Callowhill review summer 2017 by Brian Goedde

The Callowhill Review

Summer 2017 1

Send all inquiries to The Callowhill Review Brian Goedde, Publisher Community College of Philadelphia bgoedde@ccp.edu

All contents are copyrighted to the individual authors. Cover design by Nicole Gollatz

Table of Contents A Painful Perspective by Nathaniel Barry…………………………………………………….4 A Closer Look at Motherhood by Erica Bonaparte………………………………………..7 You Should be Proud of Her by Nicole Gollatz………………………………………………9 Sins of the Father and Early Mourning by Quentin Todd……………………………..15 Colorful by Alicia Mason……………………………………………………………………………...19 Trial and Error by Peter Henry……………………………………………………………………21 To Be with You by Annabell Dow…………………………………………………………………22 The Birds and the Flowers and the Little Child That Matters and Time Passages by MarySue Powell-Civera…………….39 Braided Essay by Luis Diaz…………………………………………………………………………42 From Broken to Bark by Samuel Snyderman….…………………………………………...44 Womb by Shane Veno………………………………………………………………………………….48 Two Shots of Bacardi by Molly Cohen…………………………………………………………56 Dark Man on a White Horse by Dwayne Lockhart………………………………………62 Pre-Installed Chivalry by Jylihl Green-Burwell……………………………………………65 Social Media by Jennifer Paulino…………………………………………………………………66 Naomi by Tyler Woods………………………………………………………………………………..67 Rights and Responsibilities of Muslim Women by Jamila Carson……………...71 To The Band That Helped Me Survive This Last Year of My Life by Jamie Staniskis………………………..74 Take My Hand by Amy Forcinito…………………………………………………………………75 The Lonely Pair by Alta Riddick………………………………………………………………….76 [Untitled] by Ingrid Morales………………………………………………………………………..77 Poetry, Prose, and Artwork by Naquiesha Harris……………………………………….78 Woobie by Ryan Lesnikowski………………………………………………………………………83

A Painful Perspective by Nathaniel Barry

Demons Seen in the periphery a rodent fighting tenaciously not to look in those black eyes nervously, eyes jumping for snakes are surrounding him He must look down to dig a hole to burry his mind into snakes can see my thoughts can discover my paranoia smell the tension Snakes strangle Anxiety makes me a mouse and you a snake for I am to scared to see anything else.

Angels You are the princess I write to so often so benevolent

so perfect The master whose shoe I polish The messiah whose words will save me I am held captive brightly captivated My eyes were born To worship your figure My arms to do your dishes My mind to do your taxes An angel would fall If demeaned to such earthly tasks There would be nothing left on my pedestal

Flat faced Apes All of us hyped up patterns of desires and fears hungry, tired, ambitious, greedy, shallow, simple. As meaningless as a gorilla pounding itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s chest. As a squirrel foraging for the american dream

We are beasts My immense hype makes you amorphous transformative Archetypal The ape, The angel or The Snake A painful perspective

A Closer Look at Motherhood by Erica Bonaparte

Greeted at the door by my nine-year-old little voice saying, “Hey Mommy!”, as I come in the house from school or work; the echo of amusement and sounds of happiness can be heard walking up the stairs of my apartment complex. Times such as those gives me great deal of motivation to continue what I have been doing as a mother and simply to not give up on this innocent and full of life little girl. It is proof that I am an excellent mother. According to Dictionary.com a mother is defining as female parent. Some women have children simply for self-centered reasons; they may assume having a child could possibly fill a void in their lives or becoming impregnated to keep a man that no longer wants a relationship with them. They in no way take into concern the existence of the underprivileged naive child they have brought into a broken situation. An excellent mother is not classified by the process of labor and delivery, but by coaching, educating, caring and fostering the child. Repeatedly, a child gets disappointed he/she may display callous behavior, but still a mother is forgiving, kind and redirects the child. A good mother constantly supports their child no matter what choices their child makes or what occurred in life. When a child is of an appropriate age a mother will sit back and allow their child to make their choices of their own, whether they agree or disagree, all while still being supportive. “The role of mother is a primary one for many, but not all, women in our culture. Most mothers see motherhood as a major aspect of their personal and social identities. The media and popular culture also place a high value on being a good mother. We, as a society are very quick to judge and condemn mothers whom we perceive as fulfilling their own needs at the expense of their children's best interests.” (Psychology Today) A good mother is excellent role model. Because children are led by example, it is very imperative that a mother display excellent character qualities. A role model will demonstration respect everyone on her society even those that she does not know.

Children require care in multiple ways; a mother delivers all that is required. Without a doubt, a mother will support her child financially to the best of her ability; she always provides for her children. After giving birth, if a mother chooses to raise their child they enter motherhood. Motherhood is identifying each single child as their own individual, yet loves them equally, giving them respect even though they are young. Motherhood stands for their flaws as temporary inadequacies, but as chances to pick up more and different things about who they are as a person. It allows me to share and display my flaws and hope that they learn from my failures and hope they grow to be better than I. Motherhood is the connection that is developed once a female interconnects her individual human nature to her kids. Motherhood is unselfish it is simply putting all your personal necessities on the backburner, but put your childâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s need as a primary priority. Motherhood is becoming a protector and a provider. This means providing your child with exceptionally clean clothes and shelter. Providing the essentials of a child is priority. Motherhood is by far the most challenging yet most rewarding job I have ever to take on. I would not trade my experience as a mother for anything in the world. My goals seem even more imperative not only for myself but for my daughterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s future. By me obtaining these goals such as finishing school I set the standard for her by not only telling how imperative school but by showing her through accomplishing my goals and getting my degrees.

You Should be Proud of Her by Nicole Gollatz

Pacing his room, and fresh out of ideas, Shane was starting to feel sick. He knew if he had to wait much longer he would start running a fever. He needed a new plan because none of his old tricks were going to fly this time. He’d already stolen so much from his parents that they stopped keeping cash in the house, and they had gotten into the habit of changing their pin number on a weekly basis. He knew his baby sister DeeDee had her sweet sixteen money hidden in her ballerina music box, but he promised himself he would never steal from her. He tried his best to keep his addiction hidden from her all together, but he knew she had her suspicions. When it came to hiding his secret, his parents were another story. He blamed them for all his problems, so he could have cared less if they saw his pinhole pupils, or if they found his empty powder blue wax envelopes floating in the toilet. He figured it would serve them right for being drunk all the time. When the first chill shivered down his spine, Shane’s mind wandered back to his sister’s music box. It was sitting on her dresser, open so that the tiny ballerina could be seen at all times. Just below the tray of earrings was a wad of cash. Over a grand. DeeDee was saving for a car so that she could take off after she graduated high school. She was so sick of listening to her parents bickering when her dad came home wasted, hours after he got done his shift at the pier. If Shane wasn’t home, she would wind her music box as far as she could and watch the tiny dancer spin around and around, waiting for the chaos to settle. She would imagine herself behind the wheel of the green mustang that was for sale at the dealership around the corner.

DeeDee’s dream was no secret to Shane. She used to cry to him about their parents fighting all the time. He hated to see her so upset, but he also wished he could just cry it out the way his little sister did. He loved her and wanted to protect her, but he was also jealous of her strength and ability to cope. He knew she was stronger than him because she had to fend for herself most of her life. Shane being a whole decade older than DeeDee granted him 10 years of being spoiled with anything and everything his heart desired. Before his sister came along he always had the newest video game console with all the best games. His parents, Mary and Don, took him to Tower Records every weekend to treat him to new CDs, and every summer they took him to Wildwood for a month-long vacation. The three of them were what most would call the perfect family, but once they discovered DeeDee was on the way everything changed. Don’s weekend six-pack of Yuengling upgraded to a case immediately. He was happy with the way things were, just the three of them, and he did not keep it a secret. He fought with Mary to get an abortion, but Mary was a devoted Catholic and would do no such thing. From that point on they resented each other, and Don began his descent into alcoholism. He made absolutely no effort to build a relationship with DeeDee. He never even held her as a baby, and Mary wouldn’t let him because he was never sober. Mary and Don fought just about every night when he would come stumbling home stinking of cigars and Jim Beam. Mary did her best to keep it from the kids when they were little, but they knew something was wrong. Shane and DeeDee would sit in Shane’s bedroom and play his music real loud to drown out the arguing. They would listen to The Grateful Dead, Led Zeppelin, Billy Joel, Tupac, Mariah Carey, and anything else DeeDee wanted to put on. Shane had accumulated quite an eclectic music collection before DeeDee

was born, and was always willing to let her play DJ. All the girls at Saint Maria Goretti thought DeeDee was such a bookworm and overachiever, they probably would have been surprised to know that her toenails were always painted black and that she listened to Queens of the Stone Age while she did her homework. After reliving memories of teaching his little sister about music, Shane decided he definitely couldn’t touch her money. He figured just because he didn’t have any plans to get out of South Philly, didn’t mean that he should ruin DeeDee’s. He threw on a t shirt, grabbed his 8mm and tucked the barrel down the back of his basketball shorts, and headed downstairs to the front door. Mary was sitting on the couch, smoking a USA Gold with a coffee mug of chardonnay in her hand. Shane could tell she had already taken a few too many of her valium just by the way the one side of her mouth wasn’t moving as she asked him where her was going. He didn’t even answer her and just walked out the door. He was still clueless as to how he was going to score. He was getting cramps in his stomach, and his brow was brimming with beads of sweat. He had to do something before he found himself with his hand in DeeDee’s music box. He walked up to Oregon Avenue and headed east. He passed a corner store, thought for a second and shook his head. He knew he didn’t want to have a sawed-off shotgun pointed in his face, so he decided family owned businesses were not going to be the way to go. A block ahead he saw the TD Bank. It was Friday afternoon and there was a steady flow of folks going in and out to get their paychecks cashed. The hard workers getting ready to start their weekends gave him an epiphany. Shane ducked under the bus stop and pretended to wait for the 47 bus. He was waiting for just the right moment to make his move. He watched and young woman with a

full sleeve of tattoos exit and thought, no, not her, too tough. Then a man with a beer belly and a Phillies cap came out. Nope, too big, Shane thought. Then came the one. She had to be seventy at the youngest. She wore a short sleeved floral blouse, one like his grandmother used to wear. Her shoulders were slightly hunched and she seemed frail from head to toe. She was clutching a thick envelope, open with her cash exposed. Shane probably thought it through for all of two seconds before he made his move. He walked up to the lady and smiled and said hello. She looked up and before she could even smile back, he snatched the envelope from her hand and ran. His mind was racing as he headed home. All he could think was, shit, what the fuck did I just do? He ran right home, and into the living room, where Mary was dozing with a lit cigarette in her hand. “Jesus, Shane, why’re running in here like that? You scared the shit out of me!” “I was just real thirsty.” Shane lied as he grabbed a can of Pepsi from the fridge and headed up to his room. He figured he would lay low in his bedroom for a bit and count the money before he went to see his dealer. He was so proud of himself for getting away with it that his euphoria almost cancelled out his dopesickness, but not enough. Wearing a victorious smirk, he headed downstairs so he could go out and get his fix. Mary was still adrift on the couch. Her cigarette had gone out, but it was still between her fingers. Her other hand was loosely holding her wine mug. “Get up Ma, DeeDee will be home real soon.” Shane said with annoyance while giving his mother’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Fuck, Shane! What do you want? Don’t you have your own smokes?” “Ma, DeeDee’ll be home soon, come get some air on the front step.”

“Okay, Okay, I’m coming.” Mary whined groggily as she peeled herself from the couch. They walked out the front door and sat on the stoop. Shane took one of his mom’s cigarettes, lit it, and said, “Wake up ma, what the fuck? How many valiums did you take?” “Fuck off, Shane. You ain’t got no room to judge, mister needles under his bed. You think you’re so fucking slick.” “Yeah well at least I don’t have a kid in high school.” “Oh please, that little bitch can take care of herself, she thinks she’s better than all of us anyway. Little miss ‘I made honor the roll’, ‘I made captain of the field hockey team’, ‘Look at my paintings’, ‘Maybe I should go to this college’...” Mary mimicked her daughter. She always blamed DeeDee for her ruined marriage. Mary was also jealous of her daughter’s ability to fight for what she wanted because the last time Mary fought for anything was when she fought to keep DeeDee from being aborted. She gave up on fighting after that. She was also jealous of her daughter’s youth and freedom, and resented the fact that DeeDee could end up living a happy and successful life. It was a life that Mary always dreamed of, but never did anything to make it happen. Mary grew more and more bitter over the years while Don drank himself into a hole every night. Once DeeDee was old enough to shower on her own and fix herself a sandwich, Mary decided it was her turn to check out. Her wine consumption skyrocketed. She had her doctor give her diet pills to trim down in hopes that her husband would notice. He gave her valium for when she came down at night. Once she realized Don didn’t care about her waistline, she switched to valium and chardonnay and stopped brushing her hair.

“You know, you should be proud of her ma.” Shane said as he walked away to finally get high. He was just a few yards from where his mom sat on the stoop when he heard a voice say, “yeah, that’s him.” He turned to see the big guy with the Phillies shirt from the bank and two police officers approaching him. “Like stealing from little old ladies, do ya?” Said the short cop with the pot belly. “Oh, no you don’t.” The tall beefy cop said to Shane, grabbing a hold of his arm when he tried to make a break for it. Shane thought, I can’t get busted right now, no fucking way. Without even thinking about it, Shane pulled the 8mm out from the back of his shorts. The tall beefy cop grabbed ahold of Shane’s weapon hand. The short cop charged into Shane’s torso and a shot rang out. The cops got the weapon out of Shane’s hand, and got him to the ground and cuffed, but before they could begin to read him his rights they heard a blood curdling scream. “DeeDee! My baby!” Mary screamed as she ran to her daughter lying on the ground, blood pooling out around her. DeeDee lay there in here catholic school jumper and saddle shoes, bleeding from her chest, empty hazel eyes aimed at the sky, while her mother cried over her body. Even with his face down in the asphalt, Shane knew what had happen. He killed the baby sister that he worked so hard to protect.

Sins of the Father by Quentin Todd

I love my Dad. My brother was seven years old when my mother and father had me; they were teenagers when my Mom gave birth to him. At twenty-four and twenty-five years of age, respectively, I think my parents were better prepared for children when I came along. We vacationed in Wildwood every summer, and once, spent a week in Rhode Island visiting my mother’s estranged brother. Being an Army man, my Dad had a penchant for cleanliness, timeliness and order. His Saturday ritual included rising early to go on his morning run, afterwards, making a huge breakfast for Mom, Leroy, and I—all before 9 a.m. As we completed our chores following breakfast, the sounds of various genres of music filled the halls of our 3-bedroom apartment: David Bowie, Miles Davis, Earth, Wind and Fire, The Bee Gees—I think that’s where I get such an eclectic musical pallet. After we dressed for the day, I would go into my parent’s room and wait for Dad to pull the small, round wicker box from under his bed. I was entirely fascinated with that box. It contained a camel hair shoe brush, two small cans of Kiwi brand shoe polish with two daubers, a shine cloth, and shoe horn. That box! I used to sit and watch as he seemingly brought a new shoe to life every week; meticulously applying polish, then buffing, and finally shining each piece of footwear—all with an awesome flair. I remember his hand motions so clearly; like a deaf person just learning sign language.

My parents split when I was twelve. By then I had a little sister, 8 years my junior. Initially, I cursed my Dad and wanted nothing to do with him. Despite all the fond memories that we’d created, I blamed him for every wrong, every shortcoming, every mishap that my mother— now a single Mom of three—experienced. I mean, he was still there, lingering in the background, but not there, like he used to be. I developed a certain bitterness and distaste for the man. My Mom had a stroke and lost the use of her entire left side. He wasn’t there for any of the subsequent rehabilitation or financial struggles. How could this man that I used to simply adore, turn his back on us when we needed him the most? I had my first child at twenty-four years old, just as my parents had me. Although my daughter’s mother and I weren’t exactly childhood sweethearts, for a time, I loved the woman. Was I ready for a child? No, not at all. While I tried to be the best parent I could be, given the circumstances, our relationship suffered because we eventually figured out that we weren’t right for each other. I attribute my hesitance to leave a troubled relationship to the fact that my family was fractured at a young age. I didn’t want that for my daughter, and this contributed to the toxicity that existed in my relationship. Honestly, these same circumstances have occurred in many other relationships throughout the black community. Plenty of children are shortchanged in single parenthood when one parent skips out on the other. Now, as a single parent, I realize that my father may have found himself in the same predicament when he was younger—trying to hold on to something that may, or may not, have been ideal for him. Maybe he was trying to fit a square peg in a round hole too? He wasn’t perfect—I just thought he was.

I created this perfect image of a man by the way he used to bring his aging shoes back to life every Saturday. The way he soothed the aging wrinkles that appeared at the upper midportion of his footwear. The way he brought life and color back to a pair of listless cap toes or dull oxfords. The way he meticulously massaged that leather with the big bristled brush. Maybe I thought he could fix anything simply by opening his wicker box and making it brand new again. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that, really, Dad just knew how to take what he had and make it appear showroom fresh. Maybe those shoes didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t fit anymore. The leather may have been shiny, the laces brand newâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;but I never thought to check if there were holes in his sole.

Early Mourning by Quentin Todd

Oh, little black child so innocent and young Impervious to life’s ill shrill, Eager to embrace that which is yet to come As an empty vessel awaits its fill.

Oh, young black boy as you hasten to mature I implore you—be wary of your wits, Countless pitfalls and pratfalls, designed to detour Stones & tight spots, you may find yourself betwixt.

Oh…Young Black Man—brother to brother? Can we talk? My words, don’t neglect, Contempt for your brother, devaluing the life of another Undermines our sense of community, and its positive effects.

I know the causes—poverty, lack of opportunity, inadequate education, and hope-less-ness, Dear God, why’d you let them take the life of my cousin? Our honorable qualities—he embodied the best.

Colorful by Alicia Mason I was born colorful Bright shades of brown and tan I feel wonderful not many people are a fan.

They yell and say, Hey Mister you are too dark I say no, I am blessed. Certified brownie a walking trademark I am honored, delighted, pressed.

I am dark, a reflection of an environment in which I suffered so long. I am the result of hot summer days and no days free. I scream it, for being colorful is my song! I move my hips, so they can get it, no really get it, that this is me. I wear my color dark as if it were a storm awaiting a rainbow so it can become warm I am dark but lovely thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s what I know.

I was born colorful, bright shades of brown and tan

Trial and Error by Peter Henry

Sitting down to meet you for the first time From the sour beer I chose Should have been a sign That like all the others You would eventually leave me behind Those fingers will map every part of your body He will kiss a red pin into the parts of you he saw Then when you are marked with pins and hickies He will mark you off his map and travel to a new destination But I gave you the keys to fast to my house, to my mind to my body, to my heart Now I must change the locks

To Be With You by Annabell Dow 1. She was like a mystery to him. Girls in this town didn't look like her. Other girls around here looked too eager to please. Every strand of hair curled perfectly, every outfit picked with precision. She was something completely different. Her dark hair had laid wavy down her back, almost as if she'd just washed it and left. She wasn't dressed in a "ladylike" manner either. She wore a black and red plaid shirt on top of a black tank top with denim shorts and old dirty red and white converse. Her face was completely naked despite the barely noticeable bags that sagged under her eyes. She was absolutely gorgeous in a way in which she didn't even have to try. He had followed her out into the woods and watched her from behind a distant tree. He watched as she raised a blunt to her lips and lit it before taking a deep inhale. She was like a mystery to him. He had never seen a girl smoke before. Girls he knew were all overly concerned with their image. Almost as if everyday was courting season. Her soft caramel complexion went almost perfectly with her brown eyes. She was like aâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; "Do you want a drag or something?" Her voice struck him almost as hard as a bullet. It hadn't occurred to him that his body had moved on it's own to get a closer look. "I-uh, sure." He said as he came completely out of hiding and walked closer shoving both hands in his pockets. He noticed as a wicked grin etched it's way up her face. She held out the blunt to him almost as if it was as simple as a pen or a pencil. As he took it from her their fingers touched and he was suddenly in deeper than before. He put the blunt against his lips and inhaled closing his eyes. It wasn't his first time smoking but this was the strongest stuff he'd ever smoked in his life. As the cough attack hit him he covered his mouth with one arm and passed it back with the other. "What kind of weed is that?"

"Nothing from around here." She said taking another inhale and blowing it out smoothly. "Obviously." He replied letting out a few final coughs. "Where are you from?" "New York." She replied simply as she continued to concentrate on the blunt between her fingers. "What's a girl from New York doing out in California?" "Minding her business." She said with a grin as smoke rolled off her tongue and out of her mouth. A mouth that he hadn't taken his eyes off since he revealed himself. "I just moved here to live with my aunt. So, you're going to be seeing me around I guess." He nodded and took back the blunt that was being extended to him to take a second hit. This time he inhaled slowly and took in less. But apparently it didn't matter because within a couple of seconds he was coughing like a fucking amateur. "Here try this." She said placing the blunt back between her lips before removing it and stepping close enough that their toes were touching. She grabbed him by his chin and leaned his head down while getting on her tippy toes. She slowly blew the smoke into his mouth and he inhaled watching her eyes as they went from high to conniving. Before he could return the look she was leaning back on her heels and throwing the blunt to the ground before stepping on it. "Who ever rolled it put all the good stuff at the tip." She said with low eyes. "You're pretty." He said not even able to regret as the high took over. "Thanks. You're nice." "Pretty girls shouldn't come out to the woods all by themselves." "No, they shouldn't. But this pretty girl knows how to take care of herself." "I'm sure she does." "So, you gonna tell me why you followed me out here?" "I'm not really sure. I guess I was......curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat." "And satisfaction brought it back." They both chuckled a bit and he ran his hands through his hair. "You were just.... I couldn't resist." "Hey, does this stuff leave a strong smell?" "Nothing detergent can't get rid of." "Oh good, my girlfriend hates when I smell like smoke." He wished he hadn't said that. "You have a girlfriend?" "Yeah." "What's her name?" "Stephanie. What's yours?" "Robin." "Seriously? My name's Scott." She nodded and rubbed her arms. "Well Scott, it was nice meeting you but I should probably go." "Yeah, yeah, right, me too. I'll see you around?" "Maybe." She said stepping backwards before turning around and heading back down towards the trail that she came from. Scott waited for fifteen minutes before heading out of the forest himself. He finally checked his phone that he'd been ignoring for the last hour to see he had two missed calls and four texts all from Stephanie. Hey babe are you busy? I feel like I haven't seen you all week. Where are you? Parents aren't going to be home until tomorrow, come over.

He put the phone back in his pocket. He’d make an excuse to why he had missed them and would promise to make it up to her even though he wouldn’t. It hadn't always been like that. There was a point in his life when he was head over heels in love with Stephanie. He spent half his freshmen year trying to get her to be with him and when she finally was it was amazing. She was different back then; mysterious, fun, untouched. Now she was just like the rest. Predictable, overbearing, and just average. Robin was something entirely different. She seemed damaged in a way that didn't need tending. She seemed gentle but rough at the same time. Her eyes told you exactly what she wanted and how exactly she planned on getting it. He felt like he knew her and he had barely talked to her for half an hour. He couldn't explain why he felt this way for a stranger. She was a mystery to him. 2. The next time he saw her she was standing at her locker staring at a piece of paper in confusement. He watched as her eyebrow raised as she repeatedly turned her combination lock in circles. He watched as her eyes rolled to the back of her head in frustration and how — “Bro, you’re a fucking creep.” He snapped back to reality. He forgot that he was with his friend Tyler and that he was staring. “You know her or something?” Tyler asked turning to look at her. “She’s cute.” “Yeah, I guess.” Scott said with a shrug. “I met her the other day. Seemed cool.” Tyler looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow. “You met her huh? Like...your body parts met?” Scott hit him in the arm and rolled his eyes. “Come on man, I would never cheat on Steph.” He looked past Ty and back at Robin who was still struggling with her lock. “But I’m gonna catch you later. She looks like she could use a hand.” “Or a — “

“Come on man.” Scott said shaking his head and walking towards her. His heart started beating harder and faster as he continued to get closer to her. This girl was doing something to her. Before he knew it he was standing in front of her. Giving her the best winning grin he could. “Oh hey.” She said not even looking in his direction for more than half a second. “Uh hey. You looked like you needed help.” “Yeah, combination locks are like my kryptonite. We used keys at my old high school.” He placed his hand over hers and guided her through the process. When she wasn’t smoking weed she smelled like vanilla. When the lock opened she let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Thanks.” She turned to him and gave him a weird look before laughing. “What’s so funny?” “You’re a football player?” “Oh yeah, I am.” “That’s, uh interesting. Well I’ll see you around.” “Uh actually,” He said stopping her mid stride. “Um since your new and I’m, you know, a football player and all I thought maybe I should be the one to invite you to the kick off party the team has every year. It’s, uh, fun I guess.” “Well I guess I’ll think about it. Can I bring a friend?” “Sure, you made friends already?” “Yup, this boy name Isaac.” “Isaac? The dealer?” “Yeah, my type of people.”

“Right.” He tried to hide the jealousy in his voice but obviously failed by the look of the grin on her face. “Will Stephanie be there?” I loved to meet her.” Shit, he had forgotten about her. “Um yeah she will. Hey, you probably need help going to class. I’ll walk you there if you want.” “What a gentleman.” Robin said sarcastically. “Lead the way good sir.” Scott rolled his eyes as they walked down the hall. Now he just had to figure out what he was going to do about Stephanie. *** During the entire party Scott continuously scanned the room for Robin. It was getting late and even though these parties would last all night he started to give up the hope that she was coming. He had taken Stephanie upstairs when she showed signs of being too drunk. He took her to the room that he knew locks on the inside so she’d be protected from predators and pulled the trashcan next to the bed for her inevitable vomit session. “I love you so much.” She groaned as she rolled over in bed. He wondered how true that was. Wondered if she had felt the distance growing between them. If she was aiding to the distance. He hoped she would dump him for someone else. He couldn’t be the one to do it. No matter how badly he wanted. He started to question his pursuit of Robin. What was he thinking? The two of them weren't even a possibility. Stephanie's father was the Mayor of the town but most importantly he chose the recipient for the town's Scholarship which was Scott's only hope of going to college, of getting out of this one horse town. He couldn't leave Steph he just couldn't — He finally saw her. She was smiling. She wore a crop top and high waisted jeans and her eyes was a beautiful red that told him that she was late due to pregaming. When she caught his eye she smiled and waved. He walked over as fast as he could without seeming to eager. “Hey.” She said looking past him. “Where’s Stephanie?” 27

“She’s, uh, she’s completely passed out. Had a little too much to drink. You wanna smoke? Our spot is not to far from here. You could invite Isaac. Where is he?” “Serving his clientele I think. Sure let’s go.” “Good. Let me get my coat.” *** Somewhere, in between lighting the first blunt and some deep conversation Robin had ended up laying under him with their lips deeply intertwined with each other he hadn’t felt something so passionate and overwhelming since, never. She was so imperfect in a way that was so perfect. She was her diamond in the rough. She was finally his and he wanted to keep her.

3. Robin woke up the next morning with hickies all over her body and the feeling of guilt seeping low in her gut. She got dressed for school and wondered who the fuck told her to party on a school night. Scott was completely different than the types of guys she usually dated. Her type of guy was more like Isaac, a fellow pot head. Scott was a quarterback and he had a girlfriend. A girlfriend which by the way was a cheerleading captain and town mayor’s daughter. Their relationship seemed perfect like something out of a disney channel movie. But still she wanted him. During the school day she did her hardest to avoid Scott and in her attempt she ran into someone much worse. “Hello, I’m Stephanie Watson. You’re new here right?” “Right. Robin.” “I know who you are. So how do you know Scott? Some people saw you two leave the party together?” “Oh yeah, I don’t really know him. I just know he’s been real nice to me. Just showing me around and helped me find my way back to my house last night. But that’s it.” 28

“Really?” Stephanie said looking Robin up and down. “Showed you to your house or into your house.” “Just to my house, it isn’t like that.” “You know Robin. I don’t know whether or not to believe you or not. Especially since you’ve already lied to me.” Robin gave her a twisted and confused look. What the hell was she talking about? What did she know? “Being new here. What you thought no one would recognize you? Ms. James. Have a nice day new girl.” Stephanie said with a chuckle as she walked away triumphantly. Robin stood there frozen. The last name now was Henricks. James was the name she left in the past with her old life, one tainted in bad memories and blood, one that was supposed to be kept hidden. *** As she walked through the hallways everyone stared and whispered. There was no hiding it anymore. She couldn’t be a Henrick anymore, now she was a James. Something she had tried so hard to run from and now everyone knew. Even — Scott stood at the end of the hall and raised his hand to wave and no more than a second later Stephanie pulled up to his side grabbed his face and forced his lips into a kiss before turning back to Robin and waving herself. Robin quickly turned and sped out the hallway and kept going until she was out the front door and back into her car. She had enough for the day. She texted Isaac and told him to meet her in her house. She needed to smoke. Scott looked at Stephanie in confusement. “You know Robin?” “Yeah.” She said with a grin. “Everyone does.” “What are you talking about? I thought she was new.” “Oh yeah, I forgot you moved in a year or two after she moved out. Well once upon a time Robin Henricks was Robin James. Her and her family lived here for years until her Dad and her grandmother was given drugs and burned alive in their beds. The only survivors was 29

her mom who was at work and Robin who was conveniently playing in the yard at midnight. Rumor has it Robin killed them.” “Wait that’s not even possible. She couldn’t of been more than 6 when that happened.” “Well anything’s possible if you have a good reason.” Scott shook his head and ran to follow Robin ignoring the calls of his girlfriend in the background. He had to see her. *** “So wait,” Isaac said passing the blunt. “People that little five year old Robin gave her father and grandmother paralyzing drugs and then burned them in their beds.” “Yup.” Robin said taking a pull and holding it to the back of her throat. “I moved to New York with my mom but when she abandoned me I was sent back here to live with my Aunt. I honestly thought no one would recognize me. Maybe I should have changed my first name too.” As she passed the blunt back the doorbell rang. She pulled out her phone to check the security camera app. And to her surprise (not really) there stood Scott. “Your boyfriend’s here.” She rolled her eyes and they both headed downstairs to open the door. “What?” She said opening the door while Isaac simultaneously left giving Scott a good luck and pat on the shoulder. “What’s he doing here?” “Unlike you he was invited. What do you want Scott?” “I came to say sorry and just talk you know?” She let out a sigh and turned to go back into the house where Scott followed. “What are you sorry for? I think the girl you need to apologize to is the one you call girlfriend. Who by the way started a smear campaign against me just because she thinks we might of slept together. No solid evidence just some whispers and it sent her into attack mode.”

“Look I don’t believe anything they’re saying. But you should know I did some digging around and the person who told her about your name change was the Counselor.” “Wow how tightly does she have this town wrapped around her finger?” “Tight. Everyone except me.” “Really? Whose finger you wrapped around?” She said she wouldn’t do it again but she did. It was almost like she couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was because she wanted revenge, or maybe it was just because it was him. But this time it went past kissing and after he made it into her bed. There was no coming back. *** The next morning Scott snuck out the window and Robin got ready for school with a smile on her face. But she was also determined. She was going to walk into the school with pride and give that student counselor a piece of her mind. As she stormed towards the building she realised that wasn’t going to happen. Ms.Lorell, the counselor, was hanging by her feet naked in front of the school body. With the word Warning carved into her dead body.

4. The whole town went into a frenzy. Especially it being such a small town everyone knew everyone and the killer was someone everyone knew. The last time something like this happen was when the James house caught fire. So of course there was no surprise when Robin got called into the police precinct. Scott drove her there. Their romance was still in secrecy but nothing changed not even after the murder. He kissed her and told her there was nothing to worry about. He was with her the entire night. She sat in the cold room until a detective walked in. “Hello Ms. James —” “Henricks. I took my mother’s last name.” 31

“Okay, Ms. Henricks. My name is detective Jones. I wanted to talk to you about your school teacher Ms.Lorell.” “About what? Literally the first time I saw her was when she was hanging from — you know.” “Well you’re the only student who had an appointment with her which is weird because she’s usually booked for majority of the day. In fact she canceled all her appointments that day except for yours. Do you know why that is?” “No, I didn’t even make an appointment with her.” “Do you know what it may have been about?” “Can’t you guess. It’s the same reason you called me down here. The real reason. The town thinks I’m a murdering psychopath who burned her father and grandmother alive. I didn’t kill them and I didn’t kill Ms.Lorell. I didn’t even know her.” “So you would have an alibi for that night? Your aunt perhaps?” “My aunt works nights at the hospital. But I, I was with someone else.” “Name?” “Will you keep it confidential?” “Yeah, I’ll talk directly to him and his parents if he’s underage.” “Scott Martinez.” “Isn't that—” As the realization hit him he nodded. “I’ll contact him and his parents and if he confirms your alibi then it won’t be spoken of again.” “Thanks, Thank you Officer Jones.” “No problem. You’re free to go and make sure you’re in school Monday.”

Robin nodded and got out of there as fast as she could only to be greeted with leering eyes outside the precinct. She put her head down and headed home. She wanted this to be over. She needed this to be over. *** After dropping off Robin at the precinct, Scott met up with Tyler at the field and threw the football around since practice and school was canceled for the rest of the week so students and staff could mourn. Tyler was the only person he told about Robin and what they were doing together. And being the bad influence that he was he completely approved and even encouraged the relationship. After their own mini practice, Scott headed home only to be greeted by his mother and a police officer. Officer Jones to be exact aka Tyler’s father. “Hey Mr. Jones, I was just with your son at the field.” “Yeah I know.” Officer Jones said. “I need to ask you about Robin James—” “Henricks.” “Right. Where were you the night before Ms. Lorell was found dead?” “I was with Robin.” Scott avoided his mother’s shocked and disappointed gaze. “The whole night.” “Thank you, that’s all I needed.” The officer said patting his mother on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to talk.” As soon as the door shut his mother went off. “You’re cheating on your girlfriend Mijo? You’re cheating on Stephanie? With a girl who’s being investigated for murder! Have you lost your mind!” “She didn’t kill anyone, she was with me the whole night.” “I raised you better than this.” “Look mom the only reason I’m cheating is because I can’t break up with Stephanie. The girl is so vindictive she’ll make sure I’m not given a dime for college. But Robin she’s amazing mom, she’s just —”

She held up a hand and shook her head. “You end this.” She said sticking a finger into his chest. “You end it now.” She grabbed her jacket and slammed the door as she left. He couldn’t end it. It hadn’t been long but now he needed her. *** As the days went on things got worst. Scott made it a routine of sneaking in through her window and spending the night and the person who killed Ms.Lorell went from murderer to serial killer. Two girls from their school were killed, a mailman, and even Scott’s assistant coach. They were all killed the same way and tied up by their feet with the message “You were warned” carved in their skin. People were still side eyeing Robin, there were still whispers, but things settled down as word got out that she had an alibi for the counselor's murder. Things really calmed down when Isaac and Robin started to pretend boyfriend and girlfriend to get Stephanie off her back and clear up any rumors about Robin and Scott. Things were going good for a while, as good as it could be when you're sleeping with the town princess’ boyfriend and when there’s a serial killer on the loose. That was until Robin went to meet up with Isaac for a smoke session. Robin listened to her music and was texting Isaac that she was going to be outside when she saw the the police cars and ambulance surrounding his house. She ran as fast as she could only to be stopped by Scott who was amongst the crowd of bystanders. “What’s going on? This is Isaac’s house! Is he okay?” “Robin, I have to tell you something.” Scott swallowed as he tried to muster up the courage to tell her. “It was him. It was Isaac.” “What are you talking about?” “Isaac killed all those people.” “No, no that’s not right. Isaac couldn’t hurt a fly.” “Listen to me. They found evidence on one of the bodies that connected him and when the police came to talk to him. He….He was waiting with a gun. There was a shoot out and Isaac he’s—”

Robin covered her mouth and shook her head. This couldn’t be true. Isaac was the kindest and softest person she ever met. And she couldn’t even ask why. She couldn’t even say goodbye. She could never repay him for the friendship he gave her when she was all alone. She just couldn’t believe it. “Hey why don’t you come over to my house. My mom could make you some tea and we could just calm down and talk maybe. I know this hurts but the worst part is over. It’s over Robin.” Robin nodded and let Scott lead her to his house which was walking distance from Isaac’s. She felt cold even though it was a warm night. Her heart felt frozen. Scott got his keys out his pocket and put it in the lock. “My mom doesn’t particularly approve of what we’re doing but as soon as she meets you she’ll under—” BOOM They were both blown back as the house exploded. They both hit the cement and everything went blurry and Scott’s ears rung as he looked around. Robin was out cold and there was blood coming from her head. The house was completely engulfed by flames and Scott could feel himself fading out. It was supposed to be over. Everything went black.

5. Scott woke up in the hospital. Surrounded by police. He immediately shot up, “Where’s my mom.” Officer Jones came from the side and touched his hand. He couldn’t say it but Scott knew. He fell back into the bed as tears fell out of his eyes and his heart sunk. “Where’s Robin?” Scott asked in between his tears. “I need to see her.” “We were hoping you could tell us?” “What do you mean?” Scott asked trying to stop his welps. “I-I-I was just with her we were together when the explosion happened.” 35

“We only found you. Scott there’s something else we have to tell you. Your mother was dead before the explosion. Someone…..her neck was broken.” “Oh my god.” Scott said trying to sit up. “Stephanie! She’s going to kill Stephanie.” Officer Jones called all units to her address and rushed out. Scott tried to follow but his doctor forced him back down on the bed. What had he done. *** Stephanie struggled to get out of the duct tape that was keeping her tied to a chair. “Don’t bother,” Robin said cleaning the Mayor’s blood off her knife. “There’s no point.” “You're crazy.” Stephanie cried trying her best not to look at her father’s corpse. “No, I’m in love.” Robin said turning to face her. “And love can make you do some crazy things.” “Did you kill all those people.” “They all stood in my way, in love’s way. Ms. Lorell told you about the old me. The girls who snitched on me at that party. The mailman who saw Scott sneaking out my window. And oh, Scott’s coach who saw me text him and told him I was leading him down a dark path. Now your Daddy who was stopping Scott from his scholarship and you, his old girlfriend.” “No please, you can have him. And I won’t tell anybody.” “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You fucking liar.” She slapped her as hard as she could before grabbing her face and putting the knife to her neck. “I saved you for last on purpose I’m really going to enjoy this.” Sounds of sirens filled the house and Robin laughed. “Looks like I’m gonna have to be quick.” “STOP!” Robin quickly turned around to the sound of Scott’s voice. 36

“What are you? How? Scott this isn’t— “ “I know Robin. I know.” “I was doing this for us. I was doing this so we could be together.” “Robin, you need help.” The cops rushed in and Robin quickly went behind Stephanie and held the knife to her neck. “Back up or I’ll slice her.” Officer Jones tried to grab Scott. “What the hell Scott you shouldn’t be here.” “I have to.” Scott said “She’ll listen to me. Robin.” He said stepping closer. “Scott get back!” Officer Jones yelled but he kept going. “Robin these men are going to shoot you. Drop the knife. You’ll get help and then we’ll be together.” “Promise.” She asked. Scott nodded and held his arms open to her. She immediately dropped the knife but before she could touch him was stopped and tackled to the ground. As she was dragged away she screamed for him, reached out to him. But instead he ran to her. He ran to Stephanie.

[Three Months Later] Instead of jail Robin was forced into a mental institution for rehabilitation. She would’ve prefered jail. Especially because no one visits. Police found her Aunt’s body next and Scott never came, never called, never responded to any of her letters. She would have rather rot in prison. Robin sat in her padded cell with her arm restrained as one of the aids walked in. 37

“Are you okay?” “Can you untie me please?” She asked putting on the sweetest voice possible. “You’re in here because you had a violent outburst today? Don’t you remember?” “No, I’m better now. All drugged up.” “Sorry but I can’t a doctor has to let you out.” “Fine then he’ll just let me out.” “Who are you—” His body with down like a ton of bricks when the bat hit his head. Robin smiled, “Hey bae.” Scott never broke a promise. He stepped over the aid’s unconscious body and cut off Robin’s restraints. Before she pulled him in for a tight hug. “I thought you weren’t gonna come.” She said pulling him closer. Everything had gone exactly to plan. From her killing Lorell, killing the others, framing Isaac, having the fake outburst outside of Isaac’s house, Scott killing his mother, to finally getting caught and breaking out. It was perfect. Scott pulled them apart and looked her in the eyes. “I’d do anything to be with you.”

The Birds and the Flowers and the Little Child That Matters by MarySue Powell-Civera

Get up, get up, it’s time to wake up. I’ve made breakfast and lunch and even snack stuff. For today is a nature adventure away! Hi Mommy, an adventure? oh we, oh yay! Yes dear, but first you must eat for energy to play. Okay, Okay, when can we go? Oh, please don’t delay! It won’t be long, just as soon as your dressed. We’re going to see nature; flowers and birds at their best. These birds that I love live in a nest that we’ll see. The birds start in eggs before they come to be. Their mother keeps them warm and safe, day and night, till they hatch. Soon they crack out tweeting, a real baby bird batch. These babies are hungry and too young to find food. Their mother eats first then makes a paste to feed her baby brood. She searches the flowers, she tries to arrive first. Flowers have seeds that birds eat, flowers have roots and stems birds use to sleep. A hummingbird transfers pollen, it makes flowers burst! Oh yes, they are friends, friends after all. Best friends to each other best friends in the world big or small. Oh, Mom how sweet to teach me these things. Can we come back again, see more flowers, watch birds learn their wings? Of course, we can dear, we’ll come back next week. Now off we go with a kiss on the cheek.

The babies aren’t old enough, the flowers still bloom. Now it’s time for your nap, it’s well past noon. Go to sleep in comfort while these baby birds rest. Their mother is close by and I am here bringing you my best. You are cherished and loved, so wonderful it’s true. Sleep soundly, sleep safely, sleep taking you up to the moon. While mothers everywhere watch over their babies. Bringing them food, warmth and comfort each and every day. Like these birds living outside and these flowers at play. Each day you will grow, you will learn, you will see. The beauty the world creates to glorify our place to be.

Time Passages by MarySue Powell-Civera

Looking into another life I’m able. Through the window lit by an amber glow. I see my father working at a table. I want to be back there again, I know. The years he cared although we lived apart. Thought time stood still, so many memories. To see him now reminds me that life’s short. I don’t look forward to realizing these. The change of living without parents near. My heart will break for distance I create. To break myself from parents bonds I bear. I wonder with new hope for peace past date. His intention for me to stay alive. I love you while I miss you I will thrive!

Braided Essay by Luis Diaz As I was approaching the end of my sophomore year of high school, a friend of mine invites me on a ride that I shall never forget as long as I live. It was an early spring morning, my friend Alex approached me in the hallway to tell me that his girlfriend and a friend of hers were trying to hang out after school. Unbeknownst to all of our parents, who were probably at work like any other day thinking that their kids are in school and safe, this day we were being dismissed early at noon. This meant that we had a few hours to hang out while our parents thought we were still in school. When we all met after school, Alex pulls up in this white Hyundai and tells us to get in. I’ve known Alex for a while, but I had never seen this car before. As we all get in the car Alex introduces me to his girlfriend Madeline, and to her friend Kendra. As we are driving down Basin street there was a trail that we veered off to that road next to rail road tracks. That led to another back road next to a river that ultimately led to a dirt road where people came to ride all-terrain vehicles. When we first got there we started watching some of the guys doing tricks on their bikes. Someone made a remark about how much time we had left before our parents would expect us home. Alex and I both said that we weren’t pressed for time as we often stayed playing basketball after school, our parents didn’t expect us home at any particular time. Madeline and Kendra on the other hand, their mothers were very strict and expected them home before 4 PM. It was approaching 2 PM when Alex and Madeline said “we’re going to take a little ride in the car, we’ll be right back”. They pulled off into the dirt road until I couldn’t see the car anymore. At that moment, Kendra and I were alone and we did what we came to do. We then continued to watch the dirt bikes, I saw a friend of mine riding one of the dirt bikes and I started talking to him. Kendra came up to us and asked if we can go find Madeline as it was nearing 3 P.M and their mothers were probably already home from work. I jumped on the back of my friend’s motorcycle, and told him that we were looking for a white Hyundai. We rode for a few minutes down the road, and parked on the side was the white Hyundai. I already knew what had happened as the windows were all foggy when I approached it. I knocked on the window and told Alex “we have to go before the girls get

in trouble”. We all get in the car, and return to get Kendra. As we are all leaving all the guys on the motorcycles start to leave as well. They leave right in front of us leaving a trail of dust. Alex starts to drive and we all start feeling good, thinking we’re getting away with fooling our parents. As we are riding down the road everybody is laughing. I can remember vividly as Madeline had a big smile on her face as she turned around to ask Kendra how she was doing. Kendra said she was scared because Alex was speeding. When Madeline turned to Alex to tell him to slow down, the car suddenly started to swerve from side to side, I remember everything going in slow motion. Madeline still had that smile on her face, her overall look seemed peaceful, and angelic. When I turned to the side I see Kendra sunk back in her seat as if bracing for impact. And though I can’t see his face, I can tell that Alex is grappling with the steering wheel. The next few seconds happened in the blink of an eye, everything sped up, and I just felt the impact of the car crashing into trees right next to the river. When I looked up, Kendra was fine, she wasn’t hurt, but she had a look of despair as if she already knew what had transpired. Alex was slumped on the door window of the white hyundai, a few seconds later he started to move so I knew he was alive. When I turned to Madeline, it was one of the most horrific scenes I’ve ever seen. I immediately thought of our parents thinking, this is the last thing that any parent would want to see. She was slumped over, and a pool of blood was dripping from her forehead. I didn’t see any airbags deployed, I just saw more blood on the dash. Her mother never got to see her daughter return home, and from this is day forward I get an uneasy feeling when I see a hyundai.

From Broken to Bark by Samuel Snyderman

Scout came in a time when someone could really use a relationship; one that a dog can provide. He is a Shepherd-Pitbull, and I believe he is the coolest dog that god has ever put on this green earth. The training is easy, because Scout is so bright. He is a dog and I consider him my best friend. It is not delusional to think this way about a dog. There is a line you can cross to get to crazy, but I like to believe that I am nowhere near it. That being said, I can spend all day doing nothing, but lay with him. When I got him, he had a coupon attached to his kennel for fifty-percent off his adoption fees. Since three days before, he was adopted and returned for “needing too much attention,” I didn’t know how that could be true. That is how I would imagine my parents would have described me; at the age of six. Scout was not even one-year-old, in human years. Sitting in that kennel at eightmonths-old; we had an instant bond. The ability Scout had, to change my living situation, was ideal. At the age of 24, I felt tired of living where I grew up. I had a full-time job and made enough money to live on my own. But what I could afford, if I had a roommate, allowed for a better location. 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms would be attainable. My best friend, from growing up, moved to Philadelphia with me. We had an awesome bachelor’s pad with a view of the Ben Franklin Bridge from our deck; brand new appliances and hardwood floors filled the apartment. The life we had was great; for only two weeks. The horrible evil that never left my friend, struck oil in his heart. I would come home from work to find him halfasleep on the couch, smoking cigarettes and trying to avoid me. I was not stupid, but knew

he had lost the strength over his “self.” He had this problem return from years prior. With the supposed illness “under control,” we lived like this for six months. I tried vigorously to avoid confrontation because he was still attending work and being a contribution to society. That horrid excuse I had for a best friend was un-binding. I felt like it was his way to push away from me. I tried to help him and he continued to make my heart hurt for help. I started to feel an aching feeling like I was being hurt. He was not listening to me. He was down in his illness pretty far, and he knew that I have been there before. I figuratively drew the map that would lead his mind to better objectives; to relay to the messages that are encouraging evil. I destroyed the same evils in high school by myself with no one to help me. Cold turkey, and the loss of control over my emotions made me successful in destroying the addiction. I had a 2-year period where my mind had become over-run by the same affliction. I lied to my parents and claimed “I wasn’t high,” numerous times. Here I was, trying to lead someone who didn’t want the same thing as I did. We did agree that we wanted to keep living together, because we could still afford it. Without proper help, I knew that I was the reason for his continued addiction. After hearing six-months of vomiting and the smell of heavy cigarette smoking still lingering in the living room, I knew he had to move out and go back home; or get real help. I gave him a months notice and he knew it was coming. We parted ways and have yet to have a real conversation, as friends, since. To start a new relationship, you should never immediately fill the void with someone else. That is what everyone said to me. I knew it was true and that it was only in regards to human-beings. After not being able to tolerate and control the evil that my friend put me through, Scout became my submissive little side-kick. I could train him and

make him smarter than how he came from the SPCA of Delaware County (have changed name since). Our bond is so strong and he relies on myself, just as much as I do, him. Now my true “bachelor pad” was complete. I would walk Scout throughout the city and tire him out. What was funny to me was the amount of things I saw in public that were startling. I don’t know whether it was the exposure to my best friend’s illness, but I noticed more people, publicly, victim of that same disease. There is an epidemic that has taken beyond enough people to the grave and worse; lost connections with friends and family. If you’re dead from an overdose, which happens all too often with addicts, you won’t know what hit you when you die. But for those who are battling the Opioid-disease, the loss of the friends and family hurts because you visually watch someone abuse what god created for them. Most times they are problems that just need to be spoken about. The common battle in the streets of Philadelphia, is the opioid epidemic. Pills, powders, needles and other forms allow for any type of usage. The destruction of neighborhoods is even greater in some parts of the city. The Pennsylvania Republican website for the House of Representatives shows that in 2016 there were six bills legislated on the behalf of fighting opioid addiction. The Senate was even working on three bills of the same degree. Pahousegop.com states, on the page titled Fighting PA’s Opioid Crisis, “The drug problem is not partisan, and the House has been attacking it in a non-partisan manner.” If you are reading this and you cannot relate or have not been affected by this, you are lucky. There are families and loved ones all across the world, torn by this evil, ugly disease. Pennsylvania Senator Jay Costa brought a bill to legislation that could help families force loved ones into treatment. WKBN.com, a Pennsylvania local news website, said that the Senator specified “under current law, if

someone has been diagnosed with an addiction, and refuses treatment, there is nothing their family can do.” This is a bad feeling to have of a government; who won’t allow loved ones to act forcefully to fix this qualm. I believe, as someone who has been down this road, there is more to life by just dealing with it head-on. Some problems may be harder than others. We all are dealing with them together, and if you are affected, then so is someone else. And they could use your help, too. Remaining in the city, once my friend was gone, I had no new friends. I wasn’t close enough to where I grew up to have frequent visitors. Scout was not a “last ditch effort” or a “whim.” He was a definite decision, unlike any of the mistakes that I have made in my life. The capability he has to make me smile, even when he has an accident in the house, never gets old. After an accident, the immediate scolding that he will receive from me, allows me to enjoy the cowardly mannerisms that he’ll show as a sign of submission. Once he is done groveling, Scout licks my face stressing the utmost “I’m sorry!” I cannot say that what I did will work for everyone and getting a dog should fix your problems. But sometimes having someone or something to rule over, with a level of tyranny, can balance you out. It has been four years since I have spoken to my old friend. He has a two-year-old son and is in a healthy-committed-relationship. He is back to being a clean, hardworking individual. I am happy living with my 4-year-old hairy-snuggly-chubby no-longer-puppy, Scout. Paths had to split, but if you ask me, the lives worked out for the better.

Womb by Shane Veno

Survive

When I grew tired of fusing iron rings across my chest that I might delay, unavoidable, a last piercing blow

When I could not blow, always too tired, unavoidable life fit to iron flat pause, to delay unveiling that chest

Endless hoarding chest, vertiginous blow giving me delay

enough that tired bones turned to iron: unavoidable

Unavoidable as the way that chest caved, sutures: iron too heavy: that blow her voice: not tired. I swore off delay

See, I thought delay unavoidable. Because the tired lungs, heart of the chest, would not let her blow soul; still too iron

But I, by iron embraces delay; I need her to blow unavoidable live bolts through my chest

to purge the tired.

Iron, unavoidable, dearest, you: don't delay, chest cased lungs blow: light, swift, tired.

Supercell

I was born to a host of those sick empty pride stricken kin folk: say â&#x20AC;Ś cell.

Supercell, of course, bourne south towards kin, of course, ghost dance rip ride spewing sick.

Just brainsick, of course, cell reavers’ pride is but born when the ghost is sunk in.

Now link in, of course, sick. Playing host in wrought cell lives bloodborne absent pride

Fucking pride: child’s linkin’ log house, bourne away; brainsick (my ghost) cell pads new host

(Hello ghost) Mom’s lap ride,

test the cell, results? Kin and I sick as we’re born

(Ghost?) “I’ve seen my kin minus pride, they’re sick in each cell born”... stay

Fully Fully Fully

I'm always the king. This, that, those, they’re all most certainly mine

So sure, undermine this undertaking; sit tight till I fall

Do it, while you call the law; ketamine cements this leaking

womb. King of a small landmine

She won't stay here, too dark neath the moon

she says, moon rays can't stay her fears, dark

she says, dark as your moon caked eyes stay.

Please; just stay dark, moon

Outbound

I thought that when she left

Ma'am, please step behind this curtain I would hold her memories as a reliquary but Wait till the queue dies down and then we’ll get you on I can’t even remember her hair though Oh, bathroom, sorry I had pressed my face to the back of her head and inhaled, slow and deep, whenever So my given name is Afshin I put at end? I needed to calm myself down through the years as Vin blanc, merci I became more and more unstable while I’m sorry ma’am it’s required by law that burgers be cooked well done I let the mental wounds fester because We’re expecting rain later this morning; local time in Montreal is 2:57 I didn’t know how the fuck Miriam! Here I’ll bring these up I could possibly draw the sepsis from each and every one when lithium seroquel benzos as stitches wouldn't hold together those piles of synapses long since torn or maybe never together to begin with, they’ll tell you that and that you’re sad and alone every second of every second of every way from home to hospital to places where the still, sad lonely leeches, that’s you; wait. Take this.

A little less lonesome

A bit farther from the womb

I can remember the feel of your teeth, Iron, unavoidable, dearest you

Two Shots of Bacardi by Molly Cohen It started with a Facebook message. I hate how millennial and cheap that sounds but if I’m going to tell the honest story, that’s how it happened. We had worked together and I had had a crush on him but I wasn’t sure he really noticed me. It was just a regular night when I was sitting in the back seat of the car driving down the highway watching the city lights swirl and blur together like neon watercolors on a navy sky. That’s when his name flashed on my phone. We had met at Del Pez, which is the restaurant we work at. He was a server and I was a hostess. Maybe that’s not the start of Disney’s next classic but that’s about as fairytale as you’re going to get when it comes to working college students. His name wasn’t Jake but I’m going to call him that because this is a real person I’m talking about and I want to protect that. Jake was tall and thin, he stood poised and confident. Confidence always gets me, I think that’s because, as the cliché goes, we tend to want what we don’t have. He had wavy, brown hair and narrow eyes that were blue like the sea. He had this big, warm smile and a slight gap in teeth and dimples almost as big as mine. Almost. The thing that really got about him though, was his mannerisms and the way he talked. He would say so much with a scarce amount of words in a quiet but sturdy voice and he’d gesture with his hands, using them to paint the passion in air as he spoke. I loved his hands. They were the perfect contradiction soft and strong. And I loved the tattoo he had. A bare tree branch that was rough and jagged tangled around his wrist etched with the word “hope” carefully intertwined. He was charming and lovely and in between him me seating tables and him running food we would talk and laugh about nothing important. He fascinated me. At this point though, it was May and time was running out and I really wanted him to notice me. So I did the sensible, mature thing. I stalked him on social media with my friends to try and determine if he had a girlfriend and then we’d spend hours picking out my outfit for work. I’d put on just the right amount of make up, a dress that made me feel

fabulous, a push up bra for good measure. Unfortunately, the only person who seemed to take notice was a creepy man in his mid to late fifties that sat at a table right near the hostess stand. Since plan A didn’t seem to be working I decided it was time to amp it up and find any excuse I could to go to Del Pez when I knew he’d be working so I could talk to him. Soon enough though, it was the last day before I left and I had had no success. I gave up and assumed he wasn’t interested and so I went home for the summer thinking that was it. But there it was, July 27th, at 11:36 pm as I sat in the back on the car listening to the hum of the engine, letting the cool, Summer night air chill my lungs, when this person I didn’t think noticed me, was thinking about me. He wrote, “Hey kid, are you coming back to Del Pez?” I saw that message and I knew it was a risky game, and that I had a choice to make: to play or not. My heart was in the process of healing I knew it wasn’t wise to rush these things but wisdom and being twenty are like oil and water, they don’t exactly mix. So I took a roll of the dice and messaged him back. After a decent amount playful and flirty banter and I decided to be bold take the next step and give him my phone number. I attempt to casually drop my digits as smoothly as I could manage. And surprisingly, I felt like I had been successful. It seems trivial but when you’re only communicating through text, wording is everything. And then it happened. That dreaded time stamp when you see someone read what you wrote and didn’t reply. Time ticked by: 1, 2, 3…7, 8, 9 minutes and no reply. I’m feeling stressed and anxious and my mind wanders back and forth from “he probably thinks I’m so creepy, wow I suck” to “screw you man I’m such an awesome person why wouldn’t you want to text me?” And as the minutes of painful silence drag with my eyes plastered onto to my phone waiting for a text, I get another Facebook message instead, that says, “You know Molly, when you give someone your number and are like “hey text me” you’re supposed to, you know, text them back…” That’s when I realized I had sent gave him the wrong number. I typed my own phone number wrong. I know what’s going through your mind right now. You’re cringing and thinking, “there’s no way you’re that embarrassing Molly, no one is that embarrassing.” But I can assure you, I am. Eventually I give him my actual phone number and I receive a text almost immediately that says, “You’re such a dork.” And that’s how it all started. 57

We spent the rest of the summer talking and listening, laughing and learning about the other, exploring one another’s mind wonderstruck at everything we found. He asked about people who were important me. We joked, played off of each other with witty banter. We discussed literature and music. We spoke of the distant lands we had traveled to and where we still wanted to go. We talked about passions and aspirations, our adventures, and the little and big moments. He was working as a chef in Wisconsin and I was a part time nanny part time librarian in Pittsburgh and somehow he felt so near and so far away all at once. Eventually the summer days dwindled down and I packed my things into boxes and made my way back to school at the University of Delaware. Once I was there I was sitting in a lecture hall when I got a text that read, “You owe me a date tonight.” There were fireworks and butterflies, and every other cliché metaphor for giddiness you can think of, were happening in that moment. With flushed cheeks and a big smile I agreed, and that’s how it all became real. He picked me up at eight. We were awkward and nervous in all the best ways and I did what I do when I’m nervous which is talk I talk fast and I talk a lot, filling the quiet moments with anything that popped into my head. He laughed and we fell into one our lovely conversations we had done so often over the summer except this time it was real. I could see his eyes, hear his laugh and we could convey secret messages through looks only we understood. Eventually we we would find ourselves sitting on ledge, eating expensive gelato and watched the cars blur past, hurrying somewhere while we sat still, nowhere to go, and nowhere to be, just enjoying each other’s company. The sun was going down but the air was warm, full of romance and sparks and there was nothing more intoxicating. We flirted and talked, hanging onto each other’s every word while the traffic lights flickered from green to yellow to red to green again. Repeating the pattern over and over, the only indication that time was passing in a moment where it seemed to have stopped. I was telling him a story and he was laughing and then he turned to me and said, “Molly, I like interesting people. And you’re really interesting”. I thanked him and with the upmost sincerity he rejected my gratitude. He said not to thank him because he wasn’t complimenting me he was simply acknowledging the truth. Those words echo in my brain even now. I don’t know why that stuck with me, it might be because no one had ever told

me that before, it might be because it made my scars, quirks, and edges feeling validated as something beautiful, or maybe it was because I could tell how much he meant it. As the sun went down, we made our way to an old beaten up house. The white paint was chipping and the wood was cracked and worn. It might not have seemed like anything spectacular but to me it was, because behind that white door with big brass door knob was his world. And there he was, wanting to share it with me. We entered the living room. It was full of old mismatched furniture where his friends would be gathered sitting around the television. They already knew who I was before I introduced myself. We drank six dollar wine but it might have as well have been the most expensive bottle in the world because I felt like royalty with my head rested on his shoulder. We whispered sweet nothings to one another as his strong hands traced patterns on my arm. His touch was the hottest flame and it burned so gently and sweetly. We made our way his bed and started to watch a movie. I had never seen it before, and if you asked me now, I would still say I’d never seen it because we barely make it through the introduction credits. I looked at him and he looked at me and we held eye contact for a few seconds too long. The universal sign that we were both about to give in to temptation. I leaned in first. *** Piece by piece our clothes came off until it was just us, naked and raw between his sheets. We lay there perfectly intertwined and I traced his tattoo gently while he closed his eyes. And quietly he drifted off to sleep. And he’ll never know that he was the only one to sleep that night because there was electricity in my veins and thunder in my bones and I’ve never been able to sleep through a storm. He walked me me home and kissed me goodbye and promised he’d call me. I smiled watching him walk away because I really believed him. *** It had been two weeks since our last date. I was frustrated so I reached out first asking if we could meet so I could break it off. Instead he asked me to dinner. I said yes, and once again he romanced me and charmed me. We’d sleep together, he’d walk me home, kiss me 59

goodbye, promising he’d call. Each time I’d watch him walk away, believing him a little less. This when on for more months than I would like to admit.

*** I started to think about snow globes. The figures inside were strategically encased in glass with the potential of a perfect moment, only to be provoked when someone with more power decided. So hopeful they sit upon a shelf waiting for someone to take them down. *** I knew needed to do something but I was scared, I was scared of being alone, scared of rejection, scared of losing something I didn’t have. But fear is funny thing, and with the right circumstances it can evolve and that’s exactly what mine did, my fear grew into exasperation and before I knew it I was taking two shots of Bacardi on a Tuesday afternoon and marching up to an old beaten up house. I was empowered and determined on this unbelievable high and it wasn’t until the door opened that I realized I was completely and utterly terrified. I had nothing prepared but once I started talking it all came flooding out. It was the first time I had ever spoke with reckless abandon. I bared to him all of the words my heavy heart was exhausted from holding in. And with every honest breath I felt more and more relieved. I told him he couldn’t put me on a shelf and just take me off when it was convenient for him anymore. I told him I needed more or I need this to be over. I told me this was his out, no hard feeling, no strings attached it. I asked him to please take unless he was really in this. He looked at me thoughtfully and his big, blue eyes sparkled as he said rather take me out instead. “It’ll be different this time Molly, I promise. You are something special and I want to make feel that way. Let me cook you dinner tomorrow”. Reluctantly, I agreed. Then he walked me home, kissed me goodbye and promised he’d text me the details tomorrow. I watched him walk away and I smiled because I really believed it would be different this time.

I’d like to say that I was right about that text. That it would say to come over around seven. I’d walk into his kitchen intoxicated by the amazing smells coming from every which direction. I’d sit at the table and watch him look so sexy and in his element as he stirred pots, cooking an amazing dinner just for me. He’d tell me I looked beautiful in my dress. We’d talk and laugh and eat and eventually with stars in our eyes and bellies full of good food and cheap wine we’d make our way to his room. He’d kiss me and that dress he said I looked beautiful in would end up on his floor and that would be our start to something beautiful and real. Except that text wouldn’t say to come over at seven. Instead it would be the last I’d hear from him. That’s when I learned that part of being young is realizing that you have to face the behind the scenes aspects that romantic comedies neglect to show you. Sometimes he’s not going to whisk you away because that guy you’re crazy about? Well he’s not your prince charming, no matter how much you want him to be. I was on my way to class when his name popped up on my phone. But instead of the fairytale I had played out in my head I read a strand of excuses and apologies eloquently sewn together by the boy who didn’t know what he wanted, but asked for it anyway, only to change his mind. I felt confused, replaying the past twenty hours back in my mind trying to figure out what had changed and where I went wrong. I felt bitter wondering why he chose to end things over a single text message instead of in person and why he didn’t take the out the day before when I had offered it to him so many times. I felt small, as I quietly considered the possibility that maybe it was because that was all he thought I was worth. So there I was staring at my phone just like he had had me doing so many times before when it hit me. You can sit on the plane waiting for the man of your dreams to burst in at the last minute but sometimes he won’t come through, and the gates will close uninterrupted and it’ll just be you, sitting alone headed to wherever you’re going and you have to be okay with that. And I am okay with that, I am more that okay with that. Because I am the girl who takes two shots of Bacardi and speaks her mind even she’s scared.

Dark Man on a White Horse Ghosts on the Fire by Dwayne Lockhart

A cold wind blew into town with Jericho Jordan. A storm was on the horizon but not a single resident could feel the chill that was pressing on Jericho’s back. He was a man riding the eye of a storm. This storm burned in his belly and caused him and his horse, Promise to ride hundreds of miles to find the ideal place to rest a bullet. It’s best not to begin a tale from the middle so let’s dial back a notch. It was the end of the civil war and Jericho made his way back home. Thirty days of riding from Virginia back to Davis Bend, Mississippi had taken its toll on Jericho and it showed on his face. On reaching the southern edge of town, Jericho was greeted by Prince Abraham and the most unwelcoming smile he’d ever seen. This smile he barely noticed as he eyed the hulk of burned out wood where his home once stood. As the Jericho dismounted, the old man stretched out his hand; black as miner’s old and solid as an oak tree. The two men gave a brief embrace before the old bard spun his tale. “Sorry to be the one to give this Jericho.”Prince started. “Go on,” Jericho responded still eying the wreck in total dismay. “Towards the end of the war raiders come through… some Union, ‘Federates, some waywards. But mostly just evil men looking to take advantage.” Prince said with a pause, attempting to gauge Jericho’s disposition. “We tried to get ‘Chuka to come on in closer where we could look after her. You know being out here on the edge and all… no protection.” Prince added. The nervousness had begun to creep into his voice. “Just give me the facts. That’s all I’m askin’.” Jericho grunted. “Jericho…” Prince began to warn. “Come on now, Prince! I need to hear it!” Jericho demanded. Jericho’s eyes began to well as the anger seared through his veins. “Like I said, it was late. Best we can figure, Chukka refused to give ‘em what they wanted; probably yo me maw’s silver. They shot your boy first. Guess he tried to protect his

mama best he could. That’s when Willie and me come running; after we heard the shots. There was two mo’ shots then the blaze. By the time me and Willie made it down, it was all said and done. Willie chased off after them… got hisself shot.” Prince finished off as the two canvassed the scene. It had long since died off; just rubble and soot. There was no ash, no scent of fresh burnt wood. There were no ghosts of used to be. Jericho punched at burned log with the butt of his Henry Rifle. “Willie?” Jericho questioned. “He made out alright. Doc Jenkins pulled a bullet from his hip. He barely limps’” Prince took a breath and continued. “Jericho; your girl.” “Mali…” Jericho started with a flicker of hope in his tone. “She’s good; far as can be told. The Choctaw got her. I woulda kept her myself but with Willa… I just couldn’t do it on my own.” Prince’s solemn returned. “So Mali’s out there somewhere. This fuckin’ war… it takes all a man’s got; then keeps on taking.” Jericho spat the words with contempt. “Willa? Did she…” “The fever took her. ‘Bout eight months for they got Chukka. Your family’s in a plot up by the big house. We gave ‘em a real nice home going. The whole plantation came out.” Prince paused for a breath. “Not long after, Willie hitched himself to one of the Montgomery girls moved up to Vicksburg.” He concluded. Jericho spat and cursed the day. He then mounted his horse. Prince Abraham grabbed the reigns to halt him. “Where you off to?” Prince asked with genuine concern. “Going to get my girl and find us a place.” Jericho responded. He gave a Prince a look that cut so deep it caused Prince to jump back two steps. Prince shook his head and whispered a short prayer, “Glory be to God. They ain’t there. Union soldiers marched them off to that Indian land.” “Then that’s where I’m headed. One more thing… you know who did this?” Jericho posed with a nod toward the mound. “Henry Malice, Charlie Brenner and three more. Folks say they ran up through Vicksburg wreaking havoc.” Prince answered. “Now, vengeance is the Lord’s says the good

book. Don’t you run off and get yo’self noosed on account of shootin’ no white man.” Prince Abraham’s tone was suddenly stern. “I done shot me plenty of white men for this war so the Lord gonna have to ‘scuse me for taking this one on my own account.” Jericho retorted. The dark sky began to rumble and trees sounded off their signal of warning. Even from this distance the Old Mississippi could be heard thrashing about. The old carpenter looked at Jericho with discerning eye. Old Prince tended to be good at reading men. Jericho’s posture made this an easy read. He knew that if he let Jericho ride off tonight, there would be bad consequences for all concerned. He also knew that tonight, Jericho was not a man to be hindered. “Listen, come down to house and let me fix you up somethin’. I got some left over biscuits and I’m sure I can whip up something hot for your belly. Plus your horse is weary, it ain’t gonna hold up. Rest tonight; those same villains will be there tomorrow.” Prince’s words fell just short of pleading. Jericho was unmoved. Prince Abraham ended with an assuring calm, “This is not the time, Jericho. There’s a storm coming.” “And that storm’s got a name.” Jericho punctuated.

Pre-Installed Chivalry By Jylihl Green-Burwell

The law here is that everything is justified Even if someone else must die in the process If the loss of a loved one leaves you petrified Then, it is new knowledge you’ve been given access

The goal is to learn from the pain Yes, everything is justified if you’d only learn It doesn’t matter if you break a bone, lose a finger or swerve out of your lane Getting stabbed, studying for long hours, or a 3rd degree burn

Your pain is to build experience and knowledge before becoming the savior of the world You were born for this reason, right? Weren’t you born to suffer and fight? So, when you bite into a delicious apple your head swirls?

The birth of a hero, so every smile is precious, perhaps except your own. The fruits your efforts bear aren’t for you, but for others. This is called the Heroine’s Road You will save others until you grow old.

Social Media by Jennifer Paulino

I can’t take my eyes off of you. You have a tremendous power over me. You control my daily life. I don’t sleep because of you. You have no idea how much my mom hates you. I’m addicted to you. I’m always tired because of you. When I’m not around you, I get paranoid. People are always talking bad about you, but I don’t believe in them. My life is boring without you. No medicine works without you. You are my daily drug.

Naomi by Tyler Woods

Naomi’s gaze was fixated on a man kneeling before her with his arms shackled behind his back. She stared down the barrel of a pistol that she was aiming with her left hand, and in front of it was a man looking up at her with pleading eyes. The gun possessed a rather fine texture, with ornate gold woodwork adorning its exterior. A golden vine wove its way around the back of the grip, and then up along the barrel of the gun. This intricate design decorated the entirety of the weapon, finishing its winding journey at a beautiful golden leaf where the trigger would be located. The pistol was rather light, thereby allowing her shaking hand to shake all the more easily. A woman dressed in the finest diamonds and silks sat on a throne, staring down at the girl from high up behind the man. The throne that the woman was perched upon replicated the fine golden vine patterns all along the back of the throne, ending in beautifully curled golden leaves for armrests. The woman held a staff in her right hand with the very same design, except this piece possessed a rather large diamond protruding from the pommel just beneath the woman’s hand. Her lips opened, and she barked an order to Naomi, “Come on, girl. Finish the job, and prove your loyalty to the crown.” Her voice echoed through the grand hall off of the marble floors, and reverberated as it bounced upwards to the rafters of the building where a grand diamond chandelier hung majestically. The light that was refracted off of the diamonds hanging from the chandelier cast a dance of light down upon the scene below. It created a beautiful display for a rather gruesome occasion. The small specs of light danced across Naomi’s hand as she continued to look down at the shackled prisoner. Her eyes replicated the very

same shimmer of the chandelier just as her grip around the pistol tightened, with her finger hugging the trigger. If one were to look Naomi dead in the eyes, they would see that they had begun to accumulate moisture as though she were about to cry. Normally, it was the executioner’s job to deal with traitors to the crown. However, the Queen was testing her daughter’s loyalty after a failed coup to usurp the throne. The night before, Naomi and the traitor stood hunched over a table illuminated in candle light as their fellow rebels dallied around the dark room conversing. The scent of rebellion filled the air, and shadows along with secrecy were the allies of the rebels upon this night. The traitor pointed downwards at a letter that lay open on the table, detailing the information for a secret meeting to discuss the “problem.” In this case the problem was the tyrannical Queen that ruled the Crystal Kingdom. She had grown too power-hungry and ruled with an iron fist, executing anyone that got in her way in the search for the Holy Grail. The Grail was rumored to have the ability to grant eternal youth and immortality. The Queen planned to extend her reign for an eternity, in order to transform the Crystal Kingdom into the strongest kingdom in the entire continent of Kansai. The Queen’s ultimate goal was to rule an empire. Naomi knew the truth behind the Queen’s power, which involved the sacrifice of countless young women to maintain her eternal youth thus far. She knew that this was becoming a problem that needed to be fixed, for it would not stop even after the Grail was found. The Queen’s thirst for blood could only grow stronger and more volatile with an eternal reign. Words were exchanged over candlelight, and a plan was formulated to execute the Queen the following morning. The cook was to poison the Queen’s meal to weaken her, thus preventing her from utilizing her mystical powers to defend herself. It was a rather well

known fact that the Queen was able to make anything happen, or anyone kneel before her with a simple thought. Afterwards, the traitor was to slit the Queen’s throat with a mystical dagger that the Queen kept locked up in her royal armory. Naomi, being the princess of the kingdom was the only other person who could obtain it for the rebels, due to her royal lineage. After the plan was made, everyone dispersed and Naomi sat in her room contemplating the situation. She had always despised her mother, who never sought to show affection to her daughter. But something about murdering one’s own mother struck a chord within her. Due to this change of heart, she exposed the plan to her mother and the next morning, every conspirator was to be executed. In order to prove herself, Naomi was tasked with executing the entirety of the rebel faction. The execution would start with the leader of the rebellion, who was also one of her close personal friends. As she stared down at the leader of the rebellion, she wondered if the loyalty to her mother was more powerful than her loyalty to the people. Was blood really thicker than water? After all, this was her mother, and she was only playing along with the rebels to figure out their true intentions after she intercepted a message to her handmaiden regarding the meeting. Were the people of the Crystal Kingdom equal to her enough to be considered brothers and sisters? All of these thoughts flashed through her mind as she gripped the gun while the Queen barked for her to prove her loyalty. Naomi had to make a split second decision, so she hastily closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. With her decision made, she opened her eyes, exhaled and then aimed the gun towards the Queen and fired off shot towards her heart. The golden bullet flew from the chamber, twirling through the air like a graceful dancer, and then found its way into the closing curtains of her mother’s heart. The Queen cried out, and fell to the floor in front of the throne clutching her chest

and writhing in pain. Naomi closed her eyes and spoke with a voice so fiery and full of passion, “This is my Kingdom now.” For how was a Queen meant to rule if she did not think of her people? When she opened her eyes back up, the floor in front of the throne was completely barren. There was no more screaming, and there was certainly no Queen writing in pain upon the floor. Naomi turned her head and looked around, her eyes could barely believe what she was seeing. All of the shackled prisoners had collapsed upon the ground with their eyes missing from their sockets. The leader of the rebellion specifically no longer possessed a head. Naomi gasped and covered her mouth with her free hand as she collapsed on the floor. In that moment, she felt as though all of the wind had been knocked from her lungs and she was struggling to breathe. The feeling didn’t stop until the loud, ominous cackle of her mother resounded through the halls of the throne room and then down throughout the entirety of the castle as the Queen’s entity consumed the spirit of every single living being in the kingdom except for one. Naomi rocked back and forth with her head in her knees and her arms clasped tightly around her legs as she sobbed. A number of questions echoed throughout her mind as though a symphony of voices were fighting to escape. The loudest question broke through the silence among the midst of the periodic sobbing and spilled through her lips like the blood flowing from the citizens of the kingdom. “Am I responsible for this?”

Rights & Responsibilities of Muslim Women by Jamila Carson

Islamic women’s rights over the decades has changed, allowing Muslim women to have the freedom to live as a dignified human being, according to the Quran (www.guardianlv.com). Before Islam Muslim women had no rights, they were treated like slaves. As Islam became more popular, women’s rights increased. The rights and responsibilities of Muslim women relates to this years theme for NHD mainly because it deals with the rights Muslim women have and the role they play in the religion of Islam. From past years until today, Muslim women have gained more rights than they ever had before.

In Arabia, before Islam women were considered slaves. They were mainly used for breeding purposes. The birth of girls was unacceptable, it was considered more as a tragedy than a celebration. They would kill the girls or bury them alive. The family had no control over the decision to either kill the child or protect the child and keep it knowing it would forever be a problem. The women had no independence, they couldn’t own property and were not worthy to inherit. Muslim women weren’t equal to men in any way possible. Anything related to their well-being was considered unimportant. (www.realislam.com)

The rights of Muslim was something that most countries dealt with such as European countries, India, and Egypt. Even in today’s world, Islam is still a big issue. In

Arabia, women were slaves and not considered equal to men. In present day Islamic women are equal to men in the Quran. They have rights just like any other person. “According to the Quran, men and women have the same spirit there is no superiority in the spiritual sense between men and women” (www.islamtomorrow.com). My topic relates to the theme of NHD because the true definition of the word rights deals with civil rights. The definition of the word responsibility deals with the state or fact of being responsible, answerable, or accountable for something within one’s power, control, or management.

My topic is relevant because Muslim women had no civil rights in Arabia before Islam. As far as responsibilities, they didn’t have that neither til Islam became equal. Since Islam is the last religion revealed by Allah, it possesses some elements that make it unique. One of these is it’s relevance for human beings regardless of place and time. (www.islamtomorrow.com) Islamic law derives from the Qur'an and from the example set by the prophet Mohammad. Mohammad insisted women have the right to own property, receive education, and work (www.opposingviews.com). In terms of moral, spiritual duties, acts of worship, the requirements of men and women are the same except in some cases when women have certain concessions because of their feminine nature, or their health or the health of their babies (www.islamwomen.com).

Even with islam being present, women continue to have no rights. After islam becomes present, the Quran only mentions one lady. Women aren’t on the same level as men. They still have some level where they aren’t treated equal, and their gender do make

a difference. More people criticize against women on the way they dress than they do with the men. Muslim women stand out in the world more than men due to the clothing they wear being completely different. Whether islam is present or not, Muslim women will never truly be considered equal to no man. Muslim rulers have used sharia for purposes that go against it’s prophet’s values to legitimate their power while robbing other of their freedom and dignity (www.content.com). “The way islam has been practiced in most Muslim societies for centuries has left millions of Muslim women with battered bodies minds and souls”. Said Riffat Hassan professor of religious studies at the University of Louisville (www.islam.ugd.edu). Most Muslim women today were able to overcome the background and history behind islam. Women came along way from being considered a “slave” to being considered human and have rights. As Islam became more prevalent in Arabia, so did women’s rights. Before Islam, women were treated unfairly. They were mainly used for breeding purposes only. Muslim women had no rights nor were they considered human. The rights of Muslim women before and after Islam was a very important part of society and a lot of things changed for the women over the years since Islam became popular.

To The Band That Helped Me Survive This Last Year of My Life by Jamie Staniskis

You don’t know who I am, but I literally owe you my life. This past year of my life has been everything but easy. I was in the lowest of the lows and your music was there to give me a light when I had none. I have such a hard time trying to put into words the feelings I get from your music. This past January when I saw you live I cried a whole lot but sobbed during one song in particular. Your song Addict with a Pen will always be close to my heart. The lyrics from this song mean more to me than I can even comprehend. The lyrics in particular, “I'm just being dramatic, in fact, I'm only at it again As an addict with a pen, who's addicted to the wind As it blows me back and forth, mindless, spineless, and pretend Of course, I'll be here again, see you tomorrow, but it's the end of today End of my ways as a walking denial My trial was filed as a crazy suicidal headcase” I don’t know exactly what it is about them, but they hit me really hard. When I heard you perform this song live, I absolutely lost it. Every bad feeling I may have had left my body, and I just held my best friends hand and cried. I’m honestly embarrassed how much I cried during that song, you could even consider it a sob. There was something about it, I was in a room full of people who were feeling the same thing as me, but it was so freeing. Being a few feet away from you, the one who wrote the words that I hold close to my heart. The one that inspired me to continue when I didn’t think I should.

Take My Hand by Amy Forcinito Just a few hours old, you take my hand. You feel around for my finger and when you find it, I softly swipe my thumb over your four fingers. Take my hand, hold it. Do not let it go, even when you grow bigger, still take my hand. For when you grow bigger, my hand may be the help you need to get through. My hand will always hold yours- and you will always be near my heart. I hold your hand for many reasons but mostly because I am afraid. Not because I doubt you or your abilities; but because I doubt the uncertainty of the world around us. I heard you cry- your lungs are strong, and your voice- even only hour’s old- is brave and demanding. After hearing your cry, and looking at your face, I know you will hold my hand for years to come; but I also know you will need to let go one day. I know that as you grow, you may want to let go- and I will try my best to loosen my grip. (I have felt that with my own mother as I grew into myself and I so desperately wanted-no, needed-her to loosen her grip. However, she didn’t. If anything, she tightened her grip which pushed me so far away with the same hand that held mine so gently in my younger years.) I do not want that for us. While I will always be here for you- to hold your hand- I will try to prepare myself for the day when you want/need me to let go. Maybe I will be able to do this, maybe I won’t. Just know that my hand will always be here for you, until eternity. If you grow into a person unlike what I had envisioned you to be, I will still be here to hold your hand. You can grow to be someone completely opposite of what I had expected- maybe a Catholic or a Muslim, perhaps a vegan or a carnivore, Maybe you will be gay or not very sexually at all. Have no children or decide to have many. Whatever your future holds, just know that my hand is here and I will always hold yours and try to let go when you need to be free.

The Lonely Pair by Alta Riddick

Those boots are posing Right there in the chair All alone As if no one cares If someone would buy them At a reasonable price The artist who painted them Would thank them twice Those boots are brown With a cowboy style With heels like them You can walk a mile When someone buys them Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll get a good deal And when they get home They would think they were real

[Untitled] by Ingrid Morales

The giggly feeling you get when you first feel those butterflies in your stomach you left to wonder how he or she is going to look you look down you see nothing different a few more months pass and those butterflies go away Now itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s more kicking and stretching, tumbles and flips More trips to the toilet at times your head might be in it too. Swollen feet, back pains and sleepless night You wonder when all this will be over; you just want that butterfly feeling back The time is getting close, you start to get nervous all the lights and white jackets Get you scared. A few hours go pass and all you remember hearing is the doctor saying one more push You lay there exhausted and out of breath but once they lay that baby across your chest All the pain and stress seems all worth it. You never knew that you could love another human as much as you love this new baby Congratulations youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re a new mommy.

Poetry, Prose, and Artwork by Naquiesha Harris Death*Birth* In-Between Life is “Death”- You plant the seed and it grows beautifully-You pluck it from the root and it dies miserably. Everything dies you know! Everything! Life itself eventually dies! Nothing you can quite do about it, just go through the motions until, one day-finally you die too! Life is “Birth”- The seed is planted at birth. You’re born, you grow up beautiful, happy, and strong! - You blossom free and unhinged of life’s woes and the weight of the world. Sharing your beauty, your happiness, your sweetness. Joy is brought into the world; so begins a new! With each smell, each touch, and each look; creating more beauty and happiness than you can ever imagine. Life is somewhat “In-Between” If life is death and life is birth, then is life somewhat In-Between? I imagine that life is what you make it. However, we both know that is untrue. You’re born to a particular class, to a particular race, and to a particular expectation. Living and dying is the beginning and end of everyone’s book. That is the only thing that is certain. Do we live life by what we are born into? The inbetween space of life is a mystery to me. When you’re in the in-between of life- how will your story be told? We live, we die, but the in-between of life is like a story untold- lifting the shackles of class, race and expectations and giving us FREE WILL and FREE CHOICE! Do we control our own destiny; do we write our own book? I like to think so. This is why there is LIFE, DEATH, and somewhat IN-BETWEEN.

Changes Blue as the eyes can see I can’t be complacent The ocean is what separates the free. I will not hide in the basement, afraid to unwind; I have to get on my grind Afraid the shadows from behind Shivering chills down my spine. I can see the light; I feel the change, running to the brightness it’s in range. I am powerful in my own right I am a women who’s found the light I am a woman with no fear in sight. How did I come so far? From once neither the light nor the dampening moments that passed Came to me like a flashing light. I want to believe that change is permanent We can all change because it’s meant to be.

Philadelphia’s Traffic It’s was so blurry, I can barely see. Loud ringing in my ears made it hard to hear who was yelling at me, MOVE OUT THE WAY! People were yelling because, I was in the middle of the street. Blocking the way, The middle of the road, Traffic was hurling right towards me. I had to move out the way fast Before I get hit- They really were going to hit me! Philadelphians are not known for their “patience” Always in a rush, to get to the next red light. Still, I could hear no volume; I could only see the movement of the lips, The facial expressions, They were scary to me. I keep trying to get out the way But the traffic is persistent. The road is so crowded with cars, Barely any space to hide

Spring Hop around like a bunny Candy and sweet treats Easter time is here, Spring sets the stage for softness and tranquility. Not my favorite time of year Much to rainy for me But, it eases the transition For summer to shine ever so brightly. Summer

The heat on my skin It’s Hot! Summer days are the worst It’s always so Hot! It’s brIgHt all tHe tIme Barely any rain fall Duck and hiding from the sunlight, sunrays, and dry air. and tHat’s only If It’s a good year Autumn

Third season of the year The leaves fall to the ground The hot summer air cools down. The colors of the leaves change. Beautiful, oranges and reds make the season fun like spring. I must admit, Autumn is my favorite time of year.

Winter

Winter is much too cold Always bundled up Layer after layer Trying to beat the cold. don’t sneeze- HACHU! now, you’ve got a cold.

First Car Gold four door 1998 Oldsmobile. Newly purchased, the paper temporary tags taped to the rear left side my back window. Did I just say “mine?” Yes, I own my own car. Dusty, dirty and all mine. The car auction had a bunch of vehicles for sale ranging from $100 to $5000 dollars. All I needed was something cheap and drivable. The wheels are old, dirty, and missing rims on the left front passenger side and the rear right back passenger side. This car is an absolute fixer-upper, but I own this vehicle. My first ever vehicle and I am so excited. Driving down Ridge Avenue with my windows rolled down and the wind blowing through my hair. My brand new car, my first car I have ever owned. I bought this car with my own money, all $679.89, plus tax. I drove everywhere, whipping my car around corners, and blasting my pop music with my sunglass on. I felt very stylish. There are more cars on the road today. Traffic is always jammed packed anytime of the day. My father and I used to drive for hours just to get away from everyone. It was our own personal time away from the world. I used to hop in the front seat all the time. Always yell “Shot Gun!” as if anyone else would be riding along with us. Just I and my pops and it felt as though we were escaping from the whole world. Our world was in his car and we’d have a blast. I always thought to myself, “as soon as I am learn how to drive, I was going to buy my own car and drive until I could no longer drive”. I say, “Dad, I can’t wait to drive someday.” My father would reply, “You’ll be a great diver one day Cheetybum.” That was his nickname for me, “Cheetybum.” I never knew why he called me that, but it was his own special word for me and I loved him for that. When I became a teenager, he began to teach me how to drive. He was always saying, “Everyone and their momma has a car,” “There are too many cars on the road.” I never really cared at the time how many drivers were on the road. I just desperately wanted to be one of those divers. In America, men and women can own and drive cars without anyone’s permission. However, as a women’s, this “gift” is presented to us with a doubleedge sword. On one hand, women have the absolute right to drive. No one can take it away from us. But of course, that comes with the stereotype that women are “Bad Driver” As if being a male gives American men the automatic right and knowledge to be better drivers than their counterparts. I myself am a terrible driver! Not because of my sex, but because I drive recklessly. I have been in four accidents (minor ones) spanning over three years. Now I fit this category because I am a women and a bad driver. This is not to be confused with because I’m a women, I’m a bad driver. Over the years, I have gotten better with my driving. I am just happy to have the right to drive in my country because it’s by law. The stereotypes are just something we as American women have to ignore. Honestly, I think men suck at driving.

Woobie by Ryan Lesnikowski

It's called a woobie in the slanguage of the Infantryman. The way it's named on the tag, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Liner, Poncho, Wet Weather,â&#x20AC;? is endemic to the odd backwards speak one finds in dealing with the Byzantine naming scheme used by military supply. To the untrained eye, it's just a blanket. 82 by 62 inches, in a variety of camouflage patterns or solid colors. It's constructed of nylon wrapped around polyester guts, just shy of 2 pounds worth of material. There are shoe lace like strings at the ends and at the middle of the seam so it can be tied to the grommets on a poncho and used as a make shift sleeping bag. This wonderful little item goes back to the start of the Vietnam war, where the standard scratchy wool blankets were insufficient to deal with the tropical weather. Ask anyone who has ever worn the mantle of grunt, a foot soldier, what their favorite piece of gear was, what single thing kept them alive and this blanket, even more so than the rifle, is what you will hear. When it comes time to turn in gear at the end of service, many elect to keep it and take the $40 hit to their final paycheck. Mine was a rarity in terms of color scheme. The pattern is officially called Desert Battle Dress Uniform, a six color mishmash of various browns that saw use in the Gulf War. In keeping with the truism that everything has a nickname to grunts, this pattern is either cookie dough, chocolate chip or coffee stain depending on who you ask. The scarcity of this color comes from it being decommissioned in the mid

nineties and my own service starting during the Iraq war over a decade later. My issued woobie was at first a standard woodland pattern, then the hideous digital gray â&#x20AC;&#x153;camoâ&#x20AC;? called UCP, and finally what is referred to as Multi Cam by the time I was in Afghanistan. All of these were returned to the issuing facility at some point over the course of seven years. I obtained my special, personal woobie from a flea market in Bangkok while on R&R during a training exercise. It cost me 250 Bhat, roughly $8, after the requisite bargaining that accompanies all flea market transactions. When my son was a toddler we would play the parachute game with it. I can still hear his delighted little giggles when I rub the fabric as I'm falling asleep. The first time I saw death, it was what I hid myself under that night to weep silently. When setting up an ambush, it made an excellent overhead cover for the machine gun in both rocky and desert terrain, concealing me from my intended targets. Contained in those yards of nylon are a lot of joy and a lot of sorrow. Emotionally, it weighs a lot more than 24 ounces. Right as my time in was at an end, my now ex wife left and took the kid and the contents of the bank account with her one day while I was at work. She was unfaithful; I drank to hide my feelings. There are no saints in a divorce. This story is as old as enlistment, and usually ends about the same. In short order, I wound up homeless, jobless and without any real spark of hope. Failure is bad enough, but even more shameful is winding up an awful stereotype, the sad, drunk vet living in the woods.

For three months, I wandered, following the weather with no purpose or direction. I eventually found my way back to my childhood home town in New Jersey. An old friend from my youth, also a soldier, put me up on his couch and wouldn't hear anything about accepting money in return for it. Such is the bond of brotherhood. We met as juvenile delinquents. He always held a place as a beloved older brother through our youth, wayward as it was. This wasn't the first time he took care of me in a time of need. We came from broken homes, and often had to lean on each other in difficult times. This go around, he helped me navigate the labyrinth that is the Veteran's Administration to get medical care and disability pay. We drank and talked most nights, about war and life and sometimes less serious things, our version of therapy. We'd work odd jobs together during the day for cash. Despite neither of us being in the best place emotionally, we kept each other in check and challenged ourselves to be better. Slowly, and with much backsliding, every day things felt a little bit more stable. His wife came to regard me as family rather than an unwanted interloper. Every night for several months, on his stiff and uncomfortable futon, I'd fall asleep under that woobie. Eventually, I was back on my feet. I moved to Philadelphia and enrolled in college. Found a more compatible mate. Began living in doors and not drinking to drown my sorrows, at least before dinner time. Life moved on in that way it tends to, where you find a happy medium and blink, two years pass. I hadn't spoken to my friend since moving off the couch, save for one time he called to announce the birth

of his daughter. The next time I would hear anything about Mike would be a phone call from his wife that sucked the air right out of me. After a long struggle with PTSD, he hung himself with a belt. They were in a particularly heated argument and she paused the fight to take their infant to her parent's house. By the time she returned, the deed was done. He had been hospitalized recently, following his second DUI in a year. He was spiraling further and further out of control. He ran out of reasons to struggle. I wasn't there to help him back up and return the favor. Something like twenty two veterans commit suicide every day. It's a silent epidemic, one that the community it affects is well aware of but society at large ignores. I had seen a few attempts, and even a few successes over the years, but this was different. It crushed me in a way that, even after all the harsh realities I have lived though, I was not prepared for. After all, Mike was out now. He was safe. The danger was supposed to be over. At the wake, his daughter was running around the VFW hall with her cousins, blissfully unaware of why everyone was clad in black. Several rounds into unsuccessfully drowning my sorrow with Mike's widow, something came to me. I had only brought an overnight bag with me on the train to Jersey, but sure enough, I had my woobie packed in it. Though it was like a second skin to me, something of immeasurable personal value, I knew what must be done. I pulled it out and approached the cluster of children, and we played the parachute game. Halfway through, I noticed the whole funeral party was silently watching this display of 86

carefree play with tears in their eyes. I made eye contact with Mike's mother. We both had tears in our eyes. Through the shock of hearing about his suicide all the way up through the funeral, I could not cry. I wouldn't let myself. Something about the unbridled joy of his daughter's giggles broke the dam. They weren't tears of grief, necessarily, but something even deeper and personal. It was a purge of all the sorrow and loss and guilt over words unsaid or actions not taken. There was a period on the end of Mike's story now. My burden from this point forth is to make sure it gets told. I wiped my eyes off on the woobie before I gave it to his daughter to keep. To her, the weight it held for me wasn't there. There was emotional alchemy in the act of handing it over. It was just two pounds of slick fabric in those cool Army colors she loved so much. It wasn't the thousand different places I had been to her. It was just a cool blanket her uncle Ryan gave her. I hope, no matter how cold and bleak things may get as she grows and comes to understand what happened to her father, it keeps her as warm as it kept me. I know that woobie intimately, and it will not fail.