INSCAPE Celebrating the Arts at Central Methodist University
Inscape ©2019 by Inscape, Central Methodist University’s Magazine of the Arts. Inscape is one of the creative endeavors of the students, faculty, and staff at CMU. This unique publishing opportunity is one of many educational experiences that CMU’s Department of English, along with Sigma Tau Delta, provides. They have a distinguished record of placing students in graduate and professional studies as well as in education and other professional fields. The Mu Lambda Chapter of Sigma Tau Delta is an opportunity for students to share their love of English with one another while participating in campus activities, conferences, and publishing of Inscape. If you would like more information about Sigma Tau Delta, please, contact: Dr. Travis Johnson Assistant Professor of English 411 Central Methodist Square Fayette, Missouri 65248-1192 tjohnson@centralmethodist.edu 660-248-6308 Or visit www.centralmethodist.edu/academics/english for more information about the Department of English. The Inscape staff and Sigma Tau Delta wish to thank the staff at Modern Litho, Jefferson City, Missouri, for their assistance in producing and printing this issue. All CMU students, faculty, and staff are invited to submit their creative work for possible publication in Inscape. Please, contact the editors at inscape@ centralmethodist.edu, if you have any questions, or are interested in submitting for the next issue, which will be released in the spring of 2020.
INSCAPE Central Methodist University’s Magazine of the Arts. A Project of CMU’s Mu Lambda chapter of Sigma Tau Delta. Issue 44/2019
Editors Dylan Lewis Madilynn Lyons
Faculty Advisor Dr. Kavita Hatwalkar
Inscape was founded, in 1975, by Central’s Tau Tau Tau honorary fraternity Mu Lambda chapter of Sigma Tau Delta (The International English Honor Society), and the legendary Scribblers and Scrawlers. Inscape is funded by CMU’s Student Government Association.
Table of Contents Front and Back Cover........................Dragons Can Be Beaten by Natalie Van Horn Note from the Editors.......................................................................................................6 Inscape Defined.................................................................................................................7
Poetry
First Place: Norwegian Sky by Grace Stumbaugh.......................................................8 Second Place: The Apple by Molly Lyons.....................................................................9 Third Place: The Bird by Grace Stumbaugh...............................................................10 The Jabal by Darren Defreitas.......................................................................................12 Silence by Maggie Gebhardt.........................................................................................13 The Narcissist by Maggie Gebhardt.............................................................................14 The Mother by Hope Howser.......................................................................................15 Broken Silence by Brooke Striegel................................................................................16 Fish Stick by Darren Defreitas......................................................................................17 Salvation by Erin Schulz................................................................................................18 All Around the Mulberry Bush by Brooke Emmerich..............................................20
Short Fiction
First Place: Altum Somnum by Kylie Tillman............................................................21 Second Place: Lucifer’s Daughter by Molly Lyons....................................................26 Third Place: Dandy Man by Darren Defreitas............................................................33 Kleptomaniac by Grace Stumbaugh............................................................................43 From One to the Next by Erin Schulz..........................................................................50
Art, Drawing, and Photography
First Place: The Dangers of Second Hand Smoke by Ashley Atherton.........................................................................................................60 Second Place: Elegance by Jordan Lane......................................................................61 Third Place: The Mechanics of Flying by Janie Leathers..........................................62 Dragon and Bottled Boat by Janie Leathers ..............................................................63 Distorted Balloons by Janie Leathers...........................................................................64 When Fruit Flies by Janna Mckay................................................................................65 Birds of the Lake by Janie Leathers..............................................................................66 I’ll Go With You by Natalie Van Horn.......................................................................6 7 Abstract Flowers by Janie Leathers..............................................................................68 Toothless by Catherine Barnard...................................................................................69 Standing Tall Forever by Janie Leathers.....................................................................70 The Red Dirt Road by Brooke Striegel.........................................................................71 Somewhere in Uganda by Brooke Striegel.................................................................72 God’s Love by Raelynn Henson...................................................................................73 4
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The Beauty of the Unexpected by Brooke Striegel.....................................................74 A Light Has Dawned by Brooke Striegel....................................................................75 Blooming Bloom With Blooms by Maggie Gebhardt................................................76 Ritzy by Echo Essick.......................................................................................................77 Beautiful Holt Hall by tAno Mateu..............................................................................78 At Last, Poor Yorick, I Knew Him Well by Gregory Thurmon...............................79 Beauty in Sponges by Gregory Thurmon...................................................................80 Come a Little Closer by Gregory Thurmon................................................................81 Sunset Over D.C. Rogers Lake by Maggie Gebhardt................................................82 The Perfect Evening by Jordan Lane...........................................................................83 God’s Presence by Jordan Lane....................................................................................84 Persistence by Jordan Lane...........................................................................................85 Aspen Bells by Luke Knoble.........................................................................................86 9,000 Feet Above by Luke Knoble................................................................................87 Sunset Over Tahoe by Luke Knoble.............................................................................88 God’s Blanket by D’Yanna Kloog.................................................................................89 Dragons Can Be Beaten by Natalie Van Horn...........................................................90
Creative Nonfiction
First Place: Floral and Gingham by Brooke Striegel..................................................91 Second Place: Appeal of a Sidedish by Darren Defreitas.........................................95 Third Place: Two Dolls and a Girl by Ashley Patzwald.........................................100
Ten-Minute Plays/Screenplays
First Place: Green Eyes by Kylie Tillman..................................................................102 Second Place: Valkyrians by Darren Defreitas........................................................107 Nine by Gregory Owen...............................................................................................117 Whales Tails by Gregory Owen.................................................................................122 Munny by Dylan Lewis................................................................................................126
Young Writer’s Day 2018
Notes on Young Writer’s Day....................................................................................133 This Place by Lillian Wade, Marshall.........................................................................134 It Takes A Child To Make An Artist by Grace McDowell, Boonville...................135 What Once Was by Sara Espinoza, Marshall............................................................136 Captain Crow Stealing the Moon by Anna Valencia, Fayette...............................137 Automaton by Evan Alley, Boonville........................................................................138 Plastic Flowers by Meredith Stumbaugh, Fayette...................................................140 Editor Biographies........................................................................................................141 Contributor Biographies..............................................................................................142 Notes...............................................................................................................................144
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Note from the Editors The editors of the 2019 issue of Inscape would like to sincerely thank everyone who was a part of this year’s publication. The collection that you now hold in your hands is the product of countless hours of passionate discussion fueled by a sincere appreciation for literature and art. For the first time since Inscape’s inception, much of the process was done during a three credit hour course, where we collaborated with four fellow students that currently make up our editorial team. We would like to thank Darren, Molly, Ashley, and Kylie, as well as Sigma Tau Delta and its advisor Dr. Johnson, the Director of the Writing Center Dr. Woldruff, Inscape’s advisor Dr. Hatwalkar, and all of our brilliant contributors for their service. None of this would have been possible, without the willingness and the great wealth of creativity that the students and faculty of CMU have allowed us to share. In this year’s edition, we have seen several different themes work their way into the various pieces of writing and art submitted. These themes include the concepts of nature, spirituality, and deception, questioning what is true, what is not, and how we perceive the environment around us. Writing and creating affords us as people the opportunity to distinguish ourselves from our surroundings, and make sense of the world that we live in. As writers and creators, we have the ability to capture the emotions and experiences we go through, with our own personal tastes and judgements. Is an apple simply an apple? Is there truly a distinction between a bush and a tree? Is everything as it seems, or are our lives determined by others’ or our own consciousness? The works covered inside this magazine attempt to answer these questions, among many others, in order to establish a deeper understanding of the human psyche, as well as what it means to be human in general. We hope that you enjoy seeing things through the eyes of your peers, and can create a brand new understanding of life and the world you inhabit. We also challenge you to establish perceptions of your own, and to share them in the ongoing conversation of what is real and what is not. Enjoy. Dylan Lewis Madilynn Lyons
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Inscape 2019
in • scape / in-skeip/ n. Word coined by British poet Gerard Manley Hopkins for the individual or essential quality of a thing; the uniqueness of an observed object, scene, event, etc.
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First Place: Poetry
Norwegian Sky Grace Stumbaugh
Rain greeted us, as we trekked towards the shore. “Typisk Bergen,” I heard them say. The precipitation sent the water into a rippled frenzy — Water that extended from me to the mountains on the other side. See that in the other corner? Where the clouds loom overhead? That’s the bridge connecting Askøy to Bergen. They tell me, people tend to jump. The bridge is littered with flowers Left by families whose loved ones leapt. Nobody can drive to work or school Without sharing some of the pain. In the opposite corner, a patch of blue, Though, the clouds were set on suffocating it. Soon, it would lose its breath, And darkness would prevail. The sun cast its last farewell across the water, In shades of pink and gold and orange. We hoped for its return the next day around noon, But the rain came, instead.
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Inscape 2019
Second Place: Poetry
The Apple Molly Lyons
One a day keeps the doctor away. You plague my devices, Make America’s favorite pie, And are Snow White’s worst nightmare; But, first, you were the forbidden fruit of Eden, Bringing sin to man. Then, stolen from the Hesperides, You robbed Hera of her fertility. What would this world be without you? Free of knowledge, temptation, the wrath of gods, A much better place, no doubt. Yet, even I cannot forsake your taste. After all, forbidden fruit is always the sweetest.
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Third Place: Poetry
The Bird
Grace Stumbaugh The other day, he saw a bird. It sang a tune he’d never heard, And, when it finished up its song. It fluttered off, and, soon, was gone. He pondered on the notes it sang, In his head both night and day. He longed to hear that sweet bird’s voice, A clear and mesmerizing noise. Today, again, he saw it there Perched on a branch, quite unaware That he’d climbed up, far as he could, To snatch it up right where it stood. The bird was caged. It couldn’t be long Before he’d hear its lulling song, But, though he’d caught the bird to keep, It didn’t move or make one peep. “Please, oh please, make melody!” But no such pleading made it sing. It stood silenced, behind the bars, Gazing upwards towards the stars. Days had passed with no prevail. The bird sat lifeless, in its jail, Longing to fly above the trees, Its thoughts were halted by a breeze. The wind had shaken up the cage. The door flew open, in a rage, Welcoming the bird to fly. Its opened wings soared to the sky. The man came back to see it gone. He wondered what he’d done so wrong, But, from the sky, there came a tune That wiped away his sad and gloom.
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The bird flew overhead with glee, Singing songs as its decree. He realized something taught for ages: You can’t keep birds in metal cages.
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The Jabal
Darren Defreitas His velvety, melanin eyes resonate into mine, And let me know the pureness of the man, the rightness of our love. “I’ve missed you so much,” he always says. We eagerly embrace. He holds and kisses me tenderly. He sweeps me off my feet, quite literally! He’s so strong. We move from the kitchen, to the living room, to my boudoir! His Herculean form engulfs mine, and his love for me grows bigger and bigger! The flames of passion, desire, and intimacy burn bright, in sinful delight! I will always remember the first time his soft voice infected my ear And his birthday: December 20th; the little mole behind his left Shoulder, or that time he professed his love to me! How he tried to deny, But failed so spectacularly, like a body existing without a soul. The promises he made burrow through my brain, like an ear worm, But the sound of his phone spirals us both back to frigid reality. Laying silently, during an interrogation, my heart turns to dust. How can a feeling so joyful and pure be so horribly wrong? Maybe, one day, she’ll forgive me for this wicked transgression, And the pain of his loss will leave me, like the spirit leaving the body.
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Inscape 2019
Silence
Maggie Gebhardt I’ve felt love, and lost love, but not like this. I knew he was the one God made for me. I felt it in my soul, and he did too, But, somewhere along the path of our story, he forgot. I’ve drained every effort from every fiber, but, when I ask him if he still loves me, silence consumes the room. It’s a funny thing, silence. It’s just that, yet it can be so loud it makes your ears ring, so powerful it rips your soul in two, and so devastating your heart wonders how it will ever survive such noise. Silence. Not even an “It’s not you, it’s me,” letdown. Just nothingness. No rejection. No words. No answer. No clarity. Just silence. What does one do with that? Suffer. Weep. Grip on to all the words of the past. That’s what. Whoever said words hurt never heard silence where words should be.
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The Narcissist Maggie Gebhardt
He broke her, then told her she needed pills for being broken. He made her cry, then told her she was dramatic. He wanted to talk, but never to listen. He asked for trust, then lied again. He said she wasn’t pretty enough, then told her she lacked confidence. He said he wanted someone else, but would never leave. He wanted perfection, then told her she wasn’t perfect. He said he loved her, but never told her why. He wanted commitment, but never talked about the future. He drained her soul, and became angry, when she felt weak. He wanted everything, then threw everything away.
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Inscape 2019
The Mother Hope Howser
We have our moments, The ones where we stare into space Sometimes for no reason Or something catches our eye A woman, Standing completely still In her moment She looks So serious, so focused Her makeup, So dark yet beautiful Falling into the creases in her face The ones that her smile makes And red lips, Done up so bright They compliment her brown eyes Her face, Tangled up in the dark, thick wires Cascading down past her shoulders Her moment So long ago Still stealing my moments now As she catches my eye I take a minute to look at her And she even looks like me
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Broken Silence Brooke Striegel
A hollow silence fills the stadium, breaking through the smoky air above the crowd. Beads of sweat dot his forehead like mini spotlights, and his wrist slides across them, before he plays. People scream endlessly around him, over such a meaningless movement. For him, time seems to pause, as he listens to the screeching. He wants them to see him and his heart, because he’s just a person like them. He longs for them to see him as a musician, not a man to admire with vacant stares. They absentmindedly deny his true self and his wish to be happy playing his sad songs. He wants to play pure music and sing true lyrics, because it stirs our hearts. Sometimes this music is the sound that fills the crowd, but sometimes we stand in the midst of broken silence.
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Inscape 2019
Fish Stick
Darren Defreitas I wish, I wish, I was fish Out in the sea, not in a dish. The ocean prison, so wide and blue, And weeds sprawled out like callaloo. I swim, I swim, in search of fodder. Is water wet or is wet water? You know what? I’m tired of this shit! Who said this body was the limit? And, just like that, my legs they sprout! Is this magic? What’s this all about? I know it sounds kinda silly, But it’s true, you must believe me! Life doesn’t have to be so hollow. Just spread your legs, get up and follow. From the ocean, I sprung on land, And, just like that, life truly began.
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Salvation Erin Schulz
the lies they creep in everyday of my life and i can’t stop them they fill my mind and my heart they follow me all day long they are lies at least i think they are but lies aren’t supposed to last they are lies they are supposed to die when caught as lies but these ones stay so maybe they are true for me Unwanted unloved undeserving not confident not special these aren’t lies these are the adjectives that describe me i am nothing, deserving of no one, not worth of saving i will never come close i will always fall short and there is nothing i can do to change it i might as well live in the shadows and not care about myself cause no one else does cause i’m not worthy they show me this the real me the truths
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But, then, out of the blue, these feelings leave. Something else takes over, and the lies begin to disappear. These lies that have been in me, these lies that tell me I am unworthy, that I am undeserving, that I am unloved. One Man destroys all these things I believed, because One Man stands with me, and fights for me. One Man thought I was enough, and He gave His life for mine. He has pulled me into the light, and pushed the lies into the darkness. He saved me, and fought for me, when no one else could or did. The evil that was filling my head with all of the lies, He took it away, with the greatest sacrifice, and He continues to, everyday. He, constantly, speaks truth, so the lies don’t come back ever.
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All Around the Mulberry Bush Brooke Emmerich
I feel like there is Some kind of meaning Behind all these words, Especially the beginning. The mulberry bush. Are you sure they are mulberries? I have eaten these berries, And I picked them from trees. I wanted to know why You would make such a claim, So I looked for the meaning And reasoning for this game. Monkeys and weasels Stands for people and things? We chase after things, and Then the things go POP? They explode? Disappear? Maybe Jack takes it all. Maybe Jack owns the pawn shop To help us when we fall. I think I’m getting it, It’s the game of life. It’s a vicious circle When money is tight. We chase and dance around The simple way out of it, But the answer is hidden Behind short term happiness. The answer is education, Something we all need. Mainly, to understand the difference Between a bush and a tree.
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Inscape 2019
First Place: Short Fiction
Altum Somnum Kylie Tillman
June As I walk, I notice that even the cars seem to move slower after one a.m. The diner, however, is bustling. I step through the door under the glow of neon lights, and into the warmly lit 51st Street Diner. The clinking of plates, scraping of spatulas, and chatter of patrons saturates the small, box car sized establishment. It’s as if no one in the diner is aware of the time, or really any part of what goes on in the city outside. If you were looking for my diner, you wouldn’t find it. I sit in my usual booth, the one in the very back corner. It’s always open. -- Rini slinks through the door, a smile splayed across her face. This is our special place, and she can never contain her excitement. As she is seated, Mabel arrives at the table. I know it’s her name because of her dingy name tag that used to be white pinned to the crisp light grey lapel of her uniform. In bold black font it reads: “MABEL.” She never takes our order, I think it’s against the rules. But she supplies us with pie — pumpkin for me, and cherry for Rini. We’ve been opposites since we were little. Then, Rini begins telling me about her day. “You wouldn’t believe what happened today, June. I went to a coffee shop, and the girl working was wearing the same shirt as me...the same exact one. How embarrassing!” She would have droned on and on about every minute detail of her day and joked about everything she could think of, lighting up the room with her laugh. She would have, and I would have let her, if she were really here. Instead, I come back to reality, and eat my pie in solitude. Rini I awake with a start, bolting upright in my canopy bed with my long, auburn hair flowing wildly, I’m surrounded by pillows. I haven’t slept well in about a year. In fact, I don’t know of anything I do well anymore. I surround myself with soft things, because my therapist says it helps to create a calming atmosphere. But still, the dreams come to me, and they always involve June. Sometimes I relive the accident, in perfect, excruciating detail. Sometimes I’m just walking around a dark city, alone. But, the weirdest and most common dreams take place in a diner. The same diner that June and I went to when we were kids on summer vacation. We would leave our condo along the beach in the morning, and venture out, chasing each other and collecting seashells until I inevitably would fall in the sand, usually in a fit of laughter. We would do this until our legs ached, our pockets were full, and our bellies were growling. Our parents were always busy on these trips. What was a vacation to us was business for them, so we had a lot of freedom. We would use the money we took from mom’s purse to go to an old 50’s style diner on the pier. I liked it because it was 21
our special place, and June liked it because she didn’t have to make us macaroni and cheese or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. I love that diner, and long for any connection with June...even just to be able to talk to her about my days...but my dreams are different. It’s always dark there, and the people are never friendly. Worst of all, my sister never notices me. June Outside my diner is a perpetual nightscape. The only thing that distinguishes the night from the day is the looming digital clock tower in the center of the city. It’s a big city, complete with skyscrapers and cars zooming about. But it’s quiet. The cars don’t really go anywhere, they just keep driving. I’ve never seen one stop in however long I’ve been here. I don’t have any friends, in fact I don’t think anyone here has ever spoken to me, or I to them. I don’t really even know why I’m here...was it a new job prospect? I’m used to traveling for work, but I can’t remember if it was that, or if I had just needed a change of pace. I just remember needing to come here, having to. I do feel safe here, but it’s almost as if the city has put me in some sort of sleepy fog, a lost indifference. I used to be the worrier, the type A. Rini would like this new me. You know, I do like it here. I don’t like to worry about the why of it all. Rini I shut off my alarm, and throw aside the covers. Brush my teeth. Brush my hair. Choke down the pills by the sink. Change my clothes. Grab a granola bar and stuff it into my bag. This is my routine, it’s small but the familiar rhythm keeps me sane. I run out the door, late as always. When I arrive to work, I navigate a sea of dusty cubicles and grey walls to get to my desk. Jonas is already there. “Rough night?” he asks with a crooked smile “It’s always a rough night,” I reply, telling the truth, but putting on my best attempt at being lighthearted. “Maybe these will help,” he says, tossing a package of Starbursts towards me, my favorite. They hit me in the chest, and fall to the floor, eliciting a laugh from us both. Just then, Hillary walks in with her perfect, white lab coat and her blonde hair tightly coiffed in a bun in the back of her head. “Rini,” she says, as she approaches Jonas, kissing him on the cheek. This is more of an acknowledgement than a greeting. “Hillary,” I reply with a forced smile. I sit at my desk, and put my headset on to block everything out—the day goes faster this way. I didn’t want to be a medical transcriptionist. I’m okay at it, and Jonas is nice, but it’s not what I imagined I’d be doing. After I failed nursing school, I had to find something to pay the bills. At one time, I was a bright, wide eyed student. I didn’t have the best grades, but I had lots of friends and a natural curiosity. I would have made it, but after the accident I lost myself. Not many people want to be around someone so glum, and I don’t blame them. I found it hard to get out of bed, and make it to classes, eventually my heart just wasn’t in 22
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it anyways. I hum as I work, a tune I’ve had stuck in my head. -- I always try to visit June, after work. I’m really the only one who does. I hear the beeping of the monitor, before I even get to the door of room fifty-one in the long-term care facility. They try to make her room look cozy, a plush blue chair in the corner, a soft, black rug over the cold, concrete ground, and a little digital clock atop a tall, skinny nightstand. She’s laying there, more pale than usual, her shiny, red hair plaited into a braid. It would almost look like she was just sleeping, if it weren’t for the tubes and the monitor. June has been in a coma for seven months now, and it’s my fault. Seven Months Earlier (June) Rini and I just decided to go for it. We’ve always wanted to go, just the two of us, back to the coast where we used to vacation as kids. I pull up to her apartment building, and wait, staring at the brick columns and ivy that doesn’t seem to have a beginning or end. I hit my horn, she’s always running late. “I’m hurrying, jeez!” Rini says, breathlessly throwing open the trunk to stuff in her bags. “You’re so lucky I know you,” I say as she jumps in the seat. “I accounted for you delaying us at least 30 minutes somewhere.” That earned me an eyeroll, and we laugh. I lean across the console, and hug her, as if we hadn’t just spent the entire night before together shopping for this trip. “Let’s gooo!” Rini says. -- It’s a hot day on the beach, the sun scorching the sand under my bare feet. We’re lounging in our chairs and relaxing, listening to the caw of the seagulls, and the crash of the waves drawing in and out, when my phone rings. “It’s work, again...I’m sorry I have to take it” I say, hitting accept, and putting the phone to my ear. “It’s fine, it would be a shame if your phone were to get lost though...“ Rini says, springing to action. “No! Not funny!” I say. It’s all I manage to get out before she rips the phone from me, and sprints out toward the pier. I run after her, at full speed, across the beach, and bound up the pier steps. She doesn’t mean any harm, but sometimes it’s hard for her to take things seriously. My entire life is on there... not to mention the pain it would be to try to work from the beach without a reliable phone if she were to accidentally break it. I see her still running toward the end of the pier. “Stop!” I yell. I’m almost to her before I trip, my head smacking the wooden post of the pier with a thud. Everything looks fuzzy, and my forehead feels warm and sticky to the touch. I try to stand, but struggle to gain balance. I don’t realize I’m falling until I hit the water. Splash. I need to swim I think, and everything fades away.
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June She’s here again, in my diner. Mabel has brought the pie. This is normally the point where I realize she isn’t really here, but today Rini is crying. Real or not, I can’t bear it. I find my voice, and I ask “What’s wrong?” As soon as I say this, I notice two things. 1: My throat hurts. It feels dry and blocked up, a feeling I can’t swallow away. 2: Rini is startled, her cries are stifled, and she gapes at me. “You can see me?” Rini says. “Of course, I can see you. I’m the one imagining you. Out of loneliness probably,” I say. “But...this is my dream,” she says. “If this is your dream, why do you come and go?” I question rhetorically. She’s stumped. It’s easy to outsmart figments of your imagination. “This song…it’s something I’ve heard before...” I’d never noticed the music before. It’s a soft slow melody. It’s really nice actually. Then she’s gone again. Rini Damn it, I think, as my eyes flutter open, and I stretch out of my blanket cocoon. I had finally gotten June to talk to me, and I couldn’t make myself stay there...I hadn’t been able to apologize. It was just a dream anyways...But, these days, a dream is better than my reality. I shut off my alarm that hadn’t had a chance to go off, and throw aside the covers. Brush my teeth. Brush my hair. Choke down the pills by the sink. Change my clothes. Grab a granola bar, and stuff it into my bag. But, today, I’ve decided I’m not going to work. No one would miss me anyways. I’m going to see June again. -- I’m walking down the corridor, when I stop dead in my tracks, my heart pounding. Emanating from room fifty-one is a soft, slow melody. The song I’ve had stuck in my head. The song from the diner. The song. “Excuse me, are you okay?” I gather myself, as a nurse grabs my elbow, concerned. “Uh...Yeah I’m fine. I’m uh...just listening.” “Oh! The music. We like to play music for all the patients throughout the night. I was just about to get it shut off.” “It’s beautiful,” I reply, scurrying into the room, and shutting the door. I’m shaking, as I sink into the blue chair in the corner, staring at June the whole time. Is it possible? One Week Later It’s been a week now, a week of dreaming and trying to talk to June. I only went to work once this week, they had called and said I needed to clean out my things. Jonas said he would miss me, but I know he has Hillary, and doesn’t mean it. Now I have a new routine: I draw my shades down, and I try to sleep. Sometimes I eat, and sometimes I require help to sleep. Chamomile tea, Ny24
Inscape 2019
quil, lavender candles...none of it keeps me there long enough to convince her though. I leave the house, for the first time in three days. Before I walk out the door, I don’t brush my teeth. I don’t brush my hair. I ignore the pills by the sink. I stay in my pajamas. I don’t need a granola bar. My work ID still gets me in the hospital, and I easily find the supply room. It’s funny how no one bats an eye at a woman in pajamas when you’re in a workplace full of scrubs and nightgowns. Being invisible, it’s paying off. I find what I need, and shove it in my pajama pant pockets. At home, I curl back into bed, and examine my findings. A small vial with a label reading: PHENOBARBITURATE. It’s a sedative, used to medically induce comas. Of course, I don’t have the right equipment to sustain that. I could give myself too little, and wake up in a few hours, I could give myself too much, and never wake up. It’s an easy risk to take on. I draw up the syringe, and plunge it into my arm. It stings, but not for long. -- My eyes flutter open. Above me, countless stars. A gentle breeze ruffles my hair. I sit up, and I’m on a sidewalk. All around me are tall buildings. It’s the city from my dreams. As I scramble to stand, I turn and see a street sign: 51st Street. I turn and walk, until I see the glow of the neon lights. As I enter the diner, the bell on the door jingles. I walk to the empty booth in the back, and I wait. June As I walk into the diner, I see she’s here again. She’s never been there before me waiting though, and it startles me. I push my way to the back of the diner. “Why are you here again, tormenting me? I know you aren’t real. You always leave,” I say. “I brought you something, June,” Rini says, extending her hand out, and dropping a seashell on the table. The sound of the seashell hitting the table resounds in the small diner. Suddenly, the memories flood back. The accident. “Where...Where are we?” I say. “I imagine it’s some sort of in-between” Rini says. I feel something in my chest, a tightness that is growing. I can’t breathe. I jump up, and I run to the counter. I demand to speak with the manager. Mabel. Anyone. It’s as if no one can hear me. Every patron in the diner continues eating, laughing, and talking. Why had I never noticed that the things they say don’t make sense? That everyone is dressed in varying shades of gray? “June! It’s okay, I’m here now,” Rini says, spinning me around. That’s when I notice the pool of blood dripping from her forearm.
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Second Place: Short Fiction
Lucifer’s Daughter Molly Lyons
All my life, I saw my father as a righteous man. To the people of Bluebell, he was Reverend John, a holy man of God sent to them in their hour of need. But what none of us knew was that he had fallen prey to the Devil, becoming a master of deceit. “You ready?” asks Will. I simply nod. I’m ready as I’ll ever be. I rise from my seat, smooth my dress with both hands, and pull the thin black veil over my face. God have mercy on his soul... Daddy had missed supper...another late night of preparing for Sunday’s sermon. After we had cleaned up supper, Mama had me take his meal to the church. I had to travel on foot, since Daddy had taken the wagon. But, I didn’t mind at all...it was a nice evening, that beautiful Missouri sunset I had seen many times before was still able to impress me. The warm wind blew softly, as the summer faded into fall. I could see that old church just up ahead, glimmering with what I imagine Joseph’s coat of many colors had as the sunset reflected off its white walls and stained-glass windows. My second home. When I arrived just outside those holy doors, I froze at the sound of my father and some other voice. Unable to make out their conversation, I made my way up the steps, and pressed my ear to the thick, oak doors. “I told you I’m done! You either give me what I ask or I ain’t doing no more business with you and your kind—” Bang! I nearly broke my neck, tumbling onto the hard ground, and scattering the food I had so thoughtfully prepared all over the dirt. For a few seconds, I sat stuck to the earth, my ear ringing too loudly to make sense of reality. I rose shaking to my feet, realizing the gravity of the situation. Who lay dead and who was left standing by the grace of God? I made my way back, straining my vision as best I could through the sliver of light. My father stood dead center in front of his pulpit, staring down at the corpse with no expression I could place. Finally, he slowly lowered the gun to his side, and, for a moment, I wanted to rush to him. “Johnny? Jesus Christ—” jeered an unfamiliar voice. “Go on, and get him outta here.” The door swung open, and I watched from around the corner, as the man heaved the body off his shoulder onto my father’s wagon, strapping down the cover over the body. “You know where to take him?” Daddy asked. “Yes sir,” he said, mounting his horse. When the man had become one with the darkness, I made one last glimpse into the church. There was my father on his hands and knees, rigorously scrubbing the stains of his sin as though it were a mark on his very soul. I ran homeward as fast as my legs could carry me, and went straight to 26
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bed, unable to comprehend what I’d seen. My mind was flooded with questions. Who was the man my father had shot? What business did my father have with him? Why was my father so quick to cover it all up? I lay frozen in the darkness as my father came inside, his footsteps growing louder with each stride. I rolled over in bed, and shut my eyes real tight, afraid to face him. The door creaked open, as my daddy leaned in to check on me as he did often. Was he smiling down on me? Looking back, I’m sure he was, self-assured that his precious angel was still shielded to the world’s evil ways as he had made sure of for all my eighteen years. After what felt like an eternity, the door closed softly, and I returned to my wild thoughts. Of course, I didn’t get a bit of sleep that night. I laid awake, covers pulled up to my neck trying to keep from shaking, and staring at the wall. I wanted to believe my father could offer some righteous explanation for his sin. When that morning rooster crowed, I was determined to uncover the truth. The next morning, I was up before dawn, doing my best to keep my racing mind busy. But, no matter how hard I scrubbed the clothes along the washboard, I couldn’t cleanse myself of last night. I would have to confront my father. I came in with the laundry, and was not surprised to see Daddy finishing his breakfast. I could barely look him in the eye. “Good morning, angel. Well, look at you gettin’ your chores done before service! That’s my girl. Say, how’s the song coming along? Think you’re ready for next Sunday?” he asked. “Yes, sir,” I said without thinking. How could he act so normal? I didn’t expect him to confess or nothing, but he looked like a sinner who’d just come up out of the water for heaven’s sake! I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to hear him say what he’d done. But, I couldn’t. Not now. My little brother Thomas came in, right then, and sat at the table. His hair sat atop his head like a bird’s nest. He was only six-years-old, at the time, and there was no exposing such a dark mess around his innocent self. I would speak to my father, after church. I had thought of telling Mama straight away, but felt it right to give Daddy the chance to explain himself first. I sat in the front row with my mamma and Thomas, as we always did. But, I still could not look at my father, standing up behind his pulpit preaching God’s holy commandments when just last night he’d done the devil’s work. There wasn’t a single drop of blood left, but the man laid at my feet, eyes rolled up into his head, a hole through his heart. Thomas pulled at my shirt, shaking me from the vivid image. He passed me his Sunday program. Some days even I couldn’t stay awake during sermon, and we would take turns drawing in the back pages of our hymnals. It was a family portrait, all of us stick figures holding hands with wide smiles spread across our faces. I did my best to conjure up a smile, and he snatched the book back from my hand, pleased with my reaction. I turned my head to get a quick glimpse at Mama. She was staring straight ahead, focused intently on my father with a loving gaze. I suddenly felt sick. Did she know really know my father...what he was capable of? “Let us close in prayer...bow your heads with me, folks. Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for being with us today as we strive to be ever closer to you. We 27
pray that you would continue to strengthen us as we leave here today. We pray that you would help us to keep your Holy Word close to our heart, and give us your hedge of protection from the Devil’s agents who have continue to terrorize our territory. Most importantly, we ask that you be with our neighbors who have been so tragically affected by the treachery in Delmar. Let them look to you for strength, in such hard times, and feel your loving arms wrap around them. In Jesus’s name we pray...” I had only heard stories about the destruction the Black Bandits left in their wake. For weeks, folks had been obsessing over the gruesome attacks, recounting their personal experiences with the tragedies. Nearly everyone knew someone who had lived to tell their story or had passed by the aftermath themselves. The Bandits’ presence was swift and unpredictable, often striking in the dead of night. Towns elected watchmen to protect the sleeping citizens, but it didn’t do much anyhow. Whoever they were, they were about the best sharpshooters one will ever see. No one knew their names, their faces were always covered with the notorious black bandanas. They took what they needed, and destroyed what they did not, robbing you of your fortunes, and leaving burning buildings and dead bodies behind. They did not kill women and children, but left them widowed and fatherless just the same. We were the last family headed out the doors, when Sheriff Briggs caught my father’s arm. William was standing next to him, and gave me the usual smile and tip of his hat. “Mornin’, Reverend. Could we have a word with you? There’s some business I need to discuss with you.” “Alright then. Let’s step into my office. You all go on home without me. I won’t be long,” Daddy said, motioning us to move forward. We headed down the front steps, and my stomach dropped as it had when I walked up them an hour earlier. This was my chance to learn more, and it was likely another one would never come. “Mama, I meant to tell you this morning, but I promised I would visit the Howards’ this afternoon! Meg invited me for lunch yesterday, when I was in town! Can you manage without me today?” “Of course. You go right on ahead, and enjoy yourself,” she said. “Thank you! I’ll be home in time to help with supper,” I said before kissing her cheek. Once they were far enough along the path and Thomas stopped turning around to wave goodbye, I made my way around the side of the church. Crouching under the open window of my father’s study, I could hear Sheriff Briggs plain as day. “You know Bill Jenkins?” “Yes sir...Why do you ask?” “Will here says he caught him ‘bout to dump some poor man’s body down by the river last nigh,.” said the sheriff. “Tell him, boy.” Will spoke up, “He says you were the one who shot him. Sir, I couldn’t believe it. That’s why we’re here. Is there any truth to it? ” A painful silence followed. Finally, my father spoke up with a sigh. 28
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“I caught the drunk heathen in my house, tryin’ to rob my family of all we’re worth. Being a man of God, my convictions run deep for breaking the commandment, but I believe I have God’s forgiveness, for a man must protect his family from such evils. Must’ve been leaving from a late night of drinking, and saw an opportunity for wickedness. He was surely one of them outlaws, black bandana covering his face the moment I laid eyes on him, shaking my sweet Magnolia by the arm, fixin’ to do God knows what with her, when I bust in with my shotgun. He didn’t even get a chance to fire ‘fore I shot him through the chest.” I could hardly breathe. “I am deeply sorry for your family, Reverend, and it’s lucky you came home when you did. But, why didn’t you call on myself afterwards? Why was Jenkins sent to dispose of the body secretly?” “I couldn’t risk word getting out Sheriff. You know it doesn’t take much to stir up gossip in a small town like this. Imagine what will become of my family when those criminals learn that I killed one of their own. He came alone that night, and, s’far as I know, none of his buddies knew he was there.” “I understand, don’t you worry Reverend. We’ll keep it that way. No need to stir up trouble for you and your family. The boys and I, we’ll do some investigatin’, and let you know, if we suspect any more trouble from those troublemakers. Lord help us if they’re nearby, we’re gonna need all the men we can spare,” said Sheriff Briggs. “As the good Lord tells us, ’Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.’ And, Will, I would appreciate it, if you wouldn’t trouble Magnolia with any questions. She is still very shaken up about all of it. I suspect she’ll tell you when she’s ready.” “Yes sir,” Will replied. My fears were confirmed. My father was no innocent man. I had to know what else he was hiding. “Will!” I shouted running over to him as he and the Sheriff mounted their horses. “Good morning, Magnolia. You look beautiful as ever in that dress,” he said with an all too eager smile. I didn’t have time to humor his flattery. Luckily, Will didn’t give me the chance. “Maggie, I was just about to come see you,” he said. “Yes, well, I need to speak with you as well...privately.” “Well, I best be gettin’ back to the office now. Take care Miss Magnolia.” And, with the tip of his hat, he was off. “I don’t know how to make sense of it, but last night—“ “I know! You’re father told me what happened,” said Will with anger in his eyes. He then lowered his voice as though it were wrong to ask, “He didn’t hurt you did he?” I would not lie. Will was my best friend, and the only one I could trust with such a secret. 29
“No. But—“ “I swear, if your Daddy hadn’t shot the poor son of a bitch, I woulda—” “Will! Listen to me! That man didn’t rob us of anything. He wasn’t even in our house that night.” “What are you sayin’?” “I’m sayin’ my Daddy is a liar. I saw him shoot that man, but it was here... in the church!” I told him everything I had seen. “Don’t worry, Maggie. I’ll get this whole thing straightened out with Sheriff Briggs. If what you’re saying is true, then we’ll need some sort of evidence. Know where we might find some?” “Yes,” I replied instantly. If my Daddy was hiding something, I knew exactly where I’d find it. Walking out to the barn, in the dead of night, I held the lantern out in front of my face to light the way. They were all sound asleep, last I checked, and I prayed nothing would alter it. Surely, I only needed a few minutes to find my answers. I was Thomas’s age, at the time I first came here, if I remember right. I had been playing in the barn, chasing the chickens about, and throwing them a few bits of corn here and there, when my foot became caught, and I fell onto the hard floor. Once I’d had myself a quick fuss, I picked myself up, and noticed the handle. I pulled it upwards, revealing a small, square hole in the floor in front of me. Reaching down, I grabbed the gun first, but my Daddy’s voice rang out, scaring me half to death. “Maggie! What do you think you’re doing?!” he screamed with a crazy look in his eyes, wrenching the iron from my fist. “I’m sorry Daddy! I’s just playin’ and —“ He rushed over, and shut the door, saying, “These aren’t toys, Magnolia!” He gave a long sigh, likely thanking the Lord he’d found me before I used the pistol for a deadly game. “They’re Daddy’s personal things...nothing you should be concerned with. I don’t ever want to see you looking in there again, do you understand?” “Yes, Daddy.” Tears started to well up in my eyes. Daddy had never yelled at me like that before. “I know, angel. Now go on inside, and eat your supper. I’ll be there in minute.” I scattered the hay around, with both hands, feeling for the handle where it had been all those years ago. Creak! I flung the hatch open, with excitement, and, although it couldn’t have reached his ears, my heart raced in fear, so I slowed the lift considerably, easing the door down to the floor with a soft thud. The glow of the lantern danced across the opening, revealing that same pistol, loose paper, and a considerable pile of cash. As I rummaged further, my hand fell on some sort of cloth, which I pulled up from the clutter to get a closer look. Within seconds, my blood ran cold as I looked upon a thing of my nightmares: a black bandana. My shaking hand dropped the rag, and I fell back onto the floor, breathing in short spurts. Finally, I came back to my senses, eager to finish my search. The loose stack of papers turned out to be a large, folded map of Jackson 30
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county. There were large Xs across several surrounding towns: Shiloh, Beckett, Smithville...all ghost towns now. I rode through the night, feeling as if I would suddenly wake from a horrible dream. But, the sting of my tears and the whip of the wind told me I was all too much awake. In what felt like a few seconds, I had reached town. Will met me halfway towards the door, rising from his perch in the rocking chair on night duty. I fell into his arms sobbing, unable to speak for several minutes. He didn’t ask questions, but simply held me in a tight embrace until I lifted my face from his chest, and regained control. We talked for hours, and, by sunrise, we both knew what was to be done. Daddy was taken into custody, and brought in for questioning. I had waited anxiously at the office. I cannot describe the weight of my sorrow when his eyes met mine. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes revealed the mortification well enough. The evidence was stacked against him...retrieved by Will during the arrest. Apparently, he came quietly. And he confessed to everything, weeping with such pitiful countenance that I couldn’t keep from weeping just the same. He had gotten in over his head, gambling into trouble as he had apparently done in his youth. But, this time it was worse than before. Church tithe, the deed to the farm, personal savings...all gone. And, many debts he could not pay in consequence. “I was in over my head Maggie. That’s when he approached me with a job...I was to join the bandits, and pay the debt I owed him with my ‘earnings.’ After some time, I realized I needed to get out. I was planning to kill him myself. We had it all worked out...Bill Jenkins and myself. But, one of the others found us out that night in the church. I took care of him before he could escape. But, I couldn’t put my family in anymore danger, so I gave up the whole scheme. I’d planned to pay my debts and get out soon enough—” my father said with weary eyes. “Now, wait just a minute! You know who’s been runnin’ the Bandits all ‘round these parts? Who is he?!” exclaimed the Sheriff. Daddy turned slowly to face him. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but I can’t say. I may have made my deal with the Devil, but I’ll die before I see my family suffer his wrath.” “Daddy, please! Who is he? How can we save you or anyone else if you don’t say who put you up to all this!” I pleaded. “I’m sorry, but I won’t. Sheriff, I can give you some leads...places they were talkin’ about striking next...but that’s all.” Sheriff Briggs sighed with extreme disappointment. “Reverend, you do know you’ll be tried for this? You know it’s just not up to me, and, seein’ as you won’t help me, I can’t promise you’ll get any mercy from the folks in this town.” “I know...but I know I must face what I’ve done. Judgment day will come for us all, and mine has finally arrived.” “Oh, Daddy!” I couldn’t keep myself together. Tears streamed down my face as swiftly as Noah’s treacherous flood. Will still held me all the while, one arm wrapped around my shoulders. “Magnolia, please...tell your mother I need to speak with her as soon as 31
possible,” his voice cracked. “And, Will...look out for Maggie and Thomas, while I’m here. I can’t protect them anymore, and I need you to keep them safe,” he turned back to me. “I’m so sorry sweetheart. I’m so sorry...” My father never got the chance to explain to my mother. She was in no state to speak with him that day, too angry and devastated to face her beloved husband. That night, my father was killed in cold blood. He was found on the floor of his cell, a bullet straight through the chest. Will wouldn’t let us see him until today. So, I lay awake most nights, the image of his fresh corpse left to my dark imagination. It is nothing like the clean shaven, well-dressed man lying in the casket before me. No one in this room will ever know what truly happened...my father’s sin. Will convinced Sheriff Briggs to leave his reputation intact, if not for his sake at least for mine. He has promised to marry me, and says he will look after us. I thank God for him each day. The story circulating the town is that my father was shot down on the road by one of the notorious criminals as he made his way back from town. I endured so many painful apologies. I wanted to scream above all the mournful murmurs, begging them for my father’s forgiveness. Instead, I kept up the lie, accepting their earnest condolences as I squeezed my mother’s hand tightly, and held Thomas close to my bosom. He could not know the truth. Someday, but not for quite some time. How do you tell a boy that he should be ashamed of his own father? As for the Bandits, well...they’re still out there somewhere. But, it has been some time since they showed themselves. Perhaps, they wait in the shadows, still wary of what my father was able to expose before that fateful night. But, if my father was right, they will surely come back around these parts to tie up loose ends. I lay awake most nights, my eyes fixed on the shotgun gleaming in the moonlight above my head. I pray that this town has seen the last of them. But, should that day come, let God’s will be done. Proverbs 11:21 “Be assured, an evil person will not go unpunished, but the offspring of the righteous will be delivered.”
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Third Place: Short Fiction
Dandy Man
Darren Defreitas “Dandy man! Dandy man! Come play with me!” The little girl cries out into the oval mirror in the cold dark corner of her mother’s boudoir, her tiny breath fogging up the mirror surface, each time she exhales. She stares blankly into the mirror at what appears to be her very own reflection, for a brief moment. She groans in disappointment, and pouts her rosy cheeks. The little lady then adjusts her cotton candy pink polka dot dress, she tightens her big red bow, and examines her thin white lacy socks. Her ginger hair resembles that of dangling red liquorice, and her eyes like two balls of bubble gum. What started out as an urban legend quickly became a nationwide sensation. The “Dandy man challenge” has infected the nation like an unnamed contagious disease. The challenge has made waves from the hustle and bustle of the big city to the slow and tranquil countryside of Honeydew village. The instructions were quite simple; Step one, find a full length mirror anywhere in the house, hand mirrors and bodies of water do not qualify as many have discovered. Step two, as you stare into your reflection, you will then close your eyes, and utter the words “Dandy man Dandy man where are you?” And step 3...The fun begins. As ludicrous as this all sounds, some people believe that this may merit some truth. You see, the dandy man challenge has a preference. As it works out, the challenge itself has no effect on adults or the adolescence, but apparently it only works on young children. Oddly enough, there had been a long streak of deaths and disappearances involving young children in Honeydew village, as of recent. Coincidentally, these unfortunate events started happening around the time the Dandy man challenge was conceived and took the land by storm. The realm of superstition has always been a prominent theme in this quiet rural town. Mrs. Pickle Pocket swears on her life that her son’s abrupt death was no random act of misfortune. According to police reports, one day, young Charlie decided to shoot himself in the head with his father’s gun. Poor thing, he was only ten years old. “It was that demon! I know it was! The Dandy man!” Mrs. Pickle Pocket insists profusely. Needless to say, she’s spending her days at the town mental asylum. Mr. Teacup also noted that prior to the death of his late daughter Sally, she asked him the question; “Who is Mr. Dandy man?” to which he proceeded to undermine her. Young Sally Teacup’s body was found floating in the waters of Honeydew lake, shortly afterwards. Anyway I digress. 33
This is the story of a little girl named Loli whom, one day, became bored, and longed for a new friend to play with. Loli spins around in order to make a rapid exit, when she is interrupted by a low frequency, reptilian-esque voice. Sort of what you’d expect a talking snake to sound like. “Well, hello there, little girl.” The little girl comes to a sudden halt. She looks around sheepishly in a bewildered fashion, her mouth opened in the shape of an “O.” “Psssst, over here!” the eerie voice alerts. She turns to the dark corner of the room, and is face to face with the mirror. To her surprise, there is a figure lurking where a reflection should have been. In the mirror stands what appears to be a humanoid creature whose skin is as pale as snow, his facial features sharp like the edge of a katana. He had a long, witch-like nose, animal-like ears, and a stern jaw line. His piercing, golden eyes were engulfed in purple, smokey eye shadow, and his thin lips painted with glossy, black lipstick. He licked his lips eagerly, revealing a long serpentine tongue and razor sharp teeth. He sported a purple elf like outfit along with red and black striped leggings. Around his neck laid an oversized ruff and he also wore large purple fool’s cap. His nails were long and grotesque, slightly resembling that of eagle claws. In one of his hands he held three multi-coloured helium balloons. He gives her a piercing glare, and winks seductively. “It’s nice to meet you, what’s your name?” the creature inquires. “Umm — my mommy says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” she retorts as she slowly makes her way back to the mirror. “Stranger? Who me?” the creatures asks sarcastically. “I’m not a stranger... I’m your friend...Dandy man. You called me here didn’t you?” asks Dandy man. “I didn’t think you were real” The little girl states bluntly. He looks at her, and attempts to give a warm smile, a dark aura emerging from the mirror. “Well...I’m real, and I’m your friend,” says Dandy man. “My friend?...I love friends!” the little girl replies excitedly. “My name is Loli, it’s nice to meet you!” Loli adds. “Loli, I love you...do you love me?” asks Dandy man. “Of course, I do! Because you’re my new friend!” Dandy man smiles triumphantly and starts cackling involuntarily. He suddenly reaches forward and his two dimensional form starts to become three dimensional, as he propels himself into the real world. His long dark form emerges from beyond the mirror world, and begins take forth into the dark bedroom. Now that he is no longer standing in the mirror, he appears to be even larger than initially thought, towering to over seven feet in height. Loli examines intently, for a moment. Finally, she blurts out “Wow you’re so tall!” Dandy lets out a sly smirk. He looks down at the young girl eagerly, like a predator about to strike. Loli’s eyes dart to the mirror, then back to Dandy man, oblivious of his menacing gaze. “Are you magical?!” she asks elatedly. Dandy man gasps overdramatically, with is free hand to his chest. “How did you know? You’re a clever one, aren’t you?” he replies. 34
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“Thanks! My mommy says I’m really smart, even though I’m not like the other kids,” she informs him matter-a-fact-ly. Dandy man takes a calculative pause. He then slowly leans in close to her face. “Is mommy or daddy around right now?” the man inquires in a low, quiet voice. “I don’t have a daddy, and mommy went to work!” Loli replies automatically. “Mommy said don’t open the door for any strangers,” she continues. “So you’re all alone here? By yourself? You poor thing.” Dandy man replies sardonically. “It’s okay! I can look after myself, Mr. Dandy man! Honest! Imma big girl! Really!” Loli says. “Oh, but you must be so hungry,” says Mr. Dandy man in a low voice. “Uum —“ says Loli, before she is interjected “Don’t worry, I can give you something to chew on...I promise you’ll feel so...much...better, my sweet Loli,” says the man. “Sit down on the bed, and close your eyes, and promise me you won’t open them no matter what. Okay?” he continues. “Okay!” says innocent Loli, as she complies, covering her eyes with her small hands. The tall man saunters through the bedroom, humming a whimsical tune, in search of an item. He rustles through the dark room, searching intently, while Loli covers her eyes with a big smile on her face. Loli loves surprises! “Can I open them now, Mr. Dandy man!?” asks Loli. “Not yet” he replies as he rummages through the bedroom. As Dandy man searches the bedroom of this unknown woman, an odd sensation comes over him. There’s something about this mysterious dark room that he finds both comforting and jarring, but he can’t seem to put his finger on it. Eventually, he discards the thought. Finally, Dandy man emerges. His broad shadow engulfs the young girl. “Alright...you can open your eyes now,” he indicates. “One, two, three, go!” she yells as she shoots her eyes open. “Huh? What’s this....?” Loli asks, as she is faced with Dandy man’s opened, animal like palms together. They are stretched out right in front of her, and within his palms lay a wide assortment of pills and pellets. To the adult eye it’s obvious that most of them appear to be various medications; birth control pills, pain killers, antidepressants, and vitamins, way too many to be taken all at once. Sprinkled in is one more secret ingredient; rodenticide for that extra kick! “They’re jelly beans!” Dandy man exclaims exuberantly. “What!?” replies Loli. “Those aren’t jelly beans, silly!” she adds. “Oh, but they are. Have a taste, how about the blue one (rodenticide)?” Dandy man suggests. Loli starts to giggle like the school girl she is. “NO! You’re so silly!” Loli manages to reply through her laughter. Dandy man clenches his teeth, and scowls furiously. “Why won’t she eat the damn thing!? he thinks to himself, as he growls in frustration under his breath. 35
“But they’re so delicious, look,” he says as he props a handful of them in his death trap excuse for a mouth. He starts chewing, crunching them loudly. He swallows in one big gulp. He licks his black stained lips, and moans in false ecstasy. “Disgusting!” he thinks to himself. “Delicious!” says Dandy man exclaims in real life. Loli gives him an intrigued glare, and he smiles at her. He then transports the “jellybeans” from his hands to her hers. “Hmmmmmm...” she utters as she looks are her small hands delegating. “I guess one won’t hurt!” she says as she picks out one of the blue jelly beans. Loli opens her mouth, and tilts her head slightly to enjoy her ever so tasty snack. “Aaaah” she utters “Oh....yess~” Dandy man moans victoriously, his eyes wide open as the blood vessel in the whites of his eyes protrude, his grotesque jaw left wide open as his salivary glands imitate an irrigation system Just as Loli is about to ingest the candy imposter, she suddenly stops like a car after pulling the emergency brakes. Dandy man is flabbergasted. “What!? What’s wrong?” he asks, flustered. “I can’t believe I almost forgot!” says Loli. “I already had lunch,” she informs. Dandy man approaches “That’s okay! You can still-” “Mommy says it’s bad for little girls to eat too much,” Loli interrupts. “WHY YOU LITTLE BITCH!” Dandy man screams internally. Suddenly, one of the three helium balloons bursts with a loud “pop.” Loli looks at the remnants of the balloon, and doesn’t react. “Oh well!” she says as she walks away. “That little! It looks like this is going to be a little harder than I thought,” says Dandy man. He smirks. “No problem.” Dandy stops to analyse the situation, he knows that he only has two more chances. He has never once failed to snatch an innocent life, and he’s not about to start now. Especially to that mentally challenged little runt! Loli had always known that she was a different from all the other kids in school. The way she walked, the way she talked, how sometimes her fellow classmates were unable comprehend the words that left her shiny lips. Needless to say, she was never able to make any friends. The children would constantly demonize poor Loli. Whoever came up with the notion that children are innocent and absolved of all sin couldn’t be more delusional. Little kids are devils! They specialize in being a pain in the ass and being obnoxious. Loli was eventually removed from the school, due to an incident. Her mother pulled the plug. Loli’s mother, her one only friend in the world was always a beacon of hope and a safe haven for Loli. Her mother taught her everything that she knew. Loli’s earliest memories revolve around her and her mother (mainly her mother) cooking a storm in the kitchen. She’d marvel at how she was pretty much able to create absolutely anything! It was like magic! She’d swirl the ingredients around, wafting the air with a sweet or savoury scent. Every now and then, her mother would hand her an ingredient so that she may add it to the concoction. Loli’s benign eyes would light up, thrilled to be a part of the creative process. Seeing her 36
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mother work her magic was like being transported to another dimension. “Mommy, I wanna be just like you when I grow up,” to which the cherry lipped woman would nod silently and grin in approval. Loli decided to go downstairs of the two story house. The house itself is made out of wood, and is what most people would consider old fashioned. It is situated in a Midwestern rural area. Surrounding the abode, are lush green meadows that stretch on for miles and fairy tale like forests. Loli is in the living room, and appears to be writing gibberish in a book as kids do. The living room’s sofas are still covered in that clear wrapping that repel all who try to sit on them. There is also a large TV stand, where, accompanied by an old television, are an assortment of animal ornaments and figurines, which serve no purpose other to sit there look pretty. Loli is laying on a velvet rug, and appears to be writing and drawing away, as if she has completely forgotten about Mr. Dandy man’s existence. She is humming a familiar tune. The large predator emerges from upstairs, his eyes glued to his prey. He moves forward, ever so slowly, careful not to alert the prey’s attention. Closer... and closer...and closer...and closer...then suddenly! The predator strikes! *Thump.* Mr. Dandy man lightly pokes the little girl’s forehead. “Hey!” cries Loli. “Tag, You’re...it~” Dandy man says coyly, before he runs off. Loli is activated! She springs into action! She begins to chase Mr. Dandy man all over the house. Dandy man uses his long legs to his advantage, and eludes his young pursuer at every corner. His running sort of resembles that of a giant, two legged spider. Loli trips and fumbles around, nearly knocking over various articles of furniture including a vintage clock. Miraculously, however, not a single item succumbs to the allure of gravity. Mr. Dandy man as a result is made to ride an emotional roller coaster! “That little bitch has the devils luck!” he howls to himself. “I’m gonna catch you, Mr. Dandy man! Just you wait!” challenges Loli, as she leprechauns her way through the furniture obstacles. “Is that so?” he retorts. Suddenly, Dandy makes a sharp turn straight up stairs as Loli automatically follows in hot pursuit! He quickly manoeuvres his way into her bed room, his movements like a ghost. The walls of the bedroom are girly, sparkly and pink. This place is clearly crawling with cooties. There are hearts and glitter plastered all along the walls. The floors are made up of white and black checkered tiles resembled that of a chess board. Her bed is child size, and on it lay an audience of stuffed animals. And draped above them is a black mosquito net. There are also stuffed animals and porcelain dolls littering on the floor of the bedroom. As Dandy man takes a moment to observe the room, he realizes that he is gradually becoming more and more unnerved. He then realizes that the stuffed animals on the bed aren’t arranged randomly, and that, strangely enough, because this, they resemble human beings. 37
“Ugh...Gross....” What’s odd is that the stuffed animals on the floor are arranged to make it look like they are indeed sitting on a chess board. It’s as if they’re staring directly at him, like they’re trying to communicate to him an important message. “...What the heck.” “Aha!” enters Loli. “Now I’ve got you right where I want you!” she announces as she spreads her arms out in front of the bedroom door, sealing off his only exit. Dandy lets out a playful grin. “You’ll never take me alive!” are his last words before he jumps out of an open window of the two story building. He spirals and somersaults in mid-air. It’s a brilliant display of aerial acrobatics beyond human capability. He lands with a loud *crack,* as it sounds as if every single bone is his body is shattered. Dandy man nonchalantly stands up, and adjusts his seemingly disfigured body, twisting and turning his limbs back into place. “Wow....cool!” Loli says. “Well?” Dandy man replies. “Well what?” Loli asks. “It’s your turn,” he says as he motions to the carpet of grass. Loli stops and inspects the ground in front of her. “I dunno, that looks pretty far down,” Loli replies. “It’s not THAT far down my dear, I promise,” Dandy man reassures. “Look, I jumped, and I’m just fine, see?” he adds as he makes his body parts visible for inspection. “Um,” Loli replies. Dandy man becomes frustrated. “That little bitch is wasting my damn time! Hurry up and jump already, you little brat,” the evil creature thinks to himself. “My sweet Loli, Won’t you jump?” says the predator in a kind, disingenuous voice. “I’m...scared” Loli replies nervously. “Oh, no, don’t be scared, my dear sweet Loli~” Dandy man reassures. Loli remains reluctant to comply. Dandy man fumes in internal anger. “How about this, why don’t you jump down, and I promise good ole’ Mr. Dandy man is gonna catch ya!” Suddenly her eyes light up. “Really?!” she asks with great enthusiasm. “Oh...yes, my darling~” he replies in a sultry manner. “Okay!” says the innocent little girl. “Now I have you!” he assures under his breath. His eyes and mouth wide open in anticipation. Just as the little girl is about to throw herself out the window, she stops in her tracks. “Wait a minute!!!” “What what! WHAT!?” Dandy man replies all riled up. “I just remembered that my mommy said that it’s not lady like to jump out the window — I use to that that all the time down stairs! She’d get so mad, and yell at me!” Loli explains. 38
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“But!” says Dandy man before Loli interjects. “No buts!” says Loli as she giggles. “Don’t worry Mr. Dandy man, I’m gonna be a good girl, and come downstairs, and use the front door! Be right back!” Loli continues, she then disappears into the two story building. “That little runt —” says Dandy man. *Pop* goes the second balloon. “Dammit!” he curses. “Only one more chance.” He looks at the last balloon nervously, then back at the house. “You won’t escape me, little girl.” he vows with a fierce, determined look in his eyes. The demon re-enters the house only to find Loli dabbling in her little book once again in the living room. The television buzzes a familiar tune, in the background. Dandy man becomes livid! “That little bitch really just forgot about me! Such a dumb stupid little girl! I CAN’T EVEN!...Your death will give me such monumental joy!” he proclaims internally. “Attention residents of Honeydew, this in an emergency announcement.” The television grabs both their attention. “A tornado is fast approaching, and will be upon us in less than an hour, all residents, please, remain indoors during this time and”-CLICK- The television suddenly switches off. “Oh my goodness sweet Loli! Did you hear that!?” exclaims Dandy man. “There’s a tooorrrnaaddooo oh my god a tooornaadooo!” he adds exuberantly with the TV remote hidden behind his back “Um, yeah,” Loli replies unenthusiastically. “Isn’t it wonderful!?” the demon screams! “We’re gonna have so much fun my dear!” “How is it wonderful? The tornado’s gonna mess everything up. That’s terrible,” argues Loli. “Tornadoes are bad!” “My dear sweet Loli~ Have you ever seen a tornado?” Dandy man inquires. “Well, of course not, they’re dangerous,” he little girl replies. “How do you know that when you’ve never even actually seen one in real life?” Dandy man asks. The little girl stops and contemplates. “Isn’t it ridiculous to judge someone before you’ve even met them? You wouldn’t like it if someone did that to you, now would you?” he adds. “No I wouldn’t like that at all, especially if they think I’m a bad girl.” says Loli. The demon smiles victoriously. “Exactly! Sweet Loli, won’t you come ‘meet’ the tornado with me? I promise it’s not dangerous at all~” “Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm-” The delegation goes on for what feels like an eternity for the demon. The blood vessels in his eyeballs pop in anticipation. “Okay!” she finally says with a cheery smile. The demon finally relaxes, “Alright let’s go.” The sky has been engulfed by a miasma of dark purple clouds. Thunder and lightning burst and crackle through the air ferociously. The wind spins and 39
swirls and spirals, reaching ungodly speeds. The clouds gather and accumulate, adorning the dancing angel with a nimbus crown. The angel of death, large and certainly charged, looms in the distance, asserting its dominance by ravaging the open meadows of Honeydew village. Foreign objects can be seen being hurled in circles within the fickle grasp of the tornado; trees, pieces of houses, even animals! It’s a supernatural disaster! “Wow,” says the little girl. “Isn’t it beautiful?” the creature asks. “Yes it looks so...magical.” “Why don’t you jump in it?” the demon casually suggests. He then pauses, awaiting an answer from the little girl, but she doesn’t reply. “Doesn’t it just look like so much fun, see? The trees and the grass, they’re dancing! They’re so happy! They’re having so much fun!” Won’t you join them?” he continues. There is another long pause as Loli refrains from answering the question. She doesn’t even make eye contact, and continues to stare at the tornado indifferently. The frustration level has almost reached the boiling point. The anger had been building and festering within him the entire morning, but he’s kept his composure in order to lead this poor, innocent little girl to her demise. He suddenly has the overwhelming urge to grab the little girl by the shoulders, and rip her to shreds himself, but, of course, he cannot do that. It’s against the rules. However, this demon has allowed his temper to get the best of him. Dandy man looks at the underage girl dead in the eyes. “Did...you...hear... what...I said? I...said...jump... in...the...tornado...NOW,” he whispers to her as if she’s a child, which she is! There’s a long pause, then finally. “No,” she responds in a monotone voice. The demon is shocked. “What?” “I...said...no,” Loli repeats, just as monotone as before. “Why...not?” Dandy man whispers, infuriated. “Because if I do that, the tornado’s gonna pick me up...It’ll wiggle me around...and then...it’s gonna snap my neck in two, and it’s gonna break every single bone in my body, and then I’ll be dead,” Loli informs with a smile. The third and final balloon pops. The demon has failed miserably. However, he’s so taken aback by what the little girl had just said that he’s not able to process his failure. He’s absolutely floored. The creature stares at the little girl, in disbelief. “But that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it?... Because you’re a demon...and you want to swallow my soul...isn’t that right?” The little girl begins to smile. The demon gasps. “You mean —” “Of course, I knew! I wasn’t born yesterday!” the mysterious little girl interrupts. “Honestly, did you really think you could kill me?” Loli begins to laugh like an absolute maniac. Dandy man is astounded. “Just what the hell are you!?” he demands “Aww my sweet...Mr. Dandy man...are you afraid of me? There’s no need to be scared, I’m your friend remember? I love you.” 40
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She begins her approach slowly. “Stay the hell away from me!” he commands. “Oh my!” Loli giggles. “So you’ve been toying with me this whole time! You wretched child! How dare you make a mockery of me!” exclaims Dandy man. “Well, you were supposed to be my new toy for the day, even though sometimes I did get bored of you,” Loli informs. The demon is speechless. He gazes as the little girl that he believed was so dumb and so innocent turns into a monster right before his very eyes. He tries to think back to all of the things that were amiss. The weird feeling he felt in the room with the mirror, the way Loli’s toys were arranged like a satanic ritual, the way the dolls appeared to be looking directly at him, they were so life like and longing, the way she would always go back to that book...That book....That book. As Dandy man snaps back into reality, he realizes that even now, the little girl is still holding That Book. “Hmm, I wonder what I should do to you now...”says Loli, as she slowly flips through the pages of the mysterious book. “If I just let you go to whence you came, you’re just gonna keep preying on little girls like me, and we can’t have that now, can we?” The mysterious book resembled that of a child’s diary. However this was certainly just not any ordinary diary. The book is pink, and it’s adorned with golden accents and covered glitter, floral prints, and silver sparkles. The one small detail that Dandy man didn’t notice was the red pentagram drawn down the spine of the book. “What the heck is that?” the demon asks. “Don’t tell me that’s a--” “It’s a spell book,” the little girl states bluntly. “Y-y-you’re a witch!?” asks Dandy man. For a brief moment, the atmosphere becomes dead silent. Loli grins. “Buillay Bagaii La.” Suddenly, a ferocious flame springs forth from the occult book, and engulfs the demon, in one fell swoop. An agonizing shrill erupts from Dandy man’s lipstick stained lips. His clothes and flesh subliming into the wind. His arms flail vigorously like a bird flapping its wings desperately trying to take flight. The smell of burning flesh oozes through the air, and an insane prepubescent laugh vibrates through the open field. The little girl laughs and laughs and laughs, while the predator screams in excruciating pain. A second spell has been cast. “Mommy, mommy, aren’t you proud of me?” asks Loli. Loli then hands over to the unknown woman a familiar looking white faced, purple clothed porcelain doll. “I’m so proud of you sweetie,” the mysterious woman says in a soft seductive voice. The woman is wearing a black, lacy dress, with a black pump. She’s also wearing a long sleeved fishnet top under her dress. as well as a long fishnet stockings. She’s wearing a soft smokey eye and cherry lip. Her long wavy red 41
hair is passed her butt, and her long, black nails look as sharp as daggers. Her skin is as white as snow. She gets up from a desk in her boudoir, and pats Loli’s head. “You’re such a good girl, you’ve saved all of the kids of Honeydew village,” the woman says. The little girl responds, “But, mommy, that’s not why I did it at all.” The woman smiles in amusement. “Why did you do it then?” “I was bored,” the little girl responds with a smile, as she hugs her new doll, its sharp, golden eyes so life like, while they shine in the light of the oval mirror.
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Inscape 2019
Kleptomaniac Grace Stumbaugh
One time, my teacher told me that if she had a dollar for every time she said my name during class, she would be rich, so I told her that’d be great, ‘cuz then she wouldn’t work at the school anymore, and I wouldn’t have to see her. I was in trouble, when I got home after that, because I think Mrs. Grey called my mom and snitched on me. Fourth grade was going rough. My teacher was mean and smelled like scrambled eggs, my best friend moved the year before, and my new best friend was boring, and we were forced to write everything in cursive. But it was mainly hard, because I liked to steal. It’s not like I was some criminal that wore black ski masks and robbed from art museums, I just liked to take small things that I found interesting. You see, people don’t like people who steal, so that’s why most of my classmates didn’t like me. Nobody wanted to sit with me at lunch, because they thought I’d steal their dessert. They did take a pretty darn long time to eat it. I had found a fancy name for myself. I was playing Sims 3, one night, and I made a Sim that had ‘Kleptomaniac’ as a trait. That Sim stole everything, and ended up having no friends, because of it, so I decided that’s what I was. A kleptomaniac. I stole a garden gnome from my neighbors, one time, and my mom found out, and made me go apologize. That was really embarrassing. She told me that stealing is against the Seventh Commandment, and that I was also breaking the Fourth, which is ‘honor your father and mother.’ So I asked which commandment says ‘don’t be a mean jerk to your daughter,’ and I got sent to my room. I decided that I was tired of being in trouble all the time, I wanted to actually have some friends, and I also wanted to go to heaven, so I solemnly swore that I was done stealing. For good. When I made that promise not to steal anymore, it was on a Saturday, and I decided that you can’t make a promise to change your life on a weekend. You have to do it on a Monday, so you can start completely fresh. I knew I only had two more days to steal before I would stop. Then I realized you can’t steal on a Sunday because that’s God’s day, and He asks us specifically not to sin on Sunday’s. I think. So there I was on a Saturday, trying to figure out if I could manage to steal something before the next day. I called my best friend to see if I could come over to her house. Her mom answered the phone. “Hello?” “Hi, this is Pennie. Is Olivia home?” “Oh...Hi, Pennie. She is. Do you need something?” “Yeah, can I come over?” “Well, Olivia is practicing piano right now. She is playing a piece in church tomorrow, and really needs to perfect it,” (Mrs. Jackson was always bragging about Olivia as if she were some great piano player. She was only alright at it.). “Mrs. Jackson, I could come over and listen to her play. I really wanna. I’m bored out of my brains here.” “Pennie...” 43
“See you soon!” I hung up the phone, and got my shoes on. I yelled to my mom that I was going to Olivia’s house. She never said no to me going to her house, ‘cuz she thinks Olivia is a good influence on me. Yeah, right. If Olivia was an influence on me, I would turn into a boring, prissy girly-girl. She’s my best friend, though. I walked to Olivia’s house, and it kind of took a while, because they lived in the richy part of town. I rang her doorbell, which was super fancy and gold. I could hear Olivia playing her dumb old piano behind the door. “Helloooo. Anyone home?” I yelled. Finally, Mrs. Jackson answered the door. When she saw me, she let out a sigh, and said, “Come in, Pennie.” She was annoyed. Olivia was getting up from the piano. “Hello, Pen, I didn’t know you were coming over.” She got up all properly, and smoothed out a gross pink dress. Why was she always wearing dresses? “Yeah well, I’m here. So whatcha wanna do?” I asked. “Mom bought me a new jigsaw puzzle of the Colosseum in Italy. We should totally work on it!” “Bleck. Let’s go play cops and robbers in the backyard.” “I can’t, this is a new dress, and I can’t go outside in it.” “Change it, then.” She looked sad and all, when I said that, so I told her we should just play with the American Girl Dolls in her room. That made her happy. I’m not so good at playing with dolls, ‘cuz I always have them running around naked or I try to make them fight each other; and that gets Oliva real upset, ‘cuz she just likes doing fashions shows with them, and gets all squeamish when she sees them naked. They’re just dolls, for pete’s sake. They don’t even have boobs. We had been playing with the American Girl Dolls for a while, and I was getting bored of listening to Olivia talk in her fake doll voice. I heard some noise that sounded like paper being crumpled, and I got kinda spooked out ‘cuz I didn’t know where it was coming from. “Olivia, there’s a ghost in your room, let’s get outta here.” I said. “No, Pennie, it’s my pet mouse Algernon running around his cage.” “Alger-what? Who keeps a mouse as a pet?” I thought of that time my uncle showed me how he feeds his python dead mice. I wondered what it would look like eating a live one... “Mice are popular pets. He’s very soft. Would you like to pet him?” “Well duh,” I said. We got up, and went over to a cage in the corner. A puny little mouse was runnin’ all over the place like crazy, making the noise that I heard earlier. Olivia opened the cage, and stuck a seed through the opening. The little mouse took the seed and began to nibble on it, with its tiny front teeth. “Wow, that’s really cool,” I said. “I wish I had a mouse.” Mice really don’t like being in pockets, and I found that out when I tried to take Olivia’s home with me. It kept trying to jump out, so I would have to jam my hand in there to get it to calm down, and I felt bad for doing that, ‘cuz I was probably hurting it. I thought, maybe, if I gave it a seed, it would chill out a little 44
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bit, but it bit my finger instead. Man, it hurt, even though its teeth were teeny. I think I squeezed the poor thing a bit too hard, and it probably didn’t help that I dropped it right on the concrete, because, when I went to pick it up, it wasn’t moving. I remembered the dead mice my uncle fed his snake, and figured I could just save it for when we were going over there in a couple weeks, but then I thought of Olivia and how she’s probably wondering where her mouse went, and, if I could just go back, and stick it in the cage, she’d think it died a natural death or something. I turned around and went back to Olivia’s door. I knocked, and her mom answered, but I didn’t wait for her to say hi or anything I just told her I forgot my jacket in Olivia’s room, and shoved past her. But I hadn’t even brought a jacket in the first place. “Hi, Olivia, I forgot my jacket in here,” I said. She looked at me with a worried face. “I can not find Algernon. I’ve looked everywhere and he knows not to run away,” she was crying. “Mice don’t know anything,” I said ‘cuz it was true. “Their brains are the size of raisins.” This really made her upset, so her crying got louder, and she started doing this weird thing where she took a lot of small deep breath,s and, when she tried to talk, she couldn’t, so I just stood there and looked at her feeling kinda bad. She left the room, probably to tell her mom to buy her a new mouse. I made sure she was gone before shoving the mouse back in its cage, and brushing some paper over it. Next time she should get something nice that doesn’t bite people, maybe like a lizard or something. I speed-walked to the door, and yelled, “Ok guys, found my jacket, see ya later.” That was a close call. I was seriously done stealing. When I got to school on Monday, Olivia wasn’t sitting at our usual table. There was only me and Tim who picks his nose but pretends like he’s just scratching it. She had moved to the popular girl’s table. She looked at me with mean eyes so I went over to ask her, what was up. “Why did you move seats?” I asked. “I know you killed Algernon, Pennie!” she said. She was about to cry. The popular girls were standing all around her, trying to comfort her. They were giving me rude looks. “Can I help you?” I asked, in a really sassy voice. “I can’t believe you murdered her poor mouse,” one of them said to me. “I didn’t murder your stupid mouse, Olivia! It probably died of boredom from living with you!” I screamed. Our teacher, Mrs. Grey, came in, right after that, and told me to go sit down. I stomped over to the table with Tim. “Get your finger out of your nose, you sicko!” I demanded. “I’m just scratching it!” he said. “I’m just scratching it,” I mocked. Since Olivia and I weren’t friends, I really didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to be friends with anyone else. I sat alone at lunch like a loser. Even though Olivia was a priss, she was my only friend, and I kinda missed her. During sci45
ence class, Mrs. Grey told us that we were going to have to make a project on something we’d learned about so far in the year. Then she said it’d be with someone else, and that we’d have to pick partners. That was just terrible timing, because Olivia and I had just become not-friends. Before I could even look around to see what my options were, I felt someone put their hand on my shoulder so I whipped back, and saw Jasmine standing behind me, smiling. “Hey, Pennie. Wanna be partners?” she asked, all happy. “Me?” I asked with my eyebrows all the way at the top of my head. Jasmine was kind of popular, and we had never even talked before. Maybe this was some sick joke so I asked: “Is this some kind of sick joke?” “No, Pennie, I just need a partner. And I have the best idea for the project,” she said. Right after she said this, our teacher told us that the best project got a prize. “Game on.” For the next couple of days, Jasmine sat by me, even though Tim was with us. I told her that he says he’s scratching his nose when he’s actually picking it, and that she might not wanna sit with us. She told me that maybe he actually is just scratching it. She was trying to be nice, because I’ve seen what comes out of there, and she could too if she would check under the table where he sat. One day during our snack break, Jasmine asked me if I wanted to come over and work on the science project with her. I had a mouthful of a cosmic brownie, and, when I asked where she lived, I accidentally spat some in her hair. I was about to say sorry, but she just brushed it right out like nothing happened, and told me that she lives on the corner by the old church that they turned into a cafe. “My mom thinks they shouldn’t turn churches into other things. She says it makes God mad.” “Yeah, I think it might be a sin, but have you had their cinnamon rolls? They’re amazing.” “No, I’ve never even been in there before.” “Well, when you come over this weekend to work on our volcano we should totally go get some!” “Wait. Volcano?” I asked. “Oh, shoot!” she said, and then her voice got really low like she had a secret. “I forgot to tell you, but we’re going to make a volcano for our project,” she said. “How the heck are we going to do that?” I asked. I had never heard of someone making a volcano. “Where will we get lava?” “You don’t need real lava, you just need some ingredients and some science,” she said. I wasn’t really sure, but it felt like we were becoming friends. I wonder if she knew about my stealing problem. That Saturday, Jasmine called my house, ‘cuz I gave her our number, and she asked my mom if she could drive me to her house to work on the project. My mom said yes. When my mom got off the phone with her, she grabbed some vinegar and baking soda from the cabinet. “What the heck is that for?” I asked. 46
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“Jasmine asked if we had any baking soda and vinegar that you guys could use for your little science project,” she said. I was confused. “How are we going to use that?” My mom looked at me with a smirk. “You’ll see.” Somehow, my mom knew what we were doing for our stinking project, and I didn’t. When she dropped me off at Jasmine’s house, I noticed it was a lot like ours. It was nice, but not as nice as Olivia’s. That made me think of Olivia and I got mad that she ditched me for those popular girls. I ran up her steps and started knocking on the door, but, before I could even finish knocking like three times, she opened it, and grabbed my hand. “C’mon, let’s go to the kitchen, my mom has a surprise for us!” She dragged me through a hall to her kitchen table where there were huge cinnamon rolls waiting. “Holy moley!” I said. “Those are the biggest cinnamon rolls I’ve ever seen!” I said, super excited. “Yeah, I know, and they’re so freaking good!” she said. We ate one, and I asked if I could have another, but Jasmine said that we should really get to work on our project. She left the table to go into her pantry, and brought out a bag of grey powder. “What’s that for?” I asked. “This is going to turn into the clay that we’re using to make our volcano. Just add water.” She got a big bowl, and poured some of the powder into it. “Now for the fun part. Grab that cup, and fill it up with water, then come and dump it in here.” I did what she told me, and, when I dumped the water into the bowl of powder, she stuck her hands in, and started squishing it around. It was turning into clay. I stuck my hands in as well, and we started mixing it until it was solid. We ended up taking the clay out, and molding it into the shape of a volcano, but with a hole through the middle. She grabbed the baking soda I’d brought, and poured it into the opening, and then I just stood there as she poured some vinegar in. “Watch this,” she said, and, right when she said that, the volcano shot up some white, fizzy stuff that got all over her table. “Whoa!” I yelled. I had never seen anything like that before, and she acted like she’d done it a million times. “Where did you learn to do that?” She just shrugged her shoulders, and said “YouTube.” After seeing that Jasmine was a science genius, hanging out with her at her house, and eating those cinnamon rolls, I decided that I wanted her to be my new best friend. But I had to know if she knew that I stole. Well, used to steal. I ended up asking her later that day, while we were watching TV in her living room. “So, how much do you know about me?” I asked. I realized that was kinda stupid to ask, so I just said, “actually, do you know that I had a stealing problem? Like, I don’t anymore, but everybody hates me, because I stole their stuff.” I’d never stolen from Jasmine. “Yeah, I think I heard that.” 47
“Then why do you want to be my friend? I’m the class weirdo.” “I don’t like my old group of friends,” she said, and I thought about the mean, popular girls at school who are now friends with Olivia. “They aren’t nice to anyone, and I decided that I don’t want to be a part of “them” anymore. I had never even talked to you before, so I started by asking you to be my partner. And now look at us. We’re becoming friends.” “Don’t you think I’m going to steal stuff from your house?” I asked. I hadn’t. Also, I liked how she called us friends. “Well, no. Wait. You aren’t going to steal anything from my house, are you?” she asked, but she was joking. “No,” I said. “I made a promise to stop stealing, after I stole Olivia’s mouse, and it died.” “So you actually did do that?” “Yeah, but don’t tell a soul.” “I have an idea, Pennie,” she said. If there could have been a lightbulb lighting up over her head like in the cartoons, there would have. She got real excited, and turned to me, and said: “On the day that we show the class our project, after we present, you can stay up there, and apologize to everyone you stole stuff from!” she said. I thought it was kind of a lousy idea. “I can’t embarrass myself like that,” I said. “You won’t! You just apologize, say you’re starting fresh, and then you can have the chance to be friends with everyone!” She said this with a really big smile, and I didn’t want to make her upset, so I just said “okay,” and we went along watching TV. Before I was about to go home, she told me to think about her idea, and I told her I would. I might actually give it a try. The day we were presenting our project finally came around, and I wasn’t nervous to show the class our volcano, I was nervous because I had decided to take Jasmine’s advice, and apologize to everyone I’d stolen from. That turned out to actually be almost everybody in the class. I figured that I would do it, and, if people didn’t want to forgive me, then at least I could say I tried. But deep down, I think I wanted it to work. We were the last group on the list to present our project. Other people made replicas of the solar system and the water cycle, and the only project that came close to being as cool as Jasmine’s and I’s was Tony’s and Brett’s. They made a lightbulb turn on by touching a wire to some foil. They kept saying that their parents only helped a little bit, but we all knew that their parents totally did the whole thing for them. When it was our turn, we set the volcano down on the table, poured the baking soda and vinegar into it, and waited for it to explode. When it did, it went everywhere. It splattered on the table of kids in the front, got all over Mrs. Grey’s desk, and there were spots of it all over the floor. Mrs. Grey let out an ugly shriek which made everyone laugh, and the whole room smelled like vinegar. Mrs. Grey looked kinda mad, but she couldn’t get that mad, because she had to admit it was pretty cool. Before she could get up to go call the janitor, I blurted out: “I have an announcement to make.” Everyone got quiet, and looked at me, and I wasn’t even sure what I was 48
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gonna say, so I looked at Jasmine. She just smiled, and went and sat down. “So, I know everybody thinks I can never stop stealing, but I have. I promise to never steal again.” I looked at everyone, while I said this, and nobody was booing me or throwing tomatoes like they do in the movies, so I kept talking. Even Mrs. Grey sat and listened without butting in like she usually does. “I want to say sorry to Emilie for stealing your favorite pink pencil. Sorry to Jamal for stealing your halloween candy, and then blaming it on Mrs. Grey. Sorry to Jake, Tim, and Sasha for every dessert I took from you while you weren’t looking. And to anyone else I might have taken things from, I want to say that I’m sorry, and that it will never happen again.” After I said that, I looked up to see Olivia with a sad look on her face. This was going to be hard. “And to Olivia...” I was trying not to let tears fall from my eyes when I said this, so I started digging my nail into the skin on my hand to distract my brain or something. “I’m really sorry about your mouse.” And that was all I could say before I turned into a big, crying baby. A couple seconds later, Olivia walked up to me, and put her arms around me. “It’s alright, Pennie. I forgive you,” she said. I wiped snot from my nose onto my sleeve, and then on my jeans. “R-r-really?” “We all forgive you, Pennie.” I looked up. Jamal, who I had stolen a whole basket of halloween candy from, had said it. Once he said that, everyone around the room started nodding their heads, and saying that they all forgave me, and stuff. It all felt really good to hear. Even the popular girls were being kinda nice to me. Mrs. Grey had to ruin the moment by saying that it was very sweet of me to make a public apology, but we had to sit down so the class could move onto our math lesson. I went and sat down by Jasmine. “That wasn’t so hard, Pennie,” she said. “Yeah, you’re right. That felt good,” I said. “So, no more stealing?” she asked. “Yeah,” I said. “No more stealing.”
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From One to the Next Erin Schulz
The first thing she hears is all of the machines around her. This is how it normally happens. “Hospital,” she thinks to herself. She opens her eyes, and looks around. The TV is on, but she can barely hear what the announcers are saying...something about football. She can hear the nurses and doctors outside, but is alone in the room. Sitting up in bed, she sees a red bag sitting on the chair in the corner next to a window. She gets up, hoping no one will come into the room. Her head is throbbing with a headache. “What do I look like this time?” she asks quietly. She walks into the bathroom, takes a deep breath, and looks into the mirror. She has long, brown hair, piercing green eyes, is about 5’6, and looks to be somewhere in her teenage years. She hasn’t been a teenager since all of this started happening. It usually tends to be upper twenties to mid thirties. After looking in the mirror, she walks over to the red bag on the chair, and opens it. Inside is the usual stuff: a drivers license, money, a cell phone, and a phone number. The number was different every time. She looks out the window. The leaves are just starting to fall off the trees. “College football and changing leaves, must be fall,” she says quietly. She hears someone outside of her door. She puts the bag down, and runs back to the bed. She pulls the itchy, blue sheets up just in time to hear the three knocks on the door. “Come in!” she says. In comes a nurse, wearing the ugliest green scrubs she has ever seen, which says a lot. “Glad to see you are awake. I’m just going to look at a few things, and ask you some questions. Is that okay?” “Of course.” As the nurse starts to check the monitors, she starts asking her questions. “Do you know your name?” She is so thankful she woke up in time to check the drivers license. “Yes, it’s Layla. Layla Jackson.” The nurse smiles and continues, “Can you tell me how old you are and your birthday?” “I’m eighteen, and was born April 14th, 2000.” One time, she said the wrong year, and that caused all sorts of chaos. She never wants to do that again. The nurse writes down numbers, looking back and forth between pages. “Now, can you tell me how you got here?” “I’m not sure.” “That’s okay, that is normal for your situation. You were in a car accident, and hit your head.” Well, that explains the headache. She continues to talk, “No one else was hurt. You were alone in the car, and the other car fled the scene, after it happened. The police are still looking for them.” If only she could tell the police to give up, there was no other car. 50
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“You should start to get your memories back, within the next week. Just take the prescriptions we give you, and you will heal right up!” There is a knock on the door, a knock she had heared so many times. Without anyone responding, a man enters the room. “Hey, kiddo.” “Hey, dad.” “Hi, I’m Mike Jackson,” he shakes the nurse’s hand. “She can get cleaned up and then she is good to go sir! I’m so sorry you had to go through this. I really hope they catch the person responsible.” We both just smile, and she leaves the room. “I brought you some clothes.” He hands her black Converse, jeans, and a black long sleeved shirt, the usual look. “So, what name did they give you this time?” “They didn’t tell you?” “Had to come get you before they could fill me in.” “Layla Jackson, 18. They gave me your last name this time. How cool is that?” “Wow, it’s like I’m actually your dad.” “I mean, you basically are. You’ve been with me since this all started.” Mike smiles. “Hand me the phone, I gotta call in. The director will freak out, if I forget to call him.” He hands her the phone. “So how did the last mission go?” “Well, we made it to the house, and recovered the stolen item, but then one of their guys shot me in the head.” “Ah, head injury, probably why they went with the car accident.” She starts to dial the number on the paper, “Sometimes I wonder why the director keeps putting me in these missions. I just die.” “Well, as soon as he can find another person who turns into someone else when they die, I’m sure he will give you a break.” She smiles as she calls the director, “Hello sir, yes, Mike just got here. We are about to leave. We should be back to base shortly. Yes, I got the drivers license. Layla Jackson it is.” ——— “You were gone for five weeks. So do you want to start with pop culture or politics?” Mike asks with a smile. “Pop culture. I’m not ready for politics yet.” Layla listens to Mike, as he explains what has happened for the weeks she wasn’t alive...she still isn’t sure where she goes before she comes back. But Mike always picks her up once they find her, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Ever since all of this started, Mike has been like a father to Layla. Especially since she can never see her real father again. “Oh, and Justin Bieber finally got engaged.” “What? To Selena Gomez?” “Um no, some model I think.” Layla sits there, with her mouth open. Mike starts laughing, “Upset about that?” Layla just shakes her head in awe. 51
Mike continues to talk about other events, as they approach the base. It looks like any other office building, just filled with secret agents. Layla and Mike walk into the building, and Layla finally feels at home. Everyone is busy, either sitting at their computers or going over the next mission. Layla and Mike are heading to the director’s office, when they are stopped by Agent Dakota and some agent she has never seen. “Mike, wait, I’m glad I ran into you. I’m trying to find Peters, I got a newbie who is suppose to start training in forty-five minutes.” She points at the guy next to her. Layla looks at him, and instantly a feeling hits her. She isn’t sure what is happening, but it has something to do with this kid. Maybe, she has helped him before. No, it is something stronger than that. Whatever it is, he doesn’t feel it. He is just standing there, taking it all in. Layla can’t look away, but Mike shakes her a little, and she snaps out of it. Agent Dakota and the kid walk away. “Who was that?” Layla keeps turning around to look at him. “Just some recruited kid. I think he is twenty, youngest one since you. Why are you so interested?” Mike looks at her with a grin. “It’s not like that. I just, I think I have seen him before.” “You probably have in one of the fourteen other lives you’ve had. It’s not a big city.” “Yeah, I guess.” But Layla knows it’s something more than that. Mike and Layla finally make it to the director office. Layla thinks back to the first time she saw it, how intimidating it was. The office sat on the second floor, and there is a glass wall that makes it easy for the director to keep an eye on everything. The director is rarely in his office. He likes to be in the action, so he spends most of his time on the first floor with all the agents. “He must be running around down stairs.” Mike sits down in the office. “I guess we shall wait.” And just as he says that, the director walks into the office, “So sorry, hope you weren’t waiting long.” “Just got here, Director Thompson,” Mike says. “Glad to see you again, Agent Layla.” Director Thompson uses air quotes around the name Layla, knowing it’s not her real name. “You too, sir. Please, tell me that we got those men.” “Yes, they are all in prison, and we got the weapon back. But, like always, we couldn’t have done it without your sacrifice,” director Thompson says with the pep of a cheerleader. “So, what’s the next mission?” “Woah, slow down there kid. We don’t have much right now, so you get to lay low, for a while. I’m going to have you help out with training,” director Thompson says. “Training? Why do I have to-“ “I want them to learn from the best. Teach them everything you have learned.” “But I’m not the best. I just die and come back to life. How I am suppose to teach them that?” 52
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“Just have fun,” director Thompson says as Mike is laughing in the corner. “What are you laughing at?” Layla looks at Mike with an evil glare. “I just feel bad for these recruits. They aren’t gonna know what hit them. And, hey, maybe you can get to know that new kid some more.” Mike winks at Layla, and she stomps out of the office. ——— “Alright newbies, in a line now. You all will get paired with a lead agent. You will do everything your lead tells you to do. Your lead will help you train, explain different drills and protocols we have, and basically decide if you can handle being an agent. So, I suggest you listen to them. Unless you want to answer to me.” Peters loves giving this speech. He says he likes scaring the newbies. Layla is standing with six other agents waiting for their new “puppy dog,” as they are often referred to as. She is talking to some of the other agents, when she hears her name. “Agent Jackson, you have Murphy.” Layla feels that feeling again in her stomach, and she doesn’t have to look up to see who she got. It’s him, the kid from earlier. “Hi, nice to meet you. My name is Evan Murphy.” The feeling is even stronger, once he says his full name. He reaches out to shake her hand, and, when she shakes it, memories are rushed back into her brain. “You seem young, how are you already a lead?” But Layla can’t answer. So many things are running through her head right now. She smiles and excuses herself. The further she gets from Evan, the less pain she feels. She runs into her room, and starts pacing. She reaches into her desk, and pulls out a journal. The first time she woke up from dying, all she had was this journal, and barely any memories. But luckily for her, her first self kept this journal. And since then, Layla has made sure to keep one, so she could never truly forget her past selves. She starts flipping through, trying to find the name, Murphy. She starts with her most recent life and goes backwards. Lives fourteen-ten had no Murphy, and she was starting to lose hope. She can barely remember life fourteen, so there was no way it would be further back. But she keeps looking. Nine, eight, seven, and six, no Murphy. She was just reading for fun, now, giving up hope that the name means anything. Five, four, three, and two are short entries cause she was not the best agent back then, and she died pretty fast in those days. She makes it to life one. Her real life. She doesn’t read this one often, cause it makes her sad. It talks about her mom and dad and little brother. It talks about high school and her friends. It talks about her senior prom and going with the boy she liked and graduating. The sad thing about her first life is that she doesn’t know her name. But what high school girl thinks about putting her name down in a journal. It’s not like she could have guessed she would need to be reminded of her name. Layla is about to close the book, when she see one letter, E. She starts reading. E turned six today. Man, I can’t believe his has grown up this much. I got him a bunch of toy cars and trucks. He is obsessed with them. He thought it 53
would be funny to throw cake everywhere...lets just say, mom was not too happy about it. I may have joined in, throwing a piece or two. But now I have to go shower, I’ve got... “Blue frosting in my hair.” Layla whispers. She can picture this happening. She has never had memories this vivid before. She flips through more of the pages, and a picture falls out. She picks it up off the ground. It is a picture of a little boy and a little girl, and she always just assumed it was her and her brother. She flips it over, and it says “Evan’s 6th birthday”...could it be? Is Evan her brother? Suddenly, she hears a knock on the door. “Um, hey, did I do something wrong?” Evan is standing in the doorway. Layla doesn’t know what to do or what to say. Evan looks down at the picture in her hand. “I have a picture like that with my sister, but she is gone now. Can I see it?” Before Layla can react, Evan grabs the picture out of her hand. He is smiling, but that quickly fades once he can fully see the picture. “Wait, no. Why do you have this? This is me and Cameron. Did you know Cameron? Did you know my sister?” Evan starts to tear up. “Please...she was my best friend. I need to know. Were you friends?” He is begging for any information Layla will give him. “Cameron? Cameron Murphy?” Layla says with a smile. “That’s it. It sounds so natural. What was her middle name?” “Blaze, my parents wanted crazy nicknames. They said the nicknames would make us stand out.” Evan looks at Layla, confused as ever. “Cameron Blaze Murphy, I like that.” Layla looks at Evan and smiles. “I think I knew your sister once. What happened to her?” “That’s a good question. No one knows. She disappeared the summer after high school. The summer of 2011, just a few weeks after her eighteenth birthday. She is so smart, wanted to be in the FBI. She was all set to go to Brown after she graduated. Now that it’s been seven years, everyone has kinda accepted that she is dead. Even mom and dad gave up after year four.” “Everyone but you?” Layla asks, not looking at Evan. “When you talk about her, you use present tense.” “If I lose my hope, then she is really gone. I am the one person who still believes. I can’t give up on her. She wouldn’t give up on me. I am five years younger than her, but she is my best friend.” He looks down at his shoes. “So how did you know her?” “I’m pretty sure I went to high school with her. The name just sounds familiar.” They both just stand in the doorway, neither of them speaking. “So they are having the recruits learn the basics of the database in about an hour. But you are free until then, so you can go settle in.” “Okay, I’ll see you later, Agent Jackson.” Evan walks away, as Layla closes the door. As soon as she closes it, she drops to the floor, silently sobbing. Do I tell him? She doesn’t even know what to think right now. She could tell him, but what good would that do, she’s not his 54
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sister anymore. But, she wants to know more about her life and her parents. But like he said, they have accepted her death. It would just be cruel to bring it back up. She decides, for now, she will just keep it quiet. She might tell Mike, but not yet. She needs to process this herself. ——— “How old is this kid again?” Dakota asks looking at a young boy’s mug shot. “I’m not sure, I think thirteen. Hey, Murphy, wanna do me a favor?” “Do I have a choice?” Evan smiles and walks over to Layla. The past two weeks, she and Evan have become pretty close. But she still hasn’t told anyone about her secret. “Can you go to my room, and grab the file off of my desk?” “Yeah, of course.” Evan runs up to the rooming area, as Layla and Dakota look back at the computer. “Thirteen and we’re after him?” Dakota says. “Well we can only hope we have the story wrong. Who knows, maybe someone put him up to this.” They continue working for fifteen more minutes, when Dakota says, “Where is Murphy? He never came back.” “Hmm, maybe, he got caught up with something, I’ll go find him.” Layla gets up, and starts looking for Evan. She makes it all the way back to her room. “Hey, we’ve been waiting for you.” She looks at Evan, who is sitting at her desk, with something in his hand... something that isn’t the file. Evan looks up at Layla, with so many different emotions. “Why do you have this? This is hers. What happened to her?” Layla looks down at what he is holding, the journal. She can’t find any words, and tears start coming to her eyes. “Why do you have this?” Evan’s voice starts to raise and he stands up. Again, Layla stands there in silence. Evan walks over to her “Layla, why do you have this?” He is now screaming in her face. “I can explain” she says quietly, not actually sure if she can explain it. She closes the door, and sits on her bed. “You aren’t going to believe me, but I promise I am telling you the truth.” Evan’s face is bright red, and he looks like he is about to punch someone. “My name isn’t Layla, and, until I met you, I didn’t know what it was. A few weeks ago, I woke up in a hospital. I only had a few memories, but I remembered my protocol. I always remember my protocol. I get a new body and a new identity, every time I die. Mike picks me up, and I do another mission, where I will most likely die. But it’s always fine, ‘cause I wake up again in a new, living body. This is the fifteenth life I have lived. The first time I woke up, I didn’t remember anything and it was terrifying. Agent Mike came and got me, and explained it all. I had died. And when I woke up, I was a new person. It was some type of power, and the FBI was interested in it. He told me that I wouldn’t remember much from my old life, but that was normal. 55
“From that day, I have been here. I live here, and only know people in the agency. I get put on the most dangerous missions, cause I’m not a liability, since I just come back every time. I have never experienced memories of my old lives. I only have to journal to remind me, and it doesn’t help much. But then I saw you, and, when I first saw you, I got this weird pain in my stomach. Then I heard your name, and these pictures flooded into my head. Then you told me your sister’s name, my name. And I knew. I’m Cameron.” Layla smiles at Evan, who looks so confused. At least, he isn’t angry anymore. “I didn’t want to tell you, because I’m not really your sister anymore. I didn’t want to open any old wounds.” The clock ticks, and no one says anything. “Please, say something.” “What am I supposed to say? You just told me that you are my sister, and that you die and come back to life. But not just once, fifteen times.” Evan just continues to stare at his feet as he talks. “How am I supposed to believe you?” “Cameron, ask me things about Cameron that only she would know.” He thinks for a few seconds. “How old was Cameron, when I broke my arm?” “She was fourteen. You were nine. You and Cameron were riding your bikes when you biked over a pothole, and fell off. The cast was red, and Cameron was the only person you would let sign it.” “What was my fish’s name?” “You didn’t have a fish. You had a lizard named Hank.” “What was the password to get into my fort?” “There wasn’t a password. You wanted everyone to be invited.” “What was my best friend’s name in elementary school?” “Do you really want me to answer this one?” Layla asks with a smile. “Just answer it.” “His name was Sir Ferguson the Third. And he was invisible.” Evan’s eyes fill with tears. “One last question — why did you have to go? Why did you leave me alone?” Evan starts crying, truly believing she was once his sister. ——— Layla and Evan spend the rest of the night talking, and Evan fills her in on all her lost memories. For the first time since she can remember, Layla feels whole. “So I filled you in on your “first” life, so now it’s your turn. Tell me more about what you know.” “Umm, I guess I just know what the director could tell me. I drove to a trail by myself, and was on a hike, when, I guess, I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see. So, I was shot. Apparently, there were some FBI agents dealing with some criminal group, I don’t know the details. But, once I was shot, the FBI agents grabbed me, and brought me back to the base. They couldn’t let anyone know I was dead without spilling the mission, so I guess that’s why everyone thought I disappeared. I kinda did.” “Wait, they said you were hiking?” 56
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“Yeah, why do you sound so surprised?” “Layla, they are lying to you.” “What do you mean?” “Cameron hated hiking. She hated the outdoors.” “What are you saying?” “Did they say anything about an FBI tour?” “Umm, no why?” “Cameron was supposed do this tour thing, the day she went missing. According to the FBI, she never checked in.” Layla just looked at him. “Layla, I think they are lying to you.” Layla had no idea what to think, right now. What was Evan suggesting? “No, I think you are just thinking to much into it. The director has no reason to lie to me.” “Layla, think about it. They told you a completely different story. They even lied about Cameron’s car. If she drove to a trail to hike, which she would never do, then you would think her car would have been found at the trial right?” “I mean, yeah, I guess.” “Layla, Cameron’s car is in our garage. She didn’t drive it that day. She took the bus to the tour. They are lying to you.” “No Evan. No. Can you just leave? I’m tired.” “But Layla—“ “Evan. Leave.” “Okay, just promise me you’ll think about it.” Layla gets up, and opens the door for Evan to leave. He looks concerned, but he leaves. Layla just stands in her room, not sure what to do. Can she trust Evan? Why would he lie to her? She decides to go take a walk. The air feels nice, and it smells like fall. Layla walks over to a bench and sits down. She tries to ignore what Evan just said. I bet the director just mixed up the endings to one of my other lives with the ending of my first one. He would never lie to me. As she is sitting there, Director Thompson walks up to her. “Mind if I join?” he asks. “Not at all.” “So, why you out here tonight?” “This case,” she lies. “Ah yes, the case with the thirteen year old. Seems fishy, huh?” “Yeah, it really does.” “How are the recruits doing? I’m kinda nervous about this group. It’s the first time I let Mike bring in new people without my help. Hell, I don’t even know any of their stories.” “They are good. Very helpful.” “Good! Well, I’ll let you straighten out your thoughts. Goodnight, dear.” “Goodnight, sir. Wait, I have a question.” The director looks back at her. “How did I die in my first life? I can’t remember.” “If I remember correctly, you were shot.” Layla smiles, and looks down. She knew she could trust him. “You got caught in the cross fires at a robbery. 57
Yes, that’s what it was.” Layla looks up at him. “A robbery?” “Yes, at some gas station. Well, if that’s all, goodnight!” “Um, yeah, goodnight.” Layla waits until Director Thompson leaves, then sprints inside. ——— Layla isn’t sure what to believe any more. She runs to one of the computers, but she doesn’t even know what to look up. She types in the database “Layla Johnson.” But all that pops up is, “Director Access Only.” Why are her records private? She types in “Cameron Murphy.” Again, “Director Access Only.” She sits there, staring at the words, feeling a little defeated. She spins around in the chair, for a while, before she realizes what she needs to do. She jumps out of the chair, and runs up to the director’s office. Of course, it is locked, but Layla has become a pro at picking locks. After all, she is an agent. She walks in, and heads straight for his computer. She types in “Layla Johnson.” At first, it seems normal. A picture of her and all her achievements. Right before she exists out, two words scream at her, “brain transplant.” She reads the whole file, and, as fast as she can she looks up “Cameron Murphy,” reading all she can on that file, too. She is almost done, when she hears the door knob turn. She looks up and thinks she is doomed. But the director doesn’t walk in, it’s Mike. Then it hits her. Mike. He knows all of this. He went along with all of this. He could have stopped it, but didn’t. “Hey, kiddo, what are you doing in here?” “You knew. You knew, and you never told me. You knew, and you let them keep doing it. Why? Why me?” “Woah, slow down. What are you talking about?” “Cameron Murphy. She was my first life. And she was smart. So smart that the FBI killed her for an experiment. Then let her family believe she disappeared or was kidnapped or whatever. Her brain is in this body. But, oh, wait, it’s not a human body. It’s a body made by the FBI. So what I am, a robot?” Layla is screaming so loud, but she doesn’t even care. She just wants answers. “Layla, please. Calm down.” “You knew. You were like a father to me, and you let this happen?” “Layla. I didn’t know. The first few times, I didn’t know.” “Then at what life did you figure out the truth?” “It was when you were on your fourth life that Thompson let me in on what they were doing. You aren’t a robot. But you also aren’t human. You are somewhere in between. But yes. Cameron’s brain has been in every single body. You don’t have a gift. The director made you last this long.” “So, why did you go along with it?” “I wanted to tell you so bad. But your brain wouldn’t accept it if I told you. You had to figure it out on your own. It needed a trigger. I thought the journal was enough. I got it out of the lockup, and wrote down what you did in lives two and three. Then by life four, you started journaling so you wouldn’t forget. I kept it safe, and hid it from the director. I was hoping that it would help you figure everything out. But it never did. But then I found it. I found the trigger.” 58
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Evan. Evan is the trigger. Then she remembers what Director Thompson had just told her, “I’m kinda nervous about this group. It’s the first time I let Mike bring in new people without my help. Hell, I don’t even know any of their stories.” “You brought in Evan?” “He wanted to be in the FBI since you disappeared. He wanted to track you down, and thought the only way to do it was by joining the FBI.” She walks up to Mike, and hugs him. “What is this for?” “Thank you. But now I need more help.” “Anything.” “Me and Evan need to leave now. Before the director figures out that I know.” All of a sudden, there is a buzzing coming from the computer. “We need to go now. The director has something on his computer that alerts him when someone breaks into it.” Mike says. “Oh great.” ——— Layla pounds on Evan’s door. “Evan, we need to leave now.” He opens the door, “What, why?” “I’ll explain later. But if we don’t leave now, we are screwed.” Evan grabs a few things, and throws them into a bag. He looks at Layla, “They lied?” “Yeah and now that I know, they will probably want to kill me.” “Oh great.” “Brother like sister I guess.” Mike says. They get out of the building before Director Thompson gets back or anyone is after them. The three of them climb into a van, and begin to speed away. Layla fills Evan in on everything she found out, and Mike fills in the missing pieces. “So, what’s the plan now?” Evan asks. “I have a safe house that we can go to for now. Then we can establish a real plan,” Mike says. “You have a safe house?” Layla asks. “Yeah, did I not bring that up?” “Heck no. You just got so much cooler.” Layla smiles. “So, how does it feel to know the truth, Layla?”Evan asks. “No, not Layla. Cameron. Cameron Murphy.”
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First Place: Art, Drawing, and Photography The Dangers of Second Hand Smoke Ashley Atherton
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Second Place: Art, Drawing, and Photography Elegance Jordan Lane
Third Place: Art, Drawing, and Photography
The Mechanics of Flying Janie Leathers
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Dragon and Bottled Boat Janie Leathers
Distorted Balloons Janie Leathers 64
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When Fruit Flies Janna Mackay 65
Birds of the Lake Janie Leathers
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I’ll Go With You Natalie Van Horn
Abstract Flowers Janie Leathers 68
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Toothless Catherine Barnard 69
Standing Tall Forever Janie Leathers 70
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The Red Dirt Road Brooke Striegel 71
Somewhere in Uganda Brooke Striegel 72
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God’s Love Raelynn Henson 73
The Beauty of the Unexpected Brooke Striegel 74
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A Light Has Dawned Brooke Striegel 75
Blooming Bloom With Blooms Maggie Gebhardt
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Ritzy Echo Essick
Beautiful Holt Hall tAno Mateu
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At Last, Poor Yorick, I Knew Him Well Gregory Thurmon
Come a Little Closer Gregory Thurmon
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Beauty in Sponges Gregory Thurmon
Sunset Over D.C. Rogers Lake Maggie Gebhardt
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The Perfect Evening Jordan Lane
God’s Presence Jordan Lane
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Persistence Jordan Lane
Aspen Bells Luke Knoble
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9,000 Feet Above Luke Knoble
Sunset Over Tahoe Luke Knoble
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God’s Blanket D’Yanna Kloog
Dragons Can Be Beaten Natalie Van Horn
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First Place: Creative Nonfiction
Floral and Gingham Brooke Striegel
I packed so many skirts for nine weeks in Uganda. I had a navy and floral silk-like skirt that made me feel like a real teacher, as Fede watched me grade her work. I had the bright, colorful skirt that I wore when Fede crawled into my lap, one day. I had an orange and blue geometric skirt that I wore at the community concert, when I told Fede goodbye, and I had my favorite black and floral skirt that I wore on the first day in Bulike that led into all of the rest. I remember the first time I wore that black, floor length skirt with the pink flowers and blueish-green leaves in Uganda. It was my first day in Bulike, the village I spent my summer in. Full of red dirt roads, goats roaming at every turn, tall green crops, and incredible people, Bulike was a beautiful place to be. On that day, my team got to go to Church, and see how the people sang and danced and prayed to worship God. They just had an open-air, one-room brick building with dirt floors and wooden benches, but they had so much joy, and seldom – if ever – had I seen people show it so obviously. Soon after that day, I met my sweet friend Fede. At five years old, she was still so small, and could sit in my lap, almost like a doll, but her size didn’t stop her from being full of huge smiles. Her little, bald head was precious to me, and her tiny, little hands could fit perfectly around my pointer finger. My friend described her as an “angel,” one day, as we drove away from the school, and this description was true. She was so sweet and gentle hearted, but this didn’t stop her from scrunching up her nose at something or trotting around the schoolyard, leading a whole squad of girls. For such an angel, she had her fair share of sass. I saw Fede in two different outfits, during the entire summer. Most days, my sweet friend was in her purple gingham school dress with the adorable white collar. Sometimes, not very often, she was in a red polo with a black and white plaid skirt. Maybe, those were the days that her school uniform was hanging on a line to dry after it was hand-washed in a bin of water fetched from the well. Everyday, Fede drank her porridge, out of the same white, plastic cup, surrounded by her friends — some with porridge, some without. She sat in the same spot on the same crowded bench and wrote in her workbook. Everyday, Fede was bright and smiley and beautiful, all the same. I met Fede at Bulike Community Primary School, a place that was once a gathering under the shade of a tree, but had grown into a collection of three simply constructed buildings covered in bright blue paint. Illustrations of the human body or the alphabet or of animals lined the walls of the school, painted on the sides over the blue. Each age group had its own square room, inside, with wooden desks and paper posters stuck to the walls with porridge. 91
Every morning, I walked into the Baby Class, and was greeted by the bright and eager faces of my three to five year old students, each shouting in (for the most part) unison: “Welcome, Visitor. This is the Baby Class. Our motto is: fear God and retain wisdom.” I wish I could put on paper how this sounded in their accent, but put an “e” in the place of the letter “i,” and you’ll get pretty close. After about two weeks in Uganda, being greeted in this way several times, I was standing at the source of the river Nile in the city of Jinja, Uganda. The murky water was flowing around the large rock I stood on just by the riverbank, and, when I looked down at the seemingly endless river, I could almost imagine everything that had taken place in its waters before me. After all, so much was happening there, now, with a chaotic city called Jinja just a mile up the road. Jinja was full of life, not quite in the obvious and abundant way I was seeing in the village, but in a packed and bustling sort of way. People filled the market street, vendors calling out to us to enter their shop, and find a beaded necklace or goat-skin drum to buy. Even the culture had slightly shifted. After only two weeks, the thought of going to a restaurant seemed like a huge excursion. The world was less red as the dirt roads had turned into pavement, which I had never recognized as so smooth. People wore pants, and even that was a stark contrast to the village, where knees were promiscuous and skirts were far more respectable. I was only a couple hours away from Bulike, give or take an hour (or two or three) with traffic, but it, somehow, felt like I was in a different world. It was hard to imagine the school where I had taken on the role of “Teacher Brooko” — when you take the name Brooke and combine it with a Lusogan accent, the “e” turns into an “o.” The kids at the school in Bulike were learning English, but their Lusogan accent still prevailed. Soon after that day in Jinja, I realized that I had fallen into a steady routine in the Baby Class. I was no longer standing at the corners of the classroom watching the students learn, afraid to interfere; I was a part of the class. Gilimina, the woman I taught with who works full-time in the Baby Class, would greet me, when I walked in, often handing me the only red pen in the classroom, so I could mark up the students’ little workbooks. I would sit at the small, wooden desk where Gilimina kept all her supplies for the students, and correct backwards letters or write “good” next to nicely shaded drawings. One by one, the students brought me their books, smiling up as I thanked them, and pointed them back to their spot crammed between two other students. Fede always lingered, when she brought me her book. She would peek over the edge of the desk, and watch, as I graded her backwards sevens, until I had pointed enough times that she had to sit back down in her spot between two girls…even though I wanted her to sit by me all morning. During the break, I’d track her down in the schoolyard. She was usually sitting along the wall of the school building, drinking porridge out of her little, plastic cup, with all of her friends. Oftentimes, she’d grab my hand, and pull me around the playground. By the end of recess, I’d have her and ten of my other little Baby Class friends clinging to my wrists. 92
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Sometimes, near the end of classes each morning, Gilimina would ask me to teach. I would point to letters on one of the large paper posters on the wall, and ask them to shout the alphabet, as a class, correcting them when they said “ello” instead of “L.” Most days, I also sang with the class, teaching them simple counting and worship songs. Then, the class would sing for me. Gilimina would start, “Clap and I say,” or “Dance and I say,” and all the students would do the action, and chant back, “Thank you, teacher, for teaching us!” My favorite song was the one Gilimina taught them for me: We are so very thankful for you. When you reach home, Will you write a letter to us? Please, Teacher, Brooko! When you reach home, Will you write a letter to us? The last few times they sang this song for me, I had to fight back tears. I didn’t want to think about reaching home. I did miss home — two months was a long time to be away, but, still, I tried to push down the thought that I would have to say goodbye to these beautiful people. Now, I am home, and this morning, when I was getting dressed, I pulled on my black floor length skirt with the pink flowers and blueish-green leaves. It’s my favorite from the summer. I finished getting ready, and went about my day. At lunch, my friends told me how cute my outfit was. At work, my coworkers told me how much they liked my skirt. I told them I got it at Target, and, yes, it was really comfy—all the normal responses. What I really wanted to tell them was that the last time I put on this skirt, I was in Uganda. The last time I had worn it, I was surrounded by some of the most beautiful children you could imagine. I was being tugged around a schoolyard, by a few kids holding onto each wrist as if it was for dear life. The last time I had worn this skirt, I was surrounded by an obvious, abundant joy, with every step I took along the red dirt road; in every smile I shared with a student in my classroom, and during every song we sung in praise of the Lord. The last time I had worn this skirt, it didn’t matter the skirt was cute or comfy. So, when I wear this skirt, I think about last summer. I think about Fede. I remember how she would flash the biggest smile, when I caught her eye as she danced with her friends, and how she would wave goodbye through the van window when we left the school, or how she sang to “make a circle” when the teachers had us gather in the playground. I can still see Fede putting her hands over her face to pray in Chapel. I’ll never forget how sad I was when I thought Fede wasn’t going to be at the community concert we held on my last day in Bulike, or the pure happiness 93
I felt when she wandered in with only a few minutes to spare. It was so hard to say goodbye to her, but I was so glad I got to pull her up in my arms to do it. I doubt that Fede ever thought twice, as she got dressed for school in the morning. While I decided which skirt I should wear, out of the many I packed, and made sure to pick a t-shirt that matched perfectly, Fede was starting her long walk to school. I don’t think I’m supposed to feel bad for having skirts, but I think I am supposed to remember it is not my favorite black skirt with the flowers that carries the memories from this summer. The memories come in tiny moments with people that have huge hearts. Fede might have worn two different outfits, and I might have worn a bunch of skirts, with countless outfits sitting in my closet back home, but, in Bulike, this didn’t change a thing. We were one American twenty-year-old and one Ugandan five-year-old who got to experience love and joy together, because God was so good as to put us together. And, for all of our differences, even with eight thousand miles in between us, this beautiful thing bonds us.
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Second Place: Creative Nonfiction
Appeal of a Sidedish Darren Defreitas
Could you imagine being single YET! You’re a strong independent woman (or man) that don’t need no man! Until the night comes around, and you’re lying in solitude in a queen sized bed, caressing a velvet white pillow, and imagining it’s the chest of the man you don’t need. The thing about beds is most of them are, in fact, large enough for two people. To be honest, I think they’re all built that way, with the exception college dorm room beds, of course. Those ungodly creations aren’t even suited for one person. The one thing everybody seems to be afraid of is dying alone. Nobody wants to be a lonely cat lady. We’re all out there in the world, searching for a special someone, and it’s all some people care about. As juvenile and overly optimistic as it sounds, it’s true, and some people would do anything to find this, even for a brief moment. As the saying goes, “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” As for me? My saying has always been: “Meh, I’m gucci.” Which roughly translates to “I am content with just the way things are.” The person I am is very much capable of being both this intelligent as well as stupid all at once. That’s, actually one of the more telling things I’ve learnt about myself. Somehow, I manage to win the coveted award of number one genius and professional dumbass. Sometimes, or should I more accurately say rarely, I make mistakes, and I’m wrong about things. The millennial generation of women are quite amusing. Never has a generation of females been so proud to proclaim they’re sleeping with another woman’s man. I swear to god, these women treat men like Pokémon trading cards. Quite honestly, it’s the most ridiculous phenomenon I’ve ever witnessed. What could possibly be the allure in being the “Other woman?” And, as mysterious and cool as the name just sounded, it’s not. I myself have been the other woman, except not really, because I’m a man but it doesn’t even matter, to be quite frank. It’s 2019, and anything goes. I remember the first time I met him, on the luxurious, high end, prestigious website known as Facebook. It was love at first sight! Our eyes locked! Except not really, because we were online liking each other’s photos, which is pretty much the modern day equivalent of love at first sight. After sliding into the DM’s, as the youth say nowadays, we texted, and he was very quick to mention he was already in a relationship; and, just like a transformer, my brain recalibrated its settings. “Next!” I did have every intent to bypass this man for the next best thing, but he clearly had other plans. After lying to him, and telling him I didn’t have a phone number, despite owning a cell phone, I eventually gave him the number I claimed to not have, which resulted in him calling me out on my lie. I bluntly 95
replied, “I didn’t want to give it to you.” The man, then, made it his undying duty to text me, every single day, since that time, and he was lucky I was polite enough to grace him with a reply. Eventually, he requested we met up, to which I swiftly declined his invitation. Sometimes, it actually pays off to be a stone cold bitch. If only I was in fact a stone cold bitch. But guess what? I actually have feelings. That’s another thing I was shocked to learn, and he had developed a lot of feelings—for me—of course. Now, I’m no dummy. So I always knew he was captivated, but, the extent to which he was, I unfortunately underestimated. He confessed, he had fallen madly in love with me. Of course, he did. At least, he has good taste. I was moved by this profession, however, for him the feeling wasn’t mutual. It was unreturned. Unrequited. **************** That all changed, after a few months, specifically, on the day we finally met in the person. That’s where I went wrong. I had grossly miscalculated. I never would have imagined falling for him the way that I did. What a lot of millennials fail to appreciate is the sanctity of face to face interactions. We stay glued behind the black screens of our devices, and we call people whom we’ve never even met in person our friends. It’s ludicrous. It was different. He was different. He even looked different. He looked so much nicer. The look in his eyes as they resonated into mine was a phenomenon I’d never experienced before. To be quite frank, he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life. Maybe, if you saw him you wouldn’t have agreed, but I couldn’t care less about anybody’s opinion. My preferences have nothing to do with societal standards of beauty. As much as I hate to admit it; I fell in love, and that’s how I fucked up. Because, had I not fallen in love, it would have been fine, by this generations standards. You can do as you please with the other woman’s man, but don’t be stupid enough to fall in love. That’s rule number one, dumbass. As my love grew, so did the pain, in fact, they were directly proportional. I thought about him, daily, the words he said, the things he did, the pleasure of his voice. The sheets were doused in his scent, like a predator marking its territory. The gifts that he had showered upon me without my request served as reminders, with each use. “Ugghh! Why did you have to do this to me? I never asked for all of this.” Soon enough, nothing he did was ever enough. We met up, a few times after that, whenever it were possible, but it was a few times too less. Sometimes, when we’d text, he’d have to leave abruptly. “The wife’s giving me the eye,” his excuse. He, in fact, was talking about his long-term lover, whom was neither his wife nor a woman. The abrupt terminations of our conversations had always been an occurrence but it was only now they had begun to bother me. Love is blind, they always say, but it’s true. It’s hard to see things objectively, when you’re running on endorphins. You start to have so many 96
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ridiculous thoughts and fantasies about the person of infatuation. Like, maybe, one day he’ll leave his sorry excuse for a boyfriend, and be with the superior man—that’s me—of course. Obviously, he doesn’t love him as much as he loves me, otherwise, he wouldn’t be here with me! He wouldn’t have to cheat! He simply wouldn’t cheat, he’s a man of great character. It makes no sense. Good men don’t cheat, do they? Believe it or not, these thoughts are capable of becoming even more ridiculous; obviously, I’m special, and what we have is special. He and I have a special bond, a special connection! It has to be, right? After all, he always complains about him, and I make him laugh. I’m much better company right? This affair is unlike all affairs in the history of life! There’s this Cosmopolitan article entitled “The Other Woman.” Upon reading it, I couldn’t help but ask myself: “Is my life being recorded? Is there a camera planted in my vicinity? Is that fly on the wall really just a fly on the wall? Have I been probed?” Life’s important questions. Impossible!—of course, considering the article was written and published in 1990, and I’m also not a woman. Well, what did I expect? Affairs have existed since biblical times. The only difference between those times and now is that I haven’t been stoned to death, and that’s pretty much it. It’s a journal written by a woman who is also sleeping with a man whom is not hers. She talks about how she feels while she is in the dilemma. I believe, she says his name was Jim. Evidently my guy’s name also begins with a “J.” Well, you heard it here first folks! If his name starts with a “J,” he’ll cheat on you! She discusses her thoughts, after all, it is a diary. When the other woman is alone, her mind moves at a million miles per hour. She’s happy, only when she’s with him, but, when he’s gone, the other woman is miserable. The other woman believes that his wife is not suited for him, that he and she would be a much better match. The other woman thinks they have more in common. The other woman tries to convince herself that her “undying love” for him will not keep them apart. Not even his actual wife could stand in their way! She does a one-eighty, when she actually meets his wife, though. She describes her as being “empty headed.” “They’re always empty headed, aren’t they?” When she realizes the pureness of this woman’s love for him, love in a pure form, she is made to feel small. This was the turning point. As I read the article, I’m riding the “feels train.” Her experiences, her pain, her longing, her wishes, were so relatable. It reinforced this fact: it’s all the same. The truth of the matter is it’s not special, and it wasn’t special. I was not special to him. It was only through this realization that I was able to break free from the chains of whoredom. Blessed be! It’s a wonderful day indeed! And, of course, realizing that we were never going to be together also helps just a little bit. “Next!” If only it were as simple as that. I remember expressing how unhappy I felt to him about being in such a degrading position. The tears I tried to fight back so feverishly came crashing down against the touch screen. As I tore myself 97
away from him, I felt so foolish, more foolish than I’d ever felt. I remember how genuinely perplexing it seemed to him, and that he never would’ve imagined he could hurt me so badly. It was all the times we could have spent. It was all of those nights I spent alone asking myself why I wasn’t good enough. It was how he’d detach me from his neck so as to be careful that I don’t leave a mark. My mark. It’s true. For it would be like marking my territory, but it wasn’t my territory to mark, and neither was I his. “I can’t do this anymore.” Two temper tantrums by yours truly, and we were over, but, I mean, let’s face it, there was no “we” to begin with; and that in itself is as haunting as it is liberating. Imagine glamorizing something like that, being a side dish, you know? That thing that’s there to complement the main dish and make it more appetizing. Yeah—that. I know how quick people are to target the “other woman,” and paint her out as a malicious person, because the type of bitch that sleeps with someone else’s man is an evil wench with no self-respect! Well, you’re right about one of those things. “Bartender, I’ll have a shot of self-respect, please, kay thanks!” I wouldn’t consider myself to be an evil person. More appropriate descriptions are smart, cynical, ironic, kind hearted, very idealistic and very hurt. I wish I could stand above all of this and say that it left me unaffected, unfazed and undamaged . My perspective on love and infidelity have changed. I believe that a good man can be unfaithful, but to be unfaithful is never warranted under any circumstance. If you want to cheat, then just be single. I’ve learnt the pain of tearing myself away from someone you’re madly in love with. I’ve learnt that it takes two to make a thing go right! And that same number “two” to make a thing go wrong. He is as much to blame as I am. Him for ignoring his commitment, and pursuing that which was not his, and myself for being a dumbass, and allowing it. I do feel remorse towards his lover for my selfish transgression, so much so that, if he were to smack me across the face, I think would allow it—ONCE. I have seen him around. He’s a bit problematic, but he seems like an okay dude. I’m sure he loves J deeply. The negative feelings that I harboured towards him were uncalled for and downright rude. There’s (usually) a silver lining in a toxic situation, and this would be all of the things that I’ve learnt; I’ve learnt a variety if things about myself that I wouldn’t have learnt, otherwise. I’ve learnt that the world isn’t so white and black. It’s a calm shade of grey. I’ve learnt that good men make mistakes, and I’ve learnt how to fall in love. “Oh, and no more affairs. I’m retiring from those, thanks!” As time goes by, I find myself becoming more and more like a machine, void of emotion. I no longer feel a gaping loneliness from within. I feel nothing, even when we text every so often, it’s not like before. He wished me a happy birthday, last month, and promised to get me a birthday present. At first, I entertained him, because he promised. I, eventually, declined his offer. Maybe, it’s cruel of me to treat him like a stranger, but what can I say? I loved him, though, I love myself a little bit more. This has never been a question of his 98
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character, because he’s a great guy, but he’s not my guy. Could you imagine living without someone whom you couldn’t imagine a future without? I wrote this poem in an attempt to convey my experience and thus all experiences of its kind.
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Third Place: Creative Nonfiction
Two Dolls and a Girl Ashley Patzwald
In 1918, Johnny Gruelle, a cartoonist and illustrator, introduced the world to a rag doll named Raggedy Ann. Two years later, in 1920, Gruelle would introduce the world to her brother Raggedy Andy. The two rag dolls were very recognizable, because they both had red hair and triangles for noses. Andy wore solid blue pants, a checkered red shirt, and a white sailor hat. Ann wore what is called an apron dress. Both dolls had black shoes and leggings that were red and white strips. I’m sure that when Gruelle created the stories of Ann and Andy, he didn’t know that eighty-six years later, he would be giving a little girl two companions. I was six years old, when I received my own Raggedy Ann doll that once belonged to my great grandmother, who I called Nana. I knew who Raggedy Ann was, because I had some plastic dishes with pictures of her and her brother Andy. My Raggedy Ann was not like the doll she was based off. My Ann was made completely out of cloth, and her dress was navy blue and white checkered. She wore an apron that tied around her waist, and pantaloons under her dress. Her hair was not red, and her nose was not a triangle, but a circle. She had round eyes and freckles. I wouldn’t find out, until I was older, that my great Aunt had handmade the doll for Nana. Nana didn’t really take to Ann, for some reason, so Ann was sort of rejected. When I received the doll, I was going through a time in my life where my father had left me behind, and my mother was going through difficult health issues. With these events happening, I found myself being handed over to my grandparents to be raised. My six-year-old heart was given a little comfort, each night, as I would go to bed with Ann laying next to me. A year later, I would reach an age to start getting invited to spend the night at various friends’ houses. Due to being moved around to various family members, when I was a little more than a year old, I had major separation anxiety. This anxiety made it difficult for me to spend the night at any house that was not my own. It didn’t matter how close or far away the house was from home. So, each time I would make the trip to someone’s house, Ann would be safely packed away into my overnight bag. Any time I would wake up with a feeling of unease, I would find Ann lying next to me, and pull her close to my body. I also did this, when I was at home, if I woke up from a bad dream. Ann became more than just a rag doll. She became my protector from monsters that might be under my bed or in my closet. That same year, I began to feel that Ann was lonely, because she had a brother, but he was not with her. As far I could tell, there had never been an Andy that went along with my Ann. That Christmas, the top item on my list for Santa was a Raggedy Andy for my Raggedy Ann. I was not disappointed. 100 Inscape 2019
Christmas morning, I was informed by my grandmother that Santa had asked her to make Andy for Ann. For the next few weeks, I watched in wonder as Raggedy Andy became real. He was just like his sister, except my grandma put a heart on his chest. His shirt was blue, and his pants were red. He did not wear a hat, but he did have a red handkerchief that went around his neck. He, just like Ann, had a round nose and freckles. He also wore a hand-drawn smile, unlike his sister, who you could tell just by her eyes that she was happy. After Andy was complete, he would find his rightful place next to his sister in my bed. Not only would Andy join Ann, but he would also become another protector of mine. After Christmas, when I started going over to my friends’ houses, both Ann and Andy were packed safely in my bag, giving me comfort in the fact that they were there, even if we weren’t home. Another two Christmases would come along, and I would ask Santa for two four-legged companions for Ann and Andy. At the time, I was in sixth grade, and had explained to my grandmother that every little boy needed a dog, and every little girl needed a cat. That Christmas, two stuffed animals were stuck in our Christmas tree by Santa. Just as requested, there was a black and white puppy for Andy, and a grey and white kitten for Ann. Both stuffed animals would join their owners next in line in my bed. They would, however, not accompany me on my overnight journeys. As I grew older, I would take Ann and Andy in my suitcase but rather than take them out, I would keep them hidden inside. Only I needed to know that they had made the trip. Eventually, I stopped taking them at all, because I, by then, was fifteen, and had realized that there were no monsters under the bed or in the closet. They also had stopped laying beside me in bed, instead finding a nice place to sit on a chest of drawers. Their two furry friends joined them so that their little family could be made whole. Both dolls still sit on my chest of drawers, even though I am now twenty years of age. I remember once being told a story by a woman about her daughter who had a blanket she took everywhere. When the daughter became older, the mother took the blanket, and made a pillowcase. That’s what Ann and Andy were, they were a safety blanket. They didn’t tell everyone that I was terrified to leave my house for one night without a family member. It was normal for a little girl my age to have a doll that she wanted to share with her friends. I hope that when I am older, Ann and Andy will help one of my children or grandchildren, as they did me. When I look back, I realize that, as a child, I connected with Ann, because she had been relocated to a new house. Even though she was a doll, I felt as though she still had feelings. When I decided that she needed to have her brother Andy with her, this was because I felt she was lonely, even though she had me. I wasn’t at home all the time, and I felt family was important. When Ann and Andy were reunited, I knew that they would always have each other. I still have a very strong feeling about them always sitting together wherever they are placed. Many people will never understand why I had such a connection with these dolls for such time. To be honest, I didn’t fully understand until recently. Now, I realize that this pair of dolls helped me cope with many things through life, and, for that, I am thankful. 101
First Place: Ten-Minute Play/Screenplay
Green Eyes Kylie Tillman
ACT ONE INT. SULLIVAN HOME LIVING ROOM - NIGHT A disheveled, dark living room, lit by the glow of the TV and desktop computer monitor. Old plates and trash litter the coffee table. Tom, 41, balding, lounges in his recliner, absentmindedly watching TV and drinking beer. Tom’s wife, Nancy, 37, squat and unkempt, sits hunched at the computer scrolling through social media and drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. NANCY: (hollers over her shoulder) Look Tom, the Smiths from down the street got a new dog. TOM: (mumbles) Huh... How ‘bout that? NANCY: (still scrolling) They couldn’t even take care of the one they had. Now two? Geez Louise! Nancy suddenly stops scrolling, we can see from her expression that she is immediately indignant. On the monitor we see a woman about the same age as Nancy, grinning with her arms around a young girl. The caption reads: MY BABY WON THE SPELLING BEE! NANCY: (CONT’D) This bitch...Rubbing in yet another thing our Maggie never got the opportunity to grow up and do. Another thing we will miss... TOM: Nancy get off that computer. All it does is piss you off and I have to hear about it. 102 Inscape 2019
NANCY: So, because it’s been 11 years, I should just let it go? Is that what you think?! TOM: I can’t talk to you when you get like this. NANCY: We were supposed to bring home a baby that day, Tom. Instead we brought home heartache and medical bills. TOM: It’s not Mindy’s fault that her kid lived and ours didn’t. NANCY: (looking through Mindy’s online profile) We were supposed to be friends. Our daughters were supposed to be friends. But she got to take her baby home that day. Look at her now, full of herself... Nancy chokes and coughs on her whiskey, eyes frozen on the computer monitor that now has an up-close image of the girl from before. NANCY: (CONT’D) (her anger dissipating) Tom, her eyes... TOM: What are you talking about? Why are you even looking at Mindy’s page? I thought you weren’t friends. NANCY: We aren’t... but look at this girl. Look at her eyes...they practically glow green...like yours do. TOM: What are you getting at? NANCY: She doesn’t look anything like the Fosters! Either one of one of ‘em! Tom is finally pulled away from his recliner. He leans over Nancy’s shoulder to view the computer screen. 103
TOM: Well I’ll be damned... NANCY: See! You see it too! TOM: All I’m saying is that is the Sullivan nose.. right there front and center. Poor girl. NANCY: This is our Maggie, Tom. I just know it. END OF ACT ONE ACT TWO EXT. SUBURBAN NEIGHBORHOOD - NIGHT. Pan over a row of cookie cutter houses. Cut to a garden gnome fall and shatter on the front lawn. We pan to Tom and Nancy in camouflage and dark clothing on the edge of the porch. NANCY: (whispering) Damn it! TOM: (whispering back) We have to go, I can hear someone coming... NANCY: I’m not leaving! Nancy takes off running around the side of the house. Tom follows. END OF ACT TWO ACT THREE EXT. FOSTER HOME. BACKYARD. - NIGHT Tom and Nancy are hiding in the backyard, perched in a tree house with binoculars. 104 Inscape 2019
TOM: Nance, why are we here? NANCY: (distracted, staring into the binoculars) I just needed to see her. TOM: It’s just not possible that she’s our girl. NANCY: (turning to Tom) You said it yourself that she looks like us! Just come over here and look at her! Tom peers into the binoculars and sees Mindy, 36, in a plush robe, as she crushes a pill. NANCY: What is she...? Mindy serves the drink to Jane, 11, with bright green eyes and a big nose, wearing pajamas. TOM: She’s drugging her? NANCY: (stealing the binoculars and peering) What the...? We have to do something! TOM: We shouldn’t even be here! We can call the police after we leave. NANCY: That is my baby and she’s living with some lunatic! We have to take her. TOM: Take her?? We don’t even know what that pill is for. She’s not our kid! NANCY: What if we could prove that she is?
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TOM: Nancy, please. If we leave right now I will let you make half-baked plans to steal kids all night if that’s what you want. NANCY: I’m serious! If we just take her we could swab her cheek or get some of her hair... TOM: Is that even how it works...? NANCY: ...then we can take that to the doctor. Once they hear our story they will have to run tests, and once they run tests they will have to let us keep her. TOM: Listen, I put up with a lot, and I know you’re hurting...But, we’re up in a damn tree right now looking into our old friends’ windows while you fantasize about stealing their little girl to keep as your own our own daughter... We pan over to Nancy who is already making her way down the ladder of the tree house. Tom rolls his eyes, defeated. END OF ACT THREE
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Second Place: Ten-Minute Play/Screenplay
Valkyrians
Darren Defreitas EXT. - CITY OF PALACETINIA - PARK – NIGHT Bizarre ominous music. We see people in red robes standing around in prayer. We hear running water in the background. We get a wide CAMERA shot of FATHER URION smiling with an accomplished grin and his arms stretched out emulating Jesus Christ himself. Behind him is a water fountain out of focus. FATHER URION, Gorgeous slightly androgynous man, LOOKS 30, stunning blue eyes, long swirly god like hair, very angelic, other worldly and kind. Is wearing the same red robe as everyone else. Leader of the church. Tall-ish. We get a shot of a portion of the water fountain. The water is discolored with a red hue. We see EMILIA looking onward horrified. EMILIA, 17 years old, very cute, brown hair, brown eyes, is wearing a white veil on her head. We finally see the water fountain. The way it’s designed is so that there is a long spike emerging from the top. On the top of the fountain we see a cow has been impaled using the long spike. The blood of the cow seeps from its body down the spike and into the water. IT’S GRUESOME! REJI and CHASER enter and they see the crowd of people. They don’t see the cow. CHASER, 17 years old, spiky brown hair, slim but slightly muscular and athletic, hot-headed, kind of a trouble maker. REJI, 17 years old, short black hair, stout beefy build, smart and friendly, the more level headed of the two, is CHASER’S childhood best friend. REJI: What the..? What are all of these people doing here at this time of night? CHASER: (serious) Look at the insignia, it’s the Church of LIFE EVERLASTING. REJI: Oh my gosh you’re right. 107
CHASER: Come on, let’s find out what those bastards are up to. CHASER runs towards them quietly. REJI: Wait! REJI chases after CHASER. CHASER maneuvers his way through the crowd to get a view. REJI struggles to keep up but eventually he catches up. We see CHASER standing motionless and his facial expression is unseen. REJI: (out of breath) You know you really shouldn’t go off without me like that, I can’t keep up with you. I’m not as athletic. CHASER ignores. REJI notices the expression on CHASER’s face. HE IS ABSOLUTELY HORRIFIED. REJI: Huh?...CHASER what’s wrong? REJI finally turns to the fountain and is horrified at the sight. REJI: (CONT’D) W-what...what the? CHASER: (freaked out) What the hell is going on here?? FATHER URION: (to the crowd) People of the CHURCH of LIFE EVERLASTING, Hear my voice. The day of truth is nearly upon us. REJI: (whispering) It’s FATHER URION. CHASER: (whispering) That bastard. 108 Inscape 2019
FATHER URION: This is the ritual of TRANSUBSTANTIATION. Once you do this, you shall attain eternal life. The church members look at each other in excitement and celebrate prematurely. FATHER URION smiles. CHASER scrunches his face in disgust. FATHER URION: (CONT’D) And not only that, you will also have all that you need to be indoctrinated into the PROMISED LAND. The church members begin to rejoice even more. EMILIA looks around and smiles a smile of uncertainty. FATHER URION: (CONT’D) But, wait my children. In order for you to attain the promised land, there is one more thing that you must do. FATHER URION turns around and walks over to the fountain of blood. He submerges his fingertips into the water. He removes his hand and it is now stained in “red water.” He licks his fingertips provocatively. When he is done he grins maniacally (his back is turned). FATHER URION: (CONT’D) In order for you to inherit the promised land, you must drink the blood of the sacred heifer! The church members are stunned. They all start to whisper amongst themselves incredulously. CHASER AND REJI are shocked. EMILIA: Drink the blood?.... FATHER URION: What is the matter my children? Do you doubt my power? The power of the church? I HOPE THIS ISN’T THE CASE. The church followers are made to feel uncomfortable. Many of them deny FATHER URION’s claims. FATHER URION: (CONT’D) Maybe you’re no longer interested in YOUR SALVATION. I See. 109
The church members all disagree vehemently. They all protest his claims at the same time. EMILIA: Father! It’s just not true! We’ll do anything! We’ll do as you say! CHASER AND REJI notice EMILIA for the first time. REJI: (to chaser) That’s EMILIA. FATHER URION: (to EMILIA) Is that so? EMILIA EMILIA: (pause) Yes father...I’ll do..anything. FATHER URION smiles at her. A golden chalice emerges from his robe. He turns around and walks over to the fountain. He dips the chalice into the red water and faces the congregation, back to EMILIA. FATHER URION: (to EMILIA) Then why don’t you begin the transubstantiation ritual. EMILIA is stunned. CHASER and REJI are also stunned. FATHER URION looks at EMILIA and so does the rest of the church members. EMILIA looks around and realizes that she has been placed the spot. EMILIA: ...Yes father... CHASER AND REJI are floored. FATHER URION grins victoriously. EMILIA slowly walks toward FATHER URION. She looks into his eyes. FATHER URION hands the chalice of red water to EMILIA. EMILIA accepts it hesitantly. The chalice shakes in her quivering hands. She looks to the top of the fountain and sees the dead heifer. She looks into the cup of red water. 110 Inscape 2019
FATHER URION: Why do you hesitate? Do you doubt me? EMILIA: No!!...I am a devout follower of the Church of LIFE EVERLASTING. I will do this for my salvation... (Pause) ...And for the salvation of my LOVED ONES.. EMILIA grips the chalice. She closes her eyes and lifts the chalice to drink its contents. A stone smacks the chalice out of her hands milliseconds before she drinks it. The chalice falls and spills over. EMILIA grips her hands and looks at the spilled chalice in horror. CHASER: EMILIA!! EMILIA notices CHASER holding a sling shot. EMILIA: CHASER? FATHER URION frowns in disapproval. CHASER AND REJI break from the crowd and run to the center where EMILIA and FATHER URION are standing. CHASER: (to EMILIA) You’re such in idiot! EMILIA: Huh? CHASER: How could you be so stupid!? Were you seriously about to do that!? Drink blood?! Are you a vampire!? EMILIA: CHASER, you don’t understand CHASER: I DO understand! You’ve lost your mind. When are you gonna realize that this is one big sham!? CHASER faces the congregation. 111
CHASER: All of you! You should all be ashamed! EMILIA: (upset) CHASER! You just don’t get it do you!? CHASE: (patrionizing) Oh really? What is it that I don’t get? EMILIA: We’re doing this for our salvation!!.........I’m doing this for YOUR salvation, and REJI’s too. CHASER is taken a back for awhile. Then CHASER sees FATHER URION standing behind EMILIA with a smirk. We get a close-up shot of FATHER URION’s smug face. CHASER becomes upset again. CHASER: You’re a damn liar. EMILIA: What?... What are you.... saying? CHASER: Just admit it, EMILIA. You’re doing this for HIM. You don’t give a damn about me! REJI: Hey! CHASER, wait a minute CHASER: SHUT THE HELL UP, REJI! EMILIA: CHASER CHASER (to EMILIA) YOU SHUT UP TOO. EMILIA is speechless.
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CHASER: (upset) Tell me something EMILIA. How was it? Was it good? When FATHER URION deflowered you. EMILIA is mortified. EMILIA: (upset) How dare you... Tears well up in EMILIA’s eyes. She walks up to CHASER and SLAPS him across the face. CHASER just stands there and takes it. EMILIA storms off weeping, leaving the ceremony. REJI: EMILIA! CHASER: Forget about her REJI. REJI: I’m going after her! CHASER: REJIREJI exits. CHASER stares at the bricked road in frustration. FATHER URION: (to CHASER) How cruel... CHASER: You stay out of this. FATHER URION: CHASER was it? You haven’t been at any of our recent sermons. Is everything alright my child? CHASER: Everything’s fine. I’ve opened my eyes to the truth... that’s all. FATHER URION: Oh? 113
CHASER: Yeah. It took losing something very dear to me to realize that... FATHER URION: Then tell me young man, what will you do on the DAY OF RECKONING? CHASER: (to himself) “DAY OR RECKONING?” I swear, these cults are all the same. Full of shit. FATHER URION: What will you do when the bosom of sky opens up? And the glory of our god rains down upon us? And the song emerges. Sweeping us all into the promised land. Will you allow yourself to be left behind? CHASER: You know what.. I really don’t give a damn about all that. FATHER URION: (serious) Very well. It would seem that you have made your decision. However let me warn you. The alternative to LIFE EVERLASTING in the promised land...is CERTAIN DEATH. The congregation all become frightened. FATHER URION smiles in response. It appears to be exactly the reaction that he wanted.CHASER sees all the petrified people and he becomes deeply moved. He turns to face FATHER URION. CHASER: You’re not gonna get away with this... FATHER URION smiles at CHASER and doesn’t respond. CHASER: (CONT’D) You’re just a predator...preying on all of these innocent people and their insecurities. I’m gonna put a stop to this.
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The music intensifies as they look at each other. CHASER is enraged, FATHER URION LOOKS indifferent. A group of aggressive, DISEMBODIED VOICES speak in unison.
VOICES: (to CHASER) FOOLISH HUMAN! THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP IT. YOUR LIVES BELONG TO US! CHASER: (shocked) What the heck! CHASER looks to FATHER URION. His facial expression has not changed and he hasn’t said anything. CHASER: Who said that??? Was it you?? CHASER looks to the congregation. They did not appear to have heard the voices. CHASER: (CONT’D) Nobody else heard that!? CHASER looks around all flustered and panicked. We hear a sharp ringing in CHASER’S eardrum. We see CHASER holding his head in agony. FATHER URION: (under his breath) You heard THEM...Didn’t you....? CHASER: (horrified) W-w-what’s going on here?? The voices start laughing. They don’t do this in unison. The laughter becomes louder and louder. CHASER: STOP! Get out of my head!
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CHASER starts screaming bloody murder. He falls to his knees and continues to scream. CHASER: (CONT’D) AAAAHHHHH!!! The voices abruptly stop. We see CHASER on his knees with his hands covering his ears and tears in his eyes. He’s shivering like a lost puppy. FATHER URION looks on indifferently. Some of the members of the congregation approach CHASER. They attempt to help him. CHASER gets freaked out, reacts like a petrified animal. CHASER: (CONT’D) GET AWAY FROM ME YOU MONSTERS! CHASER gets up runs off. We get a sequence of CHASER running off. We watch as terror consumes him. He disappears into the night.
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Nine
Gregory Owen Characters: ARCHIE..........a racoon MOLLY............a racoon Setting: Inside an RV at night. (The dome light of an RV illuminates two raccoons, ARCHIE and MOLLY. ARCHIE is driving. MOLLY has a map. It appears to be a map from a Happy Meal or the back of a cereal box. It is dark outside. The RV is full of clutter.) ARCHIE: You think we’ll be there by midnight? MOLLY: I don’t know. ARCHIE: What’s the map say? MOLLY: (turns the map around.) Tough to say. Take this next exit. ARCHIE: Roger that! MOLLY: Archie? ARCHIE: Ya, Molly. MOLLY: Do you ever wish we had salivary glands? ARCHIE: What do you mean? MOLLY: Salivary glands. ARCHIE: What? MOLLY: I’d like to be able to drool. I don’t know why. Ever since I was a little kit, I’ve just thought it would be fun to drool. Like when you happen upon the perfect garbage can, one of those silver ones with the lid skewed to the side because it is overflowing with delicious scraps. In that moment when you stop and just stare at it and all its glory before knocking it over. In that moment, I’d like to be able to drool. I think it would add to the moment. ARCHIE: Um, Molly, we DO have salivary glands. MOLLY: We do? ARCHIE: Of course we do. How do you think we keep our mouths moist? MOLLY: I, um, I don’t know. ARCHIE: What made you think we don’t have salivary glands? MOLLY: I don’t know, I just always heard we didn’t. ARCHIE: Nope. We’ve got ‘em. MOLLY: (moves her tongue around inside her mouth, tries to make spit, explores her salivary glands) I guess you’re right. ARCHIE: I usually am. I’m pretty smart. MOLLY: That’s why you’re my favorite partner in crime. ARCHIE: Damn straight! High five! (They high five) Rock-n-roll! MOLLY: Hey, did I show you the tin can I found yesterday? ARCHIE: No. MOLLY: Hold on, let me get it. (she gets out of her seat, scrounges among the 117
clutter, retrieves ain can.) Here it is! Pretty nice one. ARCHIE: Nice. What was in it? MOLLY: I’m not sure. The label is partially gone. It looks like a picture of a tomato on what’s left of the label, but the inside of the can tasted a little like fish. ARCHIE: Hmnnn...tomato fish. Fish tomato. Maybe fish with a red sauce. MOLLY: I’ve never heard of such a thing. ARCHIE: Oh sure, could be cod with tomato sauce or Greek baked fish with tomatoes and onions, or pan roasted fish with Mediteranian tomato sauce. Any number of things. MOLLY: Wow, where did you learn about all that? ARCHIE: I spent some time behind a Greek restaurant when I was younger. MOLLY: Wow! Sounds exotic! ARCHIE: It was a good time. Good food, good neighborhood. MOLLY: Why’d you leave? ARCHIE: The neighborhood went down hill. Too many dogs moving in. The restaurant got some fancy spill proof cans I couldn’t crack. It was time to move on. MOLLY: Cans you couldn’t crack? Really? Wow, those must have been some impressive cans! ARCHIE: I think they were titanium. I probably would have figured them out eventually, but I figured it was just as easy to move on. MOLLY: I see. Oh! Top five best garbage cans you’ve ever found: Go! ARCHIE: Okay, let’s see. Best ever was the one behind Hessam’s Fish Market. Guaranteed fish every day. I bet I gained two pounds from that can alone. Um, second would be the dumpster behind some college apartments in this little town in Missouri, one semester the whole place must have been full of college kids who bought groceries then never cooked. There was always tons of food in there. Third would be the afore mentioned Greek restaurant, before the titanium cans, of course. Fourth, let me see, fourth would be behind Lazy Guy Donuts, and fifth would have to be the house in Cedar Rapids that always had entire bags of scraps. I think it was a group home or something before the house next to it blew up and burned it down. You go. MOLLY: Okay, Best ever was the dumpster at the food court. Best variety of any place. Second was Cooper’s grocer store, always lots of good stuff there. Third would have to be the house up on the hill in that little town in Illinois, the lady there was a horrible cook so there were always lots of experiments thrown out. Fourth was this Chinese restaurant called Dragon Panda Good Good Food. Weird name but great trash cans! I think they had a buffet. And fifth is the dumpster by the drive-in. ARCHIE: Dragon Panda Good Good Food. I’ve heard of that place. I heard the human who runs it is actually not Chinese, and they play heavy metal music inside. MOLLY: Could be. I just know they had good trash cans. ARCHIE: How much further do you think? MOLLY: Um, I don’t know. Maybe a few miles, maybe a couple hours. Are you good to drive? ARCHIE: Oh, sure, I got a solid 12 hours today. I could drive all night. 118 Inscape 2019
MOLLY: Oh, good, because I’m still not real good with the clutch. ARCHIE: You’ll get the hang of it. If you want we can find a big parking lot somewhere and you can practice a while. MOLLY: Oh, that would be fun. ARCHIE: We’ll even set up some trashcans or something so you can practice maneuvering around and stuff. MOLLY: Awesome. Hey! Can we paint them to look like scared dogs so when I zip past them it’s like I’m zooming past dogs? ARCHIE: Um, I guess so. If you really want to. MOLLY: Cool! You’re the best! You don’t think it’ll put us too far behind schedule, do you? ARCHIE: Na, it’s okay. We’re making good time. (the RV hits something in the road, throwing both ARCHIE and MOLLY nearly out of their seats, ARCHIE loses control of the RV for a moment, but recovers) MOLLY:Whoa, what was that? ARCHIE: I don’t know, we hit something! MOLLY: Was it a dog? ARCHIE: I don’t know, whatever it was it was already in the road, I never saw it. MOLLY: I hope it wasn’t a Chupacabra. ARCHIE: What? Why? MOLLY: Those things are cute, I’d hate to think of one being all squished on the road and stuff. ARCHIE: Cute? Are you being serious? They’re scary. Have you ever met one? MOLLY: Well, not up close and personal, but come on, I mean, how can you not like them? ARCHIE: What do you mean? They’re scary and mean and kill things. MOLLY: No they aren’t. They’re cute. Almost cuddly. They’re adorable. ARCHIE: Are you crazy? MOLLY: What? They’re adorable. They’re like big cuddly mice. ARCHIE: Wait a minute. Are you sure you’re talking about Chubacabra? MOLLY: Ya, why? ARCHIE: Are you sure you don’t mean chinchillas? MOLLY: I don’t think so. But just in case, what’s the difference? ARCHIE: Chinchillas are members of the rodent family, they look like big mice, only cuter. They’re nocturnal and take sand baths. Chubacabra are like malnourished demon dogs who go around killing things and sucking their blood. MOLLY: Oh. (thinks about it) Maybe I am thinking of chinchillas. In that case I hope it was a chupacabra. If they are anything like dogs. ARCHIE: They’re worse. Dogs get a bad rap, and rightfully so in a lot of cases, but chupacabras are pure evil. Some people even say they are supernatural. Like demons. Others just say they are malnourished dogs with rabies. Either way. MOLLY: Oh, that is scary. That’s one of my biggest phobias. ARCHIE: What’s that? 119
MOLLY: Getting rabies. ARCHIE: Why? MOLLY: Because, you hear about it all the time. It seems like every time you turn around you hear about another raccoon who’s gotten rabies. ARCHIE: Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it too much, most of the stories you hear about raccoons and rabies are not true. MOLLY: For real? ARCHIE: For real. We get a bad rap, but it’s mostly because people think we’re completely nocturnal. So when they see us during the day they think we must be sick. And when they think of a sick raccoon they automatically think of rabies. Not always true. MOLLY: Well, I’m going to be careful around rusty cans anyhow. Better safe than sorry. Archie: Rusty cans? What does that have to do with it? MOLLY: Well, that’s how you get rabies, from getting cut with a rusty can. ARCHIE: No, you’re thinking of tetanus. You get rabies by getting bit by someone with rabies. MOLLY: Oh. Are you sure? ARCHIE: Yup, I’m sure. MOLLY: Wow, you really do know a lot of stuff. How did you get so smart? ARCHIE: Mostly just from traveling around. Talking to a lot of animals. You pick a lot of stuff up. MOLLY: So what’s the most interesting animal to talk to? ARCHIE: Hmnn, let me think. I met a possum once who sailed around the world. MOLLY: Really? That sounds exciting! ARCHIE: Ya, he set off from Australia trying to sail to New Zealand but got blown off course and ended up sailing all the way around the world. MOLLY: Wow. So possums are the most interesting, huh? ARCHIE: Well, that one was. But I think overall I’d have to say cats. MOLLY: Cats? Really? Aren’t they all really pretentious? ARCHIE: Well, most of them are, but they’re pretty interesting. MOLLY: What makes them so interesting? ARCHIE: They’re the closest to humans. Well, them and dogs. But cats are better at learning things from them. They’re really good spies. Plus they usually get to live both inside with the humans and outside with the rest of us animals, so they get multiple perspectives on things. MOLLY: That makes sense, I guess. ARCHIE: But the most interesting thing is they have nine lives. MOLLY: Nine? ARCHIE: Ya, nine lives. MOLLY: You mean, they can die nine times and come back to life? ARCHIE: Ya, so they live nine times as long as everyone else and get to be really smart. I think that’s part of the reason they’re so pretentious. MOLLY: So, have you ever talked to a cat who’s died and come back to life. ARCHIE: I did meet an orange cat named Sebastian who claimed he got ran over by a car and came back to life once. 120 Inscape 2019
MOLLY: Wow, do you think he was telling the truth? ARCHIE: I don’t know, he seemed to be a pretty big drama queen, so it might have just been his tail that was ran over. Hard to tell. MOLLY: Still, wow. How neat would it be to have nine lives? ARCHIE: Oh, I don’t know, I think it’s better just having the one. MOLLY: How do you figure? ARCHIE: Well, with nine lives you wouldn’t really appreciate things as much because you’re not afraid of loss. With just one, you see the value of things more. You appreciate what you have today because you know it might not be here tomorrow. MOLLY: Wow, that’s really deep. You should write a book or something. ARCHIE: I’ve been thinking about it. Or maybe a Broadway Musical. Broadway needs a good brain piece. All the musicals today are no substance and all fluff. But I’m not sure anyone would come see it. MOLLY: I’d go see it. ARCHIE: Thanks. I knew I could count on my partner in crime. MOLLY: Any time. ARCHIE: So, how long do we take this road? MOLLY: As long as it lets us. (Throws the map out the window) ARCHIE: Did you just throw the map out the window? MOLLY: I sure did. ARCHIE: What’d you do that for? MOLLY: Because we only have one life, not nine. And it’s all about the journey, not the destination. ARCHIE: Damn straight! High five! (They high five) Rock-n-roll! (ARCHIE hits the accelerator. They both lean back as the RV increases speed.) (Lights out.)
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Whales Tails Gregory Owen
Characters: LANCE..........DORTHY’S husband. DORTHY.......LANCE’S wife. Setting: The deck of a ship, during a whale watching expedition. (The sun glistens over the ocean as LANCE and DORTHY stand on the deck of a ship.) LANCE: So, are you excited? DORTHY: Sure, this is really great. LANCE: You don’t sound excited. DORTHY: No, no, I really am excited, this is fun, it’s unique. LANCE: You don’t sound very convincing. Is something wrong? DORTHY: No, everything’s fine. I just never would have expected a trip like this in a million years. It’s not the sort of thing I thought you’d want to do. LANCE: Well, it might not be normally, but I mean, I chose it for you. DORTHY: Me? What do you mean you chose it for me? LANCE: I chose it because I knew you’d love it. DORTHY: Oh, and I do love it. I just didn’t think I’d ever go on a whale watching expedition. LANCE: I know isn’t it great? Isn’t it the best surprise ever? DORTHY: It’s a surprise all right. LANCE: What’s that supposed to mean? DORTHY: Nothing, nothing. It’s a wonderful trip. Thank you. (LANCE puts his arms around DORTHY and pulls her close, both of them facing out, looking to spot whales. After a moment) LANCE: Wanna know how I knew? DORTHY: Knew what? LANCE: That you wanted to go whale watching? DORTHY: That I wanted to go whale watching? LANCE: Ya, wanna know how I knew? DORTHY: Well, I guess so, sure, but it’s not like it’s been on my bucket list or anything. Like I said, it’s a unique vacation, one I never pictured us taking, but— LANCE: Sure it has. DORTHY: Has what? LANCE: Been on your bucket list. I know you’ve been wanting to go for a while. DORTHY: Well, no, I haven’t. LANCE: Come on, I know you’ve been wanting this. I heard you talking. DORTHY: Talking? To whom? What are you talking about? 122 Inscape 2019
LANCE: To your friend, Marilyn. DORTHY: Marilyn? LANCE: Ya, last summer. She was over, you were having one of your book club meetings and I left to go shoot hoops with Roger. I started to pull out of the drive when I realized I had forgotten to grab the drill I had borrowed from him, so I pulled back into the garage to get it. When I was getting it I knocked a slinky off the shelf — I guess Joey had set it up there or something, but anyhow, you know how a slinky falls, and well, so I picked it up and was kind of playing with it for a second and I heard you two laughing hysterically, so I, well, I kind of ease dropped a little bit. And I heard you telling her about how much you wanted to go whale watching. Well, we already had our vacation planned for that summer, but I started checking into things and I started planning this trip. And now you get to go whale watching. (DORTHY is silent and looks confused. Gradually a wave of recognition sweeps over her face) DORTHY: Lance? LANCE: Yes? DORTHY: Honey? LANCE: Yes? DORTHY: You know I love you, right? LANCE: Yes. DORTHY: So, don’t take this the wrong way, but — LANCE: Yes? DORTHY: You have got to be the biggest idiot I have ever met in my life. LANCE: What? What do you mean? What are you talking about? DORTHY: Whale watching? LANCE: Yes! DORTHY: Seeing the whales? LANCE: Exactly! DORTHY: Seeing Wales? LANCE: Yes. DORTHY: Wales. LANCE: Yes, whales. That’s what we’re doing, we’re seeing whales. Or, at least, we might see them, that’s kind of the fun, you never know for sure if — DORTHY: Honey? LANCE: Yes? DORTHY: Not whales. Wales. Not big sea animals with blow holes. The place. Part of the United Kingdom. Great Britain. LANCE: (After a moment of stunned silence) Oh. DORTHY: Yes. LANCE: So, you wanted to see…the place… DORTHY: Yes. LANCE: …not the animals… DORTHY: Yes. 123
LANCE: And I booked us a trip… DORTHY: Uh-huh. LANCE: To Alaska… DORTHY: Yup. LANCE: To see the animals…Oops. DORTHY: Yes, oops. LANCE: I’m an idiot. DORTHY: It’s okay though. Honey, this is fun, like I said, unique. LANCE: Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I — DORTHY: It’s fine. It’s a wonderful vacation. LANCE: You wanted to go to Wales and I landed you on the wrong side of the planet. I am so, oh my, I am so sorry. DORTHY: It’s fine. We’re still on vacation, it’s still fun. But, why Alaska? LANCE: What do you mean? DORTHY: Why did you choose Alaska? LANCE: Well, honey, this is where the whales are. DORTHY: But why Alaska? LANCE: What do you mean? DORTHY: Well, I mean, it’s beautiful, but why not Florida or California. Oh! Or Hawaii? Those would have been much warmer. LANCE: Well, ya, but the whales are in Alaska. DORTHY: Lance, they have whales in those other places as well. They’re whales. They’re pretty much all over the entire ocean. LANCE: Oh. Ya. I guess you’re right. Um, I just thought Alaska would have the best whales, I mean, any time someone talks about whale watching, they always talk about Alaska. So I figured — DORTHY: You thought whales were exclusive to Alaska. LANCE: No, I just, didn’t think about it, I just automatically thought of Alaska. DORTHY: I could have been in Hawaii. Tropical breezes. Warm sunshine. Pinacoladas. LANCE: Okay, look, I goofed. I said I’m sorry. I ruined our vacation this year. What more do you want me to say? DORTHY: No, you didn’t ruin it. It’s just not what I expected. Or would have planned. Exactly. LANCE: You do hate it. DORTHY: I do not hate it. I’m having fun. And our hotel is great. The bar is pretty awesome, and the restaurant is nice, and the pool is pretty spectacular. LANCE: Great, I planned out an entire vacation around an event and your favorite part is the hotel bar. DORTHY: And the hot tub. LANCE: Very funny. DORTHY: Listen. This is a wonderful vacation. You’re here. And that’s all that matters. We could be whale watching or camping or trekking through the creek pulling fish out of the mud with your brother. It wouldn’t matter, as long as I get to spend it with you. LANCE: If you say so. 124 Inscape 2019
DORTHY: I do. And I mean it. Let’s just enjoy the view, we’re supposed to be watching for whales, remember? LANCE: Yes, how could I forget? DORTHY: We’ll watch for whales, then we’ll get back to the hotel and get cleaned up. Then we can have a nice dinner, relax by the pool, then get a bottle of wine to enjoy back in the room. And tomorrow we can explore and see what other adventures we find. It’ll be great. LANCE: I suppose. I just feel like an idiot. DORTHY: Well, you are an idiot. LANCE: Gee, thanks. DORTHY: But you’re my idiot and I love you. LANCE: Thanks. (They kiss) DORTHY: But Lance? LANCE: Yes? DORTHY: Next year, I plan the vacation. LANCE: I figured as much. (End of play.)
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Munny
Dylan Lewis (Based on the characters by David Webb Peoples.) Darkness. The sound of a large fire fades in. We also hear the bursting and collapsing of a great amount of burning wood. It grows louder, and builds until it’s deafening, and we... CUT TO: I/E. BLEAKBELLOW - NIGHT Texas-New Mexico border: 1870 We see the night sky, veiled by an unending coat of storm clouds. Rain starts to fall. There’s an echo of thunder, in the distance. The drops gain speed, and plummet to the Earth, at a rapid rate. The camera pans down to an old west saloon engulfed in flames. There are three corpses sprawled along the ground, at the entrance: a cowboy and two whores. Parts of their bodies have been ripped away from gunfire. Their blood has mixed together in a small pool and been splattered on the wall. The fire reflects off it, while their clothes soak in the incandescent liquid. More bodies are inside, burning along with the rest of the saloon. We close in on a puddle of blood, as it boils in the flame next to another corpse. A silhouette makes its way out the saloon, and creeps towards the camera. It holds four bottles of whiskey, two in each hand. The figure turns its head, and reveals half its face in the flames. WILLIAM. MOTHERFUCKING. MUNNY. Between twenty-five and thirty years old. He’s got a welt on his left brow and blood on his face, the latter of which is not his. He wears a black Knudsen hat. His head is full of brown hair that runs down through his coarse beard. He’s got on a roughed up, jet black jacket over a dark red button up shirt. There’re remnants of blood on them too. Munny surveys the village. Through the storm, we hear the sloshes of hooves in mud, and they’re close. It’s from four cowbowys, who ride in, and stare at the saloon.
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As they pull up to the front entrance, Munny sets three of the bottles on the ground. He keeps one in hand, and begins to drink. The cowboys struggle to control their horses while they snort and jerk out of fear. Cowboy 1: (incredulously) What in the hell happened on down here? Munny finishes the whiskey, and ignores the man’s inquiries. He, then, removes it from his lips, and sets his grey, dilated eyes on the cowboys. They stare back. Beat. Munny lets go of the bottle, and grasps the two pistols at his waist. They’re drawn with ungodly speed and precision, for a drunken man. He unloads both chambers into the four men. Blood, limbs, and hunks of skull and brain matter splatter all over their terrified horses, which take off into the storm out of sight. The dead cowboys are dragged behind them. Munny watches them go. He whistles, and we hear a trot come towards him through the mud. A horse pulls in front of him, and he grabs the three full bottles of whiskey. He replaces them in a black saddle bag, before he raises himself on top of the animal. He looks over the area, once more, then starts at a walk through the village, away from the saloon. Munny keeps his eyes on the buildings around, for any sign of life. He continues at a slow, treacherous pace, and passes a stone well. To his right, something moves, and knocks something else to the mud. A figure breaks ahead of Munny, at a run, along the buildings. Munny reaches to the side of his saddle, and pulls out a sawed-off shotgun. He aims and fires both shells. We hear the pellets crash through glass and wood and a female squeal of pain. The figure drops to the ground, and doesn’t move again. Then, another figure moves to Munny’s left. It looks to turn a corner into an alley. Munny reloads, and shoots again. He hits the building, though we can’t tell through the dark and rain if he gets the runner. No squeal, this time. Munny scans both sides over. He sees nothing, then looks above to the windows of the few two-story buildings he goes by.
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A single figure watches him, through a pair of black curtains. Munny loads the gun, once more, and clicks it shut. The person bolts away, but he shoots the glass out anyway. He and the horse continue on, still with an eye to the window. They reach the edge of town, and Munny replaces his weapon back into the saddle. We watch him from behind, like he’s the angel of death. He fades away straight into the night storm, while the heavy rain pounds the landscape. FADE TO BLACK: Beat. FADE IN: EXT. NEW MEXICO WILDERNESS - AFTERNOON Munny lays passed out, on the desert floor. He’s got his hat over his face to block the sun, and he uses his balled-up trench coat for a pillow. It’s no longer raining, though the ground shows signs of the previous night’s storm. His horse sits, several yards away. We take a look at the desolate desert around him, to show just how far he’s wandered. The storm can be seen along the horizon, many miles away. Back to Munny, he’s still asleep in the mud. We, then, hear the clicks of two pistols being cocked, though, he’s undisturbed, despite this. UKNOWN VOICE: (offscreen) A little late in the day to be sleepin’ ain’t it? Now, ya ask me, I’d say that there could get a man killed in these parts. Wouldn’t ya agree, Mr...? A bounty hunter stands with his horse behind him. He holds two large pistols at this sides. He’s about the same size and weight as Munny, and no more than twenty-one years old. There’s a smug sense of confidence on his face, demonstrated by a smile that reveals several missing and rotten teeth. BOUNTY HUNTER: That storm last night was all out o’ hell all right. Be a shame for one to survive it just to be killed outta their own carelessness. Munny lies right where he is, not moving. We can’t tell if he’s asleep or not. 128 Inscape 2019
BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) Damn shame. Damn shame. Now, Mr., I don’t much like killin’ no folks, but I sure will, if they don’t do what I like of em. So, Imma need ya to do as I say, ‘fore I take care of what there storm couldn’t. Now, roll on over, take off that hat off o’ yours, an’ show me your face. Munny still lays motionless. BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) Maybe, you still ain’t hearin’ me. What I said was: move your pathetic, drunk ass, an’ show who you is, right the fuck now. Nothing. BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) Motherfuckin’. The bounty hunter takes his left pistol, and clears the chamber. Each round hits within inches of Munny’s body, and splatters mud all over him. The man, then, puts the empty gun in its holster, now, with just the right in hand. BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) (pissed off) I said take that goddamn hat off, ‘fore I load your carcass with every bullet I got in this thing. Now. Beat. Finally, Munny starts to stir. BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) That’s right. Smart man. Munny rises to his feet, removes his hat from his face, and places it on his head. He’s ghoulishly hung over. BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) (excited and afraid) Oh yeah. You who I’m looking for alright. I’ve got William Munny in the flesh staring down the barrel o’ my ol’ Colt. No reply from Munny. Just a stare. The bounty hunter takes a few steps towards him. 129
BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) Good shit. The bounty on that there forehead o’ yours been raised up to two thousand dollars, after what you pulled last night. MUNNY: Last night? BOUNTY HUNTER: Yeah. Last night. You remember. MUNNY: Yeah. I do. Vaguely. BOUNTY HUNTER: Vaguely. Then, you understand what ya got comin’ for ya, don’t ya? You an’ that gang you’s got. Where’re they? Las Gilas still? Beat. The two stare at each other. BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) (smiling in confirmation) That’s right. Now, ‘fore I tie you up, Imma need you to pitch them pistols o’ yours. Get em. Gone. Munny takes his pistols from their holsters, and tosses them away to both sides. The bounty hunter moves forward, still with his gun locked dead on Munny, until he’s right on him. He positions himself behind, replaces his pistol, and takes out a lasso. He starts to tie Munny’s hands together. BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) I really do appreciate ya doin’ the right thing, an’ not makin’ me shoot ya dead, Will. The extra five hundred is gonna be that much sweeter, when we get back. Especially, once I see em hang your ugly ass. He laughs at the prospect. BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) Yessiree. Munny yanks his wrists away, grasps the back of the man’s legs, and propels himself backward, knocking the bounty hunter flat to the ground. Munny lands on top of the man, who’s breath is driven from his lungs. 130 Inscape 2019
He lets out a small, high pitched squeal, as it leaves him. Munny turns over and places his hands on each of the man’s pitsols, to trap them in their holsters. Munny positions his knee between the man’s legs. He raises it, and thrusts it into the bounty hunter’s groin, which sends out another high pitched, yet lower, cry of pain. Munny repeats this action several times. Each strike draws a fainter, duller gasp from the man. He raises himself into a proper mount position, and pins the hunter’s arms and guns between his legs. Munny begins to hail fists into his adversary’s face. He busts the man’s nose, and generates bruises all over. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his hands around the hunter’s throat, when he finishes. He squeezes. The man struggles, but it’s no use. He can’t breath, he can barely see through his black eyes, and his only weapons are trapped between he and his killer’s bodies. Finally, he gives into it, and accepts his fate. Munny still keeps a firm grip on the hunter’s throat, for many seconds after the man has passed. He scans over the area for any more attackers, but the desert is clear. He looks back to the bruised, bloody face, and releases it. He searches the body for anything worth while. Munny takes the man’s pistols, ammo, canteen, money, and boots. He keeps everything, but tosses the boots away, without care. Munny, then, reaches into the man’s jacket, and pulls out two folded sheets of paper. They’re wanted posters. The first is for he, William Munny. It’s new, and offers fifteen hundred dollars for him dead, two thousand alive. He crumples it, and pitches it behind his back. He looks at the second poster. It’s for a man named Wesley Dunn: a member of the Gardner Gang. He’s up for four hundred dead, eight hundred alive. Last seen at one of the gang’s hideouts in Luna, New Mexico, near Las Gilas. Munny inspects the face, then folds the poster into fourths, and puts it in his pocket. He retrieves his own pistols and jacket, before he starts towards his horse. He spies the dead cowboy’s steed, and looks it over. It’s much stronger and healthier than his own. Munny removes his saddle and belongings from his horse, pulls out one of his new guns, and shoots the animal in the head. He throws the hunter’s saddle off, replaces it with his own, and pulls himself up. Again, he looks over the landscape. He nudges his fresh horse forward, and the two go at a walk. We focus on the two corpses left behind, while he moves out of view.
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We see the dead man’s face, then the horse’s. There’s a gaping hole in its head. Brain matter spills from the entry and exit wounds, though both eyes remain intact. It appears to be stuck in a never-ending shriek. We linger on this shot, for several moments. Then... FADE TO BLACK:
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Young Writer’s Day 2018 On Wednesday, November 7th, 2018, Central Methodist University’s English Department hosted its sixth annual Young Writer’s Day. Students from Jamestown, Smithton, South Shelby, Marshall, Boonville, and Fayette were invited to participate in a day of creative activities. Students were placed into groups, and each group participated in different sessions. Students were introduced to material from different genres. The rest of the time was theirs to create a work in that genre. Then, they were allowed to submit any work of theirs, after they had left. The best works from these students are featured in this year’s edition of Inscape. Sigma Tau Delta was instrumental in the success of the sixth Young Writer’s Day. Members helped with every aspect of the event. Sigma Tau Delta strives to “provide, through its local chapters, cultural stimulation on college campuses, and promote interests in literature and the English language in surrounding communities;” as well as to “foster all aspects of the discipline of English, including literature, language, and writing.” The English department and Sigma Tau Delta are proud to present the work submitted from this year’s Young Writer’s Day: Poetry: 1st Place: This Place by Lillian Wade, Marshall 2nd Place: It Takes A Child To Make An Artist by Grace McDowell, Boonville 3rd Place: What Once Was by Sara Espinoz, Marshall Short Fiction: 1st Place: Captain Crow Stealing the Moon by Anna Valencia, Fayette 2nd Place: Automaton by Evan Alley, Boonville 3rd Place: Platsic Flowers by Meredith Stumbaugh, Fayette Honorable Mention: Party of the Summers by Steven Argueta, Marshall Spaceman by Hannah Eisenbarth, Smithton The Hunter’s Nightmare by Logan Thies, Fayette
Ryan Woldruff, PhD Assistant Professor of English Director of Writing Center Central Methodist University
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First Place: Poetry
This Place
Lillian Wade, Marshall Don’t tell, I told the air Don’t tell them I come here Don’t speak too loud My worry, my sadness, my fear Shush! They might hear Don’t tell them about you I’ll be angry, I will Don’t tell them of the place that helps me escape My worry, my sadness, my fear Shush! They might hear They might hear that I’ve found this place Oh, it brings me great joy I release myself from their embrace in this quiet little cove A large spring, just north of my cottage A place where the waters consume My worry, my sadness, my fear But, shush! They might hear This quiet place where loneliness is peaceful Where worry subsides Sadness is silence that I seldom find Fear is bravery among the weak And, Wind, you’ve kept my secrets before In these forms, I love My worry, my sadness, my fear… Carry the message I want them to hear
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Second Place: Poetry
It Takes A Child To Make An Artist Grace McDowell, Boonville
It takes a child to make an artist They express what they see They use what they have They make the best of what it could be An Adult sees a stick A child sees a wand, a staff, a rod An Adult sees a closet A child sees a portal to another dimension It takes child to make an artist An Adult sees a piece of scrap paper A child sees a canvas, a story to be created, a world to create An Adult sees a pen and paper A child sees an escape It takes a child to make an artist They express what they see They use what they have They make the best of what it could be
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Third Place: Poetry
What Once Was
Sara Espinoza, Marshall worrisome she and i felt the same food was scarce and money even more so barren i could see the worry on her face carved into her like a pumpkin and her heart gutted emptiness there was nothing i could say or do to restore the ambition that once lived in her eyes wistfulness she stares longingly at our bare table as though an abundance anguish i cannot bring myself to look at her to see the despair crawling its way out of her absence we have lost everything blank walls surround us consistent we work every day just to return here every night finished this place is no longer a home it has become a building of shattered dreams
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First Place: Fiction
Captain Crow Stealing the Moon Anna Valencia, Fayette
Captain Crow was a household tale in the world of Nisby. Legend told that he stole children away and used the, for slaves, but Moon thought otherwise. To her, Captain Crow was a legend that she hoped was true; for her, anything would be better than the life she endured on the vast shore of Nisby. Moon had no future in the Kingdom. She was a blue haired castaway without family, money, or a noble title. She always dreamed of a life sailing sailing the Black Sea with Captain Crow and his castaway children. For she knew that the tales were false, and Crow was a savior for lonely children like her. Every Midsummer’s Eve, Moon would walk to the coast of the Black Sea in her tattered gown, bare feet, and blue wavy hair. She was a known beauty in the land, but she was too poor to mean anything to society. She began her annual trip to the sea with hopes of catching just a glance of Crow and his crew. As usual, Moon took a seat by the shore of the sea, digging her toes anxiously into the red sand. No one in the village understood Moon’s yearly journey to the sea, but that did not trouble her. She knew the purpose of her hopeful trip: Long before Moon’s mother died of the plague, she told Moon the true story of Captain Crow’s passage across the sea every year. So with hope for a better future, every year since her mother’s passing, Moon made the trip in search of a new life. On the seventeenth year in a row of waiting, Moon began to lose hope of the arrival of her savior Captain Crow. She began to think of herself as stupid — stupid for ever thinking that she deserved anything better than the life she had. The wind was howling as usual, but then it suddenly stopped. Still sat by the shore, Moon didn’t think anything of the occurrence. She began to weep. There was a rustle in the nearby bushes. Moon looked up nervously hoping that no one had seen her crying. Then, from down the shore, a tall well fit man in a brown leather jacket and boots made his way down the shore. Moon quickly stood up and wiped her eyes dry. “Who are you?” she stuttered nervously. A boy who looked to be about eighteen years old walked up to Moon with a cocky grin on his face and said, “I am the man you have been waiting for Moon.” Without any hesitation, the boy grabbed Moon’s hand. And with a flash, everything went dark.
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Second Place: Fiction
Automaton
Evan Alley, Boonville Something was missing. Claire could tell. There was a hole inside of her, but she couldn’t find it. She started an internal diagnostic, running through her various systems, one after another, methodically checking her software’s integrity. She was all there. Her emotional core was acting abnormally, but she didn’t need any diagnostic firmware to tell her that. She looked towards the sky. A familiar void starred back down at her, information occasionally scrolling over her eyes. Advertisements and alerts passed between artificial heartbeats. The lights of the city could sometimes be seen reflected in wisps of gas flitting morosely over the ominous skyscrapers around her. They grinned down at her with their victorian architecture, the skins of steel and glass worn by those buildings didn’t have the usual welcoming chill. Organics gave her strange looks as they passed in the street, perhaps wondering why Claire’s mechanical eyes were so fixated on the sky above. Claire knew that on any other day she would be wondering the same thing, her RAM cycling information through her circuits, working on a logical explanation for the behaviour. But at that moment, her RAM was focused on a much more pressing problem, one that assaulted her logical and emotional cores with equal intensity: What was she missing? She should be content. She had been made to be content. She had a comfortable job, working as a secretary for the HFDC, a coveted position among her fellow Automatons. Aside from the occasional drunken approaches, she was was mostly avoided by the organics in the office. They gave her a wide berth for they called the “uncanny valley.” Maybe she was lonely? Claire sat on the thought as she lowered her eyes from the empty sky, passing it through the web of connections that formed her electronic mind. Crowds of organics pushed past her, some slipping into harshly-lit shops, some rushing into decrepit subway stations. There weren’t any other Automatons in sight. More than likely, they were working late, stuck trying to figure solutions to the problems that inevitably arose within organic businesses. Maybe she missed the company of those like her, maybe she needed someone to talk to. Her logic processors agreed that this was the most likely reason for the hole she felt. But her rebellious emotional processors refused to accept the solution. Claire started another diagnostic, this time specifically targeting the four processors that should be have decoded the emotions she felt. All was working properly, according to the subroutines she had run. Her focus turned wholly inward, the trip home was both short and uneventful. The subway was packed and dirty as usual, and Claire was tempted to shut down her odor sensors for a portion of the ride. Before the temptation became a need, the ride was over, and Claire was back to her own neighborhood. The buildings were shorter than they were in the business district, but Claire still felt crushed by their imposing stature. Looking at the sky again, Claire thought, just for a 138 Inscape 2019
second, that she could see the faint impression of the moon. The hole in her heart grew deeper. Excitement flooded her thoughts, she had a lead! She starred again at the sky, but there was no silver disk floating above her head. She focused and refocused her eyes, desperately trying to get a glimpse of the elusive celestial object, but to no avail. The black blanket of the sky enveloped the earth, and no light was allowed through. With a quiet sigh from the synthetic lungs in her chest, Claire made her slow passage back to her spartan apartment.
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Third Place: Fiction
Plastic Flowers
Meredith Stumbaugh, Fayette Age spotted, and wrinkly hands fiddle with their cup of hot tea and sugar. Melvin Nickli who was the writer of one of the bestselling love stories in the 2000’s, called Plastic Flowers. The book was published mere months before his wife was able to read the book, which had been written and dedicated to her. Mel’s biggest regret was his wife not being able to read it before she died. He would go back and redo it if he could. These days he spent his lonely days reading and watching the nightly news, a picture of his wife on the table next to him. While he regretted it, people couldn’t help but love such a sweet tale. It inspired love as readers discovered the tale of the plastic flowers. Melvin met his wife Vi when they were seventeen. He loved her at first glance; however, it would take more than a glance to win over Vi’s heart. All summer Melvin tried his best to make her fall in love with him: little notes, drive-in movies, ice cream dates, and complete adoration. By the end of the summer, he knew he had won her heart. He went out and bought a rose; however, he was in such a hurry he didn’t notice it was a plastic one. When she came out of her house he gave her the rose and asked if she would be his girl. Violet said yes without a pause but then began to giggle as she noticed the rose was not real like Mel had thought. He was embarrassed but Violet laughed and hearing her laugh so loudly made him laugh too. So, every year after that Melvin brought her a plastic flower on their anniversary. The book went on to describe their wonderful life together, the ups, the downs, and everything in between and it was all for her. That night he felt particularly reminiscent and decided to venture into what used to be her craft room; he never went in there because it reminded him of her too much. The room still smelled like her. He went over to the closet where they had stored all the plastic flowers and pulled out the box of flowers. Beside it he found a note in his wife’s writing, which read: “My darling I know I wasn’t supposed to read it but I couldn’t help it. It was wonderful honey. Reading it I felt like we were seventeen again or twenty-two buying our first house together. I couldn’t help but laugh when you talked about the time the dog got loose and we had to chase it all through the neighborhood just to find him on our porch! Hopefully you won’t find this until I’ve safely tucked it in your coat pocket on the big day. You’ve bought me flower after flower, but now it’s my turn. Congratulations, I love you.” Just next to the note he found two plastic flowers and he smiled for the first time in a long while.
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About the Editors
Dylan Lewis
Dylan is a senior English major from Kirksville, Missouri. He is the President of Sigma Tau Delta, and is a member of Enactus, Alpha Phi Gamma, and the National Society of Leadership and Success. Dylan has also started to work in the Little Theater, over the last semester. He has been writing stories, since he was in elementary school, and hopes to work as a storyteller within many genres and mediums (which include novels, novellas, plays, screenplays, pro-wrestling, etc.), in the future. He enjoys playing guitar, singing, acting, writing, drawing, driving, wrestling, and training Brazilian jiu-jistu, during his free time.
Madilynn Lyons Madilynn is a senior English major from New Franklin, Missouri. She is the Secretary of Sigma Tau Delta, and is also involved with youth outreach through the Civic Engagement program. Her hobbies include writing, watching comedies, reading, running, and singing. In the future, she hopes to begin a career as a writer in the television industry.
Editorial Team Darren Defreitas Molly Lyons Ashley Patzwald Kylie Tillman
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Contributor Biographies Anna Valencia - Anna studies at Fayette High School, and attended Young Writer’s Day. Ashley Atherton - Ashley Atherton is a senior Communications Major with a Minor in Art. She’s working towards going to graduate school next spring to acquire her Masters in Library Science. She loves spending time with her friends, family, and dog, Teyrah. Ashley Patzwald - Ashley is a junior English major that wants to teach high school English once she graduates from CMU. She is involved with Navigators, Chapel, Sigma Alpha Pi and Sigma Tau Delta. She loves kick boxing and writing stories. Brooke Emmerich - Brooke is a senior Accounting and Business major who is striving to become a CPA after graduation. She is and has been heavily involved in Enactus throughout her college years. She loves being outdoors and traveling. Brooke Striegel - Brooke is a senior Church Leadership major who wants to pursue music ministry after graduation. She is involved with the Navigators and music ministry on campus. She enjoys mission work, singing, and traveling. Catherine Barnard - Catherine Barnard is a junior Nursing major. On campus, she’s a soprano in the Conservatory Singers and works in the Writing Center. She loves to do yoga, paint, write, and sing. Darren Defreitas - Darren is a junior Psychology major, and does Track and Field. D’Yanna Kloog - D’Yanna is a current sophomore Sociology major with a Psychology minor, and an active member in Alpha Gamma Psi. She loves taking pictures of nature and drawing. She plans to be a Human Resource Representative or Guidance counselor after graduation. She has a passion for helping people. Echo Essick - Echo is a senior Church Leadership major striving to work in youth ministry. She is active with the Navigators here on campus and is an intern at Faith Family Church. She loves working with youth and traveling to other nations spreading the Gospel. Erin Schulz - Erin is pursuing a major in Marine Biology and a minor in Criminal Justice. She is involved with the Marine Biology Club, the Navigators, and FCA. She loves the beach and wants to be involved in the recuse, rehabilitation, and release process with marine animals in the future. Evan Alley - Evan studies at Boonville High School, and attended Young Writer’s Day. Grace McDowell - Grace studies at Boonville High School, and attended Young Writer’s Day. Grace Stumbaugh - Grace is a sophomore English major who plans on being a High School English teacher after graduation. She is on the varsity volleyball team and is a member of the Kappa Delta Pi education honors society. She enjoys baking and traveling. Gregory Owen - Gregory is the Assistant Professor of Theatre, and works as a Scenic and Lighting Designer, as well as a Technical Director. 142 Inscape 2019
Gregory Thurmon - Professor Thurmon is an aspiring animal care taker, who has been in college for many years. Hobbies include talking and scuba diving. He loves to share underwater world with others. Hannah Eisenbarth - Hannah studies at Smithton High School, and attended Young Writer’s Day. Hope Howser - Hope Howser is a twenty year old sophomore at CMU. She’s an English major and looking to get certified in secondary education. She enjoys cheerleading, writing, and reading. Janna Mackay - Janna is a senior Psychology and Criminal Justice major. She has been heavily involved in the sorority Alpha Gamma Psi, Psychology Club, and Pi Lambda Alpha throughout her college years. She enjoys dogs, coffee, and reading. Janie Leathers - Janie is majoring in chemistry and biology with a minor in mathematics. She hopes to attend medical school after graduation to become a physician. She has earned top honors in chemistry, biology, and mathematics, as well as the Demaree Prize for being the freshman student with the highest GPA for the 2017-18 Academic year. Jordan Lane - Jordan Lane is a junior Biology major, here at CMU, striving to improve humanity’s thoughts on the beautiful world ensuring our lives on Earth. He has been president of the Environmental Science Club as well as former president of Game Geeks. Jordan loves traveling the world to enjoy nature’s bounty. Kylie Tillman - Kylie is a senior Psychology and Criminal Justice double major with a minor in Writing & Publication. She is also the president of Psychology Club and Psi Chi. She hopes to work in publication after graduation. Lillian Wade - Lillian studies at Marshall High School, and attended Young Writer’s Day. Logan Thies - Logan studies at Fayette High School, and attended Young Writer’s Day. Luke Knoble - Luke is a senior Physics and Math major. He is on the baseball team, works as a part-time EMT, and is involved with the Navigators. He enjoys being active outdoors through backpacking and triathlons. He also likes astronomy, medicine, and playing guitar. Maggie Gebhardt - Maggie is the assistant director of marketing and communications at CMU. She graduated from CMU in 2012 with a bachelor’s degree in Communication Studies, and was an award-winning journalist in Kansas before returning to Missouri. She enjoys golf, photography, and nature, and spends most of her time adoring her one-year-old son, Julian, his father and her significant other, Adam, their golden retriever, Baylee, and her family. Meredith Stumbaugh - Meredith studies at Fayette High School, and attended Young Writer’s Day. Molly Lyons - Molly is a junior English major striving to work in the entertainment industry. She has been heavily involved in the sorority, Theta Chi Upsilon, and CMU’s Englsih society, Sigma Tau Delta. She enjoys film, singing, and being outdoors. Natalie Van Horn - Natalie Van Horn is a junior Marine Biology Major with minors in both English and Art, who hopes to couple her passion for animals 143
with her love for the arts after graduation. She is a member of Alpha Gamma Psi, secretary for Marine Biology Club, and a student intern for the Navigators at CMU. Natalie is an avid fan of Twenty-One Pilots, loves Christmas, and is a walking encyclopedia of movie/book references. Raelynn Henson - Raelynn is a junior Business Management major who is doing her best to get her Masters in Business Administration after CMU. She then hopes to work in admissions at a local university. She has been super involved at her time at CMU. She is the acting President of Delta Pi Omega, Sweetheart for Sigma Alpha Chi/Phi Delta Theta, a student ambassador, and is a part of Two Birds One Nest. She loves playing volleyball and being a leader and inspiration for others. Sarah Espinoza - Sarah studies at Marshall High School, and attended Young Writer’s Day. Steven Argueta - Steven studies at Marshall High School, and attended Young Writer’s Day. tAno Mateu - tAno is a Network Administrator, and works for Technology Services at the Central Methodist Helpdesk.
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Notes
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