in Her mouth and munches.)
TAMMY
(Enters UP and crosses to table C eyeing the cookies again.)
Who are you talking to? Wheres Cathy?
I-9
JANE
(Grabs a cracker off the tray.)
She just ran down the hall to her room like she was on fre! What has been up with her today? Shes been all over the house
doing this and that. She never sat down for a minute all day I dont think.
TAMMY
(As She grabs a cookie.)
Well, these cookies are sure good. I think Ill have another while we wait for dinner.
SHAWN
(Enters UL with empty wine glass and crosses to table C.
As the three of them talk, they are eating.)
What are we talking about?
JANE
How Cathy is always too busy to stop and have some fun. You would think on Christmas Eve, of
all days, that she would stop and just enjoy the holiday for a while with her roommates. I mean,
were not family, but we all live here together, so you would think she would fnd a way to make
some time for us.
TAMMY
And how about how shes always asking us to do her work for her all day long.
SHAWN
I know, she must have asked me to do a dozen silly menial things in the last ten minutes that she
could have done herself. Why on earth does she even bother asking when she knows I have so
much to do to keep up with all these important people pulling on me.
(CAR LIGHTS FLASH ACROSS BOTH KITCHEN WINDOWS.)
SHAWN
(Yelling down the hall.)
Hey Cathy! Your kids are here!
(To Jane and Tammy at the table.)
53
Its about time! Pretty rude keeping us all waiting like this.
TAMMY
Yay! That means its time for dinner! I think Im going to have a piece of pie and a piece of cake
for dessert tonight.
JANE
So glad theyre fnally here! Now wheres Cathy, Im starving. I need something in my stomach
before I go out drinking. This show needs to get on the road quick so I can fnish eating and then
get back to my room to put on my makeup and do my hair.
I-10
SHAWN
(Cathy enters UL but stops short in arch.)
Ok, where do you want us to sit for dinner Madam?
CATHY
(As she speaks, she takes a step at a time toward the
group gathered around the table at C.)
I worked hard planning this menu, doing the shopping and preparing the food.
(Turns to Tammy.)
I asked for help with the potatoes and no one would help.
(Turns to Jane.)
I asked for help with the cheese and no one would help.
(Turns to Shawn.)
I stood outside and rang the doorbell with three bags of groceries in my arms and no one would help.
SHAWN
(Shawn, Tammy and Jane stand stunned at table C.)
So what does that mean to us? Where do you want us to sit.
CATHY
(Takes two steps toward UC. Turns and looks at the group.)
You may all sit somewhere else. Because you were all too busy to help. I did the work all on my own. This dinner is for me and
my children.
(Cathy continues to UC. Grabs Her coat off the coat tree,
sweeps open the door and with one fnal glance
at them all, exits UC closing the door behind Her. The
rest stand speechless.)

(LIGHTS BLACK OUT)
and
FINAL CURTAIN

54
Still Opening
Suzie Leiber
55
Palm with Many Roots
Shirley Gangwere
Humidity
by Arielle Washington
I cant get her out of my head,
He says to the screen door, he says
to the lampshade, he says to the
winter white lines atop the dresser.
They shudder in silence, they understand.
She makes me feel like I
gotta cool down, gotta feel
the ocean floor beneath these
phantom feet, or maybe see some
life with these tired fucking eyes.
He sees her in the middle of
a fever dream, glistening like
polished mahogany under lavender
lights. He feels her, wriggles into
her like a snake feenin for shade.
Burnin up, always burnin up.
Her hair brushes over his face, an
ebony tidal wave. He breathes her
in, offers her salt to his lungs. Take
this, and drink it, in memor y of me.

56
Heartbreaker
Monica Alaniz
Coal Black
by Neil Lamar-Emminger
I live spectacularly, shining brightly upon
all around me, illuminating my world.
Beauty rests within ever y sight, wonder
holds me as color dances upon itself.
Yet around each corner, beneath my gaze,
stillness gathers and sight fades.
Blazing away obscurity, I push against
an empty scene, granting life and warmth.
The unknown scurries away, weak and cowardly,
hiding always behind some strong shield.
I cast my light, my life, until none remains.
I grow wear y, my heart flickering sadly,
Finally I fall and fade to nothing.
Sinking slowly into the void, I watch
memories flow off into depths of night.
The stygian depths pull relentlessly, lost
warmth fades into a cool embrace.
Some lights above shine like stars in a lake,
then those ethereal sparks waver and vanish.
Now that light is gone I truly see,
a lump of coal sitting still and spent.
It once burned bright as fire, now
it crumbles as ash, silent and soft.
The most beautiful sight I have seen---
the deep dark black of dying light.
57
Stew Pot
Melissa Corson

58
The Fairest of Them All
by Dalise DeVos
I. Once Upon a Time, there was a
Beautiful Princess
Ivory soaked in her surroundings behind a malevo-
lent scowl. Even sulking, her beauty could not be denied.
The few rays of sunlight that managed to break through
the thick clouds above danced upon her long, wavy hair
as on dark ocean waters. It was parted in its usual manner,
covering half her left eye, and flowed down just past her
breasts, currently playing a game of peek-a-boo from their
confinement in her strapless black dress. Her mother had
begged her to put on something more appropriate, but
Ivory rather liked the way this old dress wrapped around
her curves. She gazed at her mother now, who wore a stoic
expression as she stared ahead at the open casket how
different from the trembling heap who lay sobbing on the
kitchen floor for hours after that dreadful phone call only
a week before.
Ivory hadnt understood her mothers wails; she was
glad the bastard had died. Of course, she knew better than
to inform the poor woman of this. It was pathetic, really.
The douche bag had left adios, sayonara, buh-bye on
the eve of Ivorys sixth birthday nearly eleven years ago.
She rushed to the front door every time it opened that day
hoping shed find Daddy standing there ready to catch her
in his arms, but she only found disappointment. She slept
by that door until hatred grew in disappointments place.
Her mother barricaded herself inside her bedroom for
weeks that turned to months, leaving young Ivory alone
when she needed her most. The woman finally emerged
an empty shell, almost as if her soul had retreated so far
deep within her that it disappeared altogether. Ivory re-
sented her mother for abandoning her, but right now that
resentment melted into pity. Her mother, too, had been
lovely once, before her broken heart consumed her body
like a cancer. While Ivorys sapphire eyes burned with
the intensity of blue flame against her cream complexion,
her mothers sat as flat as gray stones. A single tear rolled
down Ivorys cheek and splashed upon her leg, startling
her from the depths of her mind back to the shallow sur-
face of reality. She quickly glanced around the sea of un-
familiar faces, praying no one witnessed her brief moment
of vulnerability, and, with a flip of her hair, shook off emo-
tion altogether.
II. who Harbored a Bitterness
toward the Lonely Queen
Why did we have to go? I mean, seriously, what was
the point of that? Did you enjoy sitting there listening to
the bastards real family, you know, the one he LEFT us
for, tell all those stories about what a loving and devot-
ed husband and father he washuh, tell me, was that as
much fun for you as it was for me? Ivory interrogated as
her mother slowly pulled into the driveway. The clouds
suddenly opened and released the rain theyd been threat-
ening all day. Hell, Mom, they didnt even know who we
wereand the reason I KNOW they didnt know who we
were is because his fucking son was drooling over me like
I was a fucking double bacon cheeseburgeror maybe he
would raise a son to be the kind of pervert that would
check out his own sisterGod, Mom, dont you have any-
thing to say?
Watch your language, Ivory, muttered her mother
in a low, grave tone. Lightning flashed as they pulled into
the driveway, immediately followed by thunders roar.
Language? Watch my fucking language? Thats what
you have to say. Wow, Ivory sneered, her eyes electrified
like the lightning all around them.
Im serious, Ivory! her mother exclaimed as she
finally turned to look at her daughter. A devilish smile
played on the corner of Ivorys flame-like lips. She
couldnt remember the last time shed heard her mother
raise her voice. What has gotten into you, lately? Your
pretty face might be able to fool everyone else. But Im
your mother, and I see how black your heart is. I know I
59
havent been the best mother, and I know I havent always
been there for you when you needed me, and for that Im
sorry, but I never raised you to be thisthisvindictive little
witch youve become! Please, Ivory, listen to me, or your
vanity will destroy you! The car turned into the driveway
and stopped. Her mother turned off the engine.
I. Hate. You. No sooner had the words left Ivorys
mouth, then she felt her mothers cold hand slap hard
against her face. She licked her lips and tasted the blood
that had begun to flow freely. She gasped, stared at her
mother in disbelief, then ran from the car as she slammed
the door with such force that the whole body shook. She
fled into the house and never turned to witness her mother
collapse sobbing upon the steering wheel.
III. so she Decided to Run Away
into the Dark Forest
Ivory wasted no time. She grabbed her suitcase from
her closet, stuffed it with her most promising outfits, and
dashed out the back door before her mother even entered
through the front. She yanked her iPhone from its hiding
place in her bra and dialed her best friend, Hunters, num-
ber. Cmon, Hunter, pick up she mumbled frantically.
Friends since grade school, Hunter remained the only per-
son never to disappoint her. Over the past few years, hed
fallen face-first for her, and she knew he would do whatever
she asked.
Hey Babe, how was he answered, making no at-
tempt to hide his excitement at her call.
Ivory interrupted. Hunter, listen. I need you to come
pick me up, like, now. Ill tell you whats up when I see you,
but I need you to hurry. How fast can you get here?
Already on my way, Babe. Be there in less than two.
You aight? Youre kinda scarin me he voiced with con-
cern.
Yeah, Im fine, dont worry. Ill talk to ya when you get
here, k?
Well, then I guess ya betta start talkin, he said as
skirted to the front of the house. Ivory laughed, shoved the
phone back in her bra, leapt from the safety of her covered
porch into the pouring rain, and ran to the curb. She had
never been more thankful for his maniacal driving skills. As
he slowed, Hunter opened the door for her from the driv-
ers seat, and she plopped in with a sigh of relief. He took a
minute to take her in, as he always did. Her wet hair clung
to her body and beads of water dripped off her face. As
his eyes lingered on her lips, he noticed the small cut. He
reached out to stroke her, but she pushed his hand away.
Ugh, Hunter, I dont have time thiswould you drive
already?
Sorry, you cant call a guy all frantic and mysterious,
worry him half to death, sit down in his car with a bloody
lip, and expect him not to wanna know whats up.
Look, its no big deal. My Mom and I just got into it,
alright. But I need a huge favor, okay?
Sure Babe, anything, you know that.
I need you to drive me to the city and drop me off.
Then I need you to call my mom and tell her Im crashing
at your place for a little bit. Can you do that? asked Ivory,
looking up at him underneath her long, dark lashes.
Uh, I mean, I guess. Are you sure the citys safe? Why
dont you come crash at my place for real? Id sleep on the
couch, and you could have my bed if you wanted, nothin
weird, he eagerly proposed.
No, Hunter. I need to be somewhere where she cant
find me. I just want you to tell her Im at your place so she
doesnt come looking for me for a while. She will come
looking for me eventually, but when she does, I want to be
far enough away that she wont be able to find me. Besides,
Ill be fine in the city. People will help me. You tell me, who
wouldnt help this face?
He chuckled uneasily. Alright Babe, have it your way.
Aww, Hunter, youre the absolute best! she shrieked
as she leaned over to kiss his cheek. They sat the rest of the
drive in silence as she applied her lipstick, shade Red as a
Rose, and tousled her damp hair.
IV. Where she Died. Happily Ever After.
Ivory waved as Hunters taillights disappeared in the
distance. The sky had finished waging its war upon the
earth, but nightfall rapidly approached and as confident as
she was, the thought of sleeping in the filthy streets thor-
oughly scared her. She saw what appeared to be an old mo-
tel up ahead with a flickering neon sign that read Shortys

60
and decided to investigate it closer. Shortys proved to
be an accurate description, as she had to duck just to get
through the front doors. The lights were dim and a faint
smell of urine and booze tickled her nostrils. She consid-
ered leaving, but decided any bed had to be better than no
bed.
May I help you, miss? inquired a gruff voice from
across the room. She squinted through the musty air to
barely make out a dingy counter with the outline of a man
sitting behind it.
Why yes, sir, you can, she said as she sauntered to-
ward him. Each clank of her heels against the hardwood
brought the mans face clearer into view. She gulped, for
she had never witnessed someone sogrotesque. His arms
were short and stubby, and it appeared that all the hair that
might have once grown atop his head had been relocated to
curl out from the top of his stained apron. He had blood
under his fingernails that seemed to come from the many
picked-at sores that were scattered over his face and arms.

Something wrong, miss? he asked with a crooked smile
that revealed a set of file-sharpened teeth. This half-shark,
half-troll of a man was a stranger to Ivory, but the hunger
in his eyes as he looked at her was all too familiar, so she
decided not to waste an opportunity.
Oh, nothing sir, its just getting dark out there, and
I noticed thisuh, fine establishmentand I was hoping
that a handsome man like yourself might be willing to show
some hospitality to a girl all alone on her first night in the
big city? she said surreptitiously as she leaned slowly over
the counter to give him a better glimpse of the merchandise.
The mans smile grew wider. Im sure we can work some-
thing out, Princess. How about a nights stay on-the-house?
That would be lovely, uh
You can call me Chef, Princess. Im in charge of uh,
picking the menu round here. Speaking of menu, you must
be thirsty. What can I get you? We call our bartender Doc,
cause hell get you feelin real good.
Now that you mention it, I could really go for a glass
of cabernet.
Cabernet, eh? Funny, I had you pegged as the Ap-
pletini type. Anywho, your room is the first on the left. Ill
have your drink brought to you. The room was empty,
and the bed was made and seemed clean enough. Almost
immediately, there was a quick rap on the door, but Ivory
opened it to find only her glass of wine sitting on the floor.
She admired speedy service, however odd, and sipped the
wine without a second thought. Ugh! How could her moth-
er drink this stuff? Shed never had cabernet before, only
heard her mother order it at restaurants. In fact, this was
only her second time drinking alcohol period. She remem-
bered the first time. She and Hunter stole a bottle ofwait,
she didnt remember it making her this dizzy? She defi-
nitely didnt remember it making her this sleepy. The last
words her mother said to her echoed in Ivorys mind as she
collapsed exhausted onto the bed.
Well boys, what did I tell you? She may be the sweet-
est one yet! that familiar gruff voice announced waking
her. Her eyes dashed around the room in horror to sev-
en dwarfs, each as gruesome as the one she recognized as
Chef, smiling maliciously. One held a knife in one hand,
her cut dress in the other. One smacked his lips approv-
ingly. Another licked his lips and clapped his hands. Her
screams were smothered by duct tape, while zip ties bound
her arms and legs to each bedpost, diminishing any chance
she might have had at escape. She whimpered and shook,
tears streamed down her face as each little man took his
turn until she bled. So pretty, so so pretty, one whispered
in her ear right before he bit it off, initiating a feeding fren-
zy. They nibbled at her flesh like piranhas, not leaving one
piece of sinew intact. Chef, however, took one bite of her
heart, spat it out in disgust; it was much too bitter.

This half-shark, half-troll of a man
was a stranger to Ivor y, but the
hunger in his eyes as he looked at
her was all too familiar, so she de-
cided not to waste an opportunity.
61
Clear! (Prose Poem)
by Matt Ward
The wind howled, rustled the ever-changing autumn leaves
where faint smells of Cedar embarked from the vibrant trees.
Perdition set forth that eerie September night,
reigning in the colossal beginning of the Battle of Carnifex Ferr y.
We traversed through tough terrains and roamed the roaring riverbanks.
Troops gathered, forged onward to the walls of the Union Army.
Bloodthirsty soldiers viciously greeted us
with long-barreled muskets and salient-edged bayonets.
Bitter taste of sharp, metallic gunpowder seeped into my mouth.
Bullets rained like a Seattle thunderstorm,
where Union Army men painted the ground in our blood.
CLEAR! Our commander shrilled as we trudged through pools of red.
Hastily, the keen edge of a blade pierced my flesh,
where the uninviting ground malevolently awaited my fall.
CLEAR! I shouted in my final moments;
CLEAR! I yelled, for I succumbed to a multitude of red.

62
Tiger
by Brittany Blancett
Zigzag silk coat shines
Sundown with midnight streaming
Blanketing bare skin.
Tight wave of muscles
Conquer the territor y --
Strutting with power.
Beware the danger!

Silently stalking the night

til a leaf crackles
63
Carnivore
by LeeAnn Olivier
Above the pit of the stairwell
I watched my father and his militia,
men with brass wings peppering
their uniforms like monarchs,
women with feathered hair and eyelashes
like spiders. Their tongues and bodies loosened
as they drank. I smelled the tang of gin,
heard the clink of ice in tumblers, the plunk
of green olives smooth as emeralds.
My father taught me how to mix martinis,
roll cool pearl onions around on my tongue,
slam back vodka with ice. My father never
taught me how to swim, to read or dance
or fish. But I can do all of those things.
Carnivore that I was, I watched my father
drink his supper. I thought I could wait
out his indifference like a tigress, haunches
furled, sedate, but impatient for meat.
Temptest
Amy Hatley

64
On the Corner Street
by Samuel Cook
There is a faded red sign on the corner street,
And ever y day it says one word
That we all have learned to heed:
Stop;
We obey.
There is a faded beggar on the corner street,
And ever y day he says one word,
But we all ignore his plea:
Help;
We turn away.
Schedules are terrible masters for the weak.
Are they why we turn our gaze from those who are in need?
Surely, this is something we cannot say for sure,
But one thing we all know is that we should listen more.
Then stop
To help.
Restoration
Amy Hatley
65
Third Avenue
Bill Fanes

66
Camouflaged Under the Red and Black
by Charilyn Davis
The approaching dawn slithered over the India Forest. The exotic sounds of life awakening were the first signs of
day break, along with a sudden agonizing sound of pain, fear, and loss.
The scream came from the distance, possibly from the other side of the Maniwala village? My eyes fluttered open;
they reacted much quicker than my body, my vision was an uncomfortable blur. The sudden scream startled the new
day, disturbing the countless animals in the Tropical Forest.
Perplexed and incoherent, I sat up to the alarming sound that was becoming familiar to the morning light. So familiar,
it was no longer quite a surprise. It was dreaded at least twice a week due to the brute beast that prowled in the forest; a
beast that had the appearance of glamour and elegance but the actions and the mind of a savaged monster. Like a nee-
dle with thread sliding through a brain, my mind recoiled at the wailing cries of a woman; wails that were once recogniz-
able.
Mother?
With a quickening heart, I scrambled to my feet, scattering the bedding of hay as I attempted to run out the hut.
Forcefully waking my aching body, tripping over my feet and whatever else laid in my path, I leapt from the broken steps
and unsteadily hit the dirt ground, my sight slowly adjusting to the dim light of sunrise that appeared behind the army of
large trees ahead.
The wail grew closer as I hurried through the maze of huts. My long dark hair stuck to my cheek from the sweat
during the humid night. Toward the end of the village where the Sugarcane crop was planted, a group of my fellow
villagers stood in a dotted circle.
Who? Who had been lost during the late night? The group of stunned villagers opened a path for me as I stum-
bled into view of the bloody corpse, mauled and half dismembered from our wrenched nightmare.
The people around me began to wail, joining me in my tears over the deceased member.
I shook my head as I identified the clothing of the newest victim, meaning to scream as I recognized the unfortunate
prey, but the shock of loss made the scream lodge in my throat, releasing nothing but rushed air.
I collapsed beside my mother who held the remains of my mauled father in her arms. I released a sob as I dizzily
saw the only reconcilable part of him left were the necklace of tiger claws; the same tiger he slew for brutally mauling my
elder brother some time ago. My father was known as the village protector, the man who killed off demons. We were
now lost, our protector was dead, like so many of our lost villagers. Shaking from unsaid emotions, I took my calloused
hand and grasped the pearled yellow claws, squeezing with all the strength I had as a young woman. Afraid of the image
that would haunt me for life, I refused to take in the sight of his mangled body. Thankfully, my vision was dulled by the
deapening tears that spilled over my face.
Wincing, I yanked the necklace from fathers neck, clutching it tightly as if it were the only sign of remaining hope;
the sign that proclaimed man can beat any beast of hell no matter how great. Unnoticing the tip of the razor claws
digging into my palm, I wiped the fresh tears from my cheek with my bare arm. I slowly lifted myself to my feet as the
echoes of loose wheels of the body cart startled to slowly rattle in the tense atmosphere, alerting the entire village that
the time to bury another body was official. I unwillingly pulled my gaze down to the ground as my mother mumbled in
despair prostrate over my fathers body.
Three small figures came into view of the inner circle, the figures of my two younger sisters and baby brother, their
67
expressions showed confusion, doubt and despair. I bit my lower lip and quickly looked away as my sisters began to
silently weep; our only life source had now been taken, for reasons they could not yet understand.
Nothing fueled my anger to a blazing fire more than to see my family in such despair, to be so fearful of the un-
known day. I mastered my tears, clenched my jaw and bit down on my tongue as I gazed into my fellow villagers pitiful
eyes. The expressions of loss, anger, and exhaustion asked a desperate question:
Who will protect us now?
We were at a broken stage in this cruel life, but I refused to accept that its hopelessness. We were only mere prey
for the demons we allowed to rule our lives and our nightmares. All of our hard, endlessly long working days and losses
would be in vain if were consumed by these nightmares. I clenched the claws deeper to imbed them into my skin, a
drop of blood rolled like the tears of todays red sunrise. I loosened my grip and brought the claws to view, slowly exam-
ined the past creatures weapons, and remembered what Father said to me of the night he killed this monster.
Even our monsters have nightmares too, and that is man. Because we can be greater than any beast, we are born to have
hope, and that brings us power, even if we hope in vain.
Clutching the daggered claws once more, I let out a quick sob, not for the death of my father and all the dead wed
endured but for his memory, the man who gave this village a spark of hope and who brought the people together to
keep the flame alive. I, the daughter of the village protector, must not allow his life to be forgotten and to let the flame
of our people die. Wordlessly, I moved out of the circle as they closed on my mother to comfort her. I slipped passed
a few men and women who reached out to touch me, but I desired no comfort and flinched from their sympathetic
hands. Whispers of unheard words floated around the village as everyone watched me quickly leave and run down the
path to my hut.
My body awake, my eyes livid with uncontrollable fire, anger surged through me, and fueled a focus that would
either place me among the lost or bring peace to the village. I flexed my hands and gathered Fathers hunting tools that
were now mine. As the eldest child of the village protector, it was now my job to guard the people. Female or male, the
gender I was born with was irrelevant.
Father taught me how to hunt and how to survive on my own. But he never taught me how to keep an entire village
alive. I quickly wrapped the leather dagger belt around my waist, slid the two daggers in place and tied the necklace
securely to the belt, the cord no longer long enough to tie properly around my neck. I grabbed the long spear my father
used to destroy the murderous tiger, the weight of the powerful weapon was heavy and massive for my body, but the
strength of my fury gave me the power I needed to wield it. I grabbed the deer skin off my bed of hay and flung it over
my back. The wounds on my father had looked fresh, so the creature couldnt have traveled too far. I easily found and
followed the track of bloody paw prints that the red and black beast left behind back to where the forest entrance, where
no one dared to enter. I paused to focus on my breath, or was I hesitating from fear? I faintly looked up toward the
brightening sky, at the large blade of the spear that towered above me, the white and peal gray head that was fanned by
claws and fangs from past animals my father had killed. I heard a twig snap suddenly from the area in front of me.
The Tigress was close.
I gripped the spear with both hands to ready myself and set out slowly toward the forest. Hesitant with each step, I
carefully examined and searched all sides, keeping constant watch of my blind side. The jungle was nothing but a green
labyrinth full of life threatening weapons of not only animals, but also of plants and insects. The deeper I traveled into
the large forest, the track marks became more difficult to find as my surroundings grew darker. The sun failed to pene-
trate the dense foliage.
My heart flew quicker and grew louder in the quiet. Nothing but an uncommon predatory stillness flushed the air.
I slowly stepped over brush that held tiny traces of blood exposed on the dark leaves. I looked around me once more
before focusing my attention toward the ground. Careful to not put any pressure on the twigs or leaves, I winced as

68
unseen thorns scraped against my skin. I gasped, and in the distance, a rustle of branches and twigs snapped. I froze.
She knew I was here.
My body tensed as I scanned for the creature that could see me, but I not it. Finally, after building enough cour-
age to move, I veered to the right around a large tree and caught a glimpse of red; red as the color of hot sunset. My
heartbeat increased, and the sound of my blood flowed in my ears. I walked slowly around the tree to see a deadly mask
of red and white, lined with feline features of black gazing straight at me. Large eyes of gold, never left mine. She slowly
lowered herself into a crouch, fur rolling in waves of flame with each movement She released a low growl like startled
thunder.
My body flushed with feverous heat; my eyes widened as the sweat built to tears on my skin. The white of her face
was noticeably red with blood from her last kill, the blood of my father. I grasped the spear tighter, and she noticed my
slight movement. Her eyes narrowed with intent, her mouth opened to reveal a set of long yellow and white fangs. An
intimidating growl filled the air. I staggered back, and the tigress coiled her muscles and placed one leg out in front of
her, her stalking position. Her long body structure bowed with territorial pride; her pronounced muscles hardened.
I slowly managed to move the spear. Her long white whickers flicked with each airy hiss, and with every hiss a drop
of bloody saliva fell, reminding me of my resolve. I steadily bent my knees, positioned myself and pointed the spear tip
at the head of the beast. She opened her fanged mouth wider, as if mocking me with the growl of laughter. I bit down
on my lip as the fear and doubt of intimidation settled in my core. I brought forth energy, preparing for her to charge at
me, tense at the slightest movement she made. She slowly lurched forward, flexing her heavy muscles while her massive
keen claws scratched the dirt, her fierce slit eyes never wavering.
I froze, hypnotized; deeply trapped in her enchanted golden eyes, remembered that was how this creature snared
her prey. The spear shook within my grasp; my heart rattled wildly against my bones as the tears of fearful revenge stung
my eyes.
Allowing my anger to build its wild fire, I pulled my lips back and exposed a hiss that startled the beasts reaction.
Her large lips recoiled and exposed her entire bloody mouth to me. She roared. Her long snake ringed tale flickered
with jagged bloody-black stripes of poison. She swung up one front leg, swiped the space of air between us with her
paw of knives. I shook as an aggressive scream ripped from my throat. The creature roared in response and launched
into the air. Her body sprung at me. I answered her roar and thrust my fathers spear forward with every emotion and
strength I had.
~~
It is said that one should never look into the eyes of a tiger, or you shall be cursed for the remainder of your life, or
worse... But I have always dared to look. I have dared to stare endlessly into her haunting eyes of wild beauty
Inspired and Dedicated to the killed members of Maniwala Village in India.
February, 2014
Large eyes of gold, never left mine.
Tiger
Charilyn Davis
69
Fade to Black
by Samantha Walker
Lens
by Samantha Walker
Twilight fills this barren place.
Charcoal car decomposes,
within the lens of my camera.
Smoke filled space reeks
of death and fear. Abstract
images captured within the film,
burdened with sorrow and loss.
Midnight approaches
The shutter clicks,
Fade to black.
Dark and cold apprehender of souls.
Bleeding light onto the canvas of
your innards. Monochrome images
birthed from within your darkened
womb. Heavy hands harbor heretic
holograms, gazing through the lens
of your corrugated body. Unobscured
refractions burned into recordings like
pages consuming liquefied fluorescence,
developing the form of your perception.
Childhood WMD's
John Bird

70
Mr. Bear
by Amber Shepard
Burdened
by Camille Shockler
Fuzziness excludes restful serenity. Eyes
shadowy as nightfall, tattered spots where
seized too tight. Faded yellow where age
won the battle, long nights defending my
slumber. Wounds stitched, as years continued.
Sentinel against the darkness, illumination
your salvation. My devoted confidante through
many years, weak and wear y, constant battles
take their toll. For what is a guardian, with no
one to guard? Worn and faded, lying disregarded
by former battleground, years wasted away.
Given by a loving aunt, your usefulness is
gone. Despondently discharged from your
mission, watching the world pass by. The
girl who was your whole life, a woman now.
Little girl reciting her nightly prayers,
Fervently hoping she dies before she wakes,
The man called Daddy: King of Forsakes.
Kept company by dolls and one teddy bear,
Shiny Mar y Janes lined up in neat pairs,
Lying motionless, still she trembles and shakes,
Doorknob turns, he slithers in, prepared to partake,
Innocence devouredher burden to bare.
Pale teenage wrists covered in jagged scars
Her world was never a safe place to be,
I will comfort your troubled soul, beckons Death
Do it! Do it! Cut deeply, she hears from afar,
Tub water turns red; her Jesus sets her free,
Peace descends as she draws her final breath.
71
Selfe
Kayla Johnson

72
2014 EDITORIAL STAFF
eBook available @ http://marinecreekreflections.weebly.com/index.html
Marine Creek Reflections 2014 received invaluable assistance from the following:
Rick Heyser, Ph.D. and Staff, Tarrant County College District Printing Services
Lisa Benedetti, Humanities Dean, Tarrant County College Northwest Campus
Wendi Pierce, English Department Chair, Tarrant County College Northwest Campus
TCC is an Equal Opportunity Institution/Equal Access to persons with disabilities. | NW.MCR.P30.07768.03.14.JVP
2014 Tarrant County College
Marine Creek Reflections is a publication produced by the
students, faculty and staff of Tarrant County College Northwest Campus.
Theresa D. Heflin, Ed.S., Faculty Editor
Tarrant County College Northwest Campus
4801 Marine Creek Parkway | Fort Worth, Texas | 76179
817-515-7209
Printed by Tarrant County College Printing Services
Press run: 300 copies
Copies are available from:
Tarrant County College Northwest Campus English Department
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Marine Creek Reflections

VOLUME XV TARRANT COUNTY COLLEGE NORTHWEST

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