MANUS

MANUS

a buff and blue feature

Timeline After a four-year quiet, the Manus was almost again discarded due to layout issues, but you are now reading it, and you’re already thinking about joining the spring 2016 competition.

Editor-in-Chief Octavian Robinson pushed it to the press, where it has inconsistently appeared time and time again.

1982

Editor-in-Chief Loy Golladay took out the creativity from weekly BNB issues, leaving only news. He replaced the literary numbers with a literary magazine, published several times a year. These publications slowly petered out through the years, eventually dropping to just one magazine a year.

1934

1966 1962

A group of seven Gallaudet students founded The Buff and Blue. Their mission was simple: give students a vessel for self-expression, both in news reporting and literary ability.

The Buff and Blue published literary numbers alongside hard-hitting news and advertisements in each issue.

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2001

The magazine halted again despite efforts to bring it back.

Just four years later, students resurrected the literary magazine with a fresh name: Manus, Latin for “hand”.

Production was extinguished.

1892

2016

WRITING COMPETITION WINNERS

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FIRST PLACE

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A SOUL LOST IN RUSSIA “It started in the year of 2012, when everything changed.”

by Nikki Koniak

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A SOUL LOST IN RUSSIA

They say that if you hang in there long enough, you will prevail over all

enemies, obstacles, and limitations. However, I do not know if that will be true in this case. I do not even know what the future holds for us; all I know is that we have to survive this...

Well, I should probably back track this first so you can catch up. I am a

man that died once, but had the chance to be reborn in what my dreams and wishes pursued, and having a life filled with alienation, prejudice, courage, but importantly, love by the most beautiful soul I’ve ever known...

I was born in the Year of the Dog, according to the Chinese zodiac,

in 1990, in a small town in Wisconsin, under the name of Isabella Hatker.

An androgynous small framed figure that rocked in skinny jeans and baggy shirts that everyone deemed as perfection. Born with our mother’s long, brown, curly hair, that fell with perfection without try, and sharp blue eyes that pierced your soul with one single look. She was loved, admired, wanted by friends and family. Although she never labeled herself as popular, she was always surrounded by love. Both genders fell for her as if she was a forbidden goddess.

But there was something about her that never settled right with her.

Growing up, she could never achieve happiness no matter what she did, her mind filled with thoughts of suicide and a sense of desperation. She became isolated and introverted, she never took the chance to keep friendships, fearing the instinct of knowing that she wouldn’t be around for that much longer.

My parents begged her to stay, filled her with the words of, ‘it will get

better, it is just a phase that every teenager goes through’ and, ‘get over it and toughen up’, but deep in her mind, she knew that this was far from normal.

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A SOUL LOST IN RUSSIA

She simply couldn’t take it anymore. All the pain and suffering, it was

too much. She stared at herself in the mirror, with nothing but anger and emptiness. Her mind echoed of her last words as she etched them onto paper, wiping away her tears of frustration before they could hit the page. She couldn’t bear the loudness of her thoughts, the screams and cried of loneliness and de- pression, as she searched for a way out of the abyss.

The poor soul traced her footsteps with nausea and dizziness while she

plotted of how she was to take her life. When she finally decided, she stole a rusted, jagged blade of our father’s old razor hidden in the medicine cabinet.

The girl sobbed as she sat in the water of the bathtub, let- ting all the emotions rush out, nothing being held back. The silence slice never felt so empowering, full of relief as she shakily sketched red lines across her skin with each breath she took.

Closing her eyes and looking up, she saw stars and smiled at the eupho-

ria she arrived at. Blood dripping over the sides and onto the floor with each movement she made, the water turn- ing into a color of crimson red, her last thoughts playing like a movie in her mind.

At the brink of death, her high came down, realizing that she wanted

freedom, but this wasn’t the way. Our parents found her in the bathtub of the master bedroom, from the metallic scent of iron, screaming and terrified at the chilling sight of their only daughter, wrists slashed from the weight of depression and the cruelty of the human mind.

Thankfully, she was saved, only by a single thread determined to hold

onto life.

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A SOUL LOST IN RUSSIA When Ella woken, she mustered up what was left of her soul, to find the right way to free herself from this body of a prison and live the life she knew that she deserved.

Needless to say, she transformed herself into the person she always

wished to be. Me.

There’s no evidence that she once existed now, except for the smooth,

raised scars that re- mained, forever marked on my wrists and arms. But with today’s advancement in medicine and technology, with shots of testosterone and being blessed with surgeries that left no evidence of the past, I was able to flawlessly transform into Kai Mikos.

From that point on, I knew I could freely do what I wanted to do with

myself with this new- found identity. I moved out of my parents’ house, into a cozy studio that smelled of wood dust and tobacco. The place lingered with the excitement of a new beginning, a new chapter.

I put myself in college, determined to study and become involved what

always interested me: forensics. I liked the mysterious aspect of forensics, and having the power of knowing what crimes was committed, as well as how.

There’s just something about having that sort of power, that enables you see a story in every case of crime. It manages to send a chill up and down my spine every time I think about it.

During the midst of my third year, I was offered an internship to study

abroad. The only problem was that it was in Russia. Conflict arose when it came to processing a decision on whether or not to pursue this opportunity, my mind darted back and forth between the pros and cons, from ‘you should absolutely go’, to, ‘what if your secret past is exposed?’ It wasn’t until I

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A SOUL LOST IN RUSSIA fully convinced my mind and myself with the fact that there is no physical proof that could validate the past, and that I can stay under the radar during the course of the internship.

With this sense of validation in my head lingering, I packed up my

things and left the com- forts of home, leaving behind my past, doubts, sorrows, and an old torn family portrait held to- gether by awkward pieces of tape, where Ella was last seen smiling.

After landing in Moscow, exiting the terminal, I ran into a girl, whose

name I later learned as Svetlana. A slender girl with pale skin, like porcelain and flawless, with the most mesmerizing green eyes you could look into, getting lost in the beauty of what they hold, yet there’s a sense of coolness and edge. Her voice was soft and fragile, yet thick with a Russian accent when she spoke, immensely apologizing for her clumsiness. Her delicate clothing made of satin and flan- nel, draped her slim figure, hair falling forward with such grace as she gingerly reached for her things.

Our hands touched, her soft skin, against my callused hands, as we

reached for a stray paper, the girl’s face blushed and a smile crept across her face. The expression lingered until we stood, and turned our backs in opposite directions from each other. I took the chance to catch a glimpse one last time, looking over my shoulder. Our eyes met, as a warmth overcame me that was in- evitable. I knew that this one person had to be in my life. We slowly approached each other, once more, while I gather up the courage to ask her for her companionship of a cup of coffee. When those words spilled out of my mouth, her face lighten up with excitement with the greatest of ease as she gladly accepted.

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A SOUL LOST IN RUSSIA

The overhead announcements echoed with the distorted voice filled with

anguish, calling out flight names and the news of Putin being reelected, as we sat down in the small café, but the both of us didn’t take notice. We formally introduced ourselves, talked about our dreams and passions, and as we kept talking, I fell deeper in love with this stranger. Svetlana’s personality and passion showed as she talked about art, her need for social justice, and love.

She secretly covered her face from the crowds as she admitted that she didn’t like just men, but women as well, stating that love has no boundaries. Her face searched mine for clues, when she asked about my past and passions, as I refused to talk about such things... But there was something about her that made you want to just open up.

But before I could answer, Svetlana’s eyes shot up to the screen playing

overhead, as it replayed a clip of Putin claiming victory. Her face overcame with a grimace and disgust, as she walked up to the barista, demanding the most recent paper, and cussed in anger before I could understand what was happening.

I pulled out my phone, and uploaded the NY Times article by David

Herzenhorn, where it stated, “With 80 percent of ballots counted, Mr. Putin had won 64.7 percent of the vote, the Cen- tral Election Commission said, comfortably above the 50 percent needed to avoid a runoff and extending his claim on power to 18 years, which would equal the rule of Leonid Brezhnev, the Soviet leader for much of the cold war.”

Svetlana made her back to the table before I could finish reading, fum-

ing and urging that we needed to leave immediately. I gathered up my belongings, and followed her lead, as we pressed forward for our escape through the crowds and out into the streets. I tighten my grip as the streets

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A SOUL LOST IN RUSSIA were becoming rowdy with anger of this news of Putin. Luckily Svetlana was able to effortlessly hail a cab, and we were able to withdraw ourselves from the scene.

After we took safety in Svetlana’s loft, located in St. Petersburg, I settled

in quite quickly, before realizing the internship. I stood up hastily, momentarily feeling lightheaded, stating that I had somewhere to be. But in return, I got a glare from those piercing eyes that gave warning, with a voice that followed saying that I needed to forget education, and focus on keeping myself safe, as she eyed me from top to bottom, hinting that she knew something.

She turned on the TV, showing images of both, Putin’s inauguration that took place in the Kremlin, and riots breaking out along Moscow for the reason of believing that the riots were ‘rigged’. A sigh of frustration and mutters in Russian came from the girl’s mouth, as the media portrayed thou- sands of protesters were being arrested along with the unofficial leader, Alexei Navalny, as well as the violent force of police brutality. In annoyance, she turned off the TV, and redirected her attention onto me.

She asked once again, what was my story, questioning why I had a look

of femininity and I froze as a wave of insecurity of passing overcame me. I instantly felt conflicted and forced my- self to overemphasize the acts of being male. However, I felt like I owed her to do the same, to open up and be truthfully honest. I told her about the story of Ella, her eyes widen and her slen- der hand covered her mouth. I ignored the reaction, and continued on, talking about my love for forensic science, pursuing love and finding my sense of belonging in this world. Soon after the telling of my life story, Svetlana moved closer to my side, taking my hand into hers. She whispered

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A SOUL LOST IN RUSSIA that I was in danger, not only because Putin was back in power, but the hate crimes for those that identified as LGBTQA, was highly life threatening.

I felt the color from my face drain, and my hands began to shake as I looked into Svetlana’s eyes, seeking safety of some sort. She offered shelter, which I instantly took, disregarding my internship with the university, and fearing for my life.

Over that year, Svetlana taught me all that there is know about Putin.

How he was previously a KGB officer, prime minister, and previous president.

However, now he is seen, from Svetlana’s point of view, corrupted and a heartless human being. Knowing more about him, made me want to leave Russia, but I knew I was stuck.

At least falling in love made it a bit easier.

I fell in love deeply, unconditionally and hard. Our relationship took a

turn of passionate love that was as wild as the wind, as we took our first kiss; the taste lingered of sweet cherry and salt. And our eyes and bodies desired each other, craving for more, overcoming with lust and need. Constantly desired each other’s affection and touch, the shock of electricity that jolted through- out our bodies and bones.

However, during our time out in social events, I was cautious about the

specific boundary that defined the differences between man and woman. Regardless of being released from the fe- male appearance, I was still entrapped into the acts of femininity that was learned by Ella years ago. I felt watched by those that were waiting for me to slip up on my identity and gender, to fail in verifying who I was, being questioned on why a guy would have such an effeminate side to them. I ended up acting like someone I hated, someone I despise for my own safety. Someone

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A SOUL LOST IN RUSSIA that acts so bitter and cold to others, someone whose glare is filled with such seriousness, and almost hatred. I became the opposite of who I was to strangers that did nothing to me, yet if they knew who I was...

Making friends was a priority according to Svetlana, a key into blending

into ‘society’ and diminishing my chance of being found out. But, I found that hard. Who was I supposed to trust with this situation? I know no one else, except Svetlana.

But I steadily started to become more open about my personality and

views with a group of Svetlana’s friends at her apartment, after cracking open a few drinks, and telling ridiculous jokes, I became more confident and comfortable. We exchanged our secrets, our wishes, our regrets, our dreams.

I remember one guy saying that all he wanted was honesty, truth and

love in his life. And it made me think, just how much I wanted that too. I glanced at Svetlana, who then excused herself to the kitchen after giving me a swift wink to cue me to follow her.

After our brief conversation that ended with a kiss on the cheek, she

made an announcement for all to pay attention. She draped her arm across my shoulders, gripping my arm to console me with confident and love. Her words slurred of, “I trust you guys,” and, “Kai is transgender, so yeah. Keep this a secret.” She raised her cup in honor of me and the others followed with agreement and promise.

I smiled at the sight of these people, the one that I love, and my new

friendships. A wall- flower that bloomed to the island of misfits that these people were, and there could be no one better. I was finally able to be myself in a world of peace, happiness, and love.

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A SOUL LOST IN RUSSIA

However, that sense of peace and tranquility came to an abrupt end

when we notified of the new law that Putin has signed off. Now stating that specifically those that identify as LGBTQA, all things are illegal. Coming out, saying, even anything that identifies or encourages the LGBTQA community as a whole. Of course, Svetlana was furious to the high heavens, I was too. I couldn’t even fathom the idea of someone wanting to sign such a thing.

Our friends no longer visited, they only called to check on the two of us,

and to be of warn- ing of our surrounding. We’ve been forced to stay indoor, refuse to answer anyone at the door or phone, and left fearing for our lives.

I was back to square one.

We lost contact with the outside world, our friends. We were in the dark.

The news was filled with clamors of voices mixed as one, united to say one thing, “the LGBTQA community must be stopped, they must be killed.” Clips proceeded to play across the screen, as if they had no conscience, of people, mere strangers, attacking allies and those of the LGBTQA. Pictures flew by, showing those that are missing, knowing that they will never be found alive.

Videos streamed showing innocent people being raped, beaten, tortured...

I forced myself to watch it all, until it all became a blur, a real nightmare,

living hell.

Svetlana’s grip on my hand tighten, baring white knuckles. Her eyes

filled with fear, shaking with adrenaline and anger. Her body trembled as she threw a bottle of vodka at the screen to make everything go silent. She fell to the ground, sobbing at the thought of her friends, her fami-

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A SOUL LOST IN RUSSIA ly, her own life, even mine. I sat beside her, and we both held each other to keep ourselves from falling apart.

I knew that we had to get out, but the risk of being found out, terrified

and petrified me into feeling like a lost lamb trapped in a lion’s den. Svetlana persuaded me with a cracked voice filled with desperation, that we had to take the chance to leave Russia for good, and that this opportu- nity was all that we had.

We packed our things with haste, cautious about leaving behind any-

thing that could verify that we were part of the LGBTQA community. We left early the next morning, with the help and secrecy of an ally, into the cold air with the hopes that we could slip by without any problems, but we didn’t get far...

A suspicious van stopped our car in the middle of the road, leaving us no chance of escape. The voice of my friend quickly awaked me from the slumber of disbelief, before being torn apart from Svetlana, out of my embrace, and into the grasp of random men. A bloodcurdling scream escaped from her lungs, as she began to fight against the strength that held her tightly. I began to reach out for her, prepared to fight for my life, before being restrained by two other that I did not see coming. I fought out of the strength that held me apart, determined to escape, but I was cap- tured once again shortly after.

She sobbed at the sound of an familiar voice that she once trusted, left betrayed and broken, as I only became fueled with rage.

All that I knew is that I couldn’t let them take her. My body shook and

roared as I yelled out for them to take me, and leave her. I would go cooper-

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A SOUL LOST IN RUSSIA atively without any fight if they agreed, and they complied, knowing that our once ‘friend’ owed us this for outing us into danger and hatred.

We cried out each other’s name in anguish and fear, our vision becoming

blurred from tears staining and burning our faces from the frigid air, struggling to be together once again, reaching for each other’s comfort and touch...

The last words that I heard was a choked up, “I love you, don’t ever forget that,” before see- ing the last of Svetlana as I was beaten and thrown into the van, knocked unconscious, and taken away from my life forever. She never heard from me ever again...

I remember regaining my consciousness, before realizing the dire situa-

tion I was trapped in. I grimaced at the pain that resonated my body, nonstop throbbing of intense pain. I was bound by ropes that burned against my skin, unable to focus properly, the familiar pain of a concussion overcame me, and the scent of blood filled my nose, reminding me of the past.

I shivered from the cold, and from the thoughts of the imminent death

that was to come.

I sobbed at the thought of Svetlana, I broke down to the thoughts and

the memories of what I took for granted.

I was numb, I didn’t care what was to happen to me, just as long as she

was safe. I could no longer feel the pain that was being inflicted upon me.

Punches that landed across my skin, felt no more than a simple shove. Cuts and raw gashed became nothing more than a sting from a paper cut.

Everything around me fell silent, fell still. I could only hear the sound

of my own heartbeat, the raspy breathing of each breath I took, the sound of swallowing the salvia and whatever fears that remained within me.

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A SOUL LOST IN RUSSIA

All for the name of love.

That’s all that this for.

Love.

The last thought that I had was of Svetlana, the day that we met to

the day that we were broken apart. Our love and the moments that we had, the sheer beauty that I found, and was mine. I closed my eyes, and saw her making her way towards me, stretching her hand out of the haze. A familiar warmth filled me as I took her hand, a light radiating, engulfing the both of us, as we approached a safe haven at last.

One last smile made it’s way across my face, before hearing the ring of a

gunshot.

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SECOND PLACE

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Four Minutes

by Katherine Giles

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FOUR MINUTES

She wakes up early in the morning. There is a book on the table beside her bed. She found the book last night, but didn't have the courage to open it. She remembers this book very well. It came at a time in her life that was filed with pain. It was a time in her life when her future was unfathomable. She's come so far from then, but yet, she is so afraid to touch her past. What if she reads the book and is drawn into a downward spiral, sucked in, out of control, and with no way to escape?

Yes, she is afraid. She walks out of her bedroom and into the kitchen where she starts kettle of water to boil. She reflects on the days of her writing. She used to write all the time. She would write so much that she moved on from diaries, to journals, to five subject notebooks and even then she was filling them monthly. What made her stop writing again?

How is it that she could forget so much? She knows something important happened, but what was it? So much happened during her early teens, but still how could she have forgotten the single defining moment that led her to leave the pen and paper behind?

Oh well, she returns to her coffee. The water is now boiling, and she selects a bag of her favorite coffee and delicately scoops it into the french press. She ceremonially pours the boiling hot water filling the french press and then sets her timer to four minutes. A cup of coffee in the morning is a spiritual moment for her, it is the time of day when she can breath deeply and feel her inner peace and optimism returning. Only four more minutes.

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FOUR MINUTES

She walks back to her bedroom and gazes at the book on her nightstand.

She filled that whole book with only one event. You see, this event came many years after she had stopped writing. She couldn’t tell anyone, this alone was her greatest secret. Keeping the secret inside for so long was making her burst, slipping away into insanity. One day, as she drowned into the darkness that her secret had burdened her with, she found the empty book and began to write, almost frantically. She just wrote and wrote until the story was told, every painful, gruesome, detail of it. Ever since that day, the story has been forgotten. She knows it, but not in detail, she’s forgotten how she felt in those moments, the little things that really defined her story.

Her fingers reach out and touch the book, she was afraid that there would be static, some electricity that might fly through her finger tips sparking as they move to her soul, as a sign that she should not open the book. Instead, she felt nothing, the book felt ordinary and cool to the touch. Hesitating, she reminds herself as she always has that she is not unique. Other people share her story, the details are different, but the story is the same. Many women and girls know her story too well, probably her classmates, her co-workers, and friends. Yet for her, this story defines her, this story and every other terrible forgotten memory has left a mark on her. Although intangible, the mark isn’t invisible. People comment on her drive and her ambition, they say its unusual for someone her age to have that. She always smiles when they say that, she knows they intend it as a compliment, but they don’t see that the ambition and drive they admire is the mark of a fire that ate her up inside once.

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FOUR MINUTES

The rich aroma of coffee brings her back to the ground. She unclenches the fists she didn’t realize she had balled. She returns to the french press and pours the cup of strong black coffee. She takes her first sip and her inner peace returns. As the hot coffee dances over the tastebuds it subtle chocolate and lemon notes lovingly coat her throat.

On her second sip, the optimism returns, she feels hope entering her spirit. She walks to her bedside table and gazes once more at the book.

Without a second glance she turns and walks to the window where she can see the blissful school children walking outside her house. Her mind is firmly made up, she is no longer afraid to open the book, but she doesn’t need to. The past is exactly that, the past. Although it has left its mark on her, it does not define her. She doesn’t need to remember the details or sink back into the darkness, what she does not remember has still shaped her being and given her reasons to find meaning in life. With coffee in hand, and the future in front of her, she smiles as she is filled with the warm love and satisfaction of resolve. Four minutes have passed and she is whole again, she is ready for the day.

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3 THIRD PLACE

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A DANCE OF BLOOD AND STARS

By Ousainou Hydara

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A DANCE OF BLOOD AND STARS

War erupted and four countries were thrown in turmoil. Vaegys Vaelyn, the Dark One, attempted to bring the kingdoms of Varos Salvio, Rhythor, Tharcyne and Baridi Mtu under his control. He had done so by the use of extreme brutality that involved butchering of children of all nations on his whim, invention of the Tartarus, the creation of the Embracing the Dark, the usage of the Pool of Naag Mani and he was solely responsible for the Rape of Tharcyne. His goal was one country united, a Kingdom of Nydarea. Great men fell along with greater houses until only a few remained. These few had no choice but request aid from the nomadic tribes of Baridi Mtu. The Baridi people were willing to lend aid, for they knew their lands would be next as the cruel King succeeded in seizing Rhythor and Tharcyne. The Dark One wanted to add the lands of the wild plainsmen of Baridi Mtu to his new country of Nadarea. He would have fulfilled his last objective if not for a significant foe that heralded his downfall: his own son, Aegys Vaelyn. Silver-haired and golden-eyed, he was known as the Silver Prince. With his starcraft magic and the aid of his personal army, the Order of the Dawn, he was able to emerge victorious in his twentieth year against his father. The Silver Prince subdued his father’s essence into Aurelia’s Star and cast it away within the depths of Tartarus, his father’s pit. A new era then began, a golden age.

In the year of Golden Sun 0001, the first month of Aegado, Aegys Vaelyn the First of His Name, Lord of the United Kingdoms, Protector of Aurelia’s Star and the Light of Auros erected the city of Auros on the ashes of Varos Salvio and established it as the capital of his kingdom, Auros.

He became the King of Nadarea, which consisted of Auros, Rhythor and Tharcyne, combined out of the people’s love for him. Baridi Mtu became

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A DANCE OF BLOOD AND STARS

an independent country under Nadarea and Ahega Blackwind, High Chief of Baridi Mtu, remained true allies of King Aegys and his descendants forever and always.

For their military prowess, King Aegys gave Rhyden, the capital of Rhythor, to Sir Cedric Rhythor Farlow the Red of the Order of the Dawn.

Hydrus, capital of Tharcyne, was given to the Dragon Rider, Sar Cecilia Bloodwyn the Blue of the Order of the Dawn. The three families along with the Baridi rebuilt their war-torn homes and recovered well within the century. All of the four countries’ descendants continued to rule their lands with fairness and tthrived under House Vaelyn, the light of Auros.

However, a thousand year later, darkness seemed to be rising again, for another cycle of blood and chaos. But the words of House Vaelyn will simply sing throughout the lands of Nadarea once more‌

Darkest before the dawn.

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ART COMPETITION WINNERS

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1

FIRST PLACE

“Can You Hear Me Now”

by Silas Beasley

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2

SECOND PLACE “Gesture Drawings”

by Thyra Wood

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3 THIRD PLACE

“My African Sister”

by Gofaone Patane

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&