Aurora

2013

The World

Aurora 2013

Aurora 2013
Aurora is the literary forum of Davis and Elkins College. Its main goals are to showcase talent among faculty, staff, and students, and to stimulate the intellectual nerve of the college as a whole. The journal is an annual publication produced by student editors and funded by the colleges student assembly. Editors: Andrew Carroll Barbara Fellenstein Zachary J. Schmucker Katie Wilson Interim Advisor: Dr. Katherine Osborne Dedicated to: All who contribute to the Aurora; this magazine belongs to you with special thanks to Dr. Bill King for his continuous support of Aurora. Cover Picture: Color Wheel by Conner Berkey Ralston Press, Buckhannon, West Virginia

Buddha Conner Berkey To Be A Poet Richard Marzolf The Descent Alyse Prince Stripes Jessica Williams Invisible Wings Nicholas Carr Damaged Suits Megan Samples IL Est Fool Alyse Prince What Im From... Andrew Carroll To A Departed Spirit Helen Benigni Carolina Jessica Williams Enlightened Boy Leigh Ann Pearsall Darkness Leigh Ann Pearsall Self-Indulgence Zachary J. Schmucker What I See Feel and Hear Daniel Thomas A Reapers Tale Alexander McCumbers Remnant Conner Berkey Walk on Water Nicole Wyatt There Stands A Bridge Daniel Thomas English Dept Social 2012 Group Poem Untitled Andrew Carroll Observations on Laundering Jessica Williams Somewhere, Nowhere Kind of Day Round Robin Fossil Richard Marzolf Untitled Adam Posey The Highpoints Alexander McCumbers Dining Hall Revolutions Jessica Williams Dark Alyse Prince

Table of Contents

1 2 2 3 4 5-6 6 7 8 8 9 9 10-12 12 13-24 24 25 26 27-28 28 29 30 31 31 32-33 34 35

Seor Davis

Nicole Wyatt 35 36 37 37 38-46 46 47 47

Ginsang Daniel Thomas Brians Tale Alexander McCumbers A Loggers Lament Daniel Thomas Growth Andrew Carroll How Great Thy War Tyler Pratt Untitled Leigh Ann Pearsall Chaos Alyse Prince Untitled Haley Russell

Joyful Girls On Finishing Homework before Biking The Adventure You Are the Devil Gone Like You

Leigh Ann Peasall Bill King Nicole Wyatt Katie Wilson Kendra Collett

48 49-51 51 52 52

GCF Barbara Fellenstein Truth Andrew Carroll Untitled Round Robin Biosphere J.A.S Untitled Leigh Ann Pearsall A Response to Jonathan Swifts The Ladys Dressing-Room Anonymous Lake Road West Susan Krakoff Shaken Not Stirred Barbara Fellenstein

53 53 54 55-61 61

62-63 63-64 65-67

The World Within Us

Buddha

Ceramic Sculpture by Conner Berkey, Photo by Brett Kern

To conquer oneself is a greater task than conquering others. -Siddhartha Gautama Buddha
1

To Be A Poet
Is to stand naked before the world without shame nor apology... to reveal all scars and wrinkles wrought by living; all blemishes of fear and failure... and to leave wide open the bedroom door of your soul Richard Marzolf

The Descent
Remove my disguise, this mask from my face, Can anyone stay intact after a fall from grace. Can you still love me when Ive done what I must, Or like our armor of old will your faith in me rust. This blood on my hands, a price you couldnt pay, Is the shield behind which we hid from the mess of the bed we lay. Now a fool in a room of Gods Ive become, Still as tempered, sharp witted, silver tongued. Refusing to bow in this court of frauds, Im back at the bottom from whence Id once clawed. Alyse Prince 2

Stripes
Stripes deep and red Blistered cutting corners Raw and redefined Bearing my name Thousands of names Scarlet tears crashing Shattering the stars Perforating sable seams Our threads are but a dream Unfurled. Wander in the eve tonight Fresh dew settles by thmorn Coloured by yon drops of Son Rivers fail to contain the Zealous turbulence of life Caught between my fingers Marbled and frozen in time Precious time that fastens me With ribbons of grace Jessica Williams

Invisible Wings
I am from a tightly gripped pencil, dancing around a fresh piece of paper Surrounded by revised visions and a dull eraser From white and worn earbuds that hang, twisted and free Pumping a rapid stream of beats through me From my turquoise covered iPod, tucked deep in my jeans I am never one to make a scene I am from last seasons Aropostale sale Cheaper than the new stuff they put on the shelf From my glasses reflective gleam And my computers illuminated screen I am from a digital age Demanding a faster pace However, I am from a set of wrinkled sheets A lazy bed from which I dangle my feet From a cold operating table My heart reworked and able I am from a surgical battlefield Where not every scar is permanently healed I am from tired eyes and late nights A home of love, pure and bright From mountainous scenery and a limitless sky I am from invisible wings, ready to fly Nicholas Carr

Damaged Suits
I was once beautiful. Skin of porcelain and perhaps ivory; Never-mind the light hue vapor upon fair surface, That now salutes the grey ash-like haze that kisses The fair maiden. Eyes that once held such joy and blue, Now stand empty and venomous. My wings no longer keep me afloat. Withered and tattered; held down by the clods of Unfortunate human naivety. They lack the white ruffling Of a gentle breeze, Merely crinkling and curling against a once strong heart. A heart that barely even beats anymore. The shadows let it beat - for Death is not to be tolerable. Their words cloud my mind. Or so are the fathomless words spoken by dire friends. The shadows are persistent - No one cares! Are reliable - Calm yourself! Tell me things that perceive truth - Theyve hurt you before, whats to say they wont do it again? 5

I fear for my soul - Theres no such thing as a soul. Let alone a place for you! Heaven can only shed tears for so long, and Hell trembles at my monstrous form. I will find no peace with either world. My set course is upon this Earth; So long as I accept my damaged suit, And the featherless black wings Adjourned from my back. Megan Samples

IL Est Fool
Stone faces betray eager hearts, like a cruel mocking faade, Veils made of steel, cold, unmoving, odd. Permanent masks hide the longing eye, cruel reminders of our mistakes, Moving lips cant say a word, causing hearts to break. Like some sick jest were cursed with pasts we cant recall, Like the Angel with broken wings, doomed to fall. And our only solace comes in the fact that no one can see us cry, So onward to Deaths cold arms a breath of relief well sigh. Was is so long ago that we were godsback before they took our Voicenow were just Fools. Alyse Prince

What Im From...
Im from Jurassic Park Jeeps and tiny dinosaurs. Im from the Land Before Time and old VHS tapes. Im from green couches and warm afghans. Im from the dirt and the sand. Im from the mud between my toes and the crayfish in my hand. Im from the shadow of the sycamore. and the creek underneath. Im from the spoons on the wall and the places I never went. Im from the trains. and the puffs of smoke they blow on tiny people. In their tiny world in my tiny life. Im from the sharp pine needles that filled the plastic tub of my diorama of the Powhatan Indians. Andrew Carroll 7

To A Departed Spirit
Somewhere, in the sap-stained branches of a tall sequoia A red-tailed hawk crouches low, ready for take-off Its brown-red wings directed sunwise to aspiring height Crystals of dew hanging from each delicate feather Like beads of a necklace pressed gently between a womans breasts Signaling the hawks intent. Somewhere, in the dark pine forests above Poe Run Road A doe startled by the sound of gunshot gazes west Its chestnut chest pounding in a soft unbearable rhythm Like the Cherokee widows feet of a ceremonial death-dance A brown leather pouch dangling from her neck Dancing with her pain. Somewhere, a spirit has departed. Helen Benigni

Carolina

Jessica Williams 8

Enlightened Boy

Leigh Ann Pearsall

Darkness
I dont hide from the dark. I hide the people when it overcomes me. I let it take over so I can think about why this happened, what I have to do, what to do next. Lives dont change if no one is willing. Sometimes you have to work through what is going on and then face the world around you. Nothing will ever end. You will have to face it your whole life no matter what. Let the dark come and overcome, think about it then let it go away. Leigh Ann Pearsall 9

Self Indulgence
In my ancestral home, the straight road leading out of the hamlet, I was raised at the foot of the hill. My father was raised at the top. My grandfather was raised in the middle. My great grandfather died at the top. My great uncle died three quarters of the way to the top. My grandfather died at the top. My father lives at the top. I live elsewhere, having spent the past few years in the home for wayward boys Spending my mornings in Our Lady of the Perpetual Hangover Blanket Fort and Infirmary, My weekends in dim lights outside and in, standing on porches like a visiting spector staggering into the arms of alcoholism, My weeknights in a factory, laboring on my own in front of roaring kilns. My mother said best, I cant sit there all day looking at pictures of paisley fabric. Am I the only one wondering aloud what book Dorian Grey had published so many times and in so many colors? Am I alone smoking cigarettes in empty parking lots and remembering Italian waitresses? But then again, Ive always fallen for girls with smiles, With hair, With generally symmetrical features. And my nervous tick of remembering the slurred mistakes Ive 10

made, Flinching when I think of phone calls I forced and stories I told too many times, and people I disgusted. I remember watching faces change when all my polished charm had used itself up and the grit beneath it shown through. But praying to lost loves is like worshiping foreign gods: Theyd be here if they wanted to be here. Instead I trust in dreams and smile at back-lit smoke. Its a stress free life when mother nature cuts your hair. I wonder if my fathers still alive at the top of the hill. Should I start building yet? I am the German version of the Trojan Horse And therein lies the story. And these trendies, the ones who own it now, fancy themselves so original. I was there when we all started wearing scarves again. I was dreaming up excuses to wear plaid and riding boots, Counting my paisley neckties and ordering them by color. And I had no expectations of what was coming. A few saturated color pictures of me in front of the planning table seven years ago And people assume I helped with the house of cards. But I didnt. I hoped this would all blow over quickly and I could go back to what I cared for. And who knows? It still might. In 30 years time the flat billed caps and the wallet chains might end up on the right side of history while the human-amalgams of 100 years of culture are as unrepentant as the Loyal Order of the Sons of Disco. Both would be as welcome as the other. 11

And perhaps Im wrong like the teenager who falls in love and thinks that hes the only one. I may be a founding father but that doesnt mean I love my sons. All the best, Local Postal Customer Or Current Resident Zachary J. Schmucker

What I see feel and hear

I have seen the sunset and the colors it creates not through my glasses, but through the fields.... Through the dusty roads.... through the hollers.....and the mountain tops.... Through the deep blue veins that hold dark secrets...... To places domesticated by man. And in a lovers eyes. Through clear whiskey, and watermelon wine. I hear many things also.... I hear a long lost whippoorwill.... Streams so warm everything dies through the summer. And the lost art of fly fishing and fly tying... I hear the wonder of children among these things. But these things are not lost on deaf ears. There are many who listen. I feel things also. I feel the concrete creeping. Pushing men like me further back. I feel experience overtaking youth. I feel a warmth from within lit by a fire left smoldering now stoked on a lonely stretch of clear mountain mornings. Though I know what I feel hear, and see. I sometimes. Cannot control what I do. I have to use all that I am in order to keep it tucked away. In its rusty cage. I see many things different than other people do. I am not domesticated. Daniel Thomas 12

A Reapers Tale An Everblade Story

The field between the inner city and the farmlands was literally covered in bodies. Not a single inch of ground was left untainted by the dead. They were piled from each end of the peninsula, stretching for miles. The Grand City of Tornal had been attacked by an army of goblins and their kin. A brutal goblin chief had discovered an ancient secret buried beneath the Devil Teeth mountains. Ever since, the chief has made it his destiny to destroy Tornal and everyone in it. Unfortunately, King Zarimus had become ill and could not defend his fair city with his mighty blade. This brief moment of weakness has left Tornal open to attack. It was only a matter of time before the city was overrun. General Havoc, an old friend of Zarimus, leads the army into battle with his massive falchion. Havocs sheer ferocity gives the soldiers the morale boost they need to fight the equally brutal goblins. A tide of goblins had washed into the farmlands that morning, burning everything they came across. Several women were left to stare wide-eyed in a pool of blood, clutching their lower abdomens and dreading what was now inside them. Children were split down the middle. Fathers were castrated and hung in the fruit trees. Blood-stained apples littered the ground. Tornals defenders had fought valiantly and managed to keep the goblins from reaching the city. Using clever tactics and the last reserves of their strength, the goblins had no choice but to retreat. Presumably, they were now regrouping in the many holes of the mountains to the south. All of Tornal rejoiced at the victory, singing songs of praise to the gods. However, no battle is fought without casualties. Havoc hung his head in sorrow as he looked around what was once beautiful farmland. His shoulder-length hair was matted with blood and brain matter. 13

It was once as brown as tree bark; now it has become an awful crimson. Tiny droplets of pain streaked down his cheeks. Not knowing anything else to do, submitting to the tide of emotions swelling within him, he yelled at the sky. His cries reverberated off the Devil Teeth Mountains, where the goblin chief scoffed at the sound. After his voice broke, he fell to his knees and sobbed into his hands. Havocs voice was barely a whisper as he cursed, Ill kill them all. No goblin will ever cross these fields again. All of them will die. By my blade if I must. Beyond the veil of mortal sight, the reapers ate their fill. They were strange creatures (by the denizens of the material plane at least) of white. Their eyes were black pits, deeper than any ocean. No legs were visible. They were like floating cloaks of the purest white. When they came across one of the many souls hovering above the dead, their mouth opened wide and swallowed. Hundreds of reapers were feasting at that moment. A sea of the things covered the battlefield, a feast in honor of death. One of the reapers was eating a soul, satisfying its primal hunger. The floating orbs barely held a physical shape, clinging on to any semblance of life. The reaper moved on to another soul as soon as the first was eaten. Very few people of the material realm had any real knowledge about the reapers. However, brave mages and scientists have performed experiments in an attempt to understand the phenomenon. After a lifetime of research, a scholar compiled his theories and findings. When one dies, the soul becomes exposed. It is tethered to the body, clinging on as it is expected to do. Then, a reaper happens by the soul. They seem to have an extra sense that finds the dead. Once a soul is found, the reaper tears into it like an animal would. After a reaper eats a soul, the soul is transported to Judgment, where its fate is decided. This process is similar to the way we digest food. Furthermore, one could disclaim those 14

findings for they hold no concrete evidence in favor or against. The reapers had no concrete knowledge about the Judgment process. All they knew was that after a day their hunger would return, no matter how many souls they collected. This one particular reaper suddenly felt very strange. It looked down to examine itself and found that beneath its cloak stood a pair of legs. Fire burst in the reapers mind. Being an immortal being, it had never experienced pain before. This pain wouldve have probably killed the average human or elf, but the reaper could not die. Therefore, the pain was all the more unbearable. Its attempt at a scream was like the sound of air escaping a punctured lung, barely audible. The other reapers didnt even notice. Their hunger was never-ending, all-encompassing. The reaper continued to feel pain, its vision blurring into single colors. The reaper felt like an immense energy was gathering in it. It couldnt escape, could be released to relieve the creature of its anguish. In an instant, there was a terrible explosion that rocked the very foundation of reality. The reaper felt like it had been blown apart, existing as pieces. Suddenly, a voice spoke to the reaper, You are my sword. You will do my bidding to my exact details. Maintain balance at all costs. No life is worth risking it. The reaper was then thrown back together, a vacuum of wind pulling all the pieces into one form. The reaper woke up, a lock of black hair obscuring its vision. It had been given the form of a young woman, slender, gorgeous. Short black hair hung in an uneven pattern. Emeralds shined brightly, framed in white. Those eyes then blinked, blinded by the material plane. Her body was small in proportion, but strong. The girl could barely pull herself up, shaking on her new legs. Walking was a whole new experience. She looked around with curious eyes and found herself in a small house. The house was simply furnished with only a few rooms. A mutilated body 15

of a young man was pinned against the left wall. The reaper followed the smeared blood on the wall with her eyes, all the way up to a stained spear head. Its first instinct was to search for souls, but, to its disappointment, it found none. A cold feeling tingled her skin. The confused girl then realized that she was naked and proceeded to search the house for clothes. It didnt take long before she was in a simple brown tunic and tan breeches. There was a strange sound echoing from just outside the wooden walls. The girl walked out to find a short, ugly creature pulling an arrow out of its knee. Cartilage was smeared on the goblins boots. It howled in pain as it finally pulled the arrow out. As it lay on the ground bleeding, it caught sight of the girl. Hello, my lady it said with a snarl. Would you like to bear my child? At those words, from the immense amount of adrenaline in its system, it leapt at the girl with a dagger in hand. Instinct took over. The goblin missed his catch and ran headfirst into the wall of the house. It turned just in time to see a sword of blue fire in the middle of its ribs. No blood escaped its wound. It was as if the blade was made of nothing and passed through the goblin like a leaf cutting through the air. The girl finished the slash, the blade vanishing from her hand. Unable to stop the bleeding from its insides, the goblin fell to the ground and witnessed the harbinger of its death. The girl stooped down to the goblin and examined the creature with a strange gaze. If you would have killed me, I could not have walked down my destined path. You compromise the balance. Your life is not worth that risk. The reaper turned, not caring enough to see the goblin die, and started walking north. So many strange things had become her. Just moments ago, her gender was neither male 16

nor female. Now, she had a female body with extraordinary power. The memory of that voice echoed in her mind. What kind of being had such power to do what had been done to her? A god perhaps? No, whatever had brought a reaper to the physical plane was above the gods. The reaper decided to wait for orders from that being. Until then, she had to make sure she was hidden. However, how could one hide without a name? I shall be known as Rosalyn Eversoul. A fitting name, more fitting than the lost reaper, or any being, could ever realize. Rosalyn continued north, avoiding large groups of people. The sun dipped low. The moon, seeing this lapse, slowly rose to take the suns place. Eventually, Rosalyn came upon a large oak tree outside the wall of a great city. She then heard the flapping of wings and looked up to see a crow sitting on a branch. Listen well, little reaper. I have a task for you, it told her in a raspy voice. Rosalyn blinked a few times, trying to see what this crow was beneath its physical form. What sort of creature are you and what gives you the authority to order me around like a servant? she asked it. The crow laughed, sounding more like a cough, and spoke with authority. You see me as inferior, but youll be glad to know that I am just a messenger. You see, I can hear all the voices of this world. Im giving you a task that was passed to me by the being that created you. Rosalyns breath stopped for a moment. Do you know who it is? Or what it is? The crow shook its head and replied, I do not. The voice echoed in the reapers mind yet again, a weird memory on the verge of fading. She considered this ugly bird and come to the conclusion that it spoken the truth; for she was unable to find a reason not to believe it. She dropped to one knee and bowed her head. What is my task, Black Wing? Dancing on the branch, the crow seemed to smile at this girls obedience. You are the keeper of balance. You will kill the holders of 17

power in this world. Their lives mean nothing to your master. Kill them, starting with a high-class mage named Victor Silverblood. He keeps a special ring on his right hand that amplifies spells. The pompous bastard is considering opening a new guild and creating an army of super mages. Youll find him on an island to the east named Coario. It sits in the path of two crossing rivers. Ive heard that the city floats on the water. How do you propose I get there? spat the reaper sarcastically. The crow smirked at her. You stupid thing; use your wings. The statement hadnt really made sense, until two large wings of the purest white unfurled from her back. They stretched at least a foot past her arms and were full enough to catch the slightest breeze. Rosalyn stretched her new appendages to their limit, testing them for weakness. Finding none, she pushed herself off the ground and soared high into the sky. Her task had been given, now she had to fulfill it. Catching the closest updraft, she headed west across the ocean. Her flight was impossibly quick, taking mere minutes to reach her destination. She hovered above the island for a while, examining the city. Under the blanket of night, everything seemed so peaceful. However, she knew instinctively that during the day the city would erupt like a mound of angry ants with the promise of making coin. This world seems to run on money, she thought, money and power. She glided low to perch on a church steeple. The church was emblazoned with the symbol of Hildis, the goddess of healing and light. The agent of death scanned the houses. Each of them was built entirely of wood. In fact, the streets were also made of wood. The whole town was built on a huge platform constructed 18

of the lightest wood in all of Hath. Unbeknownst to Rosalyn, the town was tethered to the bottom of the ocean with magically enhanced steel chains. If one stood on the edge of town, the drift of the ocean could be felt. When a storm threatened Coario, the high mages of the city would create a great barrier to keep the floating city from harm. Rosalyn didnt really need this insight she had one task and it deserved her complete attention. She continued to glide from rooftop to rooftop, searching for any sign of Victor Silverblood. It was then that she happened upon a man and a young girl. They were walking side-by-side, the man holding the girl by the shoulder blade, guiding her along and talking gallantly. The reaper felt a strange aura from the man, an aura of wrongness. Rosalyn strained to hear their conversation while trying to stay out of sight. She willed her wings away and hopped down to the street level. Her footsteps were silent as she stalked the couple, less than ten feet from them. Please, Mr. Silverblood, this is hardly appropriate. You have a wife. I realize this, my flower, but you did want to see the ring didnt you? I can give you one just as powerful. Ive learned how to copy enchantments, you know. Please, let me show you. They turned towards a lightless two-story home. The man climbed the elegant steps, waved his hand in front of the door, a slight click following, and guided the young girl in. Rosalyn kneeled low and stepped up to the door. She wasnt quite sure how to enter the house, but somehow she could see the mana swirling in the door. Her emerald eyes narrowed, examining the intricate spell. The magic was green, a mass of strands of power. However, she found that right in the middle was a central point to all the strands. The reaper reached out her hand and placed it firmly against that spot. The lock clicked and the door swung open. 19

 Luckily, Victor had led his victim upstairs and couldnt have heard the door opening or seen the woman walk in. Rosalyn listened closely and could hear the sound of the girls protests. In seconds, Rosalyn appeared at the cracked doorway of the master bedroom. It was extravagantly decorated; the finest tapestries and furniture were displayed in the large room. In the center of the room was a huge bed, dressed in bright red. Rosalyn watched her target push the girl firmly onto the blanket. He began undoing his breeches. Ill give you power, he whispered, but I must know if youre a worthy enough mage. Show me your magic. He added that last bit with a crazed laugh. The reaper didnt need another reason to kill this man. She willed her unique power to her hands, bringing forth a bow of blue flame. Taking the proper stance, she raised her right hand to the air. An arrow formed in that hand. She knocked it, pulled back, and aimed through the open crack. The girl in the bedroom began to scream, If this is what you want, Ill have no part of your guild! The reaper let the arrow loose. It jumped like a hungry animal and found its meal in Victors heart. His movement ceased entirely. Unable to speak, he simply stared at the shaft of fire in his chest. His body collapsed, landing on the right half of the bed. The girl, eyes full of tears, tried to find the origin of the murder. When the reaper walked in, the girl could barely breathe from fright. Youre safe now, little flower, Rosalyn told her. He was a terrible man and didnt deserve life. Dont be afraid, my task is almost done. The reaper walked over to the body and plucked a ring from the mans hand. She crushed the thing in her palm, a wisp of magic escaping it. Out of her peripherals, Rosalyn caught a bright red light. Suddenly, a bolt of fire hit her in the shoulder. The reaper reeled, but caught her footing quickly, using the force of the blast to put some distance between the two 20

women. Confused at the attack, she looked up at the girl she had just saved. The young girls arm was stretched out, smoke pouring from her palm. Monster! she screamed over and over. Another fireball came, then another. The reaper quickly willed two swords to her hands and sliced the fire. The flames licked all around her, but she felt no pain. Her physical body was apparently numb to the pain. More fireballs came roaring at her at once, creating a star pattern in the air. Rosalyn folded her arms inward and spun outward with her blades. A blast of wind deflected the attack, a testimony to the reapers inhuman reflexes and power. Enough, exclaimed Rosalyn angrily. With incredible speed, Rosalyn darted around the room. She danced as she ran, dodging more blasts of the magical inferno. Most of the room was covered in flames, the wood being devoured quickly. A black haze clung to the ceiling, slipping through the cracks of the house. Rosalyn finally reached the girl, dispersed her weapons in a wisp of blue, and grabbed the mage by the neck. She held that grip in a way that weakened the girls thought and blocked her ability to speak. I saved you! Why do you do this? the reaper asked angrily. She relaxed her grip, giving the girl time to answer the question. I can see through your disguise demon! Youre a monster and I must stop you from hurting anyone else! No! Im keeping balance in this world. It is my destiny. The reaper flicked her wrist. A loud snap echoed over the roar of the flames around her. The girl hung limp in her hand. The reaper let her fall and escaped the house by crashing through the ceiling. For a moment, those wings were bathed in fire. However, the flames quickly died from the speed of her flight. A cloud of embers gave an orange hue to the night sky. 21

 Later that night, Rosalyn again perched on the temple to Hildis. The house was still burning. The mages had yet to extinguish the mess. Panic seemed to slow their reaction to this strange occurrence. An image of the girls words disturbed the reaper. Monster, she had said. Am I truly a monster? Rosalyn thought. She let her wings wrap around her slender form. Her hair fell in front of her eyes like a mask. A familiar flutter came from her right. The crow cackled at her, Was your first kill satisfying, little reaper? Rosalyn considered the question carefully, but couldnt come up with an adequate answer. She had felt happy when the arrow killed Victor Silverblood. However, the memory of that girl still haunted her. After several silent minutes, she asked, Am I a monster? No, not at all, assured the crow. You are a weapon, a weapon of perfect balance capable of fixing this world. By whose doctrine am I fixing this world? Hildis? Glarix? Malexin? What god created me? That I dont know. All that I know is that I can hear its voice and it tells me who you are supposed to kill. Now, be a good little reaper and go kill Amy Whitefox. No, Rosalyn replied firmly. That girl was right. What Ive done tonight was wrong. What good has come from killing those mages? Another will surely take their place. I cannot continue to accept your instructions. You or nothing else will tell me what to do from this moment on. The crow became angry, flapping and yelling. Some of 22

it was hardly understandable and its words blended into a long line of babble. Finally, the crow settled down a bit and very slowly said, You cannot deny your creator. You would be a mindless doll of death if it wasnt for him. Do you want to go back to that life, always hungry, never satisfied no matter how many souls you consume? Youll kill your next target or the wrath of your creator will crush you. The bird then began to morph into a decrepit man with black feathers poking out in random spots of his body. Two dark wings hung from his forearms. Talons like daggers clacked across the stonework of the church. It flapped violently, trying to knock the reaper off the building. Youre nothing but a weapon! A common sword! it yelled as it attacked. Rosalyn flew away from the creature. Defiantly, she turned in midflight and summoned a weapon to her grip. A large shaft of fire stretched from her hands, a large blade forming on the top end. A wicked scythe blazed at her side. I, she said as she swooped the scythe behind her shoulder, am no weapon. The crow was flying towards her, talons outstretched. Rosalyn let her wings fold inwards. The fall was angled towards her hated opponent. With the speed of her fall, she slashed out with her weapon. The crow stopped in mid-flight, suspended by the power of the reapers scythe. Rosalyn landed elegantly on the church of Hildis. Looking back, Rosalyn watched as the crow convulsed in mid-air. Then it stopped. Several lines of fire traced along its form, crossing its body in hundreds of diamonds. With a sudden explosion, the demon burst into a red mist. Black feathers were caught and scattered by the wind. The sun began to rise behind the reaper. Ill carve my own destiny, she said to herself, Even if I have to fight my creator. In her chest, she could feel the tides of war rising again. A new destiny was quickly approaching. At Tornal, the goblins were marching again and they wanted nothing more than geno23

cide. Knowing this to be wrong, Rosalyns wings spread wide, dew glistening on her feathers. It is my choice to save those people from destruction, she said to any god or demon or angel that happened to be listening, Try to stop me. Alexander McCumbers

Remnant

Ceramic Sculpture by Conner Berkey, Photo by Brett Kern

24

The World Around Us

Walk on Water

Nicole Wyatt

Build therefore your own world. -Ralph Waldo Emerson

25

There Stands A Bridge

Up a road long forgotten/ there stands a bridge. A small ferocious stream/and a deep cut ravine It guards a passage back in time. Where Indians once roamed/and fur trappers seeked fortunes. A gateway to the wilderness/ a place time stopped. Now the boards lay slick with mold/ the piling rotting I brave this impediment cautiously inching along The boards groan with my weight/ a slick sweat gathers on me But I continue on/ driven by the need to escape A need to shed my complicated adaptions to a modern world I dream of a day I never have to cross the bridge twice To disappear into the wild/ like an Indian captive returning home Home to his tribe/ to places without marks of man Without tin cans, discarded coffee cups, or candy wrappers stuffed under mossy logs to places where the waters run pure, pure as a young childs heart/ for eternity and forever/ never crossing the bridge again Daniel Thomas

26

English Department Social Function 2012

Someone said, I play guitar, But in a way that suggested He is beginning again, After a pause, as if a Les Paul might be too much. He pulled the shabby thing up against his belly Before letting it rest gently upon his upper thigh. And he strummed and strummed. A tune from his heart Mississippian, Hurting. He took his guitar and left his shoes Behind to feel the earth again And its rhythms move in his body. After which the tides rose in him again Lifting boats he never knew he had. And looking down at the hull (which by the way was full) He cast wildly about for a pail And (lost soul that he was) Began furiously to bail. Never clever, he set his sail Where is he going? There is no knowing? Location unknown, the water flowing Progress sinking sputtering slowing And the water drained from his ears, his chest, his sweaty feet. 27

He announced Im on dry land. Slow as molasses, but deliberate, like syrup. What was I scared of, he thought? I gotta meet somebody in about 5 minutes. Im thinking Beanders. Thats where I saw Catman Seymour drinking his whiskey and eating those fries. Those are some damn good fries. A voice in the back of his head said it, He listened, it cried, Youre outta credit! He realized with a sigh, Theres too much to buy. I dont care, I just have to get it! A Les Paul would never be too much. Group Poem

Andrew Carrroll 28

Observations on Laundering:
Theres an uneaten banana lying on the table before me. Spotted with bits of brown and black. I wonder how long its been sitting there. It could have been sitting there for an hour, or maybe even days. This laundry room is kind of a lonely place; a place of solitude and reflection. It isnt all quiet and serene, though. The constant humming of the dryers and the thundering cycles of the washers break through the still atmosphere. After some time, you realize that theres no freedom in this room. It seems the machines dictate the duration of your visit, and theres nothing glamorous about captivity. If one remains in the laundry room for too long during the evening, they can sense the hostility that emanates from the machines. The boxed torsos of the dryers resemble the snouts of beasts, and their blazing orange lights warn against taking your clothes out too early. The washers watch endlessly, their Cyclops eyes burning into your memory. Their constant gaze reminds you of the weekly collateral: clean clothes for hours of your precious time. It seems to me that time is whisked away over rapid waters when you dont have enough of it, and when you have much time it settles in the middle of a stream of honey. Sitting in the laundry room is when those two streams come together; your time there moves slowly, yet you still dont have enough time (for anything else!). Immediate relief comes as the washers cycles end, and an uncertain peace washes over me. Lugging my belongings to a dryer, I console myself with a little phrase: Only fifty minutes more. Jessica Williams 29

Nowhere, Somewhere, Kind of Day

It was the road to nowhere the road on a somewhere kind of day. Jasper had no idea what he was talking about, but he had been given leave from the psychiatric ward and so it didnt matter. He thought it was nice and sunny, but really wasnt sure. So Jasper then decided to take a long walk down by the lake. He observed the ducks bobbing to and fro as the cool breeze lightly danced on the surface of the placid lake. Jasper was certain that the ducks were mocking him, so he began quacking back at them in the breeze. When they paid him no attention he began flapping his arms wildly. People were startled by Jasper. They were quick concerned by his condition but when they inquired of his mental state he responded in a british accent stating Its a fine morning governor. Unbeknownst to Jasper, the facade of his British accent was seen through by a man standing close by who was actually from England. The man sarcastically asked how long he had been in the country. Jasper replied, I was released from customs a few days ago. Jasper then, being quick of wit, asked the man if he would like to smoke a faggot; hoping the colloquial term would make the man certain of his British origins. The man, seeing through this rouge, called the police and demanded that someone keep this man from disturbing the peace. When Jasper heard this call, he jumped in a boat and rowed away. Jasper then found himself safely back at the institution. Where safely chained to his bed he dream of the day that he, Jasper, would go to Jakarta to jump to the juniper tree on the jetty with Joseph, Jenny, Josephine, and Pope John Paul. He could count all of them on his hand; in fact, thats all they were, figments of his imagination, and all he needed to do was draw another friend on his thumb. Jessica Williams, Andrew Carroll, Kara Parrack,and Hillary Paugh 30

Fossil
Opening this book of time; turning its shattered pages with chisel point and hammer blow; seeing the world at its conception pictured in stone. Richard Marzolf

Adam Posey 31

The Highpoints

(The 60 Line Challenge) Mr. Frog lives in a pond, Pondering, Ribbiting, Sniffing, Tasting the air, Eating unlucky flies, Choking on wasps, Growing, Breathing, Sneezing, Surviving the elements, Dancing in the rain, Conversing with the fish, Playing chess with the crawdads, Losing to the crawdads sharp wit, Leaving his parents behind, Finding his own home, Making additions to his home in the mud, Eyeing his pretty neighbor, Laughing at her jokes, Eating more flies, Sleeping in the sun, Writing songs for tonights performance, Warming up his vocal chords, Inviting his neighbor to the show, Drinking the cool water of the pond, Hopping onto the stage, Admiring the crowd, Wishing he didnt have stage fright, Seeing his beautiful guest,

32

Breathing deeply, Singing the highs and lows, Capturing his tenor voice, Throwing it before the crowd, Ending the song, Hating the silence that followed, Seeing his guest stand and clap, Swelling with pride, Bowing, Taking his girl home, Releasing his yearn for her, Eating flies, Learning of the gift he gave her, Digging a tunnel between their homes, Making it bigger by wiggling, Seeing the birth, Watching over the mass of eggs, Already naming them, Watching them hatch, Seeing them off, Hearing of their experiences, Going to their shows, Clapping wildly at their songs, Going home, Eating flies with his wife, Feeling pain in his chest, Falling to the ground, Seeing the panic in her face, Reassuring her that itll be ok, And saying goodbye. Alexander McCumbers 33

Dining Hall Revolutions

It is always possible to recognize novelty in the mundane. And the places where one can find freedom are often times bizarre. I was swept into one of these epiphanic episodes when I suddenly decided one morning that I have the power to choose my own path. With a handful of swift movements, I broke away from the societal norms that chained me, that restrained me. I was enlightened with the truth that if I so pleased, I could only toast one half of a bagel. No more scarfing down one more half than I could manage at seven-thirty. No longer was I restricted to the accepted custom of toasting a whole bagel. And in that moment I freed my mind, forgetting about all of the little people who could possibly find my action offensive and demeaning; that one action, which, however irritating yet insignificant to everyone else, was momentous to me. It was immediate and it was empowering, and I felt that this one moment would revolutionize the way morning folks could make choices. The momentum of a revolutionarys will carries clear into the entire week, as did mine. The next day, I was bold enough to add granola from the supposed cereal station to my rather bland blueberry yogurt. Had I just created a masterpiece? Was my innovation the saving grace that would solidify change in the cafeteria? Would healthy, organic eating be restored to the brainwashed people? Although I knew that my vision was far-fetched, one-sided, and fleeting, I also knew that I had a dream. I had a dream, but I had no answers. Jessica Williams 34

Dark
Should the night choose to forget the dawn, would the dark cease to end? Living in a word where all is black and the old wounds never mend. The only source of light comes from the glimmer of dying stars, And all our secrets, cruel and vile, are illuminated by the moonlight, like scratched and bleeding scars. Alyse Prince

Ginsang
In early summer, or late spring We take to the woods, Searching for a gift from the hill Through the coves, hollers, and ridges we search. Raking aside the nettles that grow head high. Along long forgotten places, we search. Through the bush, and pine thickets. Up rough stoned streams, where men avoid Searching, guessing,and guessing again. Staring until all things blend together. And as if lightning striking to close, you flinch. A flicker of red,off in the distance, like a torch burning quick. All your travels forgotten as you get closer to it. The nettles no longer sting, the sprain doesnt hurt, and the shovel is as a feather. Digging like a miner, with a fever driven by wealth untold. At last the earth yields its bounty, another cigar root for my satchel. I walk with a spring to my step, searching on. Daniel Thomas 35

Brians Tale over a Pint of Mead

Inspired by Stanley Kunitz My name is Brian the Strong I farm the lands of England, a keeper of horses, a tiller of the land. While relieving myself, behind my thatch house, I saw before me a great light, whiteness veiling my eyes The light beckoned me, Sucking me in. I then awoke on a cold metal table, grey men peering over my skin. Their hands tickled as they Searched my naked body. Then, holding strange swords, they stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. Blackness overtook me. After landing hard in my field, I watched it disappear, amazed, happy to be alive, never again wanting to see That castle in the sky. Alexander McCumbers 36

A Loggers Lament
As the morning breaks/ we all finish our coffee and our lies We put on our masks and heavy clothes to help protect against the death and the fear/we start our machines, slowly rumbling and rattling and bursting to life with a cloud of black smoke./ gradually, a few drift off towards the rising sun. Some on foot others riding grinding, rumbling machines, bucking the morning chill. I light my first cigarette, and draw on it like my last, knowing full well I have another pack, but not if I will smoke it. As we arrive at our destination we unload. Our quarry is here. Opening the sky broader everyday. As I size up my first, knowing this could be it. I sink deeper waiting for the sweet release. At last with a crack and a groan it pulls loose. I run like I am on fire, and dive for cover. I have survived another ten minutes. I light my next, dragging deeply. I hope to enjoy the next. Daniel Thomas

Growth
37

Andrew Carroll

How Great, Thy War

The bodies of the dead and the dying were all around me. They were friends. They were enemies. They were strangers. I could, in truth, barely see them through the film of red covering my eyes. It obscured the green and white tunics of the Unions soldiers and the black armor of the Duchy of Tallah. I could barely make out who was who in the chaos enveloping me. Whose side was I on? The Unions or Tallahs? I couldnt remember. I heard a cry of anger coming from my left. I wheeled around and made out a vague shape lumbering toward me, sword in hand. My own sword was! Where was it? My heart leapt in my chest as I scrambled to find it. My scabbard hung empty at my side, near the great gash from which I fancied I could see my own liver. It was only when the figure fell to the ground in a cloud of blood that I realized it was gripped hard in my right hand, and only when he cried garbled words for help that I realized that it was I who felled him. My sword planted itself in his chest, stifling his pleas. I think he was my enemy. I couldnt be sure. He was my third. The first that I killed, when I thought I knew the meanings of good and evil, when I thought I knew justice, went down in the first charge. He was a young man, of Goffreyan descenthardly older than sixteen, I judged. When I reached him, his sword was already held high above his head. He swung, once. It dropped just two inches shy of my left foot. He looked up at me in terrorhis first battle, and he had already made a grievous mistake. I had decided, then, to make sure he made no more. I plunged my sword into his heart and drug it upwards. He crumpled to the ground with one choked gasp, my sword lodged in his lung. That was the first time I questioned my beliefs. I was 38

always taught to keep my faith in the Union, that to aid in the destruction of the Duchy was to ensure the survival of my country, and the survival of everyone I held dear. But that boys death made me wonder. Was he taught much the same thing as I? Was he told that to fight for the Duchy was a noble and just endeavor? I couldnt say, but I felt that the answer was yes. Then weaponless, I reached for the first blade I could that belonging to my young foes corpse. The sword was shorter than my ownabout six inches, to make it ideal for the fast technique favored by the Duchys knightsand of a far different make. The hilt was slightly bulbous in the middle, and covered not with the narrow strips of the gshrak leather that covered the Unions swords, but with the rubber-covered eagle down of the indigenous craw-caw birds of the east. The blade was broader than my own, and tapered at the end. The heft was different. It was lighter and balanced more toward the center. But these differences were less jarring than the inscription on the side of the blade: To our beloved son, Kalazaarmay the Maker watch over you and return you safely. I dropped the sword, turned, and ran toward the back lines. I heard shouting aimed at me as I fled to the center of my allies. They called me a coward, a babe, a deserter. They called me these thingsmy own allies, men who had yet to spill blood! My commanding officer approached me even as the hail of enemy arrows approached and struck down knights all around me. I mumbled something to him about losing my sword, and he thrust another in my hands, turned me around, and shoved me forward, back toward the fighting, back toward Hell. My next opponent, it seemed, was a middle-aged Sashan. I saw the blood on his sword and knew he had killed. I thought, in my frantic struggle to regain my sense of right and wrong, that it would be good and just to kill such a man. I dashed toward 39

him with renewed vigor and swung my sword. It rebounded off of his breastplate with a clang. He swung his own sword at me, as quick as a whip. I ducked, hoping I might still have my head. I didnt realize until later that his attack had sliced off my ear. I rolled to the right, dodging another quick sweep of his sword, stood, and lashed out at the gap between his helmet and his armor. The geyser that followed it painted my face with his blood. He went down clutching at the sizeable wound in his neck. I turned my head, trying to find another who had killed, trying desperately to right the wrong of my first. I locked eyes with a seedy Duchy Knight who advanced slowly toward me when I felt my foot pulled down. The son of a bull was still alive! I whipped back towards him and lifted my sword to bring it again crashing down upon him. But his eyes stopped me. Even as blood gushed from his wound, tears ran from his eyes. I was lost, confused. I heard the other knight stepping toward me, but the wounded soldier held me there with his pitiful gaze. And then he spoke. Please, he said to me, his voice wavering like trees in a gentle breeze, dont let me die. I w-want to see my d-da-daughter again . . . At that moment, I knew, my eyes mirrored his. He wanted to see his daughter, his only family for all I knew and I had . . . O Creator! I had made sure he never would again. Visions of my own son and daughter flashed through my headthey were only children. They couldnt even speak yet. Was I to follow the same fate as he? The pain of my new adversary striking my side brought me back to the moment. I wheeled around and struck the side of his head with the hilt of my sword. He staggered backward and a Union soldier, a Croon, I think, lobbed his head off of his shoulders. I looked back at the man who gripped my heel, but his eyes had darkened and his hand had loosened. His head was turned 40

upwards. He was dead. The last thing he probably saw was something of violence, but I prayed to the creator that it was the sky he saw when the lights in his eyes dimmed, and his daughters face in his mind when he faded towards nothingnessnot the pain of his wound or the blood or the battle. But most of all, I hoped that it was not my face that was his last thought. The battle raged onward. I had grown unable to tell friend from foe and so fell back, hoping that whoever was behind me did not wish to see me dead. There were only the sounds of battle around me: the clangs of steel on steel, the soft fwap of arrows released, the screams of the dying conflicting with the joyous cries of their murderers, the crunching sound of bone as bodies were trodden upon underfoot, the sick squelches as blade and arrow alike found their mark. But before all, I heard my rapidly beating heart. Is this what you wanted, my king? Is this what you wanted, my glorious leader? That I, an unnamed soldier in the throes of war should kill your enemies while you sit upon your golden throne and laugh with painted ladies adorning your halls, their lords in turn bowing to you and dancing with the daughters of nobility while you fatten yourself with meat and brandy, leaving precious flesh clinging to the bones of your meal that will soon lie with your trash in lieu of the bellies of the starving people that still call you their king? Do you, who lies in a bed of silk with women and men, slaves to your pleasure and your whim, you who wears the finest of clothing while your people go naked, you who declared war on our neighbors, thereby condemning thousands of mennot just our enemies but your own people, people who served you, who hailed you, who looked to you for guidance, do you call this war just? Is this noble, to kill those who oppose your laws and your values? Is it just to kill sons and daughters and fathers and mothers to satiate your sense of 41

pride? Truly you must think so, or else I would be at home, taking care of my children, making love to my wife, clinging on to what happiness I could find in such a grey world as this. You must believe that all should die for you, that all are for your glory. How great, thy war! you must think to yourself as you stroke the fur of your lions and hunting beasts and stare out of the great stainedglass windows of your halls. How great, thy war! you must think to yourself as you jest with your advisors and rest your arm on the throne that could buy food for the entire kingdom for a day. How great, thy war! you must think to yourself as you sit safe behind your palace guard, your advisors, your palace walls, your city, your kingdom, the army that now crushes the knights of the Duchy of Tallah that so opposed you. How great, thy war! you must think to yourself as you hide behind me. The shouting and screaming had grown to phenomenal levels. To my left, a Union soldier was pierced through the neck by the curved spear of a Duchy knight. To my right, another Duchy soldier was feigning death to avoid the fighting. He was trampled. I noticed the brutality with which my own allies treated the forces of Tallah. There were very few one-hit kills. Most, it seemed, sought to inflict as much pain as was possible before dealing a fatal blow. I saw swords striking stomachs, hammers crushing knee-caps, axes embedding themselves in shoulders pain, not quick death. Meanwhile, The Duchys soldiers hit two targetsthe brain or the heart. Their blades struck true time after time, and even their arrows, unpredictable by their very nature, sought and found their targets. As I dodged and weaved, fending off the attacks of my enemies (if indeed I should still call them that), but not killing not anymore, I turned what thoughts I could spare to the machinations of the Duchy of Tallah. They were a nation of comparable size to the Union, and boasted just as impressive a military force. 42

Theyve been a peaceful enough people; they never intentionally harmed the Union and had, even before other countries of the Aklanan continent, abolished slavery and instated an economical system that other kingdoms took decades to emulate. Why were we in a war with such a paradise then? The Union was comprised of five smaller kingdoms: Alstead, La Rama, Quarro, Luchese, and Morinateu. They were united seven hundred years ago by the hero-king Sharrah, who promised a kingdom of justice and opportunity, where even the poor might play their part. He created schools of knowledge, a socialistic government with his chancellors and his captains, and taught the people how to read, write, and how to grow more food with less effort, that none might starve. Seven hundred years later, his twelve-time great-grandson inherited the throne. There was nothing left of the utopia that once was. King Kush let his people suffer, that he might live in comfort until he died. Many of his subjects died in the topaz and emerald mines that made up much of the Unions riches. But the products of their labor did nothing more than adorn the crowns and orbs and swords that served as King Kushs symbols of office. That he might restore the Union to the way it once was, the king sent request to the Duke of Tallah, Lothus II, that the Duchy might join us in a mutually beneficial relationship. But Duke Lothus was wary of the Union, and feared that his people might become poisoned by the ways of his neighbors. Lothus refused, and Kush declared war on them, that he might conquer Tallah and make his kingdom grow strong again. We fought for the pride of the king, not for the good of the people. The scabbard by my side I wore not to protect the people of my country from the wicked, but to raise the ego of Kush. For my part, I had done him a service. Three men had died 43

by my hands; nothing less could be asked of a soldier of the Union. I had begun to reach the back line of the Duchys knightsvery few Union soldiers had passed through here; the stinking bodies of those that did lay strewn about the field, crushed and cast aside like rotten fruit. Before me were the two hundred or so knights that survived the Unions onslaught. They glared at me with the murderous intent of a newly-widowed woman facing her husbands killer. Behind them all was the commanding officer, differentiated from the foot-soldiers by the heavy iron shoulder-pads and the violet plume of thunderbird feathers billowing from the top of the helmet. She held up two standard-issue short swords, directing the flow of battle. Onward! Onward! she called to them. We cant let these Union mongrels through! Even those soldiers in the backthe Goffreyans, the Molleyans, the KShalls, timid by natureeven they harkened to her call and pushed through. None of them were frightened like some of the soldiers of the Union. None of them quivered and shook. They were as solid as the steel in their blades. That was when I realized that they did not fight for glory, but for good. Was I a nightmare in their eyes? I wondered. Did they see me as some kind of monster? I pushed through their ranks, still deflecting incoming blows. I took a nick now and then, to my shoulder, to my good ear, and to my right flank, but I pressed on. I heard the twang of another arrow and saw it hurling headlong towards my eye. I turned my head in time to avoid an eye-gouging, but the arrow still found a mark in my cheek, barreling through one side and out the other. The pain was immenselike I had just tried to eat a bulb of freshly-blown glass. Blood and saliva mixed together and dropped onto my breastplate. I was a wreck, but I continued to press myself into them, 44

taking blows on my helmet that knocked me senseless, parries that stunned my arms, and more than a few savage kicks (to the chest and otherwise). The men and women that struck at me kept coming, and for a moment, I feared their numbers infinite. The roaring in my one good ear threw me off-balance. I had begun to grow weak from blood loss. When I looked down at my left hand, I was missing two of my digits, and had a deep gash in the center of the palm. I was dying, and I knew it. I fell at last to my stomach when I could stand no longer. The rays of the setting sun washed over me, blanketing me in warmth, but I felt cold, oh so cold. I lifted my head, my battered, slobbering jaw wide open as I took deep, laborious breaths, and beheld the general of the Duchys defense. She was a Frost-Eld, rare in that day and age. Auburn hair fell from her helmet like fire from a burning hut. She looked at me with a blank face, her clear green eyes passing over me as though I were nothing more than a part of the grounddirt and dust and dead leaves. And perhaps I was, or would be soon. I reached out with my weakened hand and grazed the embroidered steel greave on her shinone moment, two, and then no more. She walked on just as briskly as she had come. I rolled myself over to my back and watcher her leave, hips swinging gently. She called out more orders to her troops as they battled, and I saw that they had turned the tide of the battle. There were perhaps fifty Union soldiers leftthree times less than what I saw of the Duchy knights. They would win the battle, I was sure, and perhaps even the war. They were the heroes in this play of plays, and I suppose that made us the villains. But that was okay, I thought, as I heard a Duchy knight approach me from the side. I could live with that. Because good will always triumph over evil, even when the sides are masked behind friends and kings. Evil isnt always a general shouting orders for 45

death and torture. Sometimes, it is the soft voice of a friend or a lover. And good isnt benevolence. Sometimes, it is the cruel steel blade of a falchion. I could die, content in this knowledge. I looked up at the sky, at the thin rays of light that even then seemed to slip away behind the mountains. The purples and pinks and oranges of the sky descended on me, comforting me as my hearing went and my breathing grew erratic. The sky was beautiful in my eyesthe descending blade of the Duchy knights sword even more so. Tyler Pratt

Leigh Ann Pearsell

46

Chaos
What was the bitter volition that forced its iron grip on our hearts? What was the nature of the beast that took control, with an agonizing grip? How could we come so far and yet be so unmoved from the places where we start? Was this all some descent, some fall, only instigated by an accidental trip? Chaos What was the bitter volition that forced its iron grip on our hearts? What was the nature of the beast that took control, with an agonizing grip? How could we come so far and yet be so unmoved from the places where we start? Was this all some descent, some fall, only instigated by an accidental trip? Alyse Prince

Haley Russell 47

The World BetweenUs

Joyful Girls

Leigh Ann Peasall

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.

-C.S Lewis
48

On Finishing Homework before Biking

--for Walter There is a point when too much instruction produces a diminishing return and the chin drops, and hard shoulders rise, and hands made for fiddle strings and handlebars become great boulders rolled into the mouths of tiny caves the face shimmers in the tables chestnut grain, then, like a leaf above water before letting go. He could be bending spoons with his mind willing bowls and butter to tack across the bay, white napkins to flutter up like wounded birds that fall and rise and fall again, my lips still flapping his eyes drop like anchors into the deep then, and for all I know, he is slipping headlong into ghost nets I cast long ago. So I say, OK. Get your helmet, knowing that he knows I will still make him wait, 49

checking chinstrap or tire pressure, before we bump off the stoop shove off shoulder to shoulder and begin to breathe new blacktop like we always do, under our ragged blue river rippled with crows cracking a thousand little doors I can not possibly look behind, or through, as he pumps harder now for the cut-through at the end of the block, past stop signs and houses howling dogs on chains and children chalking sidewalks with numbers and rainbows and landing strips until, lagging behind, I see the place he is headed for a copse of great grey trees that blazes beyond the pasture streaking pink and yellow, one thin green snake of grass growing between us now he leaning into his groove of gravel and I into mine both of us making for the leaves and mud we can smell on a wind growing stronger now 50

blowing fire and beating blood so loud you cant help but stop, try to make him out through the merciful blur yes, pausing now, as he rises up on pedals, as he crests the rise, as he swivels about for a sign from you, sitting there in a thin rut of road beneath a blank ocean of sky already waving him on into the beautiful dark of the burning wood. Bill King

The Adventure

Nicole Wyatt

51

You Are the Devil

You lie, you cheat, and you steal. You beat and you starve. I loved and trusted you at one time. Now, I dont. I finally see, You Are the Devil. Katie Wilson

Gone Like You

The big twenty-one Lots of drinking and fun But that fun is not for us. For us the big twenty-one is empty The birthday boy, gone. Never forgotten, always loved But I cant send your gift to heaven; I cant even send my love to you. The big twenty-one Not drinking and fun Just even more tears, Fresh as if it were yesterday. Why cant the pain be gone like you. Kendra Collett

52

GCF
A person is a person is a person, Not a beast, not an angel, not perfect, not humble, not proud, not the measure of all things, And not equal. For if we were all equal: person, person, person, What should follow is: loved, loved, loved; success, success, successequal to each. But instead we find that: The skinny person is not equal to the fat person The black person is not equal to the white person A person of the 99% is not equal to a person of the 1% Nor is a man equal to a woman, A gay person equal to a straight person; A genius is not equal to a retard is not equal to average IQ; A Muslim is not equal to a Christian is not equal to an atheist, A democrat to a republican to an independent, The list goes on and on: inequality, inequality, inequality. Labeled, labeled, labeled. But just as 2x does not equal 3x, there is a common denominator. Each of us is a person is a person is a person. Factor out the crap. Barbara Fellenstein

Truth
There was a boy who told the truth. There was a girl who told the truth. The boy met the girl and they told the truth. The girl told the boy all her secrets. The boy told the truth even when it hurt. They called it love. Andrew Carroll 53

 I thought it was just a glitch in my computer. But that was yesterday, before I discovered that my cat had been on Facebook with his other feline friends. He was playing Farmville and downloaded a virus onto my computer. Now, it wont work right because of the virus that was installed when he chatted up his friends while playing the game. Im very disappointed in him, and I hope he learns his lesson the next time he decides to use my computer and play Farmville while chatting with his friends at the same time. After I tried to get the virus erased off my computer, things just got worse. Every time I tried to get on Facebook, my computer meowed. When I tried to turn off my computer, it started coughing as if it had a hairball. I have no idea what to do to make my computer realize its not a cat. If my computer starts growing fur I do not know what I will do; throwing it out the window sounds good to me. I will throw it and I think because cats are a humans friend that it will come back, and my computer will ask me to be my new pet. I will never keep it because it will be creepy to keep it and pet it all day. Thank gosh, I found the file that my cat had downloaded. It was called the feline file. Apparently, this file causes your computer to become a cat when you do certain commands. My cat thought this was funny and would drive me crazy. He was right about it driving me crazy, but I finally got it deleted. Now, my cat is never allowed to use my computer again or I might get rid of him. Now with the entire feline file gone my life is back to normal. Katie Wilson, Olivia Grimes, Mashail Alkhayal, and Kelcie Mullins

54

Biosphere
Chapter 2: Locked In The service tunnel took our small party five flights of stairs down. With each flight the gloom increased and the electric lights buzzed harshly and cast dim yellow light that did little to cast back the shadow. The Vault seemed to swallow us eagerly. Incandescent lightbulbs, said Joshua, I thought the feds had grabbed all those a long time ago. Theyve been building this sphere since 2012, said Murry, before the regs got so restrictive. The stairway ended with a door that led out into a dim corridor of metal, lit sparingly by flickering incandescent lightbulbs. The yellow light from the stairway spilled into the corridor, bright when compared to the shadow filled corridor. I stepped out behind Joshua, Ralin trailing behind and Murry leading. The corridor was about six foot wide with a low ceiling just above six foot. Light fixtures every 30 or so feet leaving bars of shadow between. A collection of pipes ran along the left side of the Corridor but the right hand side was solid metal. Every few yards the word Hallifis was written at a slant in blocky red lettering on the right hand side. Whos Hallifis? I asked. Didnt you read the contract? asked Joshua, Hallifis is the company that owns you for a year. Lets get moving, said Murry, kid, keep an eye on Ralin. I stepped to the side of the corridor and gestured Ralin to get in front of me. Murry didnt wait, he started of at a trot, combat boots creating metallic echoes down the passage. I had to give Ralin a little...encouragement, before he would match Murrys steady pace. 55

 The passage flowed past, straight and boring, one section exactly like the next. Joshua had to duck under the light fixtures or risk smashing a bulb across the his shaved head. Murrys pace soon had Ralin panting to keep up. I had just decided wed traveled a little over a mile when Murry stopped. I had been focused on my rhythm and only noticed the reason when I slipped past Ralin and stood beside Joshua. Murry was trying the handle on metal door ,similar to the entry door, the handle jiggled but didnt turn. Locked... muttered Murry to himself. He knelt beside the latch and peered through the crack, Easy enough. He said. He pulled a knife from his pocket and flicked out the blade, inserting it into the crack. In a moment he tried the handle and the door slid open with a soft click. Apparently they figure getting into the vault itself is the hardest part. Said Joshua following Murry into the room. What is this place? I asked, stepping in after Joshua. Dull; gleaming grey metal walls reflected the inside of the room in a blur, like a bad impressionist painting. Murry was nothing but a blackish elongated splotch in a field of grey. It was a fairly large room, with rows of beds twelve by three in the middle of the room. Each bed had its own IV unit but no patient. Another gray door was on the far side of the room. Looks like an infirmary. Said Joshua. Murry just grunted. Must have been for emergencies during the construction, or if something were to go wrong with the Project. Said Joshua. Murry shook his head, 36 beds, he said, a hundred men and women, they arent planning on all of us living. If they were planning on getting us killed why would they have a hospital to take care of us? asked Joshua. 56

On site testing, said Murry, Media would give Hallifis more than a bloody nose if it found out what was going on. They want to do their experiment, do their tests on the survivors, then mop up the evidence without it ever getting outside the sphere. There was silence for a moment, then Murry abruptly spun and frowned at me, Wheres Ralin? Hes right he... I said turning around, he wasnt there, Ill get him. I promised starting to go after him. Murry grabbed my arm and yanked me back into the room, Stay here, Ill get him. The echo of Murrys boots slowly faded as he moved down the corridor after Ralin. I should never have brought Ralin, said Joshua looking across the room, Itll be the death of him. Joshuas usually squared shoulders were slumped, and his eyes spoke of regret, What do you mean? I asked. Joshua turned to me as if noticing me again, Murry is right. The outside has been planning this since we all signed our contracts. We all thought that the waver was just a formality, in case of some freak accident, but weve just given someone permission to do whatever they want with us for absolutely zero consequence. Joshua turned back and gave one of the IV stands he was next too a little nudge, sending it rolling silently across the floor, Brace yourself kid, he said, things are going to get really hairy in the next few days. Just as Joshuas words were starting to sink in there was a commotion at the door. The door banged up and Ralin stumbled in, Murry on his heels. Ill give you some advice Ralin, said Murry, Never run from me again. Ralin attempted to climb to his feet. Murry came up behind him and grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking Ralins head 57

backwards until he was looking inverted into Murrys eyes. Ralin cried out and struggled, Murrys grip was unbreakable though, and he held him like a squirming fish on a hook. Ralin eventually found that struggling only made it hurt worse. What are you doing Murry? asked Joshua, Where is this getting us? Murry turned his gaze to Joshua, I dont know Joshua, where is this getting us. He gave Ralins head an indicative yank, Im trying to decide what I want to do with him. Ive got an idea. I said. I didnt wait for an answer, I turned and went through the door at the end of the room, that led deeper into the medical area. It opened into an operating room, and I quickly located what I expected Id find. This looks like its do the job. I said, rolling the operating table out of the room. Stiff leather straps for head, hands and feet, lay open. Murry almost smiled, Almost perfect, you two strap him in. He disappeared through the door Id just come from. Joshua and I forced Ralin onto the table and limb by limb got the restraints strapped in, I cinched the torso strap down and the fight went out of Ralin with each notch in the hardened leather. Murry came back just as Joshua and I were backing off. He silently rolled one of the IV stands over to Ralin and got him hooked up to it. Joshua and I noticed the syringe in Murrys left hand about the same time, Whats that? asked Joshua a hint of worry creeping into his voice. An old friend, said Murry. Joshua and I watched in silence as the syringes plunger forced the drug into Ralins IV. Ralins eyes closed and his previously panicked and desperate breaths slowly evened out, falling 58

into a steady rhythm. What was that for? asked Joshua, He wasnt going anywhere. Just cleaning up after myself, said Murry, he tossed the empty syringe into a toxic waste bin and gave Joshua a pointed look, I always clean up after myself. Joshua cursed under his breath, and turned towards the door, Lets get going, weve wasted enough time as it is. Murry strode by me, the air of his passing pulling me into the real world. Murry had just shot someone full of anesthetic. I didnt like Ralin, but Murry was taking it to a whole new level, and he wasnt even flinching. I started to have doubts about my involvement, maybe it was a good time to run back to the vault. I didnt want to end up like Ralin though, strapped to an operating table. Ralins breathing filled the room, the pause between each breath replaced time. You thinking about something stupid? Murrys voice behind me jerked me from my thoughts, No, nothing stupid. I pushed past him, not wanting him to get a look at my face, afraid that he would read my thoughts through my eyes. Murrys hand shot out, lightning quick and iron hard. Are you afraid of me kid? he asked, spinning me to look at his eyes. I was angry and scared, I didnt like to be bullied, but I couldnt deny the feral terror that this man sparked within me, an irrational urge to flee from those searching steel eyes. Yeah, I am. I said. But youre not going to run away are you. He said. I glanced over at Ralin, comatose on the table, No, Im not. Murry bared his teeth, you couldnt call it a smile, I knew I liked you kid. Murry dropped my arm and moved past me. Sudden flare of 59

anger rose in me. I reached out and grabbed Murry as he passed me. I have a name. I said. Murrys body went rigid, he slowly turned, his gaze went from my hand, then to my face, Alright Colson. He reached over with his other hand and pried my hand away from his arm, Dont ever touch me again. I realized my breath was coming in short gasps, I realized just how stupid that had been. Worst case scenario I could have ended up like Ralin. It took me a few seconds to shake the sense of shock off. Murry had disappeared into the corridor. I took one last look at Ralin, just to remind myself, then followed him out. The tunnel stretched on for another mile and a half. Cold steel walls passing by in a monotonous stream, nothing but the feeling of impending doom and the fear of the unknown to keep us company. Joshua led now, anger in every step, in the angle of his body, the way he seemed to be striking the floor, rather than simply walking. Murry stayed distant and observant, as if he knew everything Joshua was feeling but was completely indifferent to it. No fear. I trailed behind, aware of the vulnerable position I inhabited around the two dangerous men. When the end of the service tunnel was in sight, I could only breathe a sigh of relief that the journey was half-way over. The end was nothing but a yellow; steel ladder extending upwards into the ceiling of the tunnel. Light shown down on the ladder from a fixture at the top of the ladder, illuminating the ladder in bright white light; A stark contrast to the gloom of the corridor. What now? asked Joshua, standing at the edge of the pool. We go knock. Said Murry, stepping into the pool and making to climb the ladder. This isnt a good idea. Said Joshua, you could be risking all of 60

our paydays. If youre not curious, said Murry, then leave, your paycheck will be safer, Im going to find out if were getting screwed though. Joshua growled, but said nothing. Murry climbed the ladder, the rungs pinging dully every time his boots struck. It seemed an age before he reached the manhole above. He gripped the wheel that sealed the door and strained. The wheel creaked and spun. I breathed a sigh of relief, we hadnt been abandoned. A metallic chunk echoed down from above. I choked on both my sigh and my relief. The wheel had hit a dead bolt. Murry spun it back, then tried again, and again. Each time the chunk brought another load of impending doom and set it on my shoulders. Murry eventually gave up, and came down, hands and feet clamped on either side of the ladder so he could slide down. Well boys, he said, looks like weve just become inmates. J.A.S

Leigh Ann Pearsall 61

A Response to Jonathan Swifts The Ladys Dressing-Room

To Strephon, from an ardent admirer of tongue and cheek What forced you, Sir, my sex, to paint In such a flattering and comely light? What made you think, you clever chap, To steal among my stays and caps? And, how came you, my belovd friend, To skip the part where all things tend? Your meditation on my cot, And toothbrush, hose, and chamberpot Mask your real desire no less: A wish to don my silky dress. Thats right, you fool, I know your muse, You have an obsession with my shoes. You steal in gently, your step no louder Than your glee when donning powder. Paints and oils and rouges galore, When youre alone, you sob for more. Next youll fixate on my wigs, Youll pinch them all, you selfish pig. But, please dont think, no please dont wear My brand new pair of underwear. 62

You think to mock my Wormy nose, But I can beat you in poem or prose. You gag, you wail, you harp and nag. But why not just admit it, you dress in drag.

Lake Road West

The stone dock in our backyard was always seaweed coated. I never tasted it, but if I did I bet it would taste like one of those dried up things in the plastic packaging they sell in the ethnic aisle in the grocery store. My mom said that Lake Erie was actually our front yard, and I always wondered why the street and driveway were in the backyard. Sometimes after a big storm, big enough to bring the water over the dock, there would be fish freshly killed from the storm, or maybe they died from oil that leaked into the water near Cleveland. Either way, our dock became a fish graveyard. After a big storm, but before the sun came out, the sky looked silver and dark. As the sun started to come out from behind the green looking clouds, it shone on the dead fish, whose scales mirrored the stormy sky from moments before. Once the sky was clear, Joshua, Amanda, and I braved the cold water alone while our moms sat in the living room by the big window. They turned their heads every minute or so to look out, but we were alone enough. On a clear day, I waited to put my goggles on until I was in the lake, and on a murky-water day, I strapped them on before even touching the seaweed that smoothed itself over the dock and dried up under the not-hot-enough sun. I didnt want to get caught in a two foot wave without being fully prepared. It didnt matter if I had my goggles on or not; I never opened my eyes underwater. Amanda and I always followed Joshua because 63

he seemed to know exactly where the big cement slabs were underwater. The rusty iron upside down Us always got me, even when I moved slowly. I brushed against them and the sand at the bottom of the lake clouded around my ankles and moved the hair on my legs every time I lost my footing. I gasped when anything touched me in the water. It didnt matter if I swam in Lake Erie or Joshua and Amandas pool, every little push or nibble on my skinny legs was either a shark or an alligator. I waited for the day when my mom set down the newspaper on the kitchen table and I saw Freak Shark Attack in Lake Erie Scares GenevaOn-The-Lake Community. Im still waiting. I hated wearing my green swimsuit with blue and white flowers on it because the butt always got saggy in the water. Amanda wore cute swimsuits and I needed a new one- Im pretty sure anyone could see the dark line going down the back of my swimsuit when I bent over. I didnt bend over a lot. Sometimes Joshua let me get on his shoulders in the water and if other people were there, Amanda could get on their shoulders. We had to be out deep enough where my legs would mostly be underwater when he dunked to let me on his shoulders because that way he couldnt see the hair on my legs. Amandas mom let her shave her legs and my mom hardly even listened to my pleas to be allowed to shave mine. Joshua probably didnt notice the blond hairs, and if I thought he did, Im sure thats all I wrote about in my diary, the one my mom let me buy at the dollar store. I bought one with a little boy in old fashioned clothes kissing a girl on the cheek on the cover. The lock never really worked and the pages came out sometimes while I wrote on them. I tore up the pages in that diary years later when we moved away. Susan Krakoff 64

Shaken Not Stirred, Our Rendezvous

Flyers for his band, The Hardy Wall Street Bangers, are taped in every window of the shops down Caroline Street. The pages plague me, So naturally I have to give him a call. He says if I meet him at The Rendezvous tonight, Hes got all the time in the world for me. Im a little shaken to find that he drinks now Because on pages 12-77 he does not drink. If I recall correctly, on page 42, he even ridicules me for drinking. I order a Ginger Whiskey. He has Vermouth. Tonight, he is not the boy from my high school journal. This is not 2005, and Im not embarrassed to have my friend introduce me to the gangly hockey player. It is not 2006, when Jim tells me that he loves me a week after I have diarrhea in his brothers truck, It is not 2007, when he asks me to come to his mothers hospital room and help him prepare for his Latin final, Nor is it 2008, when he stands me up for the junior prom to play World of Warcraft. Tonight, in the summer of 2012, he drinks Vermouth. Its hard to remember if we ever shared a common bond Except that somewhere I have kept a journal. Tonight I dont know where it is, but if I were to open it, I could read of how On page 24, Valentines Day, 2006, He plays a song for me on stage. He plays three different instruments. As I sip my whiskey, in 2012, 65

He says he teaches the clarinet player were listening to now. He does not play the clarinet on page 28. He leans over and asks me about my art because on page 22 I draw his favorite pet in charcoal. Tonight I have no smudges on my face or hands. I havent drawn for several years; And Jim is missing a few scars since the Turkish Angora is dead and buried. Hes also not as bruised as he once was because he doesnt play hockey anymore. So much has changed, and We no longer share a common bond. On page 74, I tell him that I will leave next fall. He speaks to me for the last time on page 77, December of 2008 Until now that is. But in the summer of 2012, that book is shut and fallen behind the bed or shoved in a box in the closet somewhere. I have no frame of reference. Im like the girl I am on page 12, who knows nothing about this James character sitting next to her. Unlike the me on page 12, however, I do not want to know EVERYTHING about this man. He is interesting, yes, and I care for him, yes, But the book is shut and fallen behind the bed or shoved in a box in the closet somewhere. I glance down at the key to a Jeep that sits near his elbow. 66

He assures me that he isnt driving home and thanks me for the lessons and the courage that helped him to get his license. He is a new suspect entirely. I cant read his every move, but I know: Jim says he loves me on page 29. Though he convinces me of this much sooner. I love him without saying it on page 17 and I am assured he understands this by page 41. I also know that: On page 74, Im disappointed with him. On page 78, even more so. On page 75, I let him down. By page 80, January 2009, hes no longer mentioned. On a hot late night in June 2012, The book is shut, but the pages plague me. Tonight, he orders a drink. He is not the boy in my high school journal. Jim says hes missed me and I try to reminisce But the times we shared are dead and buried He misses the me from pages 12 through 80. Nothing stirs between this man and this me. He says he has all the time in the world for me. I tell him Im leaving in the fall And its last call, no thank-you, martini, good night. Barbara Fellenstein

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