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TABLE OF ';lf44~~-
• CARCASSO~NE BY HOLLY MARBOE
gad~~..
JR. BY CAMERON BROW:-\
'P~ ACOOKII' ................................................................................................................................................39
Cassandra Moos BIG BROTHER ........................................................................................................................................... 17
Briett Reed
COME WITH ME ..........................................•..•••...•.....•....•.•..•••.••.....••..••..•..•.•..•..•....••.•............................. 42
Serena Thompson Tm: FOUR WINDS IN DoUGLASS WYOMING (SECOND PLACE WINNER) ......................................................... 9
Kathleen Rockeman
FIGHT ...................................................................................................................................................... 13
Casey Loehding GOLDEN PRAIRIE ...................................................................................................................................... 14
Holly Marboe
Till. LEATHER GLOVES (THIRD PLACE WINNER) ......................................................................................... 16
Clms Hol:hagel LIFE ........................................................................................................................................................ 13
Casey Loehding LooK ....................................................................................................................................................... lO Laura Bon
ODE TO CIIOCOLATE .................................................................................................................................. 19
Ravlene Tusler
PAPA BILL (FIRST PLACE WL'IINER) ............................................................................................................ 37
Knstopher Smotherman
PERSO:>;A GRATA ....................................................................................................................................... 27
lmn Ma;:ala SILE:-rf ..................................................................................................................................................... I 0
Megltan Bart;:
VISITATIO:'II ............................................................................................................................................... 5
Kathleen Rockeman WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS .............................................................................................................................6
Melissa Maerzle
WICKEDGARDEN ..................................................................................................................................... 36
Meghan Bartz
ATTACKED FROM ALL AROUND (THIRD PLACE WINNER: NONFICT'ION) .........................................................
14
Alicia /laick BUCKING TRADITION ................................................................................................................................. 30
Melissa Maenle TilE COLOR OF BLOOD ..............................................................................................................................26
Ryan Bogner DOLLAR FOR TWENTY-FIVE (SECOND PLACE WINNER: FICT'ION) .................................................................. 28
Nickito Johnson THE DRIVE (FIRST PLACE WINI'iER: Frcno:-.:) ............................................................................................. 7
Alicia Haick Dusr BUI'\'IIIES (THIRD PLAcE WL"'I'<'ER: FICTION) ....................................................................................... 38
Cole Weis;: FALLEN (SECO:-;o PLACI:. WI'IINER: NONACT'ION) ......................................................................................... 4
Nikolav Martinov
Fu-.. \T THE GoLF Co~.,;RSE ........................................................................................................................ 32
Chris Aarhus THI·
KEF. PER OF THE HOUSE .......................................................................................................................41
Ryan Bogner ,
MAYBE Now You LLAGREE, DRII'iKl:-IG HAS ITS BENEFITS ........................................................................ 35
0NfH~[L£g:':wORD .............................................................................................................................. 18 Briett Reed
PRICE OF A Bus RIDE ................................................................................................................................ 39
Nickito Johnson
REASON (FIRST PLACE WINNER: NONFICl'lON) ............................................................................................ II
Cole Weisz S HAKEPEARE CHARACT'ERS AND REGICIDE: JOINED AT THE HIP ................................................................... 22
Elizabeth Raab TEARS OF INNOCENCE ................................................................................................................................ 24
Jessina Aluise
BROKEN NECKLACE (THIRD PLACE WINNER)······························································································ 12
Cassandra Moos
FERRIS STORE ............................................................................................•........•..................................... 23
Holly Marboe FORGET THE SORROW ....•........................................................................................................................... 28
Shiua Chen FRENCH CASTLE ......•..••.......•.................................................................................................................... 18
Holly Marboe FRENCH STREET (SECOND PLACE wINNER) .............................................................•....•...•..•................•.•... 22
Holly MArboe HoPE ............•....................................................................................•.............................•...•................... 29
Shihua Chen SoUND BoDY ..........•..•......................................................................•..............................•.................•..... 10
Cannen Maxwell TAKE Fumrr (FIRST PLACE WINNER) ...•...•...................................•...•...•.........•............................•••..•......•. 20-21
Cannen Maxwell UNTITLED .......•.........•.......•................•...•................•................................................................................ 13
Shihua Chen
ABANDONED PLAYGROUND (THIRD PLACE WINNER) ...........•...........•................................•........................... 4
Amber Fauth ALoNE
IN HER THOUGHTS •.....•...•........................................•...•........•....•...............•..........•....................... 13
Jessina Aluise AUTUMN •.••.•••.••..•..•.......••.••••.•••.••.•.••••••••.....•......•......•......•...••••••.••...••••.•••.•••......•..•..••.•.•..••.•••..••.........•... 27
Shannay Schaefer BALCONY VLEW ......•...............•....•••......•...•................................•...•...•....•..................•....•......•...•.............. 38
Heather Berndt BOXCAR ART ............................................................................................................................................ 37
Jeff Grewe CONNECTED ..•..•..................•........•....................................•...... ···•··•·· ..•......................•............................. 34
Jeff Grewe DEADLY LooP (FIRST PLACE WLNNER) ·······•····························•·······••···••······················•··•···•······················ 35
Fred Rurangirwa
FORWARD OR BACK .....................•....... ······· ..•....................................•...••.................................................. 15
Jeff Grewe GIRL WITH A HORSE·································································································································· 14
Holly Marboe
GLASSES ON FABRIC ...........................................................•.....................•.................•.........................••.. 36
Megan Fisher GRILL •••.•........................•..........................................................•...........................••..•.........................••.. 30
Megan Fisher IOWA BRLDGE (SECOND PLACE WINNER) ······································•······························•······························ 31
Cassandra Moos
LAKE VIEW·············································································································································· 26
Amber Fauth
NEW YORK DEMISE ......................................................................•...........................•............................... 40
Cassandra Moos QUIET CONTEMPLATION .......•.......................................•..............•....................•......................................... 26
Les Hancock ROSE ON A BED OF SNOW.··················· .................•................................... ········ ..•.....•................................ 27
Amber Fawh SHOE WITH WINE GLASSES ...........•............................................................•......•.•...................................•.. 17
Megan Fisher SOLITUDE ........................................................................................................•..•..................................... 19
Amber Fauth TERMINAL PERSUASION ............................................................................................................................. 43
Rene Gonzalez
(UNTITLED) .............................................................................................................................................. 8
Fred Rurangirwa
1~2007 sat down on one of the sofas in the hall and relaxed. The weather was wonderful outside. Yellow leaves were falling down, birds sang songs. Warm BY NIKOLAY MARTINOV wind slightly touched the trees and moved Once I found myself in an awful them. I looked at the situation dealing with whether to window and enjoyed accept responsibilities for my the nice weather. I was inattention and carelessness to duties excited about it, and or not to accept them. It happened decided to stay on sofa like this. In the summer of 2003, I for five minutes more. was working as a housekeeper. It Finally, I went to was a usual summer job which does continue cleaning not require any special skills. My rooms. To my surprise responsibilities were changing there were a lot of other sleeping sheets, pillowcases, housekeepers. Their vacuuming, and dusting the faces were full of furniture. sorrows. 1 went closer That day there were no check- and saw an old man outs; it means nobody left the hotel. lying on the floor. He Customers just went for a walk was touching his leg. "I during the morning and then twist my hip," he comeback at lunch. Housekeepers shouted. His wife tried had to go thru their rooms and put to support his head. The additional coffee, make the beds body of the man took a strange ugly look accurate, and dust furniture. As position. He suffered from a terrible for me, it was a day like the others. pain in his hip. Wife took a shawl When you did the same job from day and wiped the sweaty forehead of to day you do not think much. You the husband. She tried to cheer up just switch off your brain and act like him. Soon, the executive housekeeper a robot. 10:15 a. m. was a break time. I appeared on the scene of the decided to leave my job for a while, accident. She was about sixty years and got a drink of water. As break old, a very strict woman. Margaret, lasted for fifteen minutes, there was the executive housekeeper, always no reason to gather all working stuff. wore white pants and a white jacket. l left all dirty towels, cups in one of She took a brief look at the corridor the rooms. The vacuum cleaner was and saw the man on the floor and standing somewhere in corridor. suddenly made a few steps to my Break is my favorite time. I drank side. Margaret stared down on me. some water. I was pretty tired, so I "Who left the vacuum cleaner in
~'P~ BY AMBER FAUTH
the middle of corridor? Why is the vacuum cleaner electro cable laying on the floor?" she exclaimed! These two questions confused me. I understood that I was in big trouble. My face became red, and my heart was jumping out of my chest. My heart pumped so heavily and fast. that I thought I had a huge drum inside of me. I could not say a word because al1 of my muscles were paralyzed. The few seconds that passed; seemed like few hours. I did not know what to do, or how to answer. Unexpectedly.
PAGE4 Iâ&#x20AC;˘
1m,!t~ 2007 a small thought flew into my mind. I said that the vacuum cleaner and cable were near the wall when I left. The executive housekeeper turned around and took four steps towards me. Two guys came in to the corridor with white bandages. They were carrying a medical back-board. With great efforts, they placed the old man on it. He was lying there without any motion; his wife held his hand. The four of them left. The team of housekeepers stood in the corridor. There were about ten people. They split into groups of two's or three's and each group was discussing something. Margaret came to me with another housekeeper. She said that this accident was terrible. I confirmed to her that this was not my fault, because the vacuum cleaner was standing near the wall. To look more persuadable, I added that everybody should be careful and watch what is happening around them. Within a few minutes, all of the housekeepers went back to work except one. I looked into her scared face. "If only you could have see the way the old man fell down. If only you could have see his eyes full of pain," she explained. I understood, even with out her words, that it was my fault that the man fell down, but I did not take the blame. I did not even tell the old man that I was sorry. Not apologizing that day still disturbs me. It seems to me ' that on this particular day an old man fell, my honesty and humanity had fallen down too.
••• • ••• • •••• ••••
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This dream recurs: she is laughing, Cracking jokes, reminding me of escapades from The old days--all my folly-With the easy teasing of sisters or neighbors. Her voice ripples like water in the shallows. She is lit from within, she shimmers Like September sun glinting on the river, Like aspens on autumn afternoons when the sky is bluest And deer come down to water In their delicate silence. Time, like the river, flows around stones. There is no mention of her own mistakes-The old darkness, the broken circle-No foreshadowing. We are simply happy, laughing And I wonder how she can when she must know by now That a deer waits through the golden afternoon To dance up suddenly from the ditch grass, To stare mildly as her hands wrench the wheel And the gravel gives And her head clears an instant too late.
I<ATJILEEN RocKEMAN
1~2007
I sit beside the bay window staring into the darkness Wondering if the Greeks were right and there really are muses. If there is anything to that mythology, my muse left long ago. Perhaps she got lost in the bitter darkness Maybe she's in a meeting with Ares and they are plotting A way to help me battle the demons that ins1st on torturing me. Should I call on the help of Hercules, or maybe the Amazons? Wait, it's not brawn I need, it's wit, charm and a little humor.
If I shout for Apollo, Athena and Aphrodite do you think they would help? Then again, maybe I should call on Artemis, she always bits her mark. Ah, but knowing my luck Hermes will be the only one to show And I doubt he'd care when I explained it to him. "You see Hermes, I have to write a poem every day for class It drives me crazy because l never know what to write And most of the time, I simply don't have time. You know what else is irritating me right now? Every time I try to be creative my imagery fails. I'm tired from this, and pet-sitting a cat that doesn't believe in sleep I'm cold and miserable staring out the window and watching snow fall in early October And worst of all, I'm talking to an imaginary Greek god!" Melissa Maenle
tJ~LL I
BY
MEGAN FISHER
PAGE6
1mp~2007
BY ALICIA HAICK
I'd been driving for over an hour, but I stil1 didn't feel like I could turn around. I'd only seen four cars on this road, but, for the first time in my life, I was glad North Dakota was so deserted. I had a vague idea of where I was, but I'd never been this way at night before and definitely never alone. It wasn't cold, but my hands were shaking as they held the steering wheel. The heater in my car wasn't the best, but I knew that wasn't the reason my hands were shaking. Every time I thought, every time I. ... What was wrong with me? Why was I reacting like this now? After everything I'd put up with to this point, why was I running away now? I clenched my jaw and peered at the straight two-way highway ahead of me, letting the song on my CD player repeat. At least I had this car though--1 didn't have to stay through it anymore. Yeah, I had this car. His old car. This had been his car through college and, even though he hadn't been in it for a year, it still smel1ed like him. Jason. In a way, I felt a lot like him tonight. Running away from it all, alone, and listening to music the whole way. It was a weird irony that I was using the same car he used back then. Ironic, but more depressing then anything else--we'd been dealing with it for that long. I wished Jason was here now. He would have been right beside me, cussing about how stupid our parents
PAGE Iâ&#x20AC;˘
7
were and swearing them to hell with every other phrase. Just someone to talk to about this ... .Though, in the end, maybe it was better that I was alone. Jason would have been angry about it, but all I could feel was an overpowering sadness. My two brothers, my little sister, and me. With parents included, we were the equivalent of the "perfect" family: two girls, two boys, and two loving parents. I always gagged over the word perfect, because we were nothing close to its meaning. I loved my siblings and couldn't wish for better friends--because that's what they were to me, my friends. If I had a problem I, more often then not, would talk to Jason about it. He'd probably have dealt with the same problem and he somehow always managed to help me with mine. If I wanted to have fun, I'd hang out with my younger brother Logan as he played his favorite Nintendo or X-box game. With Tessa (three years old now) I just practiced my maternal duties-since Mom wouldn't really do anything with her. As strange as it sounded, Tessa was more of my daughter than she was my sister. I'd taken care of Tessa since she was an infant because Mom was just. ... My view of the road in front of me grew hazy and a sudden tear spilled over my cheek before I could fully stop it. Tessa. I was so close to finally getting out of that house. My graduation edging so close that I could just reach out and touch my freedom. And then Tessa .... How could I just leave her there? Abandoned to the mercy of God-because it surely wasn't my parent's brains that dictated anything where it concerned us children. I couldn't just leave her. .. but. .. I. ... I hit the steering wheel with my
fist as more tears carne out. There were just some people in the world who shouldn't have been allowed to marry or have children--my parents were number one on that li st. Yeah, I wouldn't have been alive if my parents hadn't met and lusted after each other to the point where they got married, but at this point I didn't feel alive anyway. To be born into this wasn't a birth into life. We were in hell. That's all it could be. But was the brimstone idea of hell even enough to equal the amount of psychological and physical traumas we'd endured for all these years? Our views of reality were so skewed by our Jives growing up that Logan (twelve years old now) swore once that he wouldn't get married when he grew up. I knew it was only the word of a kid who hadn't really hit puberty yet, but it was sad for me at the time because I realized Logan thought marriage was what caused al1 the crap we'd been through. I guess I had thought that way too. Simplified the problem. I had changed so much though. I felt like I had Jived three lifetimes, yet I was only eighteen years old and simply graduating from high school. Growing up the way we had, I guess it was natural that I'd turn out this old (or "mature" I guess I should call it). I'd been trying for so long to shelter Logan and Tessa that I just naturally turned into a second mother for them. I guess, in that sequence, Jason would be the father figure. I smiled in spite of the weight in my chest. Jason would hate that idea. He didn't like being responsible because of our parent's stupid actions, but he was always there. If I needed someone or if Logan, or Tessa needed something for class or just needed anything in general, he was there.
'lm~2007 If he was here now, he'd ... There was the town of Regent up ahead. Coming over the hill, I could see the faint lights of the small town and my mind automatically revolted against me. I remembered coming to Regent for a fishing trip three years ago. Tessa had still been just a baby and Jason had taken the weekend off from work and his college studies so he could come along. He said he had come in order to catch some fish, but I knew the truth-even though he'd never admit it to anyone--that he'd come to protect us. He knew our parents better than I did at the time, and he knew what usually happens when they go to the lake. Only three years ago, but how could I have been so stupid then? Jason had come to protect us ... Mom and Dad taking more than usual ... why couldn't I put it together then instead of acting like a selfish, whiny, child? Why? After crossing the road's bridge, I slowed down almost automatically. There was the tum to the lake. That's where we turned. That's where ... Oh, Tessa, I'm so sorry. I didn't know then. I didn't realize then, but that isn't any excuse. Learning the hard way leads to so much hurt, and not just to the ones learning, but to the innocent people involved--very innocent people. I had been angry about coming to the lake and had been immaturely sulking apart from our camper. If I hadn't been so selfish at the time and had realized that it was my duty to protect my defenseless sister, none of it would have happened the way it had. Jason had been working on his
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college homework for awhile, but, since Logan had looked so bored, Jason had gone to show Logan a stupid quicksand pit. 1 sat watching it all, just watching. I was apart from the campsite, but only by hundred feet or so. It had still been too far. Our parents were arguing as normal and were drinking and injecting as much as they could--as usual. I'm not sure anymore what stupid thing they were arguing about, but what I remember vividly is when they starting yelling about Tessa and her supposed legitimacy. It wasn't so much the content of what they were saying (because it was always trivial and groundless), but it was when my mom, raging, ran for Tessa sleeping in the crib and ripped her out of it. I wasn't sure what they were going to do, but thankfully some manner of instinct came into me and I started running. I was too late though. Just a fraction too late. Tessa was in the lake before my
mind could even register a thought. I ran. My vision was stuck in that one instance of seeing Tessa thrown away screaming, but it didn't slow me down. The sound of the dull splash and the unnerving quiet that followed almost did me in, but I reached the lake and jumped in, swimming as fast as I could. The water had burned my open eyes, but I had to see in order to find her. And then ... . .. there she was. She was ... With Tessa lying in my stiff arms, I swam and half walked back to the shore. It was ... Jason was there. Frantically running towards me and Tessa, while yelling at Mom and Dad. Jason looked like he felt the emotions I should have been feeling. I was too numb to feel anger at our
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'Jm~2007 parents, too numb to feel worried, I just. .. Tessa was so pale, so still. .. she just couldn't be ... My entire body was shaking when Jason took Tessa from me. It took a few more horrible minutes, but Jason somehow managed to bring a screaming, beautifully wet Tessa back to us. 1 was still shaking and unmoving, but Jason didn't lose any time. He grabbed Tessa and Logan, shuft1ed them into the camper and then came back for me. He was seething, but he never yelled (I remember that distinctly for some reason). He mumbled to himself, said things I can't remember to our parents, and then he took all of us siblings out of there, leaving the parents in the same argument they had been in, seemingly undisturbed by the events. Oh, Tessa. I. .. Regent had a tiny emergency
facility, but that's the only place we could get to fast enough. Even so, it was too late for Tessa. She was alive, she was breathing and screaming, but Tessa had lost more then air when she was stone-still those few minutes. She'd never be .... She'd always have .... I reached Regent a few minutes after passing the lake road tum. The town still looked like it had those three years ago and I hated that fact. I wished it would have changed so much that I didn't recognize it anymore--! didn't need the town to stay the same in order to remember that horrible day and I didn't want it to look like it had anymore. There were no cars driving in Regent, but I didn't really expect anyone to be out at midnight. I stopped at a stop sign, but didn't go again. I should turn around and start
heading back home. Logan was spending the night at a friend's house, Tessa was with Jason and his wife Melissa for the night for some medical treatments, and Mom and Dad, who were supposed to be gone all night at something or another, were at home screaming. I had thought that if I stayed home tonight I would get to be alone and finish my final school projects that were piling up. But then they came home. One of the streetlight's flickered above me. I was so tired, I just wanted to lie down and sleep. Just sleep, just. .. I should start back. My car didn't move. I put my head on the steering wheel as the song repeated for the fifth time.
At the Four Winds Inn a clutch of pickups hunker in a gale. Off and on through the afternoon, a siren sounds. To the southwest a black curtain descends. A radio crackles: Wright is reeling. At Lusk, the standing wheat has been combined by clouds. We lean on vehicles, beers in band, joking, Weighing options beneath the writhing sky: The bar has a basement, but no one wants to miss The biggest thing to hit Converse County since 1973. And who can sleep knowing that rootless things Will be the first to blow away? KATHLEEN RocKEMAN
PAGE9 lâ&#x20AC;˘
'lm~2007
Look at me What do you see? A bright, talented student Who has everything together But come closer Look through the fayade See what I strive to hide I'm stressed out to the max And starting to unravel See me for who I really am, A young woman in need of help Don't pass me by Look at me
The prairie is quiet The silence is disturbed Roaringvehiclesonthehighway Once again Silence. MEGHAN BARTZ
LAURA BoN
SOÂŤd, g'o4 By CARMEN MAXWELL
PAGE 10
1m~2007
BY Cou: Wmsz I was hanging out around my house one night when Bird gives me a call to sec if I want to hang out with him. Of course, Bird's name isn't Bird, it's actually Nathan, but when he was a lillie kid he used to tilt his head back and open his mouth like a baby bird waiting to be fed so his parents started calling him Bird. I really can't remember bow I met him but I've known him for at least seven years and probably longer and he's a pretty good guy. We shoot pool and get drunk and cock off to each other, so like I was saying: he's a pretty good guy. So yeah, I did want to hang out with him. I don't really know how the night started, but I know that the good part started when Bird and I were shooting pool upstairs at Joker's in Mandan and I know that downstairs there was a concert. A lot of people were at the bar, but because of the concert, most of them were downstairs. Bird and I had no problem getting a pool table and since the only people challenging us for it were some girls we knew, keeping it wasn't much of a problem either. The bartender was skinny, skinny, skinny, and I thought she was cute. I started hitting on her and got shot down pretty quickly. That's about when Bird and I decided that paying $2.50 per bottle of beer was bullshit so we drove to a gas station to buy some off-sale, which we would then sneak into Joker's under our thick winter coats.
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The plan was a good one and since it was simple, we didn't think we would have any problems. And for the most part, we didn't because we each got four bottles in and nobody caught us. Unfortunately, as we were walking from Bird's car to the door, he was telling me a pretty funny story about a psychotic girl he knew and while telling it, he stepped on an empty beer bottle which popped very loudly, making both of us jump about three feet in the air and start laughing immediately when we hit the ground. That's when shit started going wrong. Not three seconds later, we turned the corner and ran smack into ... a short, skinny drunk with a big chip on his shoulder. "What's so funny?" he asks us, but really, he didn't ask us, he accused us. "Oh nothing," I said through my biggest grin, "He just stepped on a bottle and it made us jump. It was funny." Short-Stuff looked at us hard as if he were trying to see if we were telling the truth or not. It sucked because we were telling the truth, but both of us were trying to sneak beer into the bar and we didn't want Shorty ruining it for us. "Well okay," he said, "I'm going to go take a piss." "Oooh-kay," I said, "have ... fun?" Seriously, what the hell was I supposed to say? The kid was outside in the dead of winter and he was walking away from the entrance to the bar. He could have used the bathrooms inside. How would you respond to that? "What was that look for?" he shouted at me. "What look?" I asked, knowing full well I had rolled my eyes. "You rolled your eyes at me." "Kid, he didn't give you a look,"
said Bird. "Yes he did!" he shouts as he sticks his finger in my face. I can deal with a good amount of bullshit and I'm a pretty easygoing guy, but when that kid put his finger in my face, I lost my patience real quick. I put on a tough guy face, took a step at him, and gave him a little shove. It's clear I'm a good nine or ten inches taller than he is. I ask, "If I gave you look, what are you gonna do about it?" Bird also stepped toward the kid and Short-Stuff seemed to lose his courage pretty quick. Shorty jumped backward, slamming into the brick building behind him. He must have thought that the wall was a person sneaking up behind him because he spun around and threw his fists up in front his face to make sure no one hit him. Bird and I started laughing and Short-Stuff turned around looking even angrier than before. "I'm going to tell the bartender on you!" he yelled at us and started running toward the door. "What the fuck?" Bird asked. I didn't know what Shorty was talking about so I just shrugged my shoulders, but Shorty must have heard so he yelled something about vandalizing bar property as he ran through the door and inside. Bird and I started laughing, but I must have been a little drunker than I thought, because while we were walking inside, I realized I was still kind of angry about the whole situation. Bird and I went over to our table and put our coats on a chair with the beer hidden under them and I told Bird that I was, "going to see if that little fucker is really telling
on us." I walked over to where the bar area was and saw Short-Stuff waving his arms wildly and telling the whole story to some chubby girl. I walked up and grabbed Short-Stuff by the shirt and started dragging him to the bar. "That ain't the bartender," I said to him. The chubby girl quickly jumped in front of me. "Let him go. Please, he's my boyfriend and he's been drinking for six hours. I'm really sorry." I have no idea why, but I really felt bad for this girl. It might have been because she was taller than her boyfriend, but it was probably because I got the feeling that she spent a lot of nights at the bar talking guys
out of kicking his ass. "Alright," I said, "Just keep him the fuck away from me." "Okay. Okay. Thank you." So I went back to the pool table and started shooting another game with Bird. We just finished our first game and we were about ready to start another one when the skinny bartender I had been flirting with comes running over to me. Her face was white as cream as she said, "You know that guy you were fucking with?" "Who, Short-Stuff?" "Yeah! As soon as you walked away from him he went to his car and grabbed a gun! He was going to
come back in with it but a cop saw him carrying it in and arrested him!" I didn'tsay a word. What could I say to that? A friend of mine heard this story once and he asked me what I would have done if Short-Stuff had made it into the bar. I joked that I would have run away or gotten shot but in the back of my mind I never found that joke very funny. I could always ponder on the "what ifs" of the situation, but I chose to find comfort in the fact that some cop I've never met drove down that street for reasons I'll never know. Things happen every day and you never think twice.
~~~ CASSANDRA
Moos
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1~2007
You go to highschool, so you can go to college, so you can pick a career, so you can retire at 55, so you can fmally relax, so you can die. CASEY LOEHDING
~Uehe-t7~ JESSINA ALUISE
'Uttitted SHIHUA CHEN
I hit the side of the trailer-house hallway, going down against old, unforgiving carpet. The plywood floor set on 2x4's creak. 450 pounds of drunken belligerence, rocking the house. I feel carpet scrape off skin, my head meets it each time his elbow drops, I grit my teeth and taste blood, but it doesn't hurt. Beer and adrenalin numbs and dulls everything, I try to hit back, failing, then succeeding with the sound of a wet thud and a gasp. The next morning my face looks like steak. CASEY LOEHDING
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BY ALICIA HAlcK
... in that case, the video game world is simply merchandising to envelop the enterprises and perhaps they're even doing it so they ... Ignoring the MLA format and formal way of writing that's been drilled into me, I just caused a horrendous blunder by dropping you into the middle of a conversation you have no present clue about. I'm not sure why, but I just don't want to write this and sound like I'm drinking refined English tea, staring at the sky contemplating the horror of my subject, citing my sources to a sick perfection, and basically sucking the life out of myself in order to sound "professional" in my presentation. I'm not Thomas Paine or Jonathan Swift and there's no way I could sound anywhere near as brilliant as they did (not only is that a lot of work to pull off, but I think their language was for their time). I'd just like to put aside the English formality for awhile and explode a bit-and, for once in my life, not have to worry about which tense I'm speaking in. My problem, or thesis-if I should even use that word-would be that I'm going to talk about the video-game world. Though, even that statement isn't entirely accurate-but we'll get to that point later on. As this "essay" doesn't tackle such important issues as other essays do, you should probably just skip over it and quit wasting your
time. I'm not going to discuss important poverty issues, social discrimination, or any other paton-your-shoulder moral subjects that betters humanity by their coverage. I said my semi-subject already and that's what I'm going to talk about: video games. For those of you obviously reading on, you must be video game fans or else I've somehow managed to harness your attention
by my brilliant and awfully interesting format and style of writing. Since we're going on, I thought I'd just state that I really like video games. I can just see the mental images of me shift to take that it, but it's true. I like playing (mostly watching though) the story of a good video game unravel. To me-English teachers will shudder at this-it's almost equivalent to reading a good epic
Driving East as the sun sets The shining glow turns the prairie gold. After the shimmer has ended The clouds turn pink and the sky violet. The sun setting illuminates Everything is amazing.
MEGHAN BARTZ
tjitzl 'klitk a. ~<J'%4e HOLLY MARBOE
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1~2007 or novel, getting you so entwined in the telling of it that you can't think of anything else until it reaches a conclusion. Video games have that enticing affect because you are literally a part of the story as one of the characters-you can even change the endings in some games (which is a lot of freak:'n fun). Video games, to my thinking anyway, have a lot of potential for the world today. Even in the world of medicine, video games are a great new addition. I've read medical articles that swear by video-game playing in order to calm children down before they go in for surgery. To be cool, I'd cite that specific source, but I'm really trying to resist the impulse to use MLA citation (it really has become a sickness with me lately). Now that I've patted video game creators and players on their backs and made them feel all happy with themselves, I want to go in for my attack with the rest of my "essay" (my ulterior motive all along). With all the potential video games have, they also have a corruptible failure that I've been itching to scream about: a little thing called marketing appeal. Any business student could tell you how to market an item in just the right way to appeal to the masses. And since those students are definitely better equipped to explain marketing appeal in more depth, I'm not even going to bother-ask them if you're that curious. I don't have a problem with companies using their PAGE lâ&#x20AC;˘
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various techniques to entice people to buy an object-! actually enjoy the way companies can manipulate people into thinking their product is an absolute necessity for the furtherance of life. I admire the cunningness of companies that can market their products well because, as a semi-writer, I've learned
'J~M'8a_d? JEFF GREWE
generally how to manipulate readers by using language (like I'm doing to the readers that are still reading this "essay"). Companies and the media (to a huge extent) have this technique down to a religious practice and it's really cool to watch them direct people's minds to where the companies want them-when you're not being swept away by it, of course.
The signs and ads that most companies use, however, is not my aim in this "essay"-I'm not going to go off on a tangent to attack every company's marketing strategies (not only is that impossible, it's insane). What I want to complain about is my main thesis (who ever thought that word would surface again?), and that is video games. I've already said that the video-game world has a lot of potential, and I hold to that. That is, of course, if they'd stop cutting their limbs off with every new game they bring out. With each new game that hits the shelves of local carriers, I see a rise in the use of sexual appeal to sell those games. Sexual appeal, though, is just a fancy avert way of saying half-naked, well-endowed women in physically messed-up poses "gracing" the covers. It doesn't take a genius to understand why businesses use the tactic of sexual appeal to sell their games-not only is it easy to use, it's an almost guaranteed hit, and it pays so flipp'n well when it's used by a "master". I've already said that I don't mind marketing strategies and I really don't; however, I don't consider placing half-naked women on the covers of games a marketing strategy-it's just being plain lazy. Game directors know what's going to sell games the most, and they use that knowledge (however lazy and unimaginative it is) to their advantage.
1~2007 The main game director I have in mind as I'm ranting here is the director of the Dead or Alive series-a series, which I add, has been popping out sequels as fast as they can create their ... well, I'll get to that in a minute. This director, translated from his native language of Japanese, said with a smile that "I don't put ugly women in my video games." He wasn't joking either, all the women in his games arc, to quote a magazine, created "in a prevision of physics." It's not that I'm a huge, steel-blooded, semidriving feminist, it's just that I can't stand it when someone uses women (or even men-but to a definite lesser degree) in order to sell their games. It's so cheap, so destructive on women's images, such a perversion of the "men" who buy those games, and, still, such a horribly dominate feature in the video-game market. Game directors (yes, Mr. Dead of Alive again) either don't know that placing such physically impossible women on their covers and in their games hurts women as well as men, or they just don't give a crap (probably the latter). In the case of the Dead or Alive director, he only cares about making his ideal woman come to a fighting-life within his "wonderful" gameswhich he was originally going to call "Pretty Women". In spite of what Mr. Dead or Alive thinks
He's owned a pair or two in his time Used them in many different ways He's worn them tight, bringing them to life The leather now charred and stained Could tell stories of a man Who will always remain Sweat soaked summers Of brandings and fence lines and some cold winters Of ice and snow flies Slushy springs of new calves born And some bitter falls When the leaves are shorn There's a tear right over the knuckles And a scar that matches it From a tough ruffle There are holes and scrapes And areas worn rough For these little gloves Don't take much guff They were his leather armor In his fight of life Cowboy was his name And ranching is his life
though, this marketing "tactic" really does have a bad effect on both women and men. Men are basically saying that they want a woman like out of the games when they buy such games. With each game a guy buys with that "sexual-appeal" on the front, they're saying to women that that is the kind of woman they really want. Women are hurting their bodies, minds, and friends by trying to fit those stupid images men are promoting-and the images aren't even real. Theorists thought that Barbie dolls were bad for the minds of women and their self-images (another source I read from), but Barbie has nothing on the women coming out of video games. Chrystalinia Evert, an author (and basically the only person I've allowed my disorder to cite today), said that she once saw at a party "a guy approach a girl, stare at her like a piece of meat, and tell her some degrading joke ... [and the girl] giggled and flirted, eating up the attention." What do women really think when they meet a guy who smiles at them and gives them attention while they're wearing a tube-top, mini-skirt, or skin-tight jeans? The guy isn't talking to her because he's interested in her talents, her attitude, or her smile, he noticed one thing (a thing
CHRIS HOLZHAGEL
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1~2007 video games have supported guys in noticing): her body. Women have demoted themselves to being nothing more than figures alive for men's sexual desires and sexual outlets in order to get their attention. While women got guy's attention, but it's disgusting. I still say that video games have great potential for the world today and that they can offer so much. I just wish they'd stop promoting their games and creating thei r games with women that are ... well... the way they are. Seriously, the Dead or Alive director just pisses me off the way he creates his games. Like a real woman is rea11y like that. Yeah, I
see women with double D's jumping around all the time without a bra and enjoying it. I also know for a fact that fighting in three-inch high heels and a skin-tight miniskirt are fun and actually make fighting easier. There, I'm done sounding like an old person complaining about "those precarious youths nowadays". I'm really not some strident old lady who hates the media and technology world; I'm just a girl who's had to personally grow up with this destruction. I've seen girls hate and starve their bodies to fit ideals that were created in computers (by men, I add). I've even seen guys trying to fit the
I never got to fight with you And cry when you pulled my hair Or laugh when I showed your girlfriend Pictures of you in your underwear.
ideals created by the media (losing their health in the process). And I've always had to deal with my own personal, fitness demons that always said nothing was good enough, just a little bit more, etc. I should probably draw this "essay" (or whatever you'd call it) to a close by summing up what I've said and making some brilliant conclusion that calls on a reader's moral conscious to better themselves and go out and reform the world. First of a11, nobody reads an essay and really changes (if a person says differently, they're probably lying or else one of those extremely rare "good" people). And second of all, I've already wrecked the crap out of this essay, so why should I bother trying to
•••••••••••••••••••••••• • • • • • • • •
I couldn't wait to see your face When you met my first love And threatened to smash his face in If he tried to push or shove. You'd show me how to climb a tree And teach me how to spit You'd be there with your arms outstretched Whenever I ever got hit. But if these things are so wonderful Then why lament and mourn? Because it's hard to love Big Brother When Big Brother wasn't born. BRIETI REED
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s~ Wit4 w~ ~ MEGAN FISHER
1~2007 salvage it at this point? I've said what I wanted to say and written like I wanted to write. Change the world ... who really can or would? Changing the world is just a lie writers will tell themselves whenever they sit down with that tea in hand. Really, they know that nobody is going to read their stuff
and change (that is, if readers don't criticize what they wrote to hell anyway). At best, the reader of this essay will laugh at me a few times and then go on with their life forgetting everything I wrote. So who really cares what point an author makes, as long as they're satisfied with it? And hell, I do feel better now. By BRIETI REED
7~~ HOLLY MARBOE
In today's society, we have many words that are considered to be taboo. Most of these words come from our concept of what is bad or wrong in our society. A prime example of this is the word "hell." Hell comes from the Christian concept that there is life after death. Christians believe that people's souls are sorted after death according to how those people lived their lives. lf they were good, they go to heaven. If they were bad, they go to hell. It isn't really that simple for some denominations of Christianity, but that's the basic belief. We can assume from this that hell is not a very nice place to go, so the word itself begins to carry bad implications. This probably comes from a Greek idea. The Greeks believed that the god of the dead, Hades, would suddenly become aware of a person if that person said his name. Since he was the god of the dead, his attention wasn't really wanted if the person wished to stay alive. Therefore, the Greeks tried not to say his name at all, believing it to be bad luck. Thus, Hell, our version of the underworld, is granted the same connotation, but with a modern twist. Most people don't necessarily think that if they say "hell," they will
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1~2007 thinking?" or "I can't get this damn computer to work properly!" We also have many sayings that have ties to heaven and hell. "Hotter than hell," is a common saying during summertime when there is a heat wave. However, we can also say "colder than hell," in the wintertime, and it means that it is absolutely frigid outside. This comes from another part of culture, Dante's Inferno, a classical book that has many different descriptions of hell. In this book, the deepest circle of hell is actually frozen over while the rest of it is the firepit people are more familiar with.
All in all, saying the word "hell" in today's society is considered to be more of an adjective than a noun, where it is describes an extreme or a very passionate emotion. There are not many people that use the word solely for the place it was intended, it is used more as an exclamation or an assertion. Despite this, I doubt that mankind will ever forget just where that word came from or why we say it like we do. After all, it is one hell of a word!
s~ AMBER FAUTH
go there, but there is still enough of Greek belief in us for us to realize that the word carries much emotion and passion with it. Thus, we have started to use the word as an expression of emotion and passion. We've even used it to describe our passion about something, like when we say "What the hell happened?" or "That was one hell of a good time!" We often use the word "hell" alongside its brother, "damn." "Damned" is the word Christians use to describe people or other beings that belong in Hell. Again, in today's society, the word "damn" is often used to express emotion rather than actually curse someone to eternal torment. Examples of this are: "Damn, woman, what the hell were you
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()de to Wonderful chocolate so divine How I plan to make you mine Your sweetness melts upon my tongue For you, I would give a lung You're my band-aid, no matter what they say You cover my hurts and push them away Delicious, divine, and oh so fine Wonderful chocolate, you are mine! RAYLENE TUSLER
By ELIZABETH RAAB If a poll was taken of all of Shakespeare's characters on whether or not they were fans of regicide, Macbeth and Hamlet would've checked the "yes" box. Both of the characters killed a king, but for very different reasons. To some, murder can be justifiable. The purpose of Macbeth's killing of a king was simple; it was about greed, ambition, power, and control. That, to most, would not be considered a justifiable murder. Hamlet, on the other hand, killed a king to avenge his father's death. Justifiable? Perhaps to some. Macbeth, for all his glory, seemed like a one dimensional character to me. He definitely lacked depth, especially when compared to Hamlet. He was supposed to be strong and mighty, but he acted like a little school boy with his wife, listening to all her rubbish. It was as if he couldn't think for himself. I think Lady Macbeth may have wanted her husband to be king more than Macbeth wanted it himself. She taunted and provoked him into it, saying, "when you durst do it, then you were a man; and, to be more than what you were, you would be so much more the man," (1.7.50-52). Lady Macbeth clearly wore the pants in that marriage. For all of her alleged love for her husband, she seemed quite cruel and heartless at the same time. She was on Macbeth's case about killing the king and she hurled insults at him, most likely trying to provoke him into actually doing it. She was
so selfish and power-hungry. I feel a bit bad for Macbeth because he clearly had no idea what he was getting himself into. Listening to his wife was, in essence, the beginning of the end for him. Her bravado makes her seem evil when she said that she has "given suck, and know how tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me; I would,whileitwassmilinginmyface, have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums and dashed the brains out, had I so sworn as you have done to this" (1.7.55-60). She actually told her husband that she'd kill her own child. She might have been certifiably insane- and I'm talking about before she actually did go insane in the play. What is it about power that drives people to madness? What's even crazier is that Macbeth actually listened to her! I'm not saying that maybe Macbeth wouldn't have done
it without her convincing, but her whole melodramatic speech should have sent him running in the opposite direction. Shakespeare certainly created complex characters. So, Macbeth murdered King Duncan and then murdered some more people. His first murder, the king, turned his heart into stone. He no longerfelt guilt or remorse after that and was free to kill a lot more people. His wife, on the other hand, went insane. I feel a little bad for her, but at the same time I don't because the villain is always supposed to get what's coming to him or her. Macbeth sure got what was coming to him. As soon as he was told that the wood was moving toward the castle he completely lost it. He was operating on the belief
?wed Stuet HOLLY MARBOE
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1~2007 that forests can't move and that everyone is born of woman. That's true enough, in one sense, but I think that when one lives in a world with ghosts and witches, like Macbeth did, he should have thought his prophesy was a little more open to interpretation. But at the same time the witches did little to suggest that he should be wary of being overpowered. I guess it just goes to show that you can't rely on apparitions for all the details. Even though the witches told the truth they said it in a way that made Macbeth think he was invincible. That poor fool. He became too arrogant for his own good, and, without a doubt, got what was coming to him. Hamlet also got what was coming to him even though he wasn't a textbook villain. He was really just a lost soul who didn't know who he could trust. In one sense, Hamlet was his own worst enemy. He overthought and overanalyzed everything to death. Some might say that it was understandable because his father had just died, but I don't think it was his father's death that caused him to become such a ruminator. I think he always had been one and the death of his father just intensified it. I feel bad for him because he lost his father and his mother was carrying on like a little high school tramp. I also feel a little sorry for him because his girlfriend, the one person he thought he could trust, abandoned him because she was being used as a pawn. Then there's that whole thing where Hamlet's father's ghost carne to him and told him that his uncle, a.k.a. his new stepfather, had murdered him and Hamlet must avenge his father's death. I was not kidding when I said that Shakespeare created complexities, but that's why we love
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?eMU StMe HOLLY MARBOE
him. Hamlet faced the age old question: can you trust a ghost? He couldn't trust his mother because it appeared as though her brains had fallen out. He couldn't trust Claudius because a ghost said Claudius had murdered Hamlet's father. He couldn't trust his girlfriend Ophelia because Polonius, who was in cahoots with Claudius, told her to break up with Hamlet. He couldn't trust his old friendsRosencrantzandGuildenstern because they had started acting suspicious and then Hamlet found out that they were part of Claudius's conspiracy to have Hamlet murdered. Hamlet didn't know if he could trust the ghost of his father. He didn't even know if he could trust himself. It's not hard to feel sorry for him because his world was turned upside down. But at the same time, however, it is also easytogetabitirritatedatHarnletand all of his over-analytical tendencies. He can come across as melodramatic when he throws himself some impressive pity parties. He even contemplated suicide with an overdramatic flair when he said, "To be, or not to be, that is the question:
whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them. To die, to sleep - no more - and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream" (3.1.57-66). He comes across sounding a little pathetic to me. He was so indecisive that he couldn't even decide if he wanted to kill himself. I think he may have needed some counseling. But, with all of his indecisiveness came certainty. Perhaps that is why he contemplated things for so long, because he didn't want to make a mistake. If he had acted rashly, like Macbeth, he probably would've ended up dead a long time ago and Hamlet would have been one of Shakespeare's shortest plays rather than one of his longest. In any case, Hamlet was somewhat calm and rational when planned, which I guess made him a pretty
CARMEN MAxwELL
*** level-headed character among many others who may have lost their minds. We can't really blame him for being angry at his mother and at Ophelia for acting the way they did. Of course, Ophelia was pretty much manipulated and abused by every character in the play except for Hamlet, but we can certainly hold Hamlet's mother responsible for her heinous actions. Not to say that parents can't have their own lives, especially when their children are grown adults such as Hamlet was, but she became so wrapped up in her new life with her new husband it seemed as though she forgot at times that she even had a son. Couldn't she see how much Hamlet was suffering? Was she so oblivious that she couldn't figure it out that her new husband bad murdered her old one and that he was trying to murder her son as well? Clearly not. In the end, Hamlet died, of course. Before be died, Hamlet did indeed avenge his father's death by killing King Claudius. This incredibly long play was certainly a tragic tragedy. Pretty much everyone died at the end. Popular opinion would probably state that Claudius deserved to die. Hamlet's mother arguably deserved to die as well. Laertes may not have deserved to die; he was as much a pawn in this deadly game as Hamlet and Ophelia were. Shakespeare's characters are so often greedy and power-hungry. I don't understand what's so great about being a king anyway. A candidate usually has to kill people in order to become king, and then once he is king he constantly has to watch his back because there's always someone else plotting his death to get to the crown. It's a vicious cycle of regicide, and Hamlet and Macbeth were an unfortunate part of it.
7M'Z4
o6-1~ Bv JESSINA ALUISE The harbor became a blur as Savyia's eyes filled with tears. She stood next to Lyanka trying to bold back the sobs. She bad to stay strong. Lyanka stood stoic as the boat moved. "Everything is going to be fine Savyia," she whispered. "In a few months we will be home and Mama and Papa wilJ have more than enough money and you to thank for it." "Why Istanbul? Why couldn't we just find work in Odessa?" "I am sure they had their reasons." "I just don't trust Baul. I don't." Savyia walked away and kept her head down so Lyanka wouldn't see her tears. She hadn't gone far when she ran right into something. She looked up, expecting to see a door or a wall or a pole, and she found herself looking straight into Chavali's eyes. Her knees went weak at the sight of her friend. "They're sending you to Istanbul too?'' Savyia nearly choked on her words. "I offered to go. Baul promised that in a few months I would earn enough money for my family to be set for life." Savyia did not completely understand what was happening. She made the decision that she must be strong and stay by her little sister's side. At least they had each other. A few months of work and they would make enough money to make a better life for their entire fami ly.
The boat docked at Istanbul at about four-o'clock in the afternoon and Savyia recognized many girls from her village had decided to go to work at the clothing factory. Baul gathered the girls around him and raised his hands to get their attention. "Ladies, gather your bags and meet me at the end of the dock. I will take you to the place that wiJI be your new home." The girls followed his instructions and soon they were walking the streets oflstanbul in a single file line with Baulleading the way. Many of them had not een such a large city before, and they lagged behind as they watched in wonder. After walking for about two miles, Baul stopped in front of a large dormitory surrounded by an wrought-iron fence. The building was located in a back street and loomed dark and gray. Savyia felt the all too familiar chill run down her spine. The girls were led through the gates and in the front door. The dormitory was rickety and run down on the inside. The line became a small circle as the girls moved closer together for comfort. Savyia reached for Lyanka's hand and bit her lip to keep from crying as they were led down a dark hallway. The rooms contained two beds against the opposing walls. Four rooms formed a suite that surrounded a small bathroom. Baul had the girls form a circle and called them to attention once more. "Each of you will be sharing your room with one other person. I will assign each of you a partner. I have two keys here and when I point to you, state your name, and I will give you a room assignment. You wilJ have one hour
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1~2007 to get unpacked and freshened up, and then I will be taking you to the factory for a tour." Savyia watched as the other girls stepped forward one by one. They stated their names which Baul recorded in a ledger book along with the room number. When Savyia was motioned forward, she prayed silently that she would be paired with Lyanka. Another girl that she did not recognize was brought forward instead. Savyia stated her name as did the other girl; Golay was her name. With eyes blurred with tears, Savyia looked back in time to see Lyanka get paired with Chavali, and followed Golay to her room. Savyia had brought with her a small trunk filled with the few pieces of clothing she owned and other items from home. She unpacked slowly, and turned toward Golay. "Are you from Odessa?" "Yes," Golay's answer was short. "How old are you?" "Twenty." "I'm sixteen." Golay only smiled and Savyia's hope for instant comradeship with her roommate gone. There was a sadness in Golay's face that seemed to carry more than just the uncertainty and loneliness Savyia felt. The hour went by quickly and Savyia found herself out in the hallway with the rest of the girls. She milled around until she found her sister and stood by her side. Baul appeared at the end of the hallway. Something about his manner had changed. Whatever pleasantness had been in his voice PAGE
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before was gone. He almost seemed to snarl as he spoke. "In an unfortunate tum of events, there are no openings at the clothing factory." Several of the girls gasped , but Baul raised his hands to silence them. "However, I have arranged for jobs for all of you. Follow me." Savyia thought she saw fear flash across Lyanka's stoic face. "I don't like the sound of this," Lyanka whispered. "Something is wrong." The girls once again formed a tight group as they walked down the stairs. They were not led outside. Once they reached the bottom floor of the building, Baul reached for his ledger book. "I now have on record all of your names," his voice was flat, unwavering. "I know where you live, where your families are. They signed work contracts. From now on, you answer to me. If you try to escape, I will find you." Savyia felt her legs give out from underneath her and she was grateful to feel Lyanka's arms pull her up from behind. "You came here to make money and you shall. Follow me. When I call your name, you are to enter the room that I point out. Do not ask questions. Do not say a word. You will be told what to do." With her heart pounding in her chest, Savyia entered the room Baul pointed out to her. It was empty with the exception of a small bureau against one wall and a fairly large bed against the wall directly across. After what seemed like a lifetime, Savyia jumped as she heard the door open behind her. In the doorway stood a tall man. Savyia guessed he was about as old as her father. His gray hair was unkempt and greasy and his belly stuck out.
"I paid for the most beautiful," the man wheezed. "I have not been disappointed." At that moment, Savyia understood. She froze in the middle of the room, trapped. The man took a step forward as Savyia tried to turn away. She turned toward the bureau and slid down against the wall and to the floor. As the man continued to advance toward her, Savyia closed her eyes in hopes that she would wake up and be in bed next to her sisters. She felt his breath against her neck. She felt his fingers brush the hair away from her face. As if by instinct, Savyia slapped him. The man grabbed her wrist. He lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bed. "I will have you," he said. "One way or another." Savyia was sobbing now. She felt him run his hands across her body. She smelled his breath as he kissed her neck, her forehead, her lips. She screamed for help, but nobody came. Where was Lyanka? Chavali? She closed her eyes and prayed. trying to forget what the man was doing to her, even though she could not ignore the pain.
•••••••••••• • • • •
1~2007
BY RYAN BoGNER
Kate Chopin's "Desiree's Baby" is a story about the revealing the effect race can have on a relationship and people's feelings about each other. Once, Armand discovers that his child is part black, he immediately loses all feelings for his wife, Desiree, and blames her for the chi1d's appearance, even though she herself shows no signs of being anything but white. He assumes that she is the one who has black blood in her veins based on her obscure and mysterious ongm. Ironically, however, the story ends with Armand discovering that it is actually his mother who was part African American, making him the cause of the baby's darker complexion. This revelation is virtually unforeseeable when reading the text for the first time, but there are some clues that appear during the process of rereading the text that foreshadow the event that occurs at the end of the story. The first clue appears when Armand is describes as having a "dark, handsome face"(571.17). This seems like a rather ordinary description of a man who owns a plantation and is probably out in the sun quite often; but once the race issue comes into question, the
,.
fact that Armand has a dark complexion is something that should not be overlooked. Armand's skin color is brought up again later in the story when Desiree
2etiet~ BY LES HANcocK
desperately attempts to convince him that she is white. She says, " ' And my skin is fair,' seizing his wrist. ' Looking at my hand; whiter than yours, Armand'"(572.26). Once again, Armand's skin color is brought to attention, possibly to suggest that his blood is not as pure as he and everyone else believes. Desiree's skin is noticeably lighter, yet Armand
is so stubborn that he doesn't even consider it a possibility that he may be the one who is part black. He would rather banish his wife and baby from his home than consider the idea that he may be at fault. Another clue can be seen by investigating the information presented about Armand's family. Chopin mentions that Armand's mother, Madame Aubigny, married Monsieur Aubigny in France and also died there because she "loved her own land too well ever to leave it"(570.6). It sounds as though she never came to America to visit her husband on the his plantation, so no one in Louisiana would ever have known what she looked like. The fact that a wife would refuse to visit her husband seems like strange behavior, but once Madame Aubigny's true identity is revealed at the end of the story, her behavior makes much more sense. Since she was part black, she would not have wanted anyone to know, especially anyone in a country that, at the time, looked unfavorably upon the African American race. She decided to conceal her identity in order to ensure a better life for her son and to maintain the prestige of the Aubigny name which is "one of the oldest and proudest in Louisiana"(570.5). She sacrificed
'
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many aspects of her life so she could avoid the repercussions that would have arisen from people knowing that she was not entirely white. The story's ending explains some of the motives behind Monsieur Aubigny's actions as well. According to Chopin, "Young Aubigny's rule was a strict one, too, and under it his negros had forgotten how to be gay, as they had been during [Monsieur Aubigny's ] easy-going and indulgent lifetime"(571.6). This suggests that Armand's father treated his slaves with more respect and civility than most people did at that time in
Louisiana. It could simply be that Monsieur Aubigny was a kind person, and he would have treated his slaves in the same manner regardless of his wife's ethnicity. However, once the end of story is taken into account, his behavior can logically and rationally be contributed to the fact that his wife was of the same race as his slaves. He probably became more understanding of the struggles faced by blacks and felt obligated to do whatever he could to help with their situation.
What is your name, my friend, I ask? Who is this person in a mask? You know him right or wring at ease, His breath is like an ocean breeze. This person is a magic one, His smile, it feels life just begun, It feels the waves are going high, Like wings of fragile butter-fly. The personality in growth To be a man, what is it worth? Until the end you fight, not yield, Medieval knight with sword shield. We recognize among those faces, The one with smile, that life embraces, The unforgettable impressions When disappears all the tensions. Up and down we go again, Feeling the joy of life in men, The universe unfolds for us, We choose to walk or take a bus. Finh BY IVAN MAZALA
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1~2007 A~ BY SHANNAY ScHAEFER
The most prevalent clue in the story comes about when Desiree sees some similarities between her child and one of the slave boys. The boy is one of La Blanche's, another slave on the plantation, and he is standing with a fan next to Desiree's baby when she realizes something is wrong. Chopin states, "[Desiree] looked from her child to the boy who stood beside him, and back again; over and over. 'Ah!' It was a cry that she could not help; which she was not conscious of having uttered. The blood turned like ice in her veins, and a clammy moisture gathered upon her face"(572.19). This is the first time Desiree realizes that Armband is actually the father of both children. Chopin describes the slave boy as "one of La Blanche's little quadroon boys"(572.19). A quadroon has both white and black blood, and since La Blanche is black, the boy's father or other close relative must be at least part white.
'Jen~2007 Disregarding the knowledge of his true ethnicity, Armand being the boy's father also makes sense because he and La Blanche's spend time together during the story. Desiree unintentionally hints that the two of them are sleeping together when she says," 'Armand heard[ the baby] the other day as far away as La Blanche's cabin"'(571.11). A plantation owner wouldn't normally spend time at a slave's cabin on a regular basis, so the fact that he is over there seems suspicious. We must also keep in mind that everyone believes Armand is entirely white, so when La Blanche has a child who shows signs of having a mixed race father, Armand is ruled out and not considered at all. However, as the story's ending is unveiled, little does everyone know that he is actually the ideal candidate to be the father of the quadroon boy. Information that appears throughout this story, such as Armand's physical description, descriptions of his parent's behavior, and his interactions with La Blanche all serve as evidence
~~~ I
that, without knowing the actual outcome of the story, can be used to come to the conclusion that Armand has black blood flowing within his veins. These clues seem insignificant when reading the story for the first time, but upon further investigation, they play an intricate part. Without questions, the most shocking aspect of the story occurs when Armand discovers that he is"' cursed with the brand of slavery'"(574.48). This event, although unexpected, is actually something that could have been predicted based on the presence of aforementioned clues that are concealed within the story. WoRKs CITED
Chopin, Kate. "Desiree's Baby." Making Arguments about Literature: A Compact Guide and Anthology. Ed. Jolm Schilb and John Clifford. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin's, 2005. 570-74
/
----
/
BY
,.
SJIIIIUA CITEN
NICKITO JOHNSON
Thomas Baker snapped to as the sound of the gavel signified that his fate had been sealed. For a moment he was sitting in the justice hall reminiscing about the many thousands of dollars that passed through his hands and in a single heartbeat, everything went black. He was handed twenty-five years in the state penitentiary, after being brought a unanimous guilty verdict by the jury. The sound of steel door slamming shut, persons screaming at the top of their voices and an occasional flicker of the lights turning off on and on in the hallway was the next scenery Baker experienced. It was even more terrifying for him, when another inmate shouted out, "Fresh Meat," as he walked through the long corridors at the "Pen." Word had quickly spread throughout the prison that the 27 years old accountant was living large prior to that new walk he was doing and many wondered, even Baker, how a top class Certified Public Accountant(CPA) could end up in his predicament. Unfortunately, six months into his prison term, Thomas Baker was found dead in the showers with a note attached to him that read, "Keep your hands out of the Cookie Jar." But as the story is told, upon graduating from grad school, Baker falsified his documents so that he could land a job at Johns, Williams and Co. This company was among
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the leaders in the nation and had a net worth of more that six billion dollars. It was first class accountability at its best. All through college, Baker took the easy way out. He literally paid persons to do his papers. cheated on exams and had a record of fraudulent use of checks but for some reason, he always manage to escape the wrath of the law. It was not long into the job, that Baker went to "practice" and on his first case, Farmer's Dairy Company gross annual profit was short some $70,000. Baker's report stated that the company had too many callbacks on their main product and that the initial cost of material had not been calculated correctly. He was award the Medal of Honor for a job well done and six month into the job, the young man pulled up to work in the 2005 A Lex us Coupe. Once again, Baker was successful with his dishonesty. During a conversation with the CEO of the accountant firm, Baker was asked if he read books and his response was "sure I do, in fact, I am reading one entitled the seven deadly sins." He chuckled and added that the chapter on greed was talked about those who never could get enough and just have to get more. Ironically, greed soon got in and with the success he had in the first case, he figured that he could do it again. The CEO had PAGE
29
much confidence in the young man and decided to hand him a high profile account. Computer Basic International was the largest networking company in the world and before anyone could blink, the books were tallied and Baker had secured 2.5 million dollars, taken "accidentally" by poor judgment
~ofze BY
SHIHUA CHEN
and deceit He was often seen smiling from ear to ear and in fact., he bought a house in the hills estimated worth, two million. He had made date with lady destiny and it was not long before his luck would change. Gupac was a new and up coming rap artist, barely with a CEO. New the to music industry,
his single, "Sticky Finger," was on top of the chart for a record 11 weeks. He was making millions faster than any other artist in history. Unsure of his net worth and the amount he should be turning over, he required the services of Johns, Williams and Co. to handle his accounting affairs. Coincidently, he wanted to put his mathcmaticall skills to the test and decided to curse through his records. He realized that he was one dollar short of his profit margin, which if account for, would make him next to the riches men and women in the world. Hysterical, he phones the CEO about the dollar and there upon a full investigation all cases handled by Baker, there was a consistency in deficit with each company. However, in this case, Baker did honestly miscaculated but the notorious rap artist fWed charges against the company for one billion dollars. As a result, Johns, Williams and Co prosecuted Thomas Baker for five counts of embezzlement. Thomas Baker, you arc hereby charge with five counts of Embcnlement, while you were employed with Johns, Wi1liams and Co. each case will be treated as a serious crime for which you are not required to enter a plea. Preliminary inquires will begin on Monday, 23 October2004.
•••••••••••• • • • •
'lm~2007
By MELISSA MAENLE For years, I had been told that deer camp is a "guy thing" and I wasn't allowed to go; for years I continued to beg. I pleaded with anyone in my family who would listen and that might have enough influence to let me in to the exclusive "boy's club" just to be able to hunt in the pristine woods of upper Michigan. As a child, I begged to be allowed to go up north with the guys. I didn't have my hunter's safety certificate, but the stories that came back when the guys got home made it seem like a place that I simply had to be. Admittedly, when I was younger I was always looking for a good excuse to get out of school; it worked for all the boys. Why not me too? As I got older, being allowed to go north became a matter of principle. Times were changing, and women were doing more and more in the outdoors. Surely my own family would have to see it that way. But they didn't. In fact, I couldn't even take hunters safety till I was 16. When I was finally able to take a hunter's safety course I took it far more serious than I had ever taken schoolwork. I thought if I did well enough in the class and on the test I could prove that I deserved to be allowed up north. Scared, nervous, excited .. .I felt a rollercoaster of emotions as I waited for my test results. I almost hugged my instructor when he congratulated me for gelling a 98%.
,.
When hunting season came I couldn't believe it when they went up north leaving me behind. I had two cousins who would take me hunting behind my grandpa's until I was 18 and didn't need an adult hunting companion any longer. I sat in the ground blind year after year dreaming, wishing and hoping that I would get a huge buck and make everyone jealous. My cousin and her fiance invited me and another of my cousins up north to hunt on his family's property. I was excited; I was up north! I listened nervously to the coyotes yip in the distance, jumped sky high when a porcupine scuttled under my cloth seat (and declared war against it), but realized I still wasn't happy. It wasn't the deer camp that I had never been allowed to be a part of. I was happy to be there, but I hadn't won the battle with my
older male relatives. Eventually, I made friends with hunters who were more than happy to take me under their wing and invite me out hunting. I learned so much from these trips, and enjoyed them all greatly, even the times I got picked on because of getting buck fever. However, no matter how great these trips were, they just couldn't replace the one thing that I wanted to accompl ish more than anything else. It wasn't even about getting my first deer anymore; it was all about going to deer camp. I was still trying everything imaginable to be able to go. I begged and pleaded, tried acting slick like I didn't want to go (don't try this, it doesn't work), I tried to show them I was extremely knowledgeable about deer hunting. I even tried bribing
'J~ ~'zidtte BY CASSANDRA
Moos
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1~2007
BY AMBER FAUTH
family members with my discount at the hunting mega-store where I worked. As a last resort, I offered to do the dishes at camp. Nothing was working. I was facing relatives who were even more stubborn than me, and I didn't know how to make them change their mind. In my imagination I thought the worst. I figured it had become a game to them, and they were just amusing themselves with my agony. My mom and all the other females who stayed home during deer camp couldn't see why I wanted to go so badly. To them, it was the time for having fun while the guys were away: dinner out every night, shopping excursions, girls night out. Don't get me wrong, I didn't really mind dining at places my dad didn't like, and shopping
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was okay, but what I really wanted was deer camp, to feel like I was truly a part of the family tradition. It meant the world to me and no one seemed to realize it, or even seemed to care. My grandpa had always been on my side, telling me he didn't mind if I came along. I loved every moment I spent with him. I listened to his stories and soaked up any advice he offered, and I wished like crazy we could go out hunting together, even just once. I was crushed when he died Memorial Day of 2002. My dreams of hunting with him were forever gone. I was thinking my chances of ever being allowed to go to deer camp were gone too, so you can imagine my surprise
when my cousin, Paul sat down beside me at the funeral home and asked if I wanted to go up north ... to the REAL deer camp. Teary eyed I accepted. Things always change, and Paul wasn't able to go up north, but my dad and uncle let me go anyway. It wasn't the same as it was in the days of old, when they used the army tent and a pipe stove, or when almost all the men in the family went... but it was deer camp, and I was there! Finally, I was really there.
•••••••••••• • • • •
BY CHRIS
AARHus
After I graduated from high school, I stayed home and spent the summer helping my dad on the farm. A lot of my classmates left our hometown and did other things that summer before we all went off to college. I didn't. I chose to stay right where l was before I left to further my education. My brother Scott, who attended college in a city about three hours away, came home for the weekend to party. He still had strong party roots in the area since most of his friends stayed around and worked in the oil fields. His clique was entirely different than mine in high school. Most of my friends were in sports and we partied pretty hard, but we stayed away from drugs and stuck with booze. A big portion of Scott's group came from a small town about 40 miles away. There were some drugs in that town and he hung out with the kids from that town all through high school. Being only a year older than me, Scott did spend some time drinking with me. However, his clique occasionally fought with my clique, so we didn't drink together too much unless our dad was gone and we were at home. Scott came up for the weekend and had planned on partying with us. We were bold about our drinking, but not stupid. Our town is a small with less than 300 people.
There is a town cop, but nobody takes him serious. He's big guy at about 280 pounds, and he drives a big pickup truck with cherries on top. His duties, however, aren't limited to police work. He works for the city, mowing the park and the golf course while doing other things as well. For his duties, the city buys him a new pickup every couple of years and this year, he had a brand new Ford. He knew how to maneuver in his big pickups, too. He once chased Scott from town seven miles out to our farm on suspicion of alcohol. He was following Scott around a comer and went in the ditch. Rent-a-cop just drove right out and continued the chase. Scott got home, ran into the house, shut the lights off and locked all the doors. Of course, small town being what it is, Rent-a-cop went into the bar and got my dad, who went to the farm and brought Scott into the fire hall where Rent-a-cop had his office. Scott got off pretty light on that charge. I'm not sure if it was because Rent-a-cop liked my family or not, but I did date his daughter my sophomore and junior years of high school. I later found out that Rent-a-cop and my dad used to be best friends, which was probably why Scott got off so light. Anyway, here we sat on Main Street waiting for Scott to show up. My friend Brad was there as well as friends Brock and Wyatt. Renta-cop wasn't driving around then, but we knew he would be sooner or later. Still, we sat on Main Street in two vehicles talking to each other and drinking beer. I was with Wyatt
in his car and Brock was with Brad in his pickup. Sherwood has a big median running right down the middle of Main Street to add extra parking for businesses. On the weekends, it serves as a place for all the teenagers to park their cars and talk. We were the only ones parked next to the median on this particular night. After we waited for awhile, Scott showed up, ready to party. "Where's the party," Scott asked, as he walked between our vehicles. "We've been waiting for your sorry ass to show up," responded Brad, who was two years older than me and the oldest of the group. "Fuck you, I had to work," Scott exclaimed, seeming annoyed by Brad's lack of understanding. "Well, he's here now, where are we going?" Brock yelled from the passenger seat of the pickup. "Let's go to the golf course," Wyatt said. "I want to piss in green No. 5's cup." "You're so retarded," I told Wyatt. "We'll meet you out there," Brad yelled as he drove away. Scott didn't have the first clue where to go at the golf course because his group had never partied out there. He knew all of the tree groves I ike the back of his hand, but he didn't know much about the golf course. I had to explain to him where to go and how to get there. He agreed to meet us out there, but he had to go get a few bottles of coke from the local convenience store to mix with his whiskey. It was about 10 p.m. and the night was still young. We headed out to the golf course with our case of beer. Brad had a cooler full of beer too, so we were
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1~2007
~04e on a g'ed
o/- SHOat
BY AMBER FAUTH
set for the night. As Wyatt and I pulled into the golf course, I couldn't help but remember all the good times we had there in high school. About a mile and a half outside of town, the course wasn't prestigious or anything. In fact, it wasn't even registered as a North Dakota golf course, whichjustabout every course in the state was. It had greens that were beat up and the grass was usually yellow year-round. There was a clubhouse, but that was only used on Tuesdays for Men's Night. Normally, a golfer could just walk on it and play for free. They preferred that everybody drop five dollars in a locked box by the clubhouse, but there was no way of policing it. The course barely made
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enough money to pay Rent-a-cop to mow it. When we partied at the golf course, we usually went right to one spot. Behind the shack that held the maintenance equipment was a big opening, large enough to get a field tractor and a hitch mower through it. That was the opening we used to drive on the golf course. We always took the same path right over No.9 and No. l's fairway to get to green No. 5 where we usually parked our cars. This wasn't unusual for anyone who partied out there. Just about all of the greens had big tire tracks running through them. After all, the greens were just cement with green turf over it. As we drove through the golf
course, we slowly saw Brad's pickup come into view. Wyatt parked the car right next to the pickup, both on top of the green. He shut the vehicle off and we got out of the car to get a beer. Brad and Brock were already outside halfway through their first beer. While I went to get my first beer, I started to think about how much Brock and Wyatt were putting at risk. They were both sti1l in high school. Brock, a senior, was going to be the team's starting quarterback in the fall and Wyatt, a junior, would certainly start on varsity at some position, as athletic as he was. If either one of those two were to get caught; it would mean sitting out most of the football season and harsh consequences from their parents.
1m~2007 I cracked my beer and watched Sheldon's headlights appear. He found his way onto the course and was coming out way. Just to be sure he could find us, I went into Bill's car and flashed the headlights at him twice. He had to have seen that. We continued to drink beer as Scott drove slower and slower to get to us. "Jesus Scott, could you drive any fuckin' slower?" Brad said sarcastically. "He's never been out here, so I had to explain to him how to get out here," I noted. As the vehicle approached, we got a nice . big surprise. It wasn't a car and 1t wasn't Scott, evident when the cherries came into view, though they weren't lit up. "Oh shit, it's Rent-a-cop," Brock yelled as we dropped our beers and headed for the creek that runs through the course. The creek was dry, so we were able to cross it. We didn't run very far; just enough to get out of his immediate site. He got out of his pickup, turned on his spotlight and looked around. We were hiding low in the tall grass, so he wasn't able to see us. We knew he'd know whose vehicles those were on the green. If there was one thing Rent-a-cop stayed informed on, it was who owned what vehicles. In fact, when any teenage kid got a new vehicle, he'd find some reason to pull them over just so he could get a look at who was in the vehicle. While waiting in the grass, all I could think about was how much I was going to kill my brother
,.
etJ~ BY JEFF GREWE
for not showing up, especially after we waited for him in town. We didn't know where he went, but he didn't show up at the golf course. I was so angry because Rent-a-cop was probably just doing a routine check out at the golf course when he saw me flash him with headlights. He was the golf course manager, so it made sense. The fact that Scott didn't show up weighed heavily on my mind. Everyone was going to blame me for this because I was the one who drew Rent-a-cop a blueprint when I flashed him. We stayed low for about 10 minutes until Rent-a-cop got back in his pickup and drove off. We watched him drive off the course, on to the highway and out of sight. In an effortt to regroup, we started faintly yelling everyone's name. Brad and Wyatt responded, but Brock didn't. We didn't know what happened to Brock, but later found out he ran all the way back into town
for fear of getting caught. It was a small scare, but it wasn't enough to stop us from drinking, especially since we were more alert than we were before. As we approached both vehicles, the case of beer we had sitting by the car was gone. The cooler, fiUed with Brad's beer that was sitting in the back of his pickup, was gone as well. There we sat with no alcohol. We scrounged up some old beer and went country cruising the rest of the night. As it turned out, Scott blew us off and went to Westhope to party with his buddies. It took me awhile to forgive him after that. Two days later, we laughed about the incident when we told it to Brad's dad, Bryan. Bryan started laughing much harder than we did, which made us very curious. He went on to tell a story of how he was in the bar last night and Rent-a-cop was bragging about his new cooler.
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1m~2007
By CASEY LOEHDING The drunk wandered the streets, lost and stumbling. He heard the distant rumbling of thunder coming with the first of the spring storms, and with it only the indifference of the gods. There was no clear path in front of him; yet, like all his life, he followed one anyways. He tried to think, tried to gain some insight into what he was doing, but nothing came-everything else was blotted out by his own despair, and of course, the booze. He wanted to see a purpose, some greater meaning, but without a god, only poverty. Life had never been as bleak as it was now, and there had been times when it had been a close call, but there was always a recovery. Now though, now, what was there to help him rebound this time? Nothing came to mind, so he assumed nothing was invariably the answer. He now truly understood what it meant to hit rock bottom. He found himself in a poorly lit alley when the first few sprinkles kissed his cheek with promise of more to come. The light reflecting off of the broken glass and scattered trash first doubled, then tripled in his vision-then he felt himself reeling. He dropped his bottle and added his own splinters of glass to the alley. He fell backward underneath an overhang above the side door of an abandoned hotel. Then there was only darkness. The perfect end to a perfect day. The storm rolled on with
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Veadbf .tD<~-ft FRED RURANGIRWA
until he collapsed. Standing, he its clear lack of sympathy. Silence. At first nothing moved, continued to run again through the not even a slight breeze. Then, a alleys and across the streets, drop of water fell from its perch on dodging traffic and pedestrians. He a frre escape onto an aluminum beer ran through toy-littered backyards, can. Then another, and another. The and over the rain-damp sides of storm had moved on but the night private swimming pools. He ran by had not. The drunk still lay in the trees and through bushes that tore side entry of the abandoned hotel. at his dirty sweatshirt, eventually at The wind began to pick up a bit, his bare arms once the sleeves were and slow rain began to fall once reduced to ribbons. He ran through again. There was no thunder or poor neighborhoods, he ran through lightning this time. Just slow rain. suburbs, he ran through the stench It was the most peaceful moment of the industrial part of the citythat he would experience for a long stopping for half of an hour to time. Too bad he didn't know it- vomit, then dry-heave and gag up he was currently pissing his pants, air. He was leaving, he was panicked, but he was coherent lying on his back. Daylight. The drunk woke as he enough to make plans. He found had been waking for all his memory himself in an upper-class could retain-tired, hung over, and neighborhood-this is where he alone. Only something had changed would make his score. Waiting. Exhaustion still sat deep for the drunk, he felt a hurried sense in the thick bushes surrounding the of desperation. He ran, once again with no direction, but with a drive house. He had a clear view of the that bordered on madness. He ran driveway and a reasonably
1~2007 concealed path to the back door. He watched and waited. His crotch and inner thighs itched from the dried urine and his mouth tasted so horrible it pained him to swallow. A man pulled into the driveway and got out of an expensive German-made car. The drunk sprang out of the bushes and sprinted across the perfect lawn at the man. He had just slid his key into the back door and unlocked it when the drunk struck him. The drunk clubbed the rich man in the back of the head with interlaced fingers, breaking his own pinky, and kneed him in the small of his back simultaneously. The rich man struck the door face first and damn near lost all consciousness. He fell to his knees hard and managed to turn his head just in time to see a blood spattered, bearded drunk bring a patio brick down onto his clean-shaven, unblemished face. The drunk pulled the dead man inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. He took the man's wallet out and pocketed thirteen hundred dollars he found. Then he went inside, up a long flight of stairs and into the master bedroom, took the money the rich man's wife offered him from the bedroom nightstand, and he raped her. Then he killed her. He showered at the house, then shaved. He put on some khakis and a polo shirt, then wandered back out the back door through the bushes. He walked to a bus station where he bought a one-way ticket. He took the bus halfway across the
country, and when the bus reached the end of the line he got a haircut, bought some new clothes, and a handle of whiskey. The drunk rented a hotel room for the night. He sat on a patio chair on a small balcony attached to his hotel room, getting drunk and watching the ftrst of the spring storms roll in.
M EGAN FISHER
'JfJtded~ The prairie is Quiet Unbeknownst to the Driver Who is surrounded by Noise The Wind Whistles Through the leakes in the seals The Engine Roars Over the sound of the wind The Bass Pumps And bops with the music He Sings out of tune "Can you see without light? Can you speak without lies?" MEGAN BARTZ
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'7m~2007 KRISTOPHER SMOTHERMAN
I remember him taking me to the zoo and lifting me up
My grandfather was a great man. My sister used to mix his drinks for him when she was six A pint of bourbon every day. Smoked the walls gray
so I could look down into the well in which the alligators swam.
He was a good man. Worked hard every day, waxed his black broad Plymouth till the paint ran thin,
I remember fear of being suspended above a pit of alligators but his hands, his strong, working-man hands were sure and had me safe, there was not a safer place on earth
My sister says he was a drunk a mean drunk, I remember he had a tattoo on his arm got it in Korea, a woman with a fish-tail and naked above the waist He used to make her dance for me, it always made me laugh I've been told My sister said he was a drunk a mean drunk 'fought Daddy in the street one time' she said. I don't remember that, but I remember watching him mow the green lawn, and I remember the wind blowing cut grass in my small eyes, and him carefully and anxiously trying to soothe me.
but he was a mean drunk my sister said, in my head as I read the yellowed cut-out that my father saved from and old newspaper of how Tyler Water Works worker ran up three flights of stairs in a burning house to save three young Negro boys who were trapped near an upstairs window and shouting for help. And this is East-Texas with separate water fountains and segregated schools, and even if he drank too much and smoked and even if Daddy was laughed at for holes in his socks and being poor Papa was a good man. no matter what you say.--
2?~,4zt
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JEFF GREWE
1m,!t~
2007
BY COLE WEISZ
They form out of nothing and collect in the corners of your room. Each and every day they go bigger in size and number. Patiently, they wait until they are too big and too many to be taken down. They are my biggest fear and they are everywhere. One day, the dust bunnies are going to get to you as well. Dust bunnies are horrible little mutant creatures that are made up of two parts. The first part isn't so bad, it's dust. Now everybody knows that, unless you have severe allergies, dust by itself can't hurt anyone. However, it is a little known fact that the second part which makes up a dust bunny is pure evil. Not some watered down, 75 percent, made in China kind of generic evil, but 100 percent, pure, grown in hell, guaranteed by Satan or your soul back evil. That is why dust bunnies are such a menace. I've been afraid of dust bunnies ever since I was four, which is when I had my first encounter with them. What a terrible day that was. I was just sitting around, playing with my Lege's, and being completely sweet and innocent. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe! I panicked as I felt the dry grip of dust bunnies jumping into my throat. They were trying to cut off my air supply! Tears formed in the corners of
whipped out a damp cloth and ran it across every hard surface in the room. She finally scooped up every little do-dad and knickknack I owned and ran it under water. The dust bunnies were gone and sent back to hell, which is where beings of pure evil belong. Unfortunately, that was not the end of the dust bunny menace. The most frightening thing about dust bunnies is how they spawn out of thin air. You never know when and you never know how, but one day you '11 look in the corner and there they are. They come back at the most random of times to haunt, scare, and possibly kill you. Some people allow them to sit there for weeks at a time, but those kinds of people are completely insane and they probably have a death wish. If you have even one tiny dust bunny in your house, it will grow '8~1/w.v. into a massive, man-eating sized dust bunny and invite all of its HEATHER BERNDT dirty little friends to come over to party at your house and my eyes and I knew that surely I subsequently eat you. would die. Imagine my surprise Ever since that first frightening when the door exploded in a hail of dust bunny incident I had as a four splinters and my mom came bursting year old, I have been training to through in a series of front flips and fight the dust bunny menace. I run a flurry of high kicks with a vacuum and swim and do sit-ups to strapped across her back. She improve my stamina so that when shoved the vacuum hose in my I'm vacuuming and wiping down mouth and flipped on the switch, furniture with a damp cloth, I sucking those little bunny bastards don't get tired. I've learned how out of my throat. She then ran the to sleep with one eye open, hose across all the corners of my because I don't want any damned, room as she screamed, "Fuck with dirty, dust bunnies to sneak up on my son and I'll show you who me when they think I'm you're fucking with!" After that, she vu lnerable. Unfortunately, I'm
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still afraid of the dust bunnies, and even though I put on a brave face when I go into combat against them, I will probably never be totally comfortable as I destroy them. This is the sad and terrible truth about fear, it never truly goes away. I have done my best to inform you about my one true fear and mortal enemy, just as I have done my best to exterminate that very same fear and enemy. I hope that after learning about the roots of my fear, you can understand my hatred for dust bunnies. I also hope that after learning of the dark, secret origin of the dust bunnies, you will take care to protect yourself from these vicious, evi l little monsters. Remember, if you don ' t fight them, it could be your home they infest next.
'PUce ~ a BY NrcKrro JoHNSON
Onasis Rolle was in his midthirties and had everything in the world at his finger tips, but true happiness eluded him romantically. Over the years, his love life was Like a roller coaster ride and there was a point where he just wanted to give up hope of finding that one special love. Lying in bed on a hot summer day. he was watching the clock as he had done for the last eight years. He was scheduled for a doctor's appointment, which was a follow up exam to his surgery from the
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Warm and Tempting and savory and sweet Sometimes flaky while other times half-baked As fun as candied sprinkles, but more than just a simple sugar layer But just as cookies crumble ... so do I Feeling tossed away like stale pieces CASSANDRA
Moos
~ÂŤ4 ~ide previous summer; he had to mend a broken left rib. Pitching to his feet and already dressed in black. he rushed outside to his ole faithful "Betsy" which had never let him down before, but she d id not tum over this time. Frustrated, he realized that it was very hot, yet strange as it was that the sky was overcast but he knew he had to make this appointment and decided to take the public bus. The temperature outside was near 110 degrees, but if he was going to do something new in his
life or something adventurous, this was the time to get going. While standing by the bus stop, just three block from his house and drenched in sweat, he considered going back home. but then a black and white bus pulled up, bearing the route number six. As Onasis boarded the bus, there "SHE" was, sitting alone in a double seat. A lmost as an invitation to his newfound faith, the lady of his dreams was looking him right in the eye. Without haste, he made his way to sit next to her and started to wonder if, after all those years of sadness and
1~~2007 loneliness, he had finally found true love. The two quickly became acquainted and in fact, the young lady admitted to him that she was not doing anything special or going anywhere and would go with him as a caring support to the doctor. The sounds of joy and happiness echoed in Onasis's heart. He figured that his luck had finally changed. The two would spend the rest of the evening together. He took her shopping, bought her all that she could imagine and more. After all, he was the heir to a fortune. Before long, with all that he had done for her, the evening ended like all other nights for him. As time passed, months would go by and the routine was pretty much the same day in and day out. Onasis spent his money on the young lady, sometimes into grand's for nothing more than a kiss on the cheek and many more to often-just thank you. He wanted more, he wanted her to share the rest of his life, come home with him, meet the folks and all the ties that go along with being in love, but his love for her was like a needle in the eye. He could not see that something was wrong, more so, he lied to himself about it to comfort his heart and mind that he was in love. He was in love and was willing to spend whatever it took to get her attention and keep her around. Time was soon catching up with him, and the money was nearing zero. But, no matter, he knew that he could get more money from his father.
On a cold and lonely night, Onasis was sitting at home alone, wondering about his lady friend and what else he could do in his attempt to woe her for love. He suddenly sprang to his feet and rushed out the door. He thought only of her as a princess and made his way to John Bu11 Jewelry Store just before closing time, where he bought a thirtyfive hundred dollar bracelet with black rubies. Upon the purchase, he could not wait to give his new gift to the young lady. He drove over to her house to present her with this costly gift, but as he knocked on the door, a young man greeted him, merely twenty-five years old. He quickly assumed that it was her brother, even though he did not know
much about her, after only six months of knowing her. Evilyn walked to the door as he tried to gather his thoughts and, not knowing who was in the doorway, she asked, "Who is it, my love," kissing the lad at the same time. But before she actually saw his face, Onasis leapt from the porch, jumped into his car and drove like he was in the Indy 500. For months to fo11ow, no one heard or saw of Onasis until his father sent his men over to the house to look for him. Sadly, his body was found sitting in a rocker, opposite the television set, which, for some strange reason, was repeating the music of the "Twilight Zone."
1tw. ~ Ve#d4e CASSANDRA
Moos
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1m~2007
7~ ~~ ~ ~ ~OU4e
Bv RYAN BoGNER
Louise Erdich 's "Fleur" is a story that focuses on two Native American women who live off the reservation and are forced to deal with challenges because of thci r race and gender. While there arc some supernatural aspects in this story that would be worthy of a more thorough investigation, this paper will focus more specifically on the relationship between Pauline and her stepfather, Dutch James. Some people claim that Dutch rapes Pauline and controls her, even though that is never directly stated in the story. This view is supported by some information, and it is definitely a possibility. However, despite some opposing evidence and numerous generalizations, I will attempt to show that it cannot be definitively inferred from the text that Dutch rapes Pauline or abuses her in any way. Pauline's mother dies shortly after marrying Dutch, so Pauline has to quit school, take care of the household duties, and work in order to help the family. According to Pauline, "Dutch took me out of school to take her place. I kept house half the time and worked the other in the butcher shot" (281.11 ). This decision by Dutch causes some people to suggest that Pauline didn't just take her mother's place when it came to household duties. The idea that Dutch took Pauline out of school just so he could sexuaJiy
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abuse her is a false assumption. During the 1920s, it was common practice for the oldest daughter to quit school and take care of the family if the mother happened to die. Dutch's actions are not out of the ordinary in this respect. He did what most any father would have done under the circumstances. Besides, even if he did want Pauline at home so he could abuse her, he didn"t have to take her out of school. He still could have accomplished what he wanted without changing anything. Another argument comes about when Dutch and his friends rape Fleur. A hasty generalization is made by assuming that Dutch rapes Pauline since he is capable of raping Fleur. We must keep in mind that the situation with Fleur has other variables that contribute to what takes place. The men are drunk, they are beaten in a poker game by a woman they barely know, and they lose a lot of money. These factors combine and cause the men to act irrationally. This is not an excuse to say that the men's actions are justified. The point is that Dutch gets caught up in the situation and participates in Fleur's rape, but assuming that he treats Pauline in the same manner is illogical based on the information gtven. The morning after the rape, a tornado sweeps through the town.
As it approaches, Dutch and his friends seek shelter in a freezer. While Pauline searches for them, she stops in front of the freezer door and says, "Then I heard a cry building in the wind, faint at first, a whistle and then a shrill scream that tore through the walls and gathered around me, spoke plain so I understood that I should move, put my arms out, and slam down the great iron bar that fit across the hasp and lock" (287.60). The voice in the wind is that of Fleur, and she instructs Pauline to lock the men inside the freezer. In doing so, Pauline causes all of the men to freeze to death. This sequence of events is also used by some to suggest that Pauline is abused by Dutch. People argue that Pauline locks the men in the freezer because she is given an opportunity to get revenge on Dutch for all the times he abused her. They assume that Pauline knows what it feels like to be raped, so she has added incentive to lock the door. The detail that must not be overlooked is that Pauline is probably still upset at the men for what they did to Fleur and angry at herself for not helping. "That is where I shou ld have gone to Fleur, saved her, thrown myself on Dutch. But I went stiff with fear and couldn't unlatch myself from the trestles or move at all" (286.57). While it is probably true that Pauline knew all along she would be sending the men
to their death by locking them in the freezer, her motives are more a result of wanting revenge for Fleur's rape. The fact that Pauline is a very obedient and quiet person also contributes to her actions. In those days, children were expected to listen to their elders and follow instructions. Failing to do so usually resulted in some type of punishment, and questioning an adult was even worse. Pauline responds to Fleur's instructions just like she would respond in any other situation. Both of these points explain the reasoning behind Pauline's decision to lock the freezer door. Another aspect of the story that causes some people to jump to conclusions relates to the gender differences at the time. In the 1920s, women were expected to be submissive and listen to men. Some people manipulate this idea in order to create a stereotype that labels all white men as egocentric, abusive, and thinking they are superior to women. They look to the actions of powerful white men who abused their authority and assume that all white men would act the same if given the opportunity. Disproving this unsubstantiated stereotype can be done by investigating the relationship between Pete Kozka, the owner of the butcher shop, and his wife, Fritzie. "He [Pete] sat and played a few rounds but kept his thoughts to himself. Fritzie did not tolerate him talking behind her back" (282.15). This statement shows that although women are not equals to men in society at the time, there is still understanding and fairness in some relationships. The fact that Pete doesn't say much
because Fritzie doesn't want him to shows that he respects her wishes. The point is that some men did treat women with respect and a level of equality and that contributing the
actions of a few to an entire population is inaccurate. It's wrong to assume that Dutch abuses Pauline just because he is a white male in a position of authority in the 1920s. the
To have you in my life Would be a dream come true But none of that is possible As long as she's with you When you hold her at night And look into her eyes Are you truly thinking of me And feeding her a bunch of lies? You tell her that you love her She says she loves you too But when you are with me You tend to be untrue You're not suppose to see me, You tell her you wouldn't dare But when it occasionally happens You tend to stop and stare. You won't take your eyes off me Or you might catch their gaze If you do they'll take you back And we'll end our secret phase It really makes me wonder Who you really think of at night When you're with her Do you wish it was me you were holding tight? So what are you afraid of? Why won't you come with me? Why won't you just end it? So I can show you what we can truly be. SERENA THOMPSON
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1~2007 story doesn't provide enough information to draw that conclusion. The role of women in society and the relationship between a father and a daughter are examined in Louise Erdrich's "Fleur." Some evidence is presented that shows Dutch as being capable of abusing another person, and his situation with Pauline is different because he is not her biological father. However, even with such factors prevalent in the story, it is still unreasonable to definitively claim that Dutch rapes Pauline. It certainly is not out of the question, but to stereotype people and assume how they would react to a certain situation based on the time period and their gender is wrong. Without clear and substantial support from the text, claims about a
character's actions should only be viewed as a possibility and not as fact. Works Cited Erdrich, Louise. "Fleur." Making Arguments about Literature: A Compact Guide and Anthology. Ed. John Schilb and John Clifford. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin's, 2005. 279-89.
7~'P~ RENE GONZALEZ
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