ENTER IN (OR HOW TO FIND YOURSELF) Leslie Hutchinson start by slipping inside, spines open m'de gaze into mirror‘s eyes your fingers know these footsteps and let the fauna guide you; tracks of yours long forgotten traverse the primordial path these are the spaces that know you best you’ve been... Show moreENTER IN (OR HOW TO FIND YOURSELF) Leslie Hutchinson start by slipping inside, spines open m'de gaze into mirror‘s eyes your fingers know these footsteps and let the fauna guide you; tracks of yours long forgotten traverse the primordial path these are the spaces that know you best you’ve been walking your whole life, stories piled to the roof, take careful steps across unseen stones Shoelaces you‘ve left untied where a riverbed breeds demons you draw if you spend enough time here, down you mightjust manage to find yourself (just let them see you) enter expanse after expanse to rediscover homes you left behind here barren, it greets you like it‘s just been lost not abandoned dust off bookshelves filled with volumes you wrote crimson words and periwinkle Show less
“A noble cause I’m sure. Tell ya what, you work for six months and whatever you make you take. I split your profits 70-30." “You get 70 percent?" "Fine. 60-40. These suits don’t iron them- selves." He pulled at his lapel. “Deal.” In order to distinguish me for the clientele, he took me up into a... Show more“A noble cause I’m sure. Tell ya what, you work for six months and whatever you make you take. I split your profits 70-30." “You get 70 percent?" "Fine. 60-40. These suits don’t iron them- selves." He pulled at his lapel. “Deal.” In order to distinguish me for the clientele, he took me up into a nearby apartment complex and had a large bearded man who smelled like garlic, tattoo a rainbow flag around my right upper arm. I liked it. Finally free to be myself. Exactly six months to the day, I approached Max and told him I was done. A few fights with the other employees over who was taking which clients had resulted in black eyes, but that was the worst of it. My clients were usually more polite than the ones the other girls had. I was privy to many oftheir horror stories, but blocked them out. Most ofthe time I went along to fancy dinner parties or five-star hotels before anything happened. My women were never too pushy. I was beautiful, they always told me. Not once was I scared for my well-being when with a client. During my stint I had averaged two or three clients a day, mostly event escorting, at a rate ofone-hundred dollars an hour, not including generous bonuses, and in total I made 90,000 dollars. Max kept our deal and I walked away with 27,000 dollars. \Vay more than enough to get us by. In the middle ofthe night I took a taxi to my parents’ house hoping to sneak my mom and brother out after my father had fallen asleep. The front door was unlocked as it had been my entire childhood, but the house was not as I had expected. I could hear my parent’s voices arguing in the dis- 104 tance. My brother, in his Spongebob pajamas, was passed out on the couch in front of the television. I shook him awake and clamped my hand over his mouth when he started to gasp. I whispered my plan and after he went to his room to grab any- thing he needed, I followed the familiar sounds of abuse down the hall to my father's study. I opened the door and saw my father stand- ing over mother who was tied to a desk chair. her mouth covered by tape. Unintelligible sounds were all that came from her struggle. but I could see black fear shooting out her eyes. The man who had once held my bike when I took off my training wheels and helped me build a birdhouse in the backyard was nowhere to be found in the body standing before to me. In that moment I knew I had to kill him in had any chance ofsaving my mother. I wanted it to be slow. As much as my mother feared him for all of those years I wanted him to fear me now. Now was my chance to put to use all of those self-defense lessons he had paid for when he still worried about other men and boys taking advantage of me. “Back away from her." Both oftheir heads whipped to my direction, and a grin spread across my father's face. “\Vhat could you possibly do to stop me, you little faggot?” I debated my next move as I watched the bruises start to bloom on her arms and the blood trickle down her face from just above her eyebrow. He stepped back and the sigh of relief from my mother was audible even through the tape. “I said, what are you going to do?" He stum- bled toward me, clearly intoxicated and my mother Show less
any words. You put your hand on your head to stop the list ofthings you should be doing from scatter- ing around in your brain like the wind tossed trash in the parking lot. You should be buying supplies. Taping windows. Securing whatever needs to be secured. Maybe your sister will take your... Show moreany words. You put your hand on your head to stop the list ofthings you should be doing from scatter- ing around in your brain like the wind tossed trash in the parking lot. You should be buying supplies. Taping windows. Securing whatever needs to be secured. Maybe your sister will take your daughters shopping for supplies. They love to go shopping. But what kind ofa parent would you be ifyou weren’t at home with your family on the eve ofthe hurricane? You look at the new guy standing at the end ofthe aisle with his arms folded smiling at you. \Vaiting patiently for your reply. You look at him. You look at him and picture him under a fallen lamp post clinging to life. How tragic it would be ifa palm tree fell on his car on the way home. But then you realize that palm trees bend but don’t break. “'hat if he wanted you to listen to one more ofhis stories about ice fishing or other adventures? One beer. That‘s it. One beer. One hurricane. “'ell, they say you only live once. You look at your cart filled with supplies. You look at him. You look at the people around you chatting and shopping, and contemplate how to survive a hurricane. 118 Show less
ly returned to the situation at hand. “That was a monkey.” I gargled, “Now what’s the message you need to send and to whom.” I used “to whom" as if to impress her with my knowledge of stuff. I often am impressive. I once ran a mile in a mere 7 mins and 48 secs, and someone remarked it as, “A... Show morely returned to the situation at hand. “That was a monkey.” I gargled, “Now what’s the message you need to send and to whom.” I used “to whom" as if to impress her with my knowledge of stuff. I often am impressive. I once ran a mile in a mere 7 mins and 48 secs, and someone remarked it as, “A little below average.” I thought ofbringing it up to this woman, but didn't want to impress her beyond the point of herjust loving me for my personality. She’s responding to my question as I’m thinking about how impressive I truly am. I realize that she’djust finished her sentence and I didn’t hear a word of it. “what?” I replied. She then broke into a dead sprint of words that I couldn’t even comprehend, halfway through I got bored and started staring at a hole in the wall of my office. Ijust stared and stared, thinking ofthe possible origin ofthis particular hole. Then it hit me. It hit me like a freight train carrying 600 carts behind it, every single one of them filled with thousands upon thousands of unwatched DVD copies ofGrown Ups 2. It was the very same hole that was created when I was swinging at a pinata version of Raphael from The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I was in a blind rage ofemotion and tears after seeing the trailer to the new Michael Bay version ofTMNT. One ofthe swings knocked Raphael about the room, another really rattled his cage, spraying candy everywhere, and now the “coupe de grash”. An earth shattering blow from my trusty hammer I got from Hardware Hank‘s. But like a great white shark 1 attack with my eyes closed. I swung the hammer right into the wall. One of my greatest achievements, topped only by my previously mentioned mile run. Ijust then realized that this woman could’ve been waiting for me to respond to her for 5 mins, 2 hours, or even 110 3 weeks. I respond smooth, “\Vonce mo pwease." While gently caressing what I thought was her shoulder, but was actually my own. She then huffed out, “Happy Birthday Spencer!" Show less
getting up to pour himself a glass not really caring what kind of wine it was. Just as Martin had sat back dowrt and put the glass to his lips, he heard a giggle of female laughter from the hallway. He froze, glass still touching his lips as he held his breath instinctively to hear better. Then a... Show moregetting up to pour himself a glass not really caring what kind of wine it was. Just as Martin had sat back dowrt and put the glass to his lips, he heard a giggle of female laughter from the hallway. He froze, glass still touching his lips as he held his breath instinctively to hear better. Then a man’s laugh cried out, this time much closer to the dressing room. Martin’s adrenaline surged at the risk of discovery, quickly turning off the lamp at his side with as little sound as possible. Footsteps were approaching now, Martin could feel his palms dampen. A thousand curses went through Martin’s mind as he felt his face redden in asphyxiation. He focused on something other than his doom. A wom- an and a man, obviously well acquainted; wander- ing guests perhaps? To his relief, the footsteps passed beyond the door to the dressing room and stopped to open the door to the boudoir of Madame Relina. The Boudoir? What is this invasive curiosity? Who would have such gall as to trespass into their hostess- es private dressing room? I’m going to find out soon enough Martin thought, releasing a silent breath trying not to audibly gasp for air. Martin downed the glass of wine as it had become burdensome by this time. Curiosity and knowledge the true \ices of his life. He felt his way across the dressing room to put a bat’s ear to the wall in the hopes of overhearing the intruders’ conversation from the comfortable darkness of his cave. He couldn‘t hear anything,just the ruffling of clothing. Inspecting Madame Relina‘s wardrobe? How superficial, Martin assumed. His assumptions were quickly dispelled with the playful female giggle and a masculine groan of pleasure that followed. Then the two grew louder in enthusiasm for their bold endeavors causing Martin's interest to swell and peak in the solitary darkness. For long minutes Martin could hear their heavy breathing, the sound of bodies meeting in something more vigorous and carnal than love making. He imagined the scene in vicariously with a sort of echolocation. The heat of their breath, the softness of another’s kiss and a playful bite of a moistened lip. Beaded sweat shared between the two bodies tangled in passion. Eventually the two unidentified deviants let out a mutual moan of climactic bliss, Martin could almost feel them tremble-in-gasm as hejoined them in the shuddering silence of his own conclusion. Martin heard lazily pronounced words muffled beyond the wall as he kerchiefed himself without a measurable amount of perverted shame; obviously not the first time he had been so intimately close to encounters of this nature. Lust quenched was not equal to curiosities confirmed. I have to know who... Martin decided, stepping silently over to the door of the room and cracking it open ever so slowly. He waited, watching the lamp lit hallway for when the couple would exit Madame Relina’s boudoir. Mar- tin‘s second hand adventure was almost as exciting as the anticipation of discovering their identities. He held his breath as the door opened casually, a man stepped out and closed the door behind him, his face remained hidden by the dim light until he passed directly by Martin’s field of \ision. Martin strangled a gasp that rose from the depth of his lungs. Monsieur Boisette? Obviously his wife was not the recipient of his affection moments ago, I had seen her leave the party with my own eyes, Martin quickly concluded in his breathless condi— tion. A few minutes passed before Martin became 63 Show less
finished his dialog with a deep laugh. He raised the axe and, after a barely perceptible nod from the young woman, brought it down on the prosthetic leg. A shower of fake blood sprayed the room. As the woman screamed in agony, someone slowly closed the bathroom door from out of sight. The band... Show morefinished his dialog with a deep laugh. He raised the axe and, after a barely perceptible nod from the young woman, brought it down on the prosthetic leg. A shower of fake blood sprayed the room. As the woman screamed in agony, someone slowly closed the bathroom door from out of sight. The band hesitated for a moment before continuing down the corridor. They couldn‘t quite name what troubled them. \Veren’t the gore effects and costumes just as good as any other haunted house they had enjoyed? Hadn‘t the acting been just as passable, if not better than most? The mystery of their discontent was quickly solved as they started noticing a certain repetition in the scenarios each room housed. The victims were always guilty of some perceived sin, their demonic tormentors always assured them that they had angered God, and their punishment was al- ways to be eternal. Alcoholism, adultery, homosex- uality, drug use, blasphemy, feminism, and a host ofother “abominations” were all eviscerated in the same hyper-gory manner. Most rational folks would see this as Grace Baptist Church’s poor attempt at proselytizing, but then again, rationality was never Death’s Bludgeon‘s claim to fame. “Who the fuck is this ‘God’ guy? And why is he such a shithead?" Dave asked while they walked from one horrific display to the next. “He really does hate us all," said Rex, in deep contemplation. “i thought he was supposed to be all... loving and shit,“ Axel added. “My Uncle Ronnie’s an alcoholic. It’s not his fault, man, that shit’s a disease. " Garry was visibly upset as he reimagined the events ofthe “drunkenness” room occuring to his beloved relative. “I fucking love Uncle Ronnie,” he added with a whimper. It went on like that, their original excitement souring into a steadily increasing sense ofdread as each screaming new victim reminded them of someone else they knew and loved. This alone would have been discouraging, but they decided to trudge on, enduring each new terror in turn. Fear for another’s safety is miserable, but manage- able. They were drinkers, not alcoholics, and they weren’t guilty ofthe vices depicted in the other rooms. Still, each step towards every subsequent rooms was taken with reluctance, as if the pervasive threat of an imminent, ultimate horror was a bear trap waiting beneath the floorboards. Soon, that horror was made manifest. A large basement chamber had been converted into a small, black nightclub. Like the other rooms, the congregation ofGrace Baptist Church of Dalmuth Township had done an impeccablejob. Their attention to detail was astonishing. There were worn out speakers plastered with stickers from various metal bands, beer stains on the cement floor, strobes lights and fog machines, and four letter words spray painted on the walls. As they hesitantly entered the room, the member ofDeath’s Bludgeon were terrified to find themselves feeling comfortable. “Oh, fuck... No, they can’t.” “This is not good, dudes.” As their imaginations raced ahead, they tried to pull them back with denial and knowingly futile pleading. Their worst fantasies couldn‘t prepare them for what happened next. The room went com- pletely dark for a moment. \‘Vhen light returned, in the form of four carefully aimed spotlights, actors had taken the stage dressed as a metal band. 19 Show less
ACCEPTANCE Hannah Schmit I am afraid. Afraid the words I write and say will be taken the wrong way And I won't be able to recover the image instilled by my mother. I am tired. Tired of feeling as though the things I are just to throw Away and disregard because the body I inhabit gives you pause.... Show moreACCEPTANCE Hannah Schmit I am afraid. Afraid the words I write and say will be taken the wrong way And I won't be able to recover the image instilled by my mother. I am tired. Tired of feeling as though the things I are just to throw Away and disregard because the body I inhabit gives you pause. I am caught. Caught in a pool of sweat and sighs brought about societies lies That choke and snare without relief regardless of your own belief. I am overlooked. Overlooked lx-eause my body shows something that society “knows” To be demure and gentle, calm and tame to be like others be the same. But I am not the same. I am brave. Bran: because I ha“? words and a mice that were given a choice To be shared or to be kept while my fore-bearers slept I am awake. Awake because I see your reaction to the mere refraction Of my soul as I speak louder with each passing week. I am freed. Freed because I learned to swim by listening to the calls within To stay afloat despite my fears and release the others from their tears I am seen. Seen because I let my show something society can new-r know As my individuality and hope from in me shine, I am me I am mine. 149 Show less
Is it American to be the \ictim? To place blame on the worid and none on the self? Is it American to be sensationalized? To find conflict in exery miniscule moment of our lives? Is it American to donate to charity? To organizations that use 99% of their earnings to pay for upkeep and apply 1% to... Show moreIs it American to be the \ictim? To place blame on the worid and none on the self? Is it American to be sensationalized? To find conflict in exery miniscule moment of our lives? Is it American to donate to charity? To organizations that use 99% of their earnings to pay for upkeep and apply 1% to the true cause? 15 it American to tolerate what we are told to? To let media decide bombings in Europe are outrageous when genocides in Africa are swept under the rug? Is it American to take out a loan? To happily apply to be enslaved by a credit score? Is it American to buy the latest iPhone? To follow the train of tech- no—dependent lemmings into an age of laziness and infertility? Is it American to cling to the disabled and dying for self-serving purposes? To put “I am one of the good apples” on a resume? Is it American to be fear driven? To watch the 10 O‘clock news five nights a week? 74 Is it American to take a yoga class? To tri\ialize a way of life as if it were a fad? Is it American to destroy the environment? To double back and ‘presene” it once it has already been tainted? Is it American to wear makeup and pushup bras? To watch America’s Next Top Model and shame your- self with a diet? Is it American to be offended? To heighten personal sensitivities to such a level that meaningful dis— course is impossible? Is it American to be recreationally racist? To ignorantly perpetuate hatred for the purposes of bar jokes? Is it American to vacation in other countries? To mane] at how “cul- tured” other places can be? Is it American to compete? To feed the ever hungering superiority complex? Is it American to watch pomegra- phy? To distort the expectations of the human body and sex? Fake tits Show less
FLYING NEMO Michael Torreson Before we had made it through the front door of the apartment complex, Nemo had already skipped to the front of the group and pointed his pudgy finger toward the second story. “Guys, I wanna go up on that roof!" “Nemo, that‘s not even a roof." It was really more of an... Show moreFLYING NEMO Michael Torreson Before we had made it through the front door of the apartment complex, Nemo had already skipped to the front of the group and pointed his pudgy finger toward the second story. “Guys, I wanna go up on that roof!" “Nemo, that‘s not even a roof." It was really more of an overhang that sloped over the front door of the building. We had been to this apartment complex hundreds of times before. The five of us, including Nemo, lived only three blocks away, and some friends of ours lived on the second floor. September was quickly turning into October, so we went over there to grill out and to enjoy the remain- ing hints of summer before another cold, brisk fall. “Yeah, but I wanna go up there! Look, it’s super easy to get up there. Wejust need to open that window and bam!" He wasn’t going to be stopped. We thought about telling him he couldn‘t go up ; there, but we knew that would make him want to get up there even more. He always said we were“chal- lenging” him when we told him not to do some- thing. All of us were friends in high school, but we almost never got to see Nemo outside of classes and lunchtime. \Vhen we met up in the parking lot on Fridays to get in one of our cars to go play basket- ball at Donahue Park or to get taco boxes to split, he always had to trudge to his own car afterwards saying he would see us on Monday. We had all remained friends when we left for college, and during our senior year we decided we all wanted to live together. David, Nick, Taylor, and I found the perfect house for five people, and Nemo was finally going to start going to school after work- ing at different gas stations and fast food joints for three years after we graduated. At first, his parents told him that he was going to have to commute from our hometown every day, which was an hour away from campus. Nemo’s mother said she didn’t want to see her baby leave. After what Nemo said 55 Show less
us had noticed the silence and began turning her head slowly to watch us all out ofthe corner of her eye.Suddenly, the red~dressed woman‘s eyes were round and white around the iris. She began laugh- ing slowly. sardonically. Then she began laughing harder and louder as she slowly leaned in closer... Show moreus had noticed the silence and began turning her head slowly to watch us all out ofthe corner of her eye.Suddenly, the red~dressed woman‘s eyes were round and white around the iris. She began laugh- ing slowly. sardonically. Then she began laughing harder and louder as she slowly leaned in closer to— ward Mark. His eyes began to move away when she moved in, but they turned back toward her as she continued to bend toward him. When she realized everyone in the restaurant’s attention was on her, she snapped back into standing straight but turned toward me. Eli tried to speak again, but she pushed her long, polished finger to the tip ofhis nose, shushing him. \Vith her right arm still extended, she used her left hand to point at me. I was too scared to make direct eye contact with her,so I lookedjust offto the side ofher face. Even in the dim light from the globe shaped lanterns hanging from the ceilings and the candles on the tables, her gold earrings glistened ofl'ofher neck. “You. Yes. You. Nope not you, sweetie. I” were talking to you, why would I be standing over here? Yeah there you go. Turn around.“ The wom- an at the other table turned red in the face as she slowly turned back toward her table. The woman at our table, who still stood looking at me, was now a bit easier but intrigued in her eyes. “What do you want to drink?" she asked. “ ust water." She smiled. “I’m not a waitress. I’m trying to buy you something to drink,” “I’ll take a—“ as soon as Mark began speak- ing, the woman bent over,cocked back her open hand, and slapped him. He sat in shock for a sec- ond as the blood rushed to his cheek. He sat there shaking. I thought he was going to shout, but the woman sent Eli and him away with a couple flicks 140 ofher wrist.The two went to the bar to try to get an ice pack. She took Eli’s chair, which was next to me, and she pulled the chair closer to me. She propped her chin up by putting her elbows on the white table- cloth. “\Vhy do you look so scared?" she asked. “Are you afraid of women? You're as white as a ghost.“ I thought she was making ajest about the makeup I still had on, but then I noticed that I was making the table quake as my legs shook underneath. I backed away. “No, most women just don't talk to men like me.” I dabbed the butt ofmy cigarette into the ashtray. I thought I didn't have a chance with the woman, but knowing that almost made finding conversation much easier. The flame of the candle was tittering, but l knew it wouldn‘t last long. She smiled for the first time. “I‘m actually not that mean. Or crazy. Your friend was being a tool, though. I thought I would mess with his ego a little. Just a weird joke." \Ve looked back at the bar, and we looked on as Mark applied the blue cold pack to his red cheek. Eli told me later that it was the most patriotic thing he had ever seen. “You haven‘t asked for my name yet". I didn‘t know what I had to offer. I looked down at the flower pinned to my chest, which was actually a water gun. “But that's not necessarily a bad thing. Let me ask you, clown man, do you ever take yourselfso seriously like your army friend?" I hutTed a bit and smiled. I looked into her eyes. They were softer now. “I don't have much to be serious about. He used to be more relaxed, Mark was,but I think art school broke him in a weird way.” She looked back at Mark again. “There are Show less
SHADOWS Monica DeRee l’m just a shadow that follows you at night. Bound together by the light. Lost in the shadows, my fellow kind. While you walk and search your mind. Always in the background, but rarely seen. A secret following, a reflective being. One day I’ll wave, so you might see the sign.... Show moreSHADOWS Monica DeRee l’m just a shadow that follows you at night. Bound together by the light. Lost in the shadows, my fellow kind. While you walk and search your mind. Always in the background, but rarely seen. A secret following, a reflective being. One day I’ll wave, so you might see the sign. I’m not you, I’m the one you left behind. 25 Show less
was hours of yelling and crying, his parents and he finally came to the agreement that he could live with us on the condition that he came home every Mon- day, called home every Friday and Saturday night at 9 pm, and ate only the Persian dishes his mother would cook for him to bring back to our... Show morewas hours of yelling and crying, his parents and he finally came to the agreement that he could live with us on the condition that he came home every Mon- day, called home every Friday and Saturday night at 9 pm, and ate only the Persian dishes his mother would cook for him to bring back to our house when he went back on Mondays. Nemo didn’t think things through much, but he did well in school because his parents sat at the table with him whenever he got home to make sure that he completed every homework assignment. If he had a paper due in two weeks, his parents forced him to finish it a week prior to the due date. His parents constantly reminded him that they did not escape from the violence in Iran for him to throw his life and their efforts away. The one time we did get to go over to his house, there was an incredible photo of his parents from when they fled. In the picture, Nemo’s mom has an RPG resting across her shoulder. The five of us walked through the door and were about to walk up the stairs to our friends’ apartment, but Nemo shoved us out of the way and ran up the flight stairs, skipping every other step. We were going to chase after him to make sure he didn’t go out on to the roof, but he tripped over his cement block feet halfway up the first flight of stairs. He quickly got back up and stumbled up to the second floor. Before we could remind him that it was a bad idea and that he might slip on all of the freshly fallen leaves that Spangled the roof, he was already straddling the window frame. \Vhen we watched Nemo step through the win- dow to go out onto the roof, one of us joked, “\N’hat if he falls ofl?" \Ve all laughed because it wasn‘t out of the realm of possibility, but we were almost 56 certain it wouldn‘t happen. He‘s a brown bear of a man who stumbles recklessly into wherewr and holds the hand of slight misfortune. He liwd by his own conviction that he was invincible alter twen- ty-one years of sidestepping any real harm although for the majority of those twenty-one years, he never had the opportunity thanks to his parents. Just last week on a quiet Tuesday night at the house. we all jumped up from the living room couch when we heard him tumble down the stairs to the basement, shaking the entire house. We saw him lying at the foot of the stairwell surrounded by chips of paint that fell off the walls he collided into along with a pair of scissors he had no reason for carrying. He was illogical like that. Once we made sure he was okay, we all laughed. None of us really knew why he felt the need to go out on to the roof. He didn’t care that it was dark out or that he had no specific reason to be out on the roof. He simply wanted to be on the roof for the sake of never being there before. When we got to the top of the stairs and before knocking on our friend's apartment door, we all looked out the window he stepped out of to get to the roof. We were still laughing because we thought we would see him there. It took us a second to real- ize the roof was empty. “Oh my god. He's not out there." We all ran back down the stairs and outside to the front yard as quickly as we could. Nobody was laughing By the time we had looked out the window. he had already fallen twenty feet in what must have been a second. When we got outside, there were already a few people who were walking by sur- rounding the well of an egress window where Nemo was lying. None of us could breathe, and neither Show less
WORLD AROUND TOWN Michael Torreson In Terril, it‘s rare for the house phone to ring past 9:00 on any night. The town encompasses six blocks in every direction in the heart of Iowa and is home to fewer than forty families. Many ofthe men work in the vast, undulating eornfields that cngull'the... Show moreWORLD AROUND TOWN Michael Torreson In Terril, it‘s rare for the house phone to ring past 9:00 on any night. The town encompasses six blocks in every direction in the heart of Iowa and is home to fewer than forty families. Many ofthe men work in the vast, undulating eornfields that cngull'the outskirts during the day, but by sundown the town becomes quiet as most people are eating supper with their family at the table. Don, the town sheriff, was lying awake in bed at 12:30 am. when the ringing phone cut the tension between the quiet and him. In his daze he quickly lurched over his side of the bed and reached for the silver pistol he stowed under his mattress, but once he realized what had startled him he quickly tip-toed to the phone in the living room as not to wake his wife, Mabel. Don cleared his throat as he raised the phone slowly to his ear. “Gard residence. Who‘s calling?" He answered quietly. “Hey Donnie. It's Vernon." “Verne I already told ya that ifyou have any problems while I’m off-duty to callJoe first.“ The last time Don had to be reached at his home in the night was when Ronnie Sorensen’s house started on fire. It turned out he was running a meth lab out of his house and was selling it to some ofthejunkies on the outskirts oftown. Everyone still talks about the incident at the Terril Fire Department’s annual pancake breakfast. “I know, I know. ButJoe don’t need to know about this." “Well, heck‘s going on?“ “I was doin' patrol on 14 tonight, and I had some drunk kid fly by me in a red pickup, swervin’ and shit, and so I threw on my lights and pulled him over. \Vell, once I pulled him over I realized it was one of yours." Don paced over to the front window to look out toward the driveway but was stopped short once the telephone chord had been stretched taut. 93 Show less
they would make it across the forest, split- ting into two huge groups, fooling the Rebels and swiftly crossing the Rapidan at Ely Ford to outflank them; they would guard the two raadJ—he was to be on the larger and better tended of the two—and prepare fir the Union attempt to tron the river and... Show morethey would make it across the forest, split- ting into two huge groups, fooling the Rebels and swiftly crossing the Rapidan at Ely Ford to outflank them; they would guard the two raadJ—he was to be on the larger and better tended of the two—and prepare fir the Union attempt to tron the river and outflank them; he was to take the Orange Turnpike, the larger and better tended ofthe two. They waited in position all day. They marched through the wilderness all day, and at last tho; saw the Union tolumn, .tpread out oulnerabl} among the treex, and with a Rebel yell they heard the terrifying, yipping screams and knew they were trapped in these trees where so many had died the previous year in The Battle of Chancellorsville; where flowers bloomed wildly in the soil, soaked richly in the blood oftheir fallen brothers. jemtp rushed firrward, feeling fir the first time as though the machine that took over in war was low on fuel; as though the fitmes (Jhi: will to protect his home were choking him now, rather than jolting him finoard; choking him like the tobacco all thoxeyears ago, befire he had moved to Carolina to margv his love. Fueling him like the fire in those dark, perfect nights all those years ago, before he had moved to Pennsylvania to escape his life. His blue eyes glowed bright with his purpose, and he saw the wave of grey as the rolling smoke off of the dead fire in those horrible mornings after; and he saw the glinting bras: and deep blue at the beautyul earl} morning sky, glowing out from hixjounger brother, and make the world a little brighter. He reached the line and clashed, and then... he saw hit bmther... with mother’s 9e: and 78 father’s hair... and he felt the free lot-e ofhi: mother... and reathed out to grab him and pull him away from here... to leave this plate that held no purpose, and he saw grey, he saw death, and evil, and the sins he had inherited from father. A wild tenta- cle of this yawping creature lashed out at him, and his bayonet punctured its heart. ...and he bled... and he looked his brother in the are: and saw nothing but dixgutt... the glow was gone... he was only another perton; another 'Iankee’... he subbed as he top- pled forward to join the fertilizer... and he returned to ashes, dead and unmoving... hard/j smoldering... And he saw the glow springing forth from his blue uniform, from inside himself; that glow of purpose. He spit on the grey appendage, and he stepped over it, on his way to freedom. Show less
EDITORIAL BOARD MARY CORNELIUS, EDITOR IN CHIEF MALENA LARSEN, ASSOCIATE EDITOR AUDREY CAMPBELL, ART EDITOR s: LAYOUT DESIGNER MEGHAN JOHNSON, ART EDITOR ANDREW IEWELL, POETRY EDITOR PATTI LINDAEERRY, PROSE EDITOR RYAN NICHOLS. PROSE EDITOR ABIGAIL TETZLAFF, PROSE EDITOR CARY WATERMAN, ADVISOR... Show moreEDITORIAL BOARD MARY CORNELIUS, EDITOR IN CHIEF MALENA LARSEN, ASSOCIATE EDITOR AUDREY CAMPBELL, ART EDITOR s: LAYOUT DESIGNER MEGHAN JOHNSON, ART EDITOR ANDREW IEWELL, POETRY EDITOR PATTI LINDAEERRY, PROSE EDITOR RYAN NICHOLS. PROSE EDITOR ABIGAIL TETZLAFF, PROSE EDITOR CARY WATERMAN, ADVISOR IVY ARTS COPY 8: PRINT AUGSEURG COLLEGE DAY STUDENT GOVERNMENT AUGSBURG COLLEGE ENGLISH DEPARTMENT AUGSBURG COLLEGE ART DEPARTMENT THE ECHO THE RIVETER MAGAZINE 0.1. SXNVHL Hllm Show less
