Inscape 2020

INSCAPE Celebrating the Arts at Central Methodist University

Inscape ©2020 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 2021.

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Inscape 2020

INSCAPE Central Methodist University’s Magazine of the Arts A project of CMU’s Mu Lambda chapter of Sigma Tau Delta.

Issue 45/2020

Editors Ashley Patzwald Molly 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.

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Table of Contents

Front Cover...................................................................Monet’s Garden by Rachel Lipsey Note from the Editors..........................................................................................................6 Inscape Defined....................................................................................................................7

Poetry

First Place: Gratitude by Rene Burkland...........................................................................8 Second Place: Treasures Created and Abandoned by Peggy Laue................................9 Third Place: Ode to a Rose by Mia Mueller....................................................................10 To My Sister, Claire by Catherine Barnard.....................................................................11 Leaves by Audrey Vogel.....................................................................................................12 Rainbow Fish by Darren Defreitas...................................................................................13 Equilibrium by Rene Burkland.........................................................................................14 The Cemetery by Alex Leathers........................................................................................15 Everything Heals With Time by Amy Blair....................................................................16 The Arrow by Chase Cannon...........................................................................................17 Someday Soon by Sara Ratliff...........................................................................................18 Fate by Amy Blair................................................................................................................20 A Lost Glove Found in an Unknown Sock by Sarah King...........................................21 Don’t Drink the Kool-aid by Grace Stumbaugh............................................................22

Creative Nonfiction

First Place: V is for Vanity by Darren Defreitas.............................................................23 Second Place: Only Cool Kids Pee Their Pants by Rachel Lipsey................................25 Third Place: It’s All in the Pie by Ashley Patzwald.........................................................27 Does Hair Cost Extra? by Grace Stumbaugh.................................................................30 Sisters by Audrey Vogel.....................................................................................................33

Art, Drawing, and Photography

First Place: Casa di Ospitalita by Natalie Van Horn.....................................................37 Second Place: Pieced Together by Janie Leathers..........................................................38 Third Place: La Vie En Rose by Natalie Van Horn........................................................39 Intensity by Natalie Van Horn.........................................................................................40 Luke 12:27 by Rachel Lipsey.............................................................................................41 Fairy Vacation by Sydney Philpot....................................................................................42 “Holy Cow” by Dana Lester..............................................................................................43 May the Force Be With You, Always by Natalie Van Horn..........................................44 Golden Hour by Anna Murri...........................................................................................45 In My Daughter’s Eyes by Traci Ballew............................................................................46 Stillness by Rachel Lipsey..................................................................................................47 Morning Tides by Rachel Lipsey......................................................................................48 Geometric World by Janie Leathers.................................................................................49 coup d’oeil by Rene Burkland...........................................................................................50

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Inscape 2020

Before the Storm by Rachel Lipsey...................................................................................51 Reflections by Skylor Turner.............................................................................................52 A Moment of Rest by Emma McQueen..........................................................................53 Immersion by Grace McIntosh.........................................................................................54 Mockingbird by Emma McQueen...................................................................................55 Divine Eyes by Lilly Powell...............................................................................................56 Puppy Love by Camille Dovin..........................................................................................57 I Spy a ___? by Janie Leathers...........................................................................................58 Climbing Tree by Janie Leathers.......................................................................................59

Short Fiction

First Place: Dandy Man Lore by Darren Defreitas........................................................60 Second Place: Fairytales, Romance, and Other Nonsense by Sara Ratliff..................66 Third Place: The Arrow by Chase Cannon.....................................................................70 The Alley by Tome Voss....................................................................................................72 Always and Forever by Amanda Steinman.....................................................................74 Nighttime Excursion by Parker Johnson........................................................................77

Young Writer’s Day 2019

Notes on Young Writer’s Day............................................................................................79 First Place Poetry: Marlborough Street Boston by Marina Firman, Boonville.........80 Second Place Poetry: Her Last Dance by Anna Scheperle, Jamestown......................81 Third Place Poetry: Dawn by Kaitlin Furneaux, Fayette...............................................82 First Place Short Fiction: Don’t Go by Danielle Spencer, Smithton............................83 Second Place Short Fiction: Light in the Dark by Dezmynd Johnson, Boonville.....86 Third Place Short Fiction: The Imperfect Storm by Logan Thies, Fayette..................87 Editor Biographies..............................................................................................................89 Contributor Biographies...................................................................................................90 Notes....................................................................................................................................93

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Note from the Editors

The editors of the 2020 issue of Inscape would like to sincerely thank everyone who was a part of this year’s publication. A lot of the creative process was completed in a three-credit hour course where we, along with five other students, collaborated to put this magazine together. We want to thank Rachel, Darren, Hope, Sara, and Grace, 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 talented contributors for their submissions. None of this would have been possible without the hard work and creativity shared with us by the students and faculty here at Central Methodist University and the young authors who attended Young Writer’s Day this past fall.

Of course, we are very saddened by the way this spring semester turned out here on campus. In light of the present global health pandemic of novel Coronavirus/COVID-19, the remainder of our 2020 spring semester has been moved online and students will no longer meet face-to-face on campus. This is certainly not the way we imagined things would go. But, we understand everything that’s happened is necessary and for the good of us all. In hard times like these, it’s all about perspective. And, if there’s one important lesson that can be taken away from these unfortunate circumstances, it’s that we never know for certain how much time we truly have with the people or things we love. And, that is why we should always remember to take a moment of rest from all the hustle and bustle of everyday worries and take time to treasure the small things. Whether it’s a beautiful sunset reflecting perfectly onto stilled water, the swift sound of the arrow just before it hits its target, sunlight breaking through the clouds after the storm, late night giggles with your sisters, or that delicious first bite of your great grandmother’s apple pie, it’s important to be grateful for every precious moment life has to offer. And, we hope this year’s Inscape serves as this very reminder to each and every reader.

In this year’s edition, we wanted to make sure that we were able to capture each genre that was published. The editors and editorial team spent countless hours making deliberate choices about each piece so that the audience captured and talent published would be wide. And that is why, despite all of the sudden and overwhelming changes taking place, we were still determined to publish this time-honored magazine you now hold in your hands. When asked if there was any question of still publishing this forty-fifth edition, we did not hesitate to say yes. While we and our team put it together, we certainly don’t think of Inscape as being just ours.

It has and always will belong to everyone here at Central Methodist University and we are proud to have kept this tradition alive for our beloved school.

Finally, we are proud as always to be able to shine a spotlight on everyone featured in this year’s edition. And to our senior contributors who will be graduating soon, we are so sorry your time at Central has been cut short but we are so glad we were still able to help you share your work with the world.

Once an eagle, always an eagle!

Sincerely, Ashley and Molly

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Inscape 2020

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 Gratitude Rene Burkland

But what about Placid early mornings sitting on the back porch, reading the newspaper, listening to the hummingbird’s wings whistling while guzzling their nectar The gelid rush that gets sent through your body After the first snowflake of the winter season lands on the tip of your wine red nose The slight glimpse of sunlight that peeks through the thunderheads after a monsoon, in the midst of summertime The russet gold and intense red leaves on the aspens you only get to idolize during autumn The silhouette of mountains in a Hopi Point sunset The smell of Grandma’s sprinkled sugar cookies she only bakes on Easter Day after church The definite aroma of fresh pines after a rain shower in the White Mountains The sour tang of a newly picked grapefruit from the orchards When you stop looking at the world through a magnifying glass You’ll realize

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Inscape 2020

Second Place: Poetry Treasures Created and Abandoned Peggy Laue

The glassblower’s gather is warmed and cared for As honey on a dipper, selected from the crucible The perfect start for her best creation yet.

Then blowing life through the pipe and protecting Yet will the treasure remain completely formed.

Time has passed to place into the cold room Out of the safe blanket and the calm.

The glass retained its form and stands Poised to take its place among her treasured works.

The beauty remains.

The glassblower shatters, gone without heart Not choosing or unable to return.

Not seeing the beauty, not a turn to see Nor the treasure’s place in the world Leaving.

The treasure is warm, and snuggled in a blanket Loved to her core, encouraged and supported.

The world sees the beauty and knows the spiritual soul Thriving, growing, and giving still Because of the glassblower’s creator.

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Third Place: Poetry Ode to a Rose Mia Mueller

A rose always wins Nevertheless, a rose is fraught with flaws, While the rose is replete with good looks, a dandelion possesses the power to bestow wishes travel around the world but most importantly a dandelion is everlasting They are often overlooked and brusquely yanked out of the ground I believe that they are born with an ability that far surpasses superficial looks Although adults might have lost sight of this special ability, children cherish the gift the flower presents They grant wishes They bestow hope They bequeath smiles With one tiny blow accompanied by a wish swoosh, the petals take off like a bird flying to its unknown destination They carefully store children’s, and at times even adult’s secret desires.

The alluring appearance of roses attract dozens of admirers The flower is like a prize everyone is hoping to win A rose relishes in the “oohs” and “ahhs” of delight as they are gifted Afterwards, they are placed in a cold, water-filled vase to be further admired Once received, the vase becomes their new home.

They live the remainder of their life in one place, never traveling or experiencing new locations There is no adventure involved with the more visually pleasing flowers Looks are not an indispensable characteristic While a rose will wither and desiccate with time a dandelion is timeless.

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Inscape 2020

To My Sister, Claire Catherine Barnard

Your soul whispered with echoed feeling: “I’ll see you later.” But I slept; my ears did not hear.

Slipping away in sleep. I didn’t— couldn’t—hear you. Shouting for so long, so softly: “I’m okay.” I didn’t know not to listen.

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Leaves

Audrey Vogel

To some, leaves are just green,

But as I stare up into them I become engulfed in their beauty.

The way some leaves shimmer in the sunlight,

While others fade away in the shadows draws my eye into their depths.

As they sway in the gentle breeze, I am hypnotized by their intricate dance, Each individual leaf seems to be begging for my attention.

Vividly dressed in those glorious shades of green:

Lime, olive, forest, emerald, jade, and sea foam — They beckon me to saunter through their magnificent hues.

Different types of trees—different shapes of leaves— Different shades of green, yet As I look up, those tall, majestic, separate trees, bind together To create a rolling sea of green waves Dancing like a ballerina—

Full of passion — full of talent Wanting to be noticed as they bring delight, The baronial beauty of the leaves soothe my weary soul.

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Inscape 2020

Rainbow Fish

Darren Defreitas Life is like an exuberant river of tribulation, A song that can be heard on the heights of the mountain creek And is celebrated in the depths of the cerulean sea A journey of love, aspiration, and imagination unravels The school of colorful salmon swim; A bright rainbow of freedom!

Running against society’s disapproving upstream.

Would it be easier to let go? To conform? To be swept into oblivion?

Stripped of your Gaiety Dwelling in Denial River The scars in your eyes tell a story of fabulous beauty And the hurt in your heart gives birth to more bravery They never surrender. Leaping into an effulgent future The treacherous path only to make them stronger.

The zenith is attained in the final destination, And the gifts of the agony come to fruition.

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Equilibrium

Rene Burkland Buttery blonde, closely-cropped, frizzy hair Or chestnut brown, shoulder length, kinky hair Morpho butterfly blue eyes Or Christmas tree green eyes A compact, burly body Or a willowy slender body Peaches-and-cream skin Or umber brown skin Body enfolded with ink Or body wholly austere A reclusive psyche Or gregarious psyche Man Or woman

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Inscape 2020

The Cemetery Alex Leathers

Not too long ago In a cemetery no one knows, spirits come and go The headstones no longer stand To remind you of the men Kids that died too young Still come out to have some fun In the dark of night they come out To play a game of roundabout Round and round they go, Where they end up no one knows The men come out at night The war is over but still they fight But there is one that is big and tall A scary creature that rules them all No face, no eyes, but still it cries And with its cries the ghost arise To haunt the living world above In the woods, among the shrub For do not stick around after dark The beast will circle you like a shark If you hear the cracking of leaves Don’t trip and fall to your knees Run fast and toward the moonlight The beast cannot stand the sight Like the headless horseman Cross the bridge to the stop the hell That will end the beast’s spell So with all your might Run, run, and don’t trip in a hole Or the beast will take your soul The haunting only lasts the night Come day it is a beautiful sight But be warned, do not overstay It might be time for judgement day

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Everything Heals with Time Amy Blair

“everything heals with time,” they said over and over and over but the pain was too sharp and I ached it had dulled, yes time and distance and space between it all but there they were again “everything heals with time” I had picked my poison Aware of what could happen I was ohhh so careful not to spill but sometimes other people have things in mind Other people had things in mind And I wasn’t careful enough to not spill I was aware of what was going to happen I had picked that poison “everything heals with time” And there they all were again Time and distance and space between it all And yes, it had dulled But the pain had been sharp, it had ached Over, and over, and over, and over, “everything heals with time.”

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Inscape 2020

The Arrow

Chase Cannon

The swift sound of it heading to a target.

The speed it maintains while staying nearly silent.

Accuracy that is unmatched by anything like it.

The feeling you get releasing something with such power.

The arrow is an object bigger than ourselves.

Its tradition, staying true to our own interests.

Feeling connected with the natural world Just as our ancestors did for thousands of years before us.

The world in which we live has changed today.

The stress, the noise, the business of our daily lives.

All silent to the sound of an arrow hitting its mark.

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Someday Soon Sara Ratliff

Someday soon, You will be on your own in this world There might be times where it seems your wings are furled I hope you have the courage to take flight And live with every ounce of your might.

Someday soon, I hope you’ll face the sting of criticism and rejection And can stand taller, laughing when you look in reflection Moving past fear, knowing the world is not coming to an end You’ll walk with overwhelming confidence that’s more than just pretend.

Someday soon, You will realize you’re more beautiful than you know Looks are temporary as the winds that blow Your beauty is in your mind, your fight, your soul From the gleam in your eye to the fire in your step, you as a whole.

Someday soon, You will find the one you’re destined to meet You’ll fall as fast as the steady rhythm of your heartbeat They’ll be the one who causes those walls around you to fall You will experience what true and lasting love is, pain and all.

Someday soon, You’ll understand the depth of a parent’s love All those times it felt like nothing but complaints from above That was my way of showing you I truly care You’ll have your own little ones entering the world to prepare.

Someday soon, You will realize perfection is not always attainable I hope you’ll find beauty in the imperfect and the unexplainable When all around you, you see nothing but flaw after flaw Knowing what it is to be human, you’ll gaze in awe.

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Inscape 2020

Someday soon, You will understand just what all I am telling you And you’ll look back on your life with a different point of view No matter the time or distance, I will always be with you More proud of you than you ever knew.

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Fate

Amy Blair Have you met Fate?

I have been looking everywhere Just to find out Where I am going We met once, Years ago And while Fate was here, I could feel great things beginning to happen But just like that, all Fate was lost In a moment, my thoughts were memories Fleeting into the night sky To rest amongst the stars Memories that left a lasting taste in my mouth That left me wondering and searching Where are you? What is my fate?

And where might that greatness be?

Perhaps It’s right here?

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Inscape 2020

A Lost Glove Found in an Unknown Sock Sarah King

I lost my left glove one Monday night Before the days got this cold Before the frost bite threatened to bite Before my hands felt so old I think she left me when I was watching TV She felt abandoned under that chair She was taken away from the lobby And I haven’t seen her since I was there I adopted a navy blue sock flukily thereafter He had been lost by his owner as well Though he could not completely replace her He can still warm my hand for a spell He may not be built especially for this profession He does not fit fingers as well as he once fit toes However, he still warms my disposition And is much more useful than a rose

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Don’t Drink the Kool-aid Grace Stumbaugh

An enticing cup I will sip But won’t swallow I’m only here for taste An infiltration Others choose to digest Tinted lips spill tinted words They ask me what I think My stained smile is my answer Yet the liquid is still caged behind my teeth One person shouts A thousand echoes follow No matter if it makes sense If it sounds right, say it No questions The liquid grows stale in my mouth I won’t accept it All eyes on me as I spit it to the ground I am the fool Because I will not shout On the other side, the crowd is thin Here there is no shouting No echoes Questions are welcomed With red lips and white smiles Truth is not a liquid It doesn’t stain Build on it Bite it Don’t be thirsty

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Inscape 2020

First Place: Creative Nonfiction V is for Vanity Darren Defreitas

“Oh my gosh, you’re so handsome!” “Oh wow, you’re so brilliant!” “You’re so multi-talented, you’re a freak of nature!” “You’re the greatest writer in the WHOLE world!” Yes, yes—I have heard all of these sentiments before! But apparently “I know” is not the correct response. Why is that? Of course, I can simply say “Thank you.” But I am a man of great honesty and the latter does not even begin to express how I truly feel! It would be disingenuous. I am a lot of things but a liar is not one of them! I—am a vain monster!

My greatness has always been hard to deny. From the day I catwalked out on the runway of my mother’s womb, I imagine the doctors were in awe, it was like watching a person give birth to themselves! Speaking of my mother, (I suppose she deserves some credit!) she is in no way responsible for the monster I’ve become.

When I first became a track star, she would remind me of how important it was to remain humble and small and insignificant. I conceded initially of course, but I always had to wonder—why? Is it because being proud of your own hard-earned accomplishments is some way wrong? Was she worried that I would be perceived as obnoxious, vain and annoying? Why does society tell us it’s wrong to be vain?

Surely there are much more pressing matters to be concerned about. Last I checked being full of yourself isn’t a crime!

I have a theory that secretly—we are all a little bit vain. Secretly, we all want to be the center of attention! We’re all dirty little attention whores determined to deny it! That’s right! I said what I said! It’s human nature. Why would anybody want to be humble? There is no point in downplaying your own positive attributes! It’s those very facets that make us all so beautiful, and make us like-able by other people. So why would you want to diminish that? Don’t you think that this is counterproductive? This is why I never understood the utility of being humble. The truth is we all have it in us! You too can join me and share in this power! Everyone deserves to realize we’re all beautiful creatures of the earth! But not as beautiful as me of course.

Step aside.

Now enough about you, let’s talk about me! This is a memoir after all! MY MEMOIR. Now I have a confession to make—it’s ironic but this vanity often makes me a little self-conscious and not in a good way. Why am I like this? Do I truly believe it? Maybe it is all just a sham, an act, maybe it’s a defense mechanism or a form of over compensation, brought about from years of low self-esteem and self-hate that was borne out of struggling to come to terms with my sexual orientation. Am I just a self-indulgent phony? Or does looking in the mirror half naked, really result in my tiny American eagle boxer briefs suddenly becoming both tighter and wetter.

I’ve noticed that vanity is an attribute that numerous gay men share, but rarely do I meet a man on my level both in terms of vanity as well as sheer greatness!

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Being vain might very well be a facet of gay culture. You often hear words like “fabulous, gorgeous, stunning, flawless” being thrown back and forth like glittery tennis balls. Naturally, through my journey of self-acceptance I’ve resonated with these words and now they have become synonymous with me— myself. I have observed this form of vanity in Drag (queen) and Ball culture. Seeing these gorgeous creatures so unashamed to proclaim their undeniable beauty without being reprimanded like in regular society, was both surprising and inspiring. This was a phenomenon occurring as a result of discrimination. The LGBT community had no choice but to become a support system for itself. A larger than life personality was praised within the community and eventually by persons outside of the community.

But I still had the desire to set myself apart even from the community itself, so this is not the true source of my vanity.

The first time I took on this vain persona was with the full intent to be intentionally and ironically annoying, but somewhere down the line, the line itself became blurred. I was being relentlessly approached by a woman and my brilliant idea was to be as vain as possible in the hopes that it would turn her off. My plan didn’t work unfortunately, however what started out as this obnoxious joke has become an indefinite part of me. I honestly find it humorous, like a parody or an exaggeration of life itself. People’s reactions are often amusement however, there are few people are undeniably irritated by this personality trait to which most of the times I do not care. I stopped caring about what most people thought of me a long time ago. I had no choice but to and it was through becoming the vain monster that is me, that enabled me to overcome self-hate.

The truth is I don’t know why I’m vain or if it’s okay to be vain. But that is fine. What’s important is knowing who you are because there is great power in that.

I think that at the end of the day we should ALL embrace our inner vanity because if more people decided to be like me—the world would be a more confident place.

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Inscape 2020

Second Place: Creative Nonfiction Only Cool Kids Pee Their Pants Rachel Lipsey

I also enjoy a fun girl’s night out. It was the weekend before finals, and I was already up to my neck in papers, so I needed a night to relax and forget all the crap I needed to do. All I had to do was survive a gruesome two-hour shift at my university’s rec-center and I’d be ready to go.

I got home and there was no getting ready and then pre-gaming the girl’s night out. My roommate Emily and I, took shots of captain as we lined our lips.

By the time we finished getting ready, my face was already flushed red from the warmth of the alcohol, and I was telling myself I wasn’t going to drink too much more. Oh buddy, was I wrong.

With two bottles of Mike’s in one hand and a bottle of Captain in the other, I illegally got behind the wheel of my car to drive three blocks to the bar. We could have just walked the eight minutes it took to get from my house to the bar, but what is the fun in that? Plus, this way I was able to keep my alcohol in my car and save money. Think smarter, not harder.

Walking into the bar, I was excited to see my crush, who I thought would be there, but sadly, all I saw was my ex. I wasn’t going to let his presence ruin my evening. So, I stuck out my ass a little more than normal and walked by him with a fake confidence.

To be honest, my night was kind of boring until I stopped remembering. All I know is I would finish a bottle and then run back out to my car to take another shot and grab another bottle. After five or six shots, two bottles of Mike’s, and a mixed drink, it was time to make some bad decisions.

There were a bunch of baseball guys at the bar that night and since I was friends with a lot of them, I decided to sit down and play whatever card game they had going on. The only problem was, my ex was sitting at the same table as them.

No problem though, I would just sit at the opposite end of him. This night was my night, it was going to be fun, and I didn’t care about him anymore. Right?

I sat down and asked if I could join in on the card game, my friend Max said sure. They were playing the circle of death game, but with a shot, and if I wanted to play, someone needed to take that shot so a new game could start. I wanted to play, so I knocked the shot back. The shot was 151, and I handled it like a boss. Then my mind did that thing, where you forget stuff because you blacked out and people have to remind you what happened the next day and you go, “Ahhh yeah that did happen, didn’t it?”

I woke up the next morning, not in my bed. I opened my eyes and was obviously in a male’s dorm room. Here were my exact thoughts: Where the fuck am I? And why am I wet? As I got my bearings, I turned over in this stranger’s bed and saw someone laying on the ground. It was my fucking ex.

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I quickly and quietly sat up, got out of bed, and tipped toed around his head to go to the bathroom. I sat in the bathroom for a solid five minutes, trying to figure out how I got myself into this situation. As I was thinking, I was feeling my jeans knowing there was no way I had sweated that much in my sleep. It wasn’t sweat, it was piss. I had pissed my ex’s bed and while I was mortified in the moment, holy shit, this was going to be a funny story one day. I get up from the toilet and splash some water in my face. Even though I was in this awkward situation, my makeup still looked pretty good from the night before, so that was a plus.

I gently opened up the bathroom door and thankfully my ex was still asleep on the floor. I made my way back to his bed and grabbed my phone to let my roommates know I was alive. Standing there, shivering in my pee pants, I examined the bed to see how bad my accident was. Surprisingly, there was just a hint of dampness. So, to help the cause, I tried blowing the damp area of the bed. As I was midblow, I heard the door to the room open. In this moment, I made eye-contact with Jacob, a mutual friend my ex and I shared. I couldn’t tell who was more shocked that I was in my ex’s room, him or me. We stood there staring at each other for a split second and finally I said, “I don’t know how the hell I got here, but wake him up, I need to go home.”

Jacob wakes my ex up, and I suggest that I needed to go home right away.

There’s nothing like the small talk that takes place after a one night-stand. Except in this case, I didn’t sleep with my ex, I just peed in his bed and have no recollection of how I ended up with him in the first place. To make the situation more comical, the sweet bastard opens the car door for me and as I get in, I have to toss a condom wrapper out of the seat. At least he uses protection!

My ex drops me off at my house and I make my way to the kitchen, where I sat on top of the counter, spooning oatmeal into my mouth. Not soon after I got home, my roommate Emily came out of her room saying Dylan was going to come get us and take us back to my car. “Who’s Dylan?” I ask. To my surprise, Emily fills me in that Dylan was the guy who I talked to all night and made dinner plans with.

Even when I’m incoherent, I still think about food and that amazes me.

About ten minutes later there was a knock on the front door and as I opened it, a big smile spread across my face. “Ah, hey, it’s you,” came out of my mouth, as I came out of my alcohol-induced amnesia and memories flooded my mind about the night before.

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Inscape 2020

Third Place: Creative Nonfiction It’s All in the Pie Ashley Patzwald

Cubed, golden delicious apples covered in caramelized sugar infused with cinnamon is blanketed with a topping of oatmeal, brown sugar, salt and flour. The crust that the mixture sits in is made from a recipe that is a hundred years old.

While this looks like a mouth-watering apple pie to normal people, for me it brings memories flooding back to my brain. When everyone takes a bite of it and comments on the savory flavor of the sweet apples paired with the spice of the cinnamon, they don’t realize that the flavor makes me think of Nan-nan, my great grandmother.

It’s her pie recipe along with a pie crust recipe that was gifted to her that has been passed down through the family, and even though some have tried, no one has ever been able to capture the exact flavor. They also have never been able to capture the feeling of love that she could put in the pie. When it comes to food, all the senses should be spoken to. Nan-nan’s pie had a certain language that it spoke. The scent of apple and cinnamon wasn’t just the scent of her pie, it was the smell of home. The perfect cubed apples didn’t just appeal to the eye for a good look, it represented the hours she had taken to make the pie for her loved ones. The pie was never made unless family and friends were coming to visit. I still remember the joy that filled me when Nan-nan would inform my grandmother and me that she had made a pie.

After telling us about the pie, she would then hand me a little baggy that had extra cubed apples in them. Nan-nan always said that the cubed apples made the best size for adult and child alike. There was never an apple slice to be found in the pie, Nannan always doubled checked.

When I eat apple pie now, I am always disappointed because it wasn’t made

by Nan-nan. It’s not that the apple pie tastes bad, it just isn’t what my brain is expecting. When I see apple pie, I see my Nan-nan in my head. I also see her taking the apple pie out of the oven and a hint of excitement fills me from the memory.

As a child, I couldn’t wait to taste the amazing pie that Nan-nan always made when we came to visit. Golden Delicious apples make me think of the cubed apple pieces that filled my childhood, I can enjoy them, but it still makes me think of that pie that they once filled. The apples were just the right mixture of sweet and crisp that added flavor to the pie along with the memory.

Even though the apple pie brings me joy, it also brings me a wave of sadness.

I haven’t had the apple pie that was filled with love since 2004. Even though I was no more than 6 years old, I still remember the taste that came to my mouth. It’s engraved in my brain, and deep down I know that I’ve never tasted another like it.

What saddens me even more is that my younger cousin and my own children will never be able to experience the pie. I also wish that my future husband could taste the pie. I have the recipe written down on an index in the cabinet, but I don’t even

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think I could make the pie the same way. I have a different sense of appreciation for the pie, even so I don’t think I could fill the pie with the same amount of love that Nan-nan had. When I was little older, after Nan-nan had passed, my uncle decided to make the pie as a surprise for my grandmother who was coming home from a trip. Of course, no body mentioned to 8-year-old me that the pie was a surprise and I informed her about the pie the moment I saw her. I think it was because I hadn’t had the pie in almost two years, and I was being given a chance to have it. However, while the pie was her recipe but there was something different about it. I could never seem to understand what exactly was different. Ever since my uncle tried that one time to recreate the pie, nobody ever did it again. It was like all the adults silently agreed with me that while the pie tasted good, it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same, when Nan-nan had passed, her language had left the pie.

As I’ve gotten older, I now realize that the pie not only represented my Nannan and her love, but also freedom of childhood. I didn’t have to worry about my dad getting drunk and fighting with my mother. I could enjoy the pie and have a care free life during the visit. Even though I haven’t had to worry about my father and mother fighting for a while, Nan-nan’s pie still has that standing of safety. It was home, it was safe, and it was filled with love. It was sweet and crunchy, with just the right amount of spice. Even when I talk about it, my mouth waters with the thought. I am consumed by a warm feeling like I am being hugged by Nan-nan as I remember the warmth of the pie as we ate it.

I have sometimes played with the idea of making the pie just to see if I can prove myself wrong. Each time that I come close, I talk myself out of it due to the fear of disappointment. I would rather the pie stay safe in my memory then be in harms way of being botched by me. I could follow the recipe and probably get the same result that my uncle did. I would make a pie that tasted close to Nan-nan’s but not the same. I would fill myself with a sadness because I would remember that I’ll never taste the same flavor again.

I mean the recipe isn’t that hard to follow, and those who have, come close to making Nan-nan’s pie. It could be the memory of Nan-nan making the pie that keeps throwing me off. When I expect to taste her pie, it sabotages the moment that I’m in when I’m tasting the recreated pie. The connect I feel with Nan-nan’s pie never seem to fade even though it’s been almost 15 years ago since I had the apple pie. Nothing will ever take its place. ...

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Velma Purves’s Apple Pie Bake at 350 on middle rack for 1 hour and 30 mins.

Pie Crust:

1-5lb bag Gold Medal flour

1-3lb can Crisco Shorting

½ teaspoon salt

1 cup light corn syrup

2 ½ cups of ice water I have a roasting pan and I use the bottom of it to mix the crust. Divide into 17 crusts that are 3 in circles and about 1 in thick, then put them into baggies and freeze. The crusts will keep indefinably, when ready to use you’ll only need to take them out of the freezer to thaw and then roll them out.

Pie:

6 or 7 golden delicious apples

Peel and cut into 1/8th in cubes Pie Filling:

4 tablespoons flour

¾ cup of sugar

1 teaspoon of cinnamon

1/8th teaspoon of salt Stir this together and mix with prepared apples. Place mixture into prepared crust in pie pan.

Topping:

¾ cup of flour

½ cup of sugar

1/3rd cup of butter (5½ tablespoons)

1/8th teaspoon of salt The topping is mixed together with your hands. Crumble mixture over prepared apples in pie pan. Then bake as directed.

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Does Hair Cost Extra?

Grace Stumbaugh

A quick search of the Concordia, Missouri Pizza Hut on Facebook would promptly reveal its 2.5-star rating out of 5, and just one more click would uncover the “Reviews” section associated with the restaurant. I visited this page—very warily I might add—a couple months after quitting my server job there to see if anyone had complained about my service. I was very relieved to find no bad reviews that included a teenage girl being rude, acting completely uninterested, or texting behind the counter. In fact, every bad review I had read spoke of managers refusing expired coupons or cooks forgetting the mushrooms on mushroom and Italian pizzas. They were all dated either before or after I had worked there. Now, I’m not trying to say I was the lifeblood of the Concordia Pizza Hut while I was employed there from December 2016 to July 2017, but the fact that nobody wrote a scathing review about my service (which was always subpar at best) might tell you a little something about me. Maybe it just tells you that I was good at scrolling Instagram without being detected by managers or customers alike, or it shows I’d mastered how to be a passive-aggressive bitch through smiling teeth; “No sir, I promise we are extremely sorry that you misunderstood our deal of the day and now you want a refund. Can I get you some free breadsticks?” Regardless of what it tells you, I did not garner any bad reviews or complaints against me, and for that I am proud. But that does not indicate that working at Concordia Pizza Hut was all rainbows and butterflies.

The only thing that kept Pizza Hut alive, at least when I worked there, was the Day’s Inn hotel across the street. Tired and hungry truck drivers stopping along I-70, who were staying at the hotel, easily made up seventy-five percent of our customers. In fact, on a sleepy Tuesday night, they were the only people you would expect to find sitting in our booths. So maybe that’s why Trey, my manager, only scheduled two people to work the evening shift on a certain, fateful Tuesday night.

Neither of us could have predicted the chaos that would ensue around 7 p.m.

Now is probably a good time to describe the manager on duty, Trey. From the first shift I worked with him, I knew he would be my favorite manager. The other manager was simply a bitch and didn’t like me. Anyways, Trey came up with a nickname for me: Young n’ Graceful. He would greet me with this every time I entered the building in a smooth, almost R&B sounding voice. We had a playful relationship that made work just an ounce more tolerable. I liked Trey. Maybe because he let me get away with too much, but either way I think we enjoyed each other’s company. But the thing that I didn’t love about Trey was that he was slow. Like ‘take 5 minutes to cut a single pizza’ slow. Think Stanley from ‘The Office,’ but a little less sarcastic and more spunky. Even though the other manager was completely rude to me, I have to admit that she was really good at her job and I would much rather have worked with her that night. But only that one night.

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Inscape 2020

Concordia Pizza Hut is a small building with three booths on either side of the lobby and scattered tables in between. The lighting is dim and we have had the same corny decorations plastered on the wall as when I first visited the place at eight years old. Two arcade games are stuffed into a corner, one of which has an ‘out of order’ sign taped to its screen that has also been there since I was eight. The front counter is small and crowded with scattered pens, notepads, and cinnamon mints.

There is not a lot of room for chaos or hustle and bustle. If more than ten people enter the building, it automatically becomes uncomfortable and cramped, dare I say even a fire hazard. More than ten people rarely entered the place on any given weekend, let alone a Tuesday. So, when I saw a party of seven, a couple and their two children, and four pimply teenagers stroll into the lobby, I was shocked and frankly ill prepared for the night that awaited me.

The two eight or nine-year-old kids started weaving through tables and their parents had no intention of telling them to stop, the party of seven ordered enough to feed a small army, and the teenagers had dumped sugar packets all over their table. While I was hustling around trying to get drinks refilled and ranch packets distributed, Trey was taking his sweet time getting pizzas made and wings fried in the back. Everything that was going on in the lobby was on top of the call-in and internet orders we were receiving. I was trying to man the phones, work the pick-up window, and cater to the guests’ every need. At that point, I was handling everything pretty well, until a couple came in wanting a refund because their pizza was made with the wrong crust. I tried to explain to them that I, as a server, could not administer refunds, and that they could either order a new pizza with the correct crust or wait for my manager to come out and talk to them. They could clearly see that there were only two employees working and that we were extremely busy, but the seemingly heartless woman didn’t care about any of this, and became very irritated. Her arms were crossed and she kept whispering things to her boyfriend that he would then relay back to me. “We want to speak to your manager,” he said.

I told him to have a seat and that Trey would be out shortly. “Shortly,” however, was not in Trey’s vocabulary. But they didn’t need to know that. So they sat, and sat, and sat, until the girlfriend exploded in anger and dragged her boyfriend out of the restaurant. I thought I had seen the last of them until I caught them in the corner of my eye through the drive-thru window racing by. But wait. Did I see him throwing something at the building? Upon further inspection, I noted that I was correct, that the man had indeed chucked the pizza, incorrect crust and all, at the brick wall of the restaurant. My heart dropped a little because I was rather hungry and would have gladly eaten it, but I shrugged it off, thinking to myself to remember to tell my mom and boyfriend this crazy story when I had the chance. As hard as it might be to believe, that was not the craziest thing that would happen to me that evening.

Things were about to get very hairy.

After almost an hour, most of the people who had been dining in were still there, and showed no signs of leaving. Along with this, we were getting multitudes of carry-out orders and I could see a couple men walking from the hotel across the 31

street towards the restaurant. The night had no end in sight. Amidst all of the orders and refills, a man walked in that I remembered serving earlier at the drive-thru window. He was holding something in a gripped hand and stormed right up to the counter. He opened up his hand to reveal a big wad of black, curly hair—similar to that of Trey’s. “Do you know what this is?” he asked, appearing to shake with anger.

I was so dumbfounded. My mouth tried to stutter out an “I don’t know,” or something, but he interrupted me with: “I found a piece of hair on each fucking piece of my pizza. Like it was deliberate. Is this some kind of sick joke?” He was still holding the ball of hair in his out-turned hand. He continued to cuss at me and tell me how absolutely disgusted he was at finding hair on his pizza and that he was almost physically sick at the sight of it. I felt the urge to say, “Dude, you don’t have to try to convince me that finding hair on your pizza is sickening, but look at my hair, it’s not mine!” Instead, the stress of the whole night came crashing down on me and I erupted into tears. I managed to choke out in between sobs that I had no idea what to do because this was the most stressful night of my life. He eased back a little, perhaps because he just made a seventeen-year-old girl cry. He asked me to “get the manager’s ass out there.” Luckily for Trey, I saved his ass from getting beat, because I convinced the man that Trey couldn’t come out because we had at least 15 orders that needed filling,

and he was the only cook. Before leaving, the man made me take the hair out of his hands, which I instantly threw over my shoulder, as if it were spilt salt.

To this day, it remains a mystery as to how that much hair ended up on the pizza. I like to think that the man had wronged Trey and this was his sick revenge, or maybe Trey decided to trim up his curly fro a little bit in the reflection of the metal oven and didn’t realize the man’s pizza was down below. It also remains a mystery as to how that thrown pizza got cleaned up. The next day, it was gone. I never told Trey about my encounter with his victim. I just couldn’t bring myself to be mad at him. I had rehearsed this big dramatic moment where I would tell him how he totally humiliated me and made that the worst night ever. But when it came to, I merely said ‘goodnight’ and clocked out like any other shift. I realized that there was nothing I would gain from putting him on the spot. Plus, I could handle a couple rough nights here and there. This wasn’t my career, it was just a small parttime, high school job. Pizza Hut was Trey’s life. I took one for the team. Regardless, I quit that summer before leaving for college. As a tradition, my family and I count the cars in the parking lot as we pass the restaurant along I-70. The count usually doesn’t exceed two or three, but I always know I’ll see Trey’s white car parked out front which makes me think of each “Youuung n’ Graceful’ I heard walking through those doors.

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Inscape 2020

Sisters

Audrey Vogel Growing up with siblings means that one reacts differently to numerous situations without even realizing it. Your perception of life as you know it is different than everyone else’s who may not have any siblings. This perception even depends on the number and gender of your siblings. People who grew up with brothers tend to act differently than people who have grown up with sisters. Regardless of what type of sibling you have, you will always react much differently than people who do not have any siblings at all. I grew up in a household with my mother, father, two sisters, and two female dogs. Everyone always expressed to my dad their deepest sympathies because he was in a house full of girls. Our house is definitely one that stands out from the rest. I didn’t realize how much so until I got to college, made friends, and shared stories with these new friends. I found there are numerous things that go on in my house that are considered to be odd in every other household.

These oddities start with my sisters. The oldest of our trio sisterhood is Cara who is four years older than me. She is blond and a mirror of our mother and maternal grandmother. I am not sure if it is because she is the oldest or because she inherited the “I’m in control” attitude of our Grammy that makes her so bossy, but in either case, Cara thinks she is the boss of the trio! Jackie is the baby of this gaggle of gals who belong to our parents. Jackie has the ebony hair and dark eyes that are the legacy or our paternal grandparents. Jackie and I are only fourteen months apart in age, so for the longest time, people thought we were twins. At some point in time, puberty hit and Jackie turned into a bully who has a very large ego, but a very small body. I am the middle child. I have a combination of looks from both sets of grandparents. My hair is darker than Cara’s but much lighter than Jackie’s. Cara is the “boss,” Jackie is the “terror,” but I am the “peacemaker.” I am the medianforever stuck between the two drama queens who are my sisters.

Although our adventures can start in many different ways, they usually start when Jackie tiptoes across the hallway into Cara’s room. I hear the wrinkling of the bed sheets and a few seconds later Cara yelling “MOM!” I take my time as I get out of bed and mosey across the hall to Cara’s room. I’m not surprised at all to find Jackie sitting on top of Cara, holding one of her legs high in the air with one hand, and sticking her other hand in Cara’s face. Mom eventually replies with, “Jackie, stop tormenting your sister” but of course she doesn’t.

Jackie has always been the troublemaker of our bunch, for she was the literal monster under my bed. She gets her amusement by tormenting Cara and I. When I was eight, she hid under my bed and grabbed my ankles every day for a year. You would think I would have caught on, but she would lay under my bed for hours without making a sound. At first, my mom rushed to my defense, telling Jackie to cut it out, but on day 354 my mom told me I should’ve seen it coming.

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When Cara is in the mood to play it’s all fun and games. She comes into my room and lays on my bed all sweet and innocent. She reaches over so casually and flicks my nose just to rile me up, then she takes off running with me not too far behind. After a couple of laps up and down the hallway, Jackie runs in and gets right in the middle of everything. Cara runs to seek shelter in her room since it’s now two against one. We bulldoze our way through the door despite her best efforts to keep us out. Cara races to her bed, as far away from us as possible. It doesn’t take long before I’m sitting on top of her holding her down while Jackie tickles her. A short time after that, both of our dogs start to get riled up and want to have playtime as well.

One of our all-time favorite games to play is hide ‘n’ seek throughout the house, and then jump out and scare each other. Most of these shenanigans take place when mom and dad are asleep, so we don’t get in trouble. One day, I was hiding in the laundry room holding a confetti cannon in order to scare Cara.

However, Cara peeked around the laundry room door and scared me first. I yelled and pulled the string of the cannon, releasing little streamers into Cara’s hair. The loud pop woke my dad up so we both ran to our rooms and got in bed as if nothing had happened; however, Dad heard our footsteps and we continued to get a fortyfive minute lecture about waking him up.

Most of our games were harmless, but there was an occasional, accidental injury. Sometimes we accidentally land a punch, or actually hit each other in the head with a bottle of nail polish remover. Jackie wears rings, but she also likes to punch people, because of that I ended up with my lip busted in two places. Jackie immediately cradled me up like a baby, rocking me back and forth as she kept apologizing profusely “I am so sorry, come here, it didn’t really hurt that bad, please don’t tell mom.”

From breaking each other, to breaking each other’s stuff, we do it all. One day before school my sister rushed in saying, “I just backed into your car, sorry.

I’m gonna be late gotta go.” I was aggravated that she could be so careless. When I came out to the driveway I saw this big black thing on the ground, it was the grill of my car. She knocked the entire grill off the front of my car. I was so angry with her all day, but she acted as if everything was normal. Finally I asked, “Are you even sorry?” She quickly replied with a “no” which infuriated me even more.

I wasn’t very understanding of the situation, and about a few months later I received karma for that. I called Cara, teary-eyed and out of breath from crying, and explained to her that I had just backed into a trailer hitch and put a dent in her car. “Calm down, it’s okay. It’s already got a busted taillight from when I backed into our basketball pole a few months ago.” We both had a good little laugh about that afterwards.

Even though we are rough on each other, my sisters and I always take care of each other. They always help me with homework when needed, but I’m the smart one of our bunch so that’s not very often.

Cara was a senior in high school when I was a freshman and was constantly

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Inscape 2020

running around grabbing my forgotten things. “Oh crap, I left my essay at home and it’s due today.” “Oh crap, I forgot my lunch.” “Oh crap, I made off without my soccer cleats today.” Cara was my go-getter the entire year. Fast forward to my senior year, and it was my turn to be the runner for everything Jackie forgot.

In sickness and in health, we are still always there for each other, no matter how gross. We have each spent countless hours in the bathroom holding hands, wetting cold washcloths, or keeping the hair out of each other’s face. My senior year, I got sick at a wrestling tournament and threw up in a trash can in front of all twenty teams and their fans. When I walked past people they looked at me like I had the plague. But Jackie was right by my side the whole time, putting up my hair, getting me cold waters to drink, and holding my hand.

Of course, we are there for each other in the good times and the bad.

Throughout my high school soccer career and short- lived softball career, my sisters made it a point to show up loud and proud. They’re my biggest supporters and my biggest bullies all at the same time. When I do something good, they cheer, when I do something bad, they cheer. “Way to fall down Aud, now it looks like you’ve got a poop stain on your butt” Cara yelled aloud. Of course, everyone in the crowd thought that was hysterical.

With two sisters you get no privacy, for there is never just one person in the bathroom. Cara will be taking a bath, while I am going to the bathroom, and Jackie is brushing her teeth. Sharing the bathroom constantly is the only way everyone could be ready on time.

Now, the term “beauty is pain” is all too true, and my sisters have always jumped at the chance to zip up a dress that’s two sized too small or pluck my eyebrows. “Hold still, stop being a baby,” Jackie says as she’s getting mad. “You’re pulling skin! I can feel it, how about you try getting just the hair,” I reply with eyes watering.

Whether it’s a first date or a school dance, my sisters always help me get ready, physically and emotionally. Jackie is amazing with makeup and always helps me do mine, since I don’t know the difference between blush and bronzer. Makeup is an exact science and Jackie has mastered it; therefore, I still can’t do my own eyeshadow. While Jackie focuses on my makeup, she tells me, “Stop blinking or I’m going to poke you in the eye on purpose.” Cara focuses on my hair; however, her skills are limited. Cara can use a flat iron and do a simple braid but other than that, she is just there for moral support.

Both of them raid my closet, and their own closet, to pick me out an outfit.

I cannot be trusted to do so myself or else I might end up in sweats or not even matching. It normally takes a couple of tries though because they both have similar styles that are unlike mine.

As time draws nearer and it’s almost time to go, I’m really nervous. “Don’t worry bud, you got this,” Jackie says. “Yeah I mean you’re still ugly, but you look better than usual,” Cara so helpfully adds in.

It’s midnight, I’m laying down playing candy crush on my phone, and I hear 35

the door squeak as it’s cracked open.“Wanna have a sleepover?” Jackie’s voice whispers quietly from behind the door. Before I even answer, she’s opened the door wide with a pillow and blanket in hand. She jumps in my bed and begins to talk about her day. I remind her that normally when people ask a question they at least wait for the answer. “And if you’re going to be in here you better stay on your side of the bed” I add.

It is quiet for a couple of minutes, and then Jackie says “Are you hungry?” I lay there and ponder for a few minutes before we both get up. It’s time to raid the snack drawer, we tiptoe down the hallway to ensure Dad stays asleep in his recliner.

The basketball game on television masks the sound of snack cake wrappers rattling.

We complete our snack with a glass of chocolate milk, then tiptoe our way back down the hall. After a few hours of meaningless chatter, we both fall asleep. I wake up in the morning to her pressed up against my back as tightly as possible, her head on my shoulder and her breathing in my face. So much for her side of the bed.

Yes, our dynamic as a trio of sometimes giggling, sometimes raging, sometimes crying girls is very different from other families. Yet we all have at least one thing in common, that one thing unites us as a family, allows us to forgive each other’s idiosyncrasies, and to accept each other’s differences. That thing is the love and respect modeled for us our by parents, our grandparents, our aunts, our uncles, and our cousins.

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Inscape 2020

First Place: Art, Drawing, and Photography Casa di Ospitalita Natalie Van Horn 37

Second Place: Art, Drawing, and Photography Pieced Together Janie Leathers

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Inscape 2020

Third Place: Art, Drawing, and Photography La Vie En Rose Natalie Van Horn 39

Intensity Natalie Van Horn

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Luke 12:27 Rachel Lipsey 41

Fairy Vacation Sydney Philpot

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“Holy Cow” Dana Lester

May the Force Be With You, Always Natalie Van Horn

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Golden Hour Anna Murri

In My Daughter’s Eyes Traci Ballew

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Stillness Rachel Lipsey

Morning Tides Rachel Lipsey

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Geometric World Janie Leathers 49

coup d’oeil Rene Burkland

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Before the Storm Rachel Lipsey

Reflections Skylor Turner

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A Moment of Rest Emma McQueen

Immersion Grace McIntosh

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Mockingbird Emma McQueen

Divine Eyes Lilly Powell

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Puppy Love Camille Dovin

I Spy a __?

Janie Leathers

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Inscape 2020

Climbing Tree Janie Leathers 59

First Place: Short Fiction Dandy Man Lore Darren Defreitas

“They don’t make them humans like they used to,” I warn to the juvenile demons. Their various inhuman figures gather around the clear puddle of water in the deep forest of Honeydew.

“Can it! Ya old has-been!” retorts Vermillios, their leader.

They were a gang of three; the first one was The Glob. His body was purple and slimy, but his skin would glitter and shine if any light were to refract on it. To be honest, he looked like a unicorn had an orgasm and the ejaculate decided to come alive and live a life of its own. The second was Hell Hound. He looked like a human male, except for one thinghe had the head and tail of a bulldog. But, if that wasn’t bizarre enough, in between his legs grew a thick crown of fur that made it impossible to tell whether he was dog or man down there. Yikes!

Finally, we have Vermillios. He was the most human-looking of the three; which, is something no demon would ever be proud ofand he was no exception.

Aside from his sharp pointed ears and his pale white skin, the rest of his form was pretty underwhelming. If it’s worth mentioning, his eyes were a deep purple color and his lips were painted blue. His white hair was styled in a long, white braid; even though, in demon years, he would be considered very young.

The three demons were using an ancient, demonic, magic spell: Eye of Horus, that allows the user to watch over another being. Their target, at that moment, was the Dandy Man, the new, hot-shot demon that I had been hearing so much about!

He feeds on young kid’s souls. He first appears to them in mirror and he tricks them into summoning him into the real world. After that, he tricks the poor suckers into committing suicide. That’s how he gets ‘em! Not bad if I do say so myself. I’d love to have joined that Dandy Man in the days of my youth, but I’ve had my fair share of fun. I am over 1,000 years old and my days of ending innocent lives are over. To be honest, over the years, I’ve grown weary of humans.

As the three juvenile demons continue to look into the body of water, the story unfolds. The Dandy Man was leading a rather succulent, little girl into a tornado, to what appeared to be her very demise.

“What do you think she taste like V?” inquires The Glob, saliva building in his orifice.

“I dunno. I’ve never had a human child before,” Vermillios replies. “It probably tastes sweet like candy!” He continues. Hell Hound barks and wags his tale in elation as his salivary glands activate. Hell Hound doesn’t possess the ability of speech. Some demons aren’t so blessed.

“Maan, that Dandy Man is one lucky bastard, I wanna be just like him and devour as many humans as I want!” Vermillios proclaims. All three of the demons laugh obnoxiously in response. Incredibly irritating!

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Inscape 2020

“Silence, you imbeciles!” I reprimanded them.

“What’s the big idea, old man??” confronted Vermillios.

“Why are you all so fixated with humans!? Give it a rest already!” I replied.

“I know you’re not talking right now, considering what you did!” says Vermillios as he flicked his purple tongue over his fangs.

The atmosphere in the dark forest became tense. The water in the glowing puddle ripples, and the wind blows through the air. Dead leaves were sent cascading in the dark sky as I looked that foolish Vermillios dead in the eyes. He grins victoriously. The three demons step up to me, as if wanting a bout.

“Tell me Mr. Piper, what did it feel like?” asked Vermillios.

I said nothing in response.

“What did it feel like when you made all those little kids walk right off the cliff? Their fragile human bodies hitting the rocks, splattering, killing them instantly. What did it feel like?” Vermillios whispers as he walks closer to me. “Wasn’t it... beautiful?”

“Is that how the story goes? I’ve never heard that version before.” I replied.

“Don’t act all high and mighty!”

“Do you mean holier than thou?” which gains me an annoyed growl from Vermillios.

“That’s not what this is about, young lads, you see, the reason why I say this is because humans are very dangerous. And I believe, that as demons, we should avoid meddling in the affairs of humans at all costs.”

They all looked at each other in shock and exchanged a few incredulous looks. They howled in laughter, their irritating voices reverberating through the dark forest, and unfortunately, in my brain.

“Are you out of your mind?” Vermillios said, “Humans are weak! They’re toys!

Tools! For us to manipulate and use as we see fit!”

“You’re wrong. Humans are the most destructive and evil creatures imaginable-” I say before I was interrupted.

“If humans are so dangerous, then how about a bet!? Dandy man swallows that little girl’s soul like a cup of noodles!”

In that moment, I thought to myself. “Never had I encountered a creature so unbelievably stupid.”

“Of course, Dandy Man will devour her soul! Why would I bet against something that I believe to be true!?”

Sadly, the young lad failed to understand the point I was trying to make.

Young demons are so poorly educated these days.

“Pass,” I replied frustrated.

“I knew it! You’re so full of shit that you don’t even believe the shit you spew!”

Suddenly, a voice emerged out of woods.

“I’ll agree to your wager.”

We all turned around in shock as she appeared: a woman in a lacy, black, revealing dress. Her lips and hair were a pure shade of blood-red. She slowly saun61

tered over to us. I was shocked at this gesture because, from what I could tell, she was a mere human.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she greeted provocatively.

“Who the hell are you?” Vermillios replied.

“Oh, where are my manners? My name is Lucy. It’s very nice to meet you.”

She spoke as coolly and calmly as one speaks to their child or a close friend and her voice sounded as if she was always attempting to seduce you.

“I overheard a bit of your conversation earlier and I’d be happy to bet against you,” she informed Vermillios.

Vermillios doesn’t reply immediately. He spent time scanning and analyzing the new opponent, while the other two demons did the same. It was only a matter of time before the dark woman spoke again.

“Is something the matter?”

“Are you... human?”

The woman paused a brief moment, and then, she smiled.

“Well, what else would I be?” she replied nonchalantly.

Vermillios grinned victoriously. He exchanged a few looks with his demon brethren and nodded.

“You’ve got yourself a deal—human.”

A bolt of excitement pulsed through the three young demons. This was the moment they had all been anticipating! I could tell that they were all very exuberant about this premature “catch.” But, contrary to them, I knew that something wasn’t right. Since when are humans so bold and brazen that they would do this sort of thing? And, one lone woman, no less. No doubt that this woman struck me as sketchy. When I looked into her black eye-shadow coated eyes, there was no sign of weakness. She was utterly fearless in the face of three demons, and her smile was telling of something more, something deeper than the deepness of this dark, otherworldly forest. She was no ordinary human.

She had a motive.

How did she even find us? I wondered. Could it have been those three fools and their incessant, obnoxious laugher? Any regular human who heard laughter in a place like this would surely scurry off in the opposite direction with their tail in between their legs. But, not this woman. She had done the exact opposite of that, and as a result, she has entered the lion’s den—or should I say demon’s den—on her own accord.

The woman slowly walked towards us, keeping a determined gaze as she approached. She then broke eye contact as she looked into the puddle, displaying the story of that fool, Dandy Man. As I look into the pool of water, I can see the little girl and Dandy Man on-looking into the great storm. For a brief moment, I saw a flicker of emotion in her eyes, that at first, I thought I had imagined.

“What do you say we make this a little bit more interesting?” the woman said as she squatted and swirled her finger in the water around the little girl’s image. “If I win, you must offer your souls to me.” There it was. Her reason for coming all the

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way out here. I knew that she had a motive. Every suspicion that I had, had been confirmed in that one moment, but many of my questions still remained unanswered. The mystery continued to unravel.

“Our souls?” Vermillios replied. He appeared to be quite shocked, and rightfully so. What business does a human have with the soul of a demon?

“And if we win?!” The Glob interjects.

“Then you can have mine,” she replied bluntly, as she waved her hand across her décolletage.

The young demons’ eyes light up. She had successfully enticed them, but something was amiss. I felt it in my demon soul. They celebrate prematurely. Normally, demons are not usually able to harm human beings or, should I say, there would be no point, unless the human agrees, signs a contract, or makes a deal with the demon. That’s why old, Mr. Dandy Man was only allowed to enter once the child allows it. That also explains why Dandy Man was not able to directly inflict damage on any child, and instead, resorts to tricking the child into committing suicide. If a human doesn’t make agreement to these things, then a demon doesn’t have access to his or her soul, even after he or she dies. Not many humans, or, no human in their right mind would make any sort of deal with a demon. So, you could imagine the excitement that the three demons felt when a human willingly appeared to have sought this out themselves.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, human. We three demons wager our souls... for yours.” The woman smiled and I felt the air grow cold.

“Are you imbeciles serious!?” I attempted in protest.

“Can it, Piper! Don’t get involved!” Vermillios snapped back.

I stayed silent in defeat. He can’t say that I didn’t try to warn him. For this next part, I have to warn you, you’re not going to believe this. Things became interesting. The little girl in the puddle out-foxes the Dandy Man. It turned out that this nine-year-old, little twat was aware of the fact that she was dealing with a demon.

Out of absolutely nowhere, in the plot twist of the century, this little girl transforms into a witch! She gets the drop on Dandy Man and turns him into a cute, little porcelain doll.

I WAS STUNNED! We were all stunned. We could not even believe what we had witnessed. After a few moments of silence, Vermillios breaks the silence!

“D-D-Dandy Man just-“

Before the young demon even completed his sentence, the woman snapped her fingers; and, out of thin air, a flame appeared on the head of Hell Hound, sending him into a state of complete and utter panic! The other two demons turned and reacted in shock. The dog-like demon helplessly scurried around on all fours, rolling on the ground in an attempt to find relief, but it was in vain. The eternal flame would not subside. The woman smiles a toothy grin for the first time and her eyes open wide. She begins to laugh a dark and twisted cackle!

“Don’t worry boy, allow me to help,” she said sardonically.

She snapped her finger a second time and, all of a sudden, the water in the 63

puddle became foggy. A large tentacle sprung forth and wrapped around Hell Hound. Suddenly, more tentacles sprung and their suction cups latched onto the dog-like demon, dragging him into the water. Hell Hound helplessly dug his claws into the ground in resistance, but the tentacles overpower him and pull him straight to the depths of hell.

She laughs and laughs as Vermillios suddenly springs into action. He scrunched his face and veins began bulging all over his entire body. A green aura engulfs his body and his eyeballs roll to the back of his head. The skin in his forehead rips open as two horns grow from it. Two large moth wings emerged from his back, and he takes flight.

The Glob was totally unnerved, and like a frightened prey before its predator. He was stunned. Vermillios spreads his wings and the wind in the forest danced in response, the leaves on the trees, torn from their stems, were sucked into a powdery vortex.

Those foolish demon-youths had made a deal with the devil. No, it was far worse than that. They had made a deal with a human, and they were trying to go against that deal. I suppose, I don’t blame them for resisting. It’s instinctual to want to protect yourself when under attack. Self-preservation is the most primal of instincts.

The vortex raged, but the woman was unfazed. Her long, red hair swirled in the wind, but her feet stayed anchored to the ground. Her stoic expression made her appear to be even more unwavering than the large trees of the deep forest. The vortex abruptly hurls itself at the witch and, with snap of her finger and a wave of her arm, the vortex was redirected towards The Glob. A harsh, powdery substance engulfed the poor, pathetic

creature. As I stood from a distance, I saw his moist skin start to evaporate, creating a purple effervescence. He was clearly in excruciating pain but, lucky for him, it didn’t last very long. Shortly after that, his body had vanished, becoming one with the atmosphere in a cloud of violet smog.

“You think demons are the only creatures capable of performing dark magic?” said the woman.

A fact that Vermillios must not have known in that moment, but a fact that I had known for far too long. It was at this moment, Vermillios had realized the futility of the situation and the error of his ways. I watched as any hope he had of surviving disappeared along with his two comrades. I watched as the defeated demon fell to the ground in a wave of despair. He looked to the minimal worn out remains of his fallen comrades, and for a while there, it really looked like he was about to weep. But demons don’t do that.

The woman approached him silently. She didn’t speak. Their visual perspectives had shifted. It was now that the human stood above the demon. He looked into her eyes and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling- if it was a look that begged for mercy, or a look that conveyed acceptance of his fate. Before I could process it, his body was ablaze by the snap of a finger. His ear curdling screams shrouded the deep forest. The woman looked on, at her fallen opponents indifferently. As the flame subsided, she walked over to the puddle and picks up a glowing, violet shard.

She then walked over to the melted remains of The Glob and picks up anoth

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er. She walked towards the burning ashes of Vermillios and picked up a third shard.

As I stared in awe, I am snapped back into reality by the gaze of her obsidian eyes.

A passing thought swam through my mind that maybe I was her next victim. My heart actually began to race.

“You weren’t part of the deal,” she said bluntly. “Lucky you,” she added.

“What are those?” I asked, referring to the shards that she had just collected.

“These are the ingredients that I need to complete my new concoction,” she says in a slightly enthusiastic tone.

“Is that so?” I said to myself and laughed. That’s the thing about humans; it’s never about fun and games. It’s always work, work, work. There’s always a catch.

There is always an ulterior motive behind their actions.

“What are you really after?” I inquired.

I was curious to know. She stopped dead in her tracks. This next part I remember most vividly: the branches of the then, leafless trees creaked in anticipation. What she said next solidified my beliefs about humans. It showed that fundamental difference between demons and humans. It reinforced why I believe that they are the most dangerous creatures. She turned around, smiled, and said, “Everything.”

I was speechless. What does that even mean?

“I want everything that this world has to offer and I will crush anyone, or anything, that tries to stand in my way.”

The air was still for a brief moment. She then sauntered away and disappeared into the deep, dark forest. I did not know it at the time, but the events that had transpired that day were a catalyst to so much more. The screams are endless, the pain is eternal, and everything has been annihilated in the epic apocalypse. The balance is shifted. Humans and demons become one. And the woman becomes—God.

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Second Place: Short Fiction Fairytales, Romance, and Other Nonsense Sara Ratliff

Every little girl has grown up surrounded by stories of fairytales, true love, and those fated moments where Prince Charming comes and sweeps you off your feet. We all know how it goes. It is always once upon a time, somewhere off in a faraway land. For explanations sake, let’s zoom our fairytale story in on a young girl with an uneventful life, living in a small village at the edge of a grand kingdom. This young girl’s life never seemed quite complete, just like a puzzle piece was missing from her world. That is, until a courier arrived on the steps of her cottage, delivering a golden envelope which held an invitation to the holiday ball held within the palace walls. The girl, as you can imagine, was ecstatic.

Okay…let’s pause for just a minute. Everyone knows it can’t be a fairytale story without the discovery of true love. You might be thinking, of course, the poor, little village girl would find her knight in shining armor at the ball; and, you would be correct in this. But, the girl in our story was completely oblivious to this fact. She hoped to meet a nice, young tradesman or some other respectable gentleman, but she must not have realized that you can’t be the subject of a fairytale without fate sticking its unwanted nose into your life.

On the night of the ball, the village girl put on her best dress and began her long journey to the castle nestled along the sparkling coast. She was on an adventure unlike any she had ever known. As her carriage approached the magnificent castle walls, the girl began to worry. She saw all the beautiful people in fine silks and dresses and, no doubt, she felt very plain in comparison. Nevertheless, she gathered her courage and walked confidently through the entrance of the grand ball room, but not before running directly into a tall, uniformed man. A blush spread across her face, and as she looked up to apologize, she realized she was standing directly in front of the future king of her land. She was instantly frightened, but she saw on the prince’s face, not anger, but a large, goofy smile. He extended out his gloved hand and asked her to dance with him. She, of course, smiled and gladly accepted. It was at this exact moment that fate placed its magical kiss upon her future.

As the girl and the prince glided across the floor, she saw that his eyes were only on her and not on the multitude of beautiful girls dotting the floor. They continued to dance until the girl realized she had fallen in head-over-heels in love. The prince seemed to be the missing puzzle piece that she needed to feel complete and the prince apparently felt the same way about her. As the ball came to a close, he knelt down on one knee and asked for her hand in marriage. She said yes and a big wedding was held, with celebration occurring all over the kingdom. She was his queen and he was utterly devoted to her and their children for the rest of their lives.

Everyone lived happily ever after.

Does this sound familiar? I mean, who has not heard stories like that their

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entire childhoodthe poor girl saved by the handsome prince. Once upon a time, everyone lived happily ever after…blah! It’s always the same. Every little girl dreams of the day her real life fairytale will come, and the handsome prince will sweep her off her feet. I was like that when I first met him. At a young age, I moved away from my small town to the big city. My life should have seemed great. I had a well-paying job as a clerk at a retail store, I rented a comfortable apartment, and I was surrounded by immense opportunity. Yet, everything did not seem complete. Something was missing.

I thought I would find this missing piece, my prince, as they say, at my boss’s New Year’s Eve party. I was walking into the house and admiring its interior when it happened. I guess I was not paying attention and I walked right into him. I was so embarrassed, but he just smiled and asked me to dance. We talked all night about anything and everything as we spun around the room. He owned a chain of successful stores along the coast, yet, he said he was falling for a girl like me. Can you believe it?! He was my real-life prince. He proposed six months later, and we had a big church wedding that made it into the pages of magazines. We had two great kids -a boy and a girl- and we lived together in bliss for the rest of our lives together. It was my real-life fairy tale. Well…at least that’s how I always imagined it would happen.

The truth is that we really did not meet at a beautiful New Year’s Eve party.

We actually met at the pub on the corner of Paisley Street and Terrence Boulevard.

I was with some friends at the bar and he was with some of his pals at a table across the room. I noticed him staring, but I tried to avoid his gaze. I was walking over to the table by the window that my friend found when, out of nowhere, he bumped into me. My drink came arching out of my glass and made its graceful landing onto the front of his jacket. I was so embarrassed, but he was a sweet talker to the end.

He told me that I could make it up to him by going to dinner with him the next day.

This was my moment when fate sealed up my future. I was his. I did not even know about his wealth until later.

With that handsome grin and his kind words, he had somehow talked me into falling in love with him. After six months, we had a big, public wedding and I felt like a princess. Life after I said “I do” was not that bad either. I was the woman behind his empire on the coast, and he made me believe I was the only girl in the world. Sure, he had a wondering eye every now and then, but he was always faithful and treated me well. The kids we planned to have never came, but I was still happy.

That missing puzzle piece wedged itself into my life with the sound of those wedding bells. We were the perfect couple that everyone wanted to be. At least, that is the appearance we put up.

Since my therapist says I need to try to be more honest, I have got to tell you that my marriage was far from perfect. Shortly after the wedding, my husband started leaving for business trips. It was lonely in our large house, but he bought me a dog to keep me company. Even though he was missing from most of my life, I was always there by his side during public events. I was the faithful and doting wife used 67

to make him look good in front of the cameras. Things were tense at times, but he always came home and reminded me that I was his princess. He was my one and only…

He never actually bought me a dog. He said they were too much of nuisance and made too much of a mess. Those long weeks were, in reality, very lonely. I spent most of my days alone, taking walks along the sea and watching the birds fly over me—full of the freedom I no longer had. After my wedding, I drifted apart from my friends. They never really trusted him. They always told me, “Kara, you don’t know him. He’ll leave you in an instant.” He just told me they were just jealous of us.

Without my friends, I was by myself whenever he left. Those times apart where not that hard though, because my prince always came back to sweep me off of my feet.

Here I am trying to tell you my story, and I am still not telling you everything.

He wasn’t always the prince he portrayed himself to be when I first met him. He was distant and cold most of the time. He also had a temper that I frequently fell victim to. I asked him once why he married me. He said that I was the perfect candidate; the retail clerk from a small town, swept up in a storybook romance with a wealthy man. For the publicity, he could sweep in on his white horse and save me.

He told me it was merely a plus that I had a pretty face. I made him look good, and we were perfect headline material. He was often angry, but he never laid a hand on me, at least that’s what the makeup showed.

His true love was the bottle. When he was home, he was always drinking.

Alcohol always made him angrier and I was there to receive the brunt of his rage.

I had nowhere else to go. I had cut all ties when I married him. I came to appreciate the time he was away on “business” with Lisa, Melissa, or whoever the girl of the week was. I just had to put on a pretty face when the cameras were out. It wasn’t him acting like this, it was the alcohol. I stayed by his side through it all, at first.

I did leave him eventually. While he was away in Europe with who knows who, I packed up my stuff and drove far away. I left him and never looked back. I was on the other end of the country, living the life I always wanted. I met a wonderful man who treated me the way I should be treated. He loved me with all of his heart and I loved him just as much. But…once again…that story is just the stuff of dreams.

In reality, I tried to leave, but he would not let it happen. I was a bird, longing to fly but unable to escape that beautiful cage that I had dreamed of as a little girl. I would never be free of him. He controlled every part of my life. With all his wealth and power, I could never escape. I had no option but to take that control away. I decided, then and there, that he would never lay another hand on me. One night, when he was home, I slipped something into his beer. At least, that is what they tell me I did. He apparently never knew what was coming. They told me I was sitting at the dining room table when the officers finally came. They were too late, however, because he was already gone. I was taken away from my cage, but not the way in which I had always dreamed. Still, in that moment, I was free. As I sit here, behind these bars, they sometimes ask me if I regretted it, but I don’t know if I ever have.

The truth, the real truth, is that it never really happens like the storybook

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romance. You know, the one where the girl meets the guy, the guy falls for the girl, wedding bells ring, and they live happily ever after for the rest of their lives. That’s just the kind of baloney Hollywood feeds the public in movies to play off of the hopes and paychecks of those starry-eyed, hopeless romantics, waiting for their day to come. They spin some unreachable tale about true love and those romances fated for the stars. I used to be one of those dreamers who thought they would find their one and only. You know, the one that they claim the world created just for you. I thought I had found him. I thought I had found my storybook ending, but my fairytale chewed me up and spit me out. The movies don’t portray the whole truth of life, of love, or of happiness. But really, what is “truth” anyway?

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Third Place: Short Fiction The Arrow Chase Cannon

Eye-level from a beast of an animal, completely silent and completely still, I was perched about to make the most crucial shot of my entire life. I had spent my entire life preparing myself for this moment, a dream was about to come true. The bugle of the bull elk pierced my ears as I tried to keep my emotions in check. With every step I took, I could hear the brush crunching beneath him, and the smell of wild animal hitting me right in the face. It was almost a surreal feeling that I was within thirty yards of this beast, because this animal knew but one thing, the same thing that his species has been doing for thousands of years, how to survive.

A few days prior, I had just arrived from my hometown of Fayette, Missouri, to the town of Bozeman, Montana, one of the elk hunting capitals in the world. I had spent months preparing my gear, shooting my bow, and staying in peak physical shape to be able to withstand the unforgiving terrain of the mountains. This hunt was a bow hunter’s dream, as good as it gets, to be hunting an animal of this caliber 100% fair chase, just as our ancestors did thousands of years ago.

I started my journey hiking through the mountains on that cool fall morning. Instantly, I realized I was facing more adversity than I had thought, although I had stayed in shape working out and running all summer, the altitude change and the rugged unforgiving terrain of the steep mountains had me worried. Nonetheless, I pushed forward, it wasn’t long before I had my first encounter, one that I had dreamed about my entire life. A huge 6x6 bull had answered my call and was making his way through the brush right to where I was. I began to shake and could feel myself becoming more and more anxious by the second. Within minutes, this bull had made his way to stand within fifty yards of me. I thought to myself “stay calm, do as you have all summer and just focus on the shot,” but I couldn’t. I began to draw back when the bull spotted me, at full draw this bull locked up and began a stare down, I had just a few limbs in the way between the bull and I, so I decided to move a few steps over, hoping the bull wouldn’t bust quick enough before I got the shot off. As I moved, the bull began to become uneasy, and at the second I released my arrow, the bull had seen enough, he ducked the arrow as it flew toward him and ran off out of my dreams unharmed. I was so disappointed, “I worked my whole life for this, and I blew it on the first opportunity I got,” I thought to myself.

My father was the one who got me into archery hunting, over twenty years ago. I could shoot a bow the moment I was old enough to pull one back. My entire life I had looked up to my father and the amazing archery hunter that he was. He always said that we would make it out here together someday to hunt these animals together. Unfortunately, time catches all of us, and my father passed away before we ever got that opportunity.

Feeling like my best chance was over, I started to doubt myself, if I would

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even get another opportunity to arrow a dream bull now. Days went on, and I just couldn’t close the distance, I had hiked over ten miles each day looking for bulls, but it was to no avail. That’s when I realized that I was starting to feel sorry for myself and dwelling on what happened in that past instead of pushing forward into my future. My father always taught me that the mistakes we make do not define us, and are simply the past, and how we overcome those mistakes and become better men, truly defines who we are.

So on the last day, I decided I would go back to where I had my shot on the first day to see if I could work up some magic and make it happen again. I hiked up the mountain that morning listening for bugles, when all of a sudden I heard that all too familiar sound, it was the rumbling deep growl of a bugle from the bull that I had chased on the very first day. I began to mimic another bull by scraping tree branches together and bugling back at the bull cutting him off before every bugle was finished. It was then that I heard the sound of footsteps coming through the brush again, the same bugle, the same crashing of the brush beneath the bull’s feet, and the same smell of wild game hitting me in the face as the bull closed the distance. “This time things will be different,” I mumbled under my breath as I drew my bow back as the bull emerged in front of me. I stayed steady, thinking about nothing but making a clean ethical shot to put the bull down in seconds. When I let the arrow fly, time stood still, I watched the arrow fly straight as it felt like it took forever to get to the bull, and then, it connected.

The shot was placed perfectly, the arrow punctured right through the heart as the bull crashed through the brush. My adrenaline was running so high because I knew that I just harvested the bull of my dreams. I started to follow the steady blood trail of the animal, when just a few short yards after following the trail, I spotted the bull of my dreams lying on the ground in front of me. In that moment, I said to myself, “It’s over. The hard work, preparation, and endurance training has paid off.” It was in this moment, I realized that my dream of harvesting a world class animal such as this had finally come to full fruition.

As I laid there in awe and took great pride in the animal that I had just harvested, I couldn’t help but think about one thing. The same thing that had been on my mind since the start of this hunt: my father. We always said that we would make it out here together someday. In that moment, a tear shed from my eye as I sat and honored not only the massive bull that I killed, but my father as well. Even though he wasn’t physically with me, I never felt alone on this hunt, and I knew that he was right there with me in that moment, telling me how proud he was that we finally got to kill a bull elk together.

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The Alley Tome Voss

He walked down the alley, running his fingers across the cold, brick buildings. They felt slimy and stuck underneath his finger nails. He had a similar feeling about himself when he thought back on all the horrible things he had done that day.

He could still smell the filth and sweat on the people stuck in the homeless shelter that he ultimately had to shut down earlier this morning. They all looked at him in his fancy suit like he was going to save them somehow. He avoided eye contact, unable to meet their sunken eyes filled with false hope.

Suddenly, he heard the rattle of cans. He looked ahead, to his right, and saw a young boy digging through the cans. He looked no older than nine years old. His clothes were several sizes too big, covering his small and underweight body. He had dirt smudged across his face. Dean thought to himself for a second and fished his wallet out of his pocket. He handed the boy fifty dollars and wished him the best of luck. He walked away feeling a little bit better about the day because, despite the sick feeling this morning had left him, this encounter gave him a little bit of hope.

Dean watched the boy walk away and thought back to himself at the boy’s age. Seventeen years ago, his situation didn’t look much different, except he preferred the trash cans by the diner three streets over. They always threw away the best cinnamon rolls. He thought back and wondered what would have happened if he never met Derek and had taken the money he had offered him. Would he have starved or frozen to death? Would that really be worse than being stuck in this job forever? The thoughts troubled him as he walked away.

Dean hated the business he was in—building management and promotion.

He felt as though he was constantly shutting down buildings that were actually helping people, only to replace them with big companies. He was robbing the people that needed the most help. Not only did this job come with a lot of disappointment, it also came with a lot of enemies. He was constantly getting harassed and hated. Knowing this, he was unsurprised to walk up to his apartment door to find spray paint spelling out the words, “We are coming for you,” in red.

He sighed, walked in, sat his wallet and keys on the counter, and decided to drink the rest of the night away with some of his favorite whiskey. He continued to drink through the loud noises outside; and, he almost thought he was imagining the people running through his door. By the time he realized what was happening, he had a sack over his head. He was slipping in and out of consciousness.

When Dean woke up, he was startled and he tried to wiggle his way out of the chair he was tied to. When the same men from the night before walked in front of him, he was struck by fear, and felt his throat closing like he was being drowned.

They were from the shelter he had closed yesterday, wanting answers he was sure.

He remembered seeing them in the left corner when he walked in, eyeing him suspiciously. One had even tried to talk to him, but Dean finds the work easier if you don’t make connections. They kept asking for answers now, but the problem was

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that he had none. His orders came from a chain and all he ever knew was which buildings he had to shut down.

The men tried for hours, inflicting him with different kinds of pain. He was tired and on the verge of making something up when the two men got spooked by the noise of people in the other apartments getting ready for work. They grabbed Dean’s wallet and sprinted out the door and down the street. This wasn’t a new occurrence for Dean, and he was prepared. He walked to the bathroom and cleaned the blood off his face. Next, he went to the bedroom and put on a fresh set of clothes. He then reached into the nightstand and grabbed a second wallet. He walked out the door and went back to work, one day closer to paying of his debt.

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Always and Forever Amanda Steinman Dear Collin, I am sorry it has taken me so long to write. I have been busy, touring around the city, studying, and working; but, me being busy is no excuse to not write or return your messages. It is time for me to be honest with you and myself. I did not know exactly how to say the things I am about to say. Before I begin, I want you to know how much I truly love you and have loved our time together. I had so much fun visiting you before I left for Italy, getting to see where you work, your office, and your apartment.

That was a weekend I will never forget. I have decided to stay in Italy. I have been offered a full-time position as a teacher. I will be teaching young children how to speak English. With that being said, I think it is best that we go our separate ways. I am in Italy and you are in Chicago. If I knew when I would be returning home, or if I was returning home at all, things would be different. I truly am sorry. I love you and I hope, someday, we will see each other again. I wish you the best and send my love. I love you, Collin, always and forever.

Love, Caroline

It is a late Wednesday afternoon in the dead of winter. The snow is falling quickly from the sky, covering the footprints that the previous bypassers had just recently left behind. Collin stares blankly out the window of his office on East Madison Street in Chicago, two blocks from Millennium Park. He has everything he always dreamed of having: his dream job, car, and home. He is a successful CEO of Centro, a company that provides software solutions for companies in the advertising industry. But there is one thing that Collin does not have—Caroline, the girl he has been longing for. Fifteen years have passed, but it feels like just yesterday. After a few minutes, Collin begins to realize that one of the bypassers below had stopped and is staring back at him. A few moments later, the face becomes a familiar one and the memories of Collin’s college days quickly return. …

“Caroline, we have spent countless nights in here studying together, but yet we never speak more than a few words or spend time together outside of the library.

Why don’t we stop studying and you let me buy you a drink? Just this once.” said Collin. Collin had been waiting for the right time to ask Caroline for a drink, but he had been nervous of the results, and what they would do to their friendship. If you could even call their relationship a friendship. They spent every night in the library

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studying together, but only speaking to the other when they had a question about the assignment. Nothing more.

“Just this once,” Caroline replied. Collin and Caroline left the library and walked down the street to a bar. Collin had picked this bar because he was hopeful that it would not be as busy as the others, giving them the opportunity to talk without interruptions.

As the evening went on, one drink turned into another. Eventually, when it was time for the bar to close, Collin led Caroline out of the bar and down a couple blocks to his apartment. As they entered the apartment, they begin to kiss. As their kissing continued, it became more intense.

The next morning, Collin woke up and realized that the other side of the bed was empty. Caroline had gotten up and left without even leaving a note. It was then that he realized that he did not have her phone number because they simply always met in the library, never sending a text message or calling beforehand.

That evening, like always, Collin arrived at the library to see Caroline sitting in their normal booth, studying. As he approached her, she did not say anything, acting like nothing even happened the previous evening. Finally, after an hour, Collin broke the silence. “Caroline, are you not going to say anything? You just simply left without saying goodbye or leaving a note? And now, you sit here, acting like nothing happened between us? Did last night mean nothing to you?” asked Collin.

“Of course, it meant something to me. I have done nothing but want you since the first day I saw you. That was when I fell in love with you. It was love at first sight,” said Caroline.

From that moment on, Caroline and Collin were no longer classmates who studied together. They began doing everything together. They were inseparable. …

After graduating from high school, Collin moved from his hometown, Chicago, to Columbia, where he would be attending The University of Missouri. Mizzou is the home of one of the oldest formal journalism schools in the world. This was the journalism school where he hoped he would turn his childhood dreams into a reality. From a young age, Collin had planned to be a sports broadcaster for the NBA. Throughout his first two years, he enjoyed his college experience, along with all of his friends, staying out too late, drinking too much, but still, somehow making it to class on time the next morning. Even though he was attending his classes, he wasn’t passing them; which, eventually ruined his dreams of becoming a sports broadcaster.

As he sat in his apartment alone, Collin was left to decide where to go from there. He had officially hit rock bottom; his childhood dreams were ruined and his friends were nowhere to be found. On top of everything else crumbling to the ground around him, Collin had just recently received a letter in the mail from Caroline, his girlfriend, informing him that instead of just spending her semester 75

studying abroad in Italy, that she decided to move there. She had been offered a full-time job, teaching children how to speak English. Caroline wrote that she loved him and always would, but that for now, she thinks it’s best that they go their separate ways, and maybe their paths would cross again someday. He was officially alone in a world full of billions of people.

Collin spent the remainder of his time in college in his apartment, only leaving to go to work or class. He changed his field of study to business. With this major being general, he was hopeful that he would have a wide range of careers to choose from post-graduation. Following his graduation from the University of Missouri, Collin returned home to Chicago, where he accepted a position as an assistant at Centro.

Five years ago, Collin thought he had ruined his life by being forced to accept the fact that he was no longer going to be able to be a sports broadcaster. Even though he did not achieve his childhood goals, Collin has done well for himself. He is wealthy, successful, and he lives the life all single men in their late twenties dream of living. But one thing has been missing, and Collin couldn’t figure out what it was until the by passer standing on the street, in the middle of the snow storm, smiled up at him. It was in that moment, that for the first time in years, he felt complete.

“Caroline,” Collin said.

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Nighttime Excursion Parker Johnson

The moon shot pale beams of light through the clouds, far above Zeke’s head.

He slowly made his way down the road, carefully watching for any movement in his peripherals. The past few months of scavenging had made his senses much sharper than they were before, but he had been taught by his father to be wary of the traps of arrogance.

Zeke adjusted the heavy pack on his back and checked his sidearm—a revolver he had found near the beginning of his time as a scavenger. It had been kept in remarkably good condition, forgotten at the bottom of a safe, in an abandoned home, outside of the town’s ramshackle walls. The gun’s previous owner had kept a few dozen rounds of ammunition in the safe, as well. Zeke counted himself lucky that no one had stumbled upon such a bounty earlier.

Judging by the height of the moon and the stillness of the wind, Zeke figured that it was well past midnight. The monsters that plagued the town were less active during the night. While this was a comforting sentiment for those traveling in groups, the creatures were still quite a threat to a lone scavenger like Zeke. Trained and armed as he was, he did not relish the thought of having to fend off a monster on his own. From what he had been told by the more senior scavengers he had encountered, the creatures were a force to be reckoned with— small, agile, and with a bite that could pierce all the way through a man’s arm.

With caution, Zeke poked his head in some of the cars that dotted the road.

Most were empty, with only a coat left here or an empty backpack there. In the beginning, people thought that they could flee the monsters in their cars. However, the rumbling of automobile engines were like sirens to the creatures and they could outrun most vehicles. People soon abandoned their cars and flocked together in whatever shelter they could find. Cars were to be used only as an absolute last resort.

Zeke was getting closer to his destination- a small grocery store. The handdrawn map he had been given placed it just around the next bend in the highway.

Putting the map away, he glanced at the moon again. He counted himself lucky that it was so bright.

A rustling in the trees off the side of the road caught Zeke’s attention. He quickly ducked and hid behind a nearby car. Straining himself as he listened, he could pick out what sounded like a few pairs of feet, slowly crunching their way through the fallen leaves that dotted the tree line. Suddenly, the rustling stopped.

Zeke peered around the bumper of the car, towards the source of the noise.

He froze as he caught a glimpse of what was lurking about in the woods. It was one of the monsters; a small, black, reptilian creature. It was no bigger than the average dog—it even walked around on legs like a dog would. That was where the similarities to anything earthly ended, however. This particular monster had three legs and a long tail that dragged behind it through the underbrush. Its face was

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slim, with two pairs of jet-black eyes, flanking each side of its skull. Bony ridges arced from the top of its head, down its back, and a pair of arms protruded from its torso. Each arm ended in a terrible mess of claw and bone.

Zeke hid behind the car again and quietly drew his revolver from its holster.

He drew the hammer back, and it locked into position with a metallic click. Zeke gulped—the click of the revolver sounded like a gunshot of its own in the stillness of the night. Steeling himself, he peered back around the car.

The monster was facing away from him; its tail gently swishing back and forth across the ground. Its head was raised and it seemed to be sniffing the cool, night air. Zeke peered down the road at the grocery store. There were less cars on the road near the store, but an empty parking lot stood between the road and the front door.

Zeke knew that he would be spotted by the monster if he tried to flee. No, he would have to kill it before it killed him.

Zeke turned back behind the car, as quiet as a mouse. He let out his breath and drew the gun in front of him, peering down the barrel. Without breathing, he stood and turned towards the creature. The barrel of the revolver glinted in the moonlight. The monster’s back was still to him. Zeke pulled the trigger and fired.

The bullet whizzed past the creature and lodged itself in the dirt. Panicked, the monster let out an alien shriek and turned to face Zeke. He quickly pulled the hammer again and gritted his teeth in frustration. The monster began to charge towards Zeke, baring its many teeth. Carefully aiming, he fired again.

The round caught the creature in the neck and it fell to the ground with a grotesque and strangled whimper. Zeke, again, hid behind the car and readied himself for more. As the wind softly whipped through the trees, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Hearing nothing peculiar, he quietly stood back up and looked at the dying creature.

The creature’s blood made a dark pool on the side of the road. Little light reflected off of it as it collected on the concrete. Zeke made his way towards the monster and holstered his gun. Standing over the creature, he got an even better look at its odd features. Its body was smooth with large scales, almost snake-like.

Its many eyes darted about in a panic as it bled. Muscles contracted in its maimed neck, as if it were trying to cry out again, but the more it struggled, the more it bled.

Its many legs lay in a heap, some feebly trying to push against the pavement, and its tail meekly slapped against the ground.

Had these monsters not been so deadly, it would have been a pathetic sight.

Still, something sorrowful clicked inside of Zeke. He brought his foot up and stepped down with his full weight on the neck of the creature. Its eyes bulged in terror and it mustered the last of its strength in an attempt to kick away from Zeke. It was all for naught, as he watched the creature suffocate, and finally die with one last slap of its tail.

Zeke wiped the blood off of his boot in some grass nearby and continued on for the store. The night would not last forever, and he still had to trek back to town with whatever he could scavenge.

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Young Writer’s Day 2019

On Wednesday, November 6th, 2019, Central Methodist University’s English Department hosted its seventh annual Young Writer’s Day. Students from Jamestown, Smithton, 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 seventh 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: Marlborough Street Boston by Marina Firman

2nd place: Her Last Dance by Anna Scheperle

3rd place: Dawn by Kaitlin Furneaux

Short Fiction:

1st place: Don’t Go by Danielle Spencer

2nd place: Light in the Dark by Dezmynd Johnson

3rd place: The Imperfect Storm by Logan Thies Ryan Woldruff, PhD Assistant Professor of English Director of Writing Center Central Methodist University

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First Place: Poetry Marlborough Street Boston Marina Firman, Boonville

His parents planted the tree When they bought the little house The year he was born With small hands and big eyes He didn’t know That even then the tree protected him And hid him From the world Now he’s older He sees the tree As his lost mother She knows and soothes his grief Her bittersweet smell Her pastel petals Which she drops on the street Showing him a way out She leans in closer Reaching her wooden arms around him Her flowers falling into his hair Tickling his ears playfully His senior year, the city tells them The tree is sick She’s dying Leaving him alone again He paints her portrait Doesn’t leave his name Only his address Marlborough Street Boston

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Second Place: Poetry Her Last Dance {based on “Bay View Blue” painting} Anna Scheperle, Jamestown

The different shades of blue play with each other they flow across the canvas, making fictitious shapes my eyes graze over the scene I see a skull The skull is looking up towards the sky two thin brush strokes serve as arms the various patches of blue wrap around its body the blues look like a flourishing dress She is dancing deep inside, I know it’s her last The blues convey her feeling of desperation as she leaves this world behind the random paint splashes showcase her energy her past memories play out one more time through the vibrant yellows She is giving her dance everything she’s got left For she knows she will soon become a thing of the past

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Third Place: Poetry Dawn

Kaitlin Furneaux, Fayette The dawn was thick with sparkling dew drops, humid with oranges and light hues of blue.

I was weighed down with a restless wanting for your eyes.

Your eyes that sparkle like a thousand stars, Refracting all of my drawings and wild images, a simple want with such a heavy and sorrowful meaning.

A meaning that leaves the room empty, the tables alone and the chairs cold.

The dawn is thick with my drops of silent wishes, drenched with monochromatic shards of shadows and old regrets.

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First Place: Fiction Don’t Go

Danielle Spencer, Smithton

At 7:06 A.M. the sun rose. No one in Denver could see it, but it came over the horizon. No one has seen a sunrise in years thanks to all the pollution and smog in the air. Instead, there is a gradual lightening in the sky until the predawn joggers realize that, yes, they can see their hand clearly without an artificial light. The smog covers the sky, which barely allows the sunlight to come through. It colors the sky a dirty orange, brown shading it darker.

A woman about twenty-eight years old suddenly stirs, sitting up from her cracked chair. She looks around in confusion before seeing a book open in her lap.

She remembers now, falling asleep in her reading chair before making it to bed. The woman, Grace Milton, stretches and places a bookmark between the pages. She lays the book, titled “How to Care for Mythical Creatures,” on the coffee table in front of her. She looks around and sighs. Time to get to work.

After getting ready for the day and grabbing a genetically modified protein bar for breakfast, Grace rushes down the stairs of her apartment building. She hits the streets, scarfing down her breakfast as she ignores the boy shouting after her, “Newspaper! Read all about the super hurricane that wiped out California!”

Grace quickly passes a television outside a popular restaurant, which blares the news, “...global temperatures are rising, and most of the world’s population has evacuated to cooler climates. If the animal kingdom doesn’t adapt to these...”

A single, solitary car roars across the bridge; it is the only one that works in this part of town. Gas is too expensive, especially when doctors are needed more than ever to combat the sicknesses that are spreading like a plague. Instead, most people walk everywhere. Surgical masks are worn by children to protect their fragile immune systems. Few are surviving to adulthood.

Grace unlocks the back door to her workplace and enters, locking the door behind her. After prep work, she grabs what she needs and heads further into the compound. Grace carries a smelly bucket to one of the enclosures, not eager to start her work. She always begins with the serpents, which is her least favorite part of being a zookeeper.

Pushing open the exterior door, she makes sure it closes before opening the next one. The creatures inside seem to stare into her soul. Grace shivers, avoiding eye contact, and starts giving out the food. The serpents give Grace a basilisk stare while she puts the meals in their enclosures. She avoids their eyes, frightened by their creepy countenance. Then she comes to the last one, holding the biggest serpent in the zoo. Medusa, who eats the most, could probably swallow a human child. She gulps, then places the food in the slot. Medusa remains still, and Grace becomes worried. Just as she is about to open the door and poke the food again, she

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is startled by something being flung at the viewing window. She gasps as Medusa’s mouth pulls back, avoiding eye contact as the large basilisk hisses. Grace, finished for now, quickly returns to her area and retrieves the next animal’s food.

She hears the hoarse croaks their voices have become when she enters the aviary. The wyverns and dragons, their colors once bright and splendid, are now as colorful as the dingy sky. Their feathers, once healthy and glossy, are now brittle and break when they flap. One of the tamer ones, out of those that are left, lands on her shoulder.

Grace smiles, “Hello Fuego.”

Fuego, who used to have splendid feathers like fire, croaks pitifully at her. The young phoenix sniffs her hair before combing it with his beak. Grace smiles warmly before shifting him onto a perch close to the ground. She dumps the seed in one bin and steps back as the wyverns flock to it, their blue and violet colors dull.

Grace moves to the other side of the aviary and dumps the meat inside. The small dragons and phoenixes leap up to the bin, some squawking hoarsely as they hop along the ground while others push their neighbors aside.

Grace holds between her gloved hands the last of the meat and offers it to one of the dragons, a red feathered creature that looks terrible. She knows it is dying.

Across the world the pollution and sickness spread, killing thousands. The animal kingdom can’t adapt fast enough to the swift changes humanity has brought, and are slowly dying.

The dragon does not move, other than a slow rise and fall as it breathes laboriously. Until one moment, it stops.

Grace sighs, sadness taking her over. The poor thing didn’t deserve to die like this, but there is nothing she can do. She tosses the meat to Fuego, who catches it enthusiastically in his beak, and gently picks up the dead animal. She will take it to the taxidermist after work, who will be able to sell the stuffed creature to the rich that collect the dying species.

Taxidermy has risen as a career recently. With so many animals dying, stuffing them is one of the only ways to preserve their beauty.

By now the zoo is open, available for the public to come and see some of the last exotic animals of the world. Grace passes a few couples and families looking at the exotic creatures. She gathers herself one more time, preparing to enter her favorite enclosure. The unicorns.

There used to be more than unicorns though. Some of the males, when they get older, grow a second, smaller horn above their first. They are no less majestic though, for all their bulk and sharp horns. They are beautiful to Grace.

Now though, there is only one left. A juvenile and the last one at the Denver Zoo. While the unicorns seem awe-inspiring to Grace, most others just ignore their existence.

“Hey Mimsy,” Grace calls. The unicorn perks her head up and looks in her keeper’s direction. Unicorns naturally have bad eyesight, but the pollution, smog, illness, and such in the air caused the little creature to go blind. Mimsy slowly gets

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up and walks toward Grace, who hums to tell the unicorn where her keeper is.

Grace looks over Mimsy, feeling for any injuries, and hears her ragged breathing. Not much longer for her either. She can’t stop her eyes from watering at the thought and puts her arm around the creature’s neck. Mimsy nuzzles her head into Grace’s stomach.

“Look Mama,” a little girl says. She and her mother had paused on their way to see the monkeys. “It’s a rhinosaurous!”

“Rhinoceros dear,” the mother corrects. “One of the last there is. Take a good, long look.”

The girl looks confused, though her expression is mostly hidden by the surgical mask she wears. “Why? Where is it going?’

“There’s hardly any more left in the world. You might not see another rhinoceros in your life,” the mother explains before they move on.

Tears spring to Grace’s eyes, and she holds Mimsy a little tighter. Almost the entire species is extinct, and the ones that survive won’t for much longer.

Grace finally lets it out. The tears, the sobs, crying until her heart can’t take the sorrow and keeps going. She doesn’t stop until she feels drained of the energy, slowing down until all that is left are sniffles.

In the mid-morning air, sounds can be heard within the zoo. The parrots and birds with their dull colors give their last song as the brittle feathers fall to the ground. The snakes and lizards hiss at the visitors before they return to the dust from whence they came. And the last unicorn takes a final breath before laying down to rest.

“Please, don’t go,” Grace whispers, upset that she cannot save the animals she loves so much. She stays in the enclosure until after dark, and the half-moon shines its light through a small gap in the smog.

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Second Place: Fiction Light in the Dark

Dezmynd Johnson, Boonville The darkness grows ever so slightly, the world grows into a ball of splintering flames, and I resist the urge to change it for the better. I cause chaos in the hopes of making the world change itself. This is my outlook on the world. My name is Allucard Reyes, originally H. Tepes, but the modern world would call me “Phantom.” I come from a powerful lineage. My father, big surprise, is Dracula Tepes. My mother, well, her name is too much for the mortal mind to comprehend. She happens to be the child of a demon and an angel, and not just any demon or angel, but two of the most powerful, the archangel Michael and the demon herself, Satan. I grew up alone and I’ve had a lot expected of me, but I ran when the time got tough. I discovered most of my power after escaping. Don’t get me wrong, they were good parents, but it was too much for me to handle. That was centuries ago.

This story is a rather compelling one about being the child prodigy of a powerful couple and the outcast of the world. It all starts centuries after I was born and years after leaving home. The world, as you would say, sees me as the enemy, but I see myself as more of an inspiring figure. I’m hated because of my father and because of my vision, or it may be my actions. I’ll never know and I will never care. I don’t see myself as the one they should be afraid of. I teach the mortals that they are the ones they should be afraid of. My name is Allucard, but you can call me Phantom. It’s what the rest of the world calls me. Onto the story...I killed the woman I loved, I put her down as if she were an animal. See, it all happened so fast. She betrayed me to the mortals, and I could never forgive. I was attacked by the people.

They stormed my manor and burned my home. I could not sit back and let this happen, so I revolted. I used my abilities, my control over the darkness, and cast them all into an endless abyss of suffering. Ever since that day the mortals fear me and tell their children to be wary of me. They tell stories and sing songs about me.

My favorite, however, is the one about kidnapping children and making them my slaves, which I have never done. But I guess that is what happens when you defend yourself. I can see the future, and it doesn’t look good for the mortals. We’ll convene later.

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Third Place: Fiction The Imperfect Storm Logan Thies, Fayette

“...this is the greatest invention ever made. It will help us grow crops without problems and guarantee natural disasters will never happen again...” The radio drones on, but I stop listening. Nowhere in that did they have actual scientific backings.

“Charlie! We need to leave, you can’t be late again,” my mother yelled from downstairs. Thank God we don’t have neighbors close, otherwise we’d get complaints often. The woman could yell. “I’m coming!” I yelled back.

On my way down the stairs, I saw the paint-chipped walls. Crops hadn’t been doing well the past couple years, so we couldn’t afford to fix our leaking roof. At least if this weather machine worked, we’d be able to produce more crops.

At the bottom of the stairs, I came face to face with my thirteen-year-old brother, Chris. Ignoring his existence as usual, I walked to the kitchen to find my mother beaming out the window. At least one of us was excited today.

They’re supposed to start controlling the weather today. Aren’t you excited Charlie?” my mother says.

I replied, “Not really.” Rolling her eyes at me, she pointed towards the door signaling we needed to get in the car.

My little sister Beth—chipper as ever—sang songs and talked the entire way to school.

When we finally got to school, I got out without a word. School had always been a love/hate thing for me. I loved science and my best friend Brad, but I hated the whole social aspect of it.

I walked into the classroom and sat down for class. The teacher talked about the weather machine as if we hadn’t already heard about it a thousand times.

After class I stayed and talked to Brad about how dumb the machine was.

Before we could really talk too much, I looked out the window and saw a huge tornado coming our way.

Suddenly our principal’s voice screeched over the loud speaker and said, “The weather machine has malfunctioned. Everyone go to your designated places.”

Everything was chaos, then it was oddly calm. I looked out the window to see it pouring. I then saw a decaying human hit the window, and that’s when I jumped into action. Running down to the elementary and middle school, I grabbed my siblings Chris and Beth. Running with them back to the storage closet, I saw my mother down the hall.

My mother grabbed us all and took us to a place we’d never been before: the janitor’s closet. After taking us inside there, she opened another secret door and ushered us through what appeared to be another world.

In this other world, we were bombarded by lights coming from all directions.

Once our eyes adjusted, we saw where we were. We were on what looked like an 87

indoor farm with elevators to bring us places.

My mother explained to us that they had been preparing for the apocalypse for a long time. This is what they’d prepared and it’s where the remaining people of our town would be living in from now on.

Because of our attempt to change nature, all of our lives had changed drastically. This was my new reality: living underground, without wind, without rain.

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About the Editors

Molly Lyons

Molly is a senior English and Communications major from New Franklin, Missouri. She is the secretary of Sigma Tau Delta, and is also involved with a sorority, Theta Chi Upsilon. Her hobbies include watching movies, writing, and singing on Instagram. In the future, she hopes to either become a professional singer or work somewhere in the entertainment industry.

Ashley Patzwald Ashley is a senior English Education Major from Camdenton, Missouri. She is the president of Sigma Tau Delta, and is also a member of Kappa Delta Pi. Her hobbies include crafting, writing and kickboxing. In the future, she hopes to be a high school English teacher.

Editorial Team Darren Defreitas Hope Howser Rachel Lipsey Sara Ratliff Grace Stumbaugh

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Contributor Biographies Alex Leathers - Alex is a Molecular Biology Major, and he is looking for a career in genetics. “The Cemetery” poem is related to an event that happened to him when he was deer hunting in an old, overgrown Civil War Cemetery.

Amanda Steinman - Amanda is a senior Communications major. She is an active member of her sorority, Kappa Beta Gamma. She loves being outdoors and spending time with her dog, Addie.

Amy Blair - Amy is a sophomore biology major with minors in chemistry and political science. She is involved in student government and Zeta Psi Lambda on campus, and loves being with her family and friends.

Anna Murri - Anna is a junior Biology major with a minor in Chemistry who has aspirations to further her education after graduation with hopes of becoming a Veterinarian someday. She is an active member of a local sorority on campus, Sigma Pi Alpha. She spends her free time being outdoors and adventuring.

Anna Scheperle – Anna studies at Jamestown High School and attended Young Writer’s Day. Audrey Vogel - Audrey Vogel is a freshman here at Central Methodist. She spends most of her time playing soccer for the Eagles. She loves being outdoors and spending time with friends and family.

Camille Dovin - Camille is a senior chemistry and criminal justice major. While here at CMU, she has been involved in Greek life, a member of the sprit squad, and active in other things around campus. After graduation, Camille plans to pursue a career in the criminal justice field, focusing along the lines of forensics.

Catherine Barnard - Catherine is a senior Nursing major. She is a soprano in Conservatory Singers, works for the Writing Center, and performs in Little Theatre productions. She enjoys yoga, playing piano, and spending time with her friends and family.

Chase Cannon - Chase is a senior Business major with a concentration in Management. Chase loves to hunt and be in the outdoors and after graduation he intends to pursue his passion for hunting and the outdoors in a professional business setting.

Dana Lester - Dana is a sophomore studying Biology. She is also a member of Kappa Beta Gamma. In her free time, Dana enjoys spending time with her friends and family.

Danielle Spencer – Danielle attends Smithton High School and attended Young Writer’s Day. Darren Defreitas - Darren is a senior Psychology major.

Dezmynd Johnson - Dezmynd studies at Boonville High School and attended Young Writer’s Day. Emma McQueen - Emma McQueen is a senior Marine Biology major. She has been involved in several organizations and extracurricular activities, like marine biology club, Alpha Gamma Psi, Cheerleading, environmental science club, and ALLiance.

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Grace McIntosh - Grace is a sophomore Marine Biology major who plans to attend veterinary school after graduation. She is a part of the Eagle Envy Dance Team, women’s soccer team, the marine biology club, AED/BBB, and is a residential assistant. Grace hopes to travel the world to study and care for a variety of animals.

Grace Stumbaugh - Grace Stumbaugh is a junior Professional Writing & Publication major. Her favorite activities are volleyball, baking, petting cats, and traveling.

Hope Howser - Hope is a senior English major who is looking to receive her secondary teaching certification upon graduation. She has been a CMU Spirit Squad cheerleader throughout her time in college, as well as being an active member of Sigma Tau Delta and Kappa Delta Pi. She loves her job as a gymnastics and cheer coach.

Janie Leathers - Janie is a Chemistry and Biology major who will be attending medical school at the University of Missouri after graduation. She credits getting her creativity from her mom, Mary Ellen and her love of nature from her dad, Ben. Kaitlin Furneaux – Kaitlin studies at Fayette High School and attended Young Writer’s Day. Lilly Powell - Lilly Powell is a freshman vocal music education major who is working to become a high school and college music director. She loves to be outdoors and traveling across the states over summer breaks.

Logan Thies – Logan studies at Fayette High School and attended Young Writer’s Day. Marina Firman - Marina studies at Boonville High School and attended Young Writer’s Day. Mia Mueller - Mia Mueller is a sophomore Communications and Marketing major.

She is on the CMU volleyball team and an active member of Kappa Beta Gamma.

After graduating she is looking forward to law school. In her free time she likes to read and hangout with friends.

Natalie Van Horn - Natalie is a senior Marine Biology major with a minor in art.

She is currently applying for positions at various animal preservation and conservation centers, and is hoping to work in the Kansas City area for the next year. Natalie is involved in Alpha Gamma Psi, the Navigators, SGA, and is the President of Marine Biology Club. Natalie also loves coffee, cats, and Christmas.

Parker Johnson - A double-alum of CMU, Parker graduated with his bachelor’s degree in 2017 and his master’s in 2019. He currently serves as an Adjunct Professor of Web Design and runs the university website as the Webmaster in the Marketing Department. He and his wife, Emma, live in Columbia with their diabetic dog, Camry (who is the sweetest).

Peggy Laue - Peg is a senior Education major with focus on Middle School English Language Arts. She has returned to college following an Information Technology career to pursue her first dream of becoming a teacher. Having an active teenager at home and working at John Boise Middle School keeps her busy along with being the Youth Group Sponsor. She enjoys reading, needle crafts and camping with her husband and family.

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Rachel Lipsey - Rachel is a senior English major from Silex, Mo. Her favorite color is yellow.

All she wants out of life is to write words worth being quoted.

Rene Burkland - Rene is a sophomore Psychology major from Peoria, Arizona. In her free time, she loves to hang out with family and hike.

Sara Ratliff - Sara is a sophomore history major from Higbee, Missouri. She is a member of Sigma Tau Delta and Game Geeks, as well as the president of Alpha Lambda Delta. In her free time, she loves to read, paint, write, and discover new music.

Sarah King - Sarah is a freshman English-Secondary Education major who plans on being a high school English teacher after graduation. She is involved in Student Government and a member of the Track and Cross Country team. She enjoys spending time with friends and singing.

Skylor Turner - Skylor is a junior majoring in Criminal Justice and double minoring in Psychology and Biology. Some hobbies include writing, drawing, and finding quiet places to enjoy the outside world.

Sydney Philpot - Sydney is a senior Exercise Science major looking to earn a Masters in Sports Management in the years after graduation. She played soccer until she couldn’t and stayed involved Kappa Beta Gamma all four years. Sydney enjoys hammocking and cuddling with her pets.

Tome Voss - Tome is a senior Sociology major, with a communication minor. She has been involved in basketball her whole time at Central Methodist. She likes to be around her friends and outdoors.

Traci Ballew - Traci is the Social Media Specialist for CMU. She is a Central alumna and is currently working on her master’s degree. She has two young children at home and loves spending time with her friends and family.

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Notes

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