Volume 27, Issue 1 Cover: TRNP , Photo by Meagan Hitchner Inside Cover: Africa , 2-D Art by Colton Hondl Impressions is a literary art magazine created and edited by the students of Dickinson State University since 1989. It is composed of material submitted by DSU students, faculty, staff, and alumni. The goal of Impressions is to showcase the talents of those individuals associated with Dickinson State University. For past issues of Impressions please visit our page at https://tr.im/sPz0T. 291 Campus Drive, May Hall Room 4, Dickinson, North Dakota 58601. Phone 4832124, fax 483-2059, David.Schreindl@dickinsonstate.edu.
Reach Inside
Editors:
by Courtney Milliren
courtney milliren Jaime moreno, Jr
Advisor: Dr. David Schreindl
Copyright 2015 by the editors of Impressions. The individual authors wholly own all future rights to material published in this magazine and any reproduction or reprinting, in whole or in part, may be done only with their permission. The opinions and representations contained in this magazine do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, university administration, or faculty. Impressions is made possible by the sponsorship of Dickinson State University, and specifically the Language and Literature Department. Awards for Impressions are judged and determined by the editors of impressions without knowing the authors of the submissions. Awards are handed out in five categories: Poetry, Photography, 2-D Art, Fiction, and Non-Fiction. While anyone can submit items only current students are eligible for prizes. The editors of Impressions reserve the right to both edit submissions or refuse to print submissions. Editors for Impressions are a part of the Literary Production course and the publication of the magazine is a class project. A limited number of free editions will be published and placed around campus. Reprints of any past issue can be ordered for $10 each. Submissions for the 2016 Impressions can be submitted to David.Schreindl@dickinsonstate. edu..
table of contents
*TRNP, photo by Meagan Hitchner ..................................................................................... Front Cover Africa, 2-D art by Colton Hondl ......................................................................................... Inside Cover Reach Inside, photo by Courtney Milliren ......................................................................................................... 4 Fading Dreams, photo by Courtney Milliren .................................................................................................... 6 Contest Winners.................................................................................................................................................. 7 Portrait, 2-D art by Colton Hondl ......................................................................................................... 7 *I was Arrested on the way to My Wedding, fiction by Kaitlyn Renner ........................................................... 8 Wedding Kiss, photo by Meagan Hitchner ........................................................................................................ 8 Ice Cream, 2-D art by Colton Hondl ................................................................................................................... 9 Bear Butte, SD, photo by Meagan Hitchner .................................................................................................... 10 Tatanka, photo by Stormie Sickler ................................................................................................................. 11
*Forgotten Forrest, 2-D art by Colton Hondl .................................................................................................. 12 Transformer, 2-D art by Colton Hondl............................................................................................................. 13 *Bodybuilder, fiction by Shannon Patterson ................................................................................................... 13 The Swing, photo by Colton Hondl .................................................................................................................. 14 *The Zipper, poem by Britainy Kralicek ......................................................................................................... 14 Wine Glass, photo by Meagan Hitchner ............................................................................................... 15 *Digits, fiction by Elaine Holli ............................................................................................................. 16 Hay Watercolor, 2-D art by Colton Hondl .................................................................................................... 16 *Elf Face, 2-D art by Gwen Coppa ....................................................................................................... 17 Freedom from all Thought, 2-D art by Hyunjin Han ...................................................................................... 18 Sibling Feet, photo by Meagan Hitchner ....................................................................................................... 19 The Journey Home, photo by Colton Hondl ..................................................................................................... 20 *Remember, poem by Christina Steckler ......................................................................................................... 21 Flowers with Purple Watercolor, 2-D art by Hyunjin Han ............................................................................. 21 Guerrilla Warfare, fiction by Colton Hondl ..................................................................................................... 22 Graveyard, photo by Colton Hondl................................................................................................................... 22 Painted Canyon, photo by Stormie Sickler ...................................................................................................... 23 Duck Pond, fiction by Shannon Patterson ....................................................................................................... 23 *Untrimmed Roses, fiction by Rachel Klein .................................................................................................... 24 Wire Bale, 2-D art by Colton Hondl ................................................................................................................. 24 Emerge from the Shadows, photo by Courtney Milliren ................................................................................. 25 Third Time’s the Charm, fiction by Joann Burke............................................................................................ 26 *Shilo Baptist Church, Blackshear, Ga., photo by Meagan Hitchner............................................................ 26
Wild Blue Yonder, photo by Stormie Sickler ..................................................................................................... 27 *Found Serenity, photo by Marcus Dietrich ...................................................................................................... 28 Wild Horse, photo by Meagan Hitchner.............................................................................................................................29 Old-Fashion Selfie, 2-D art by Colton Hondl.....................................................................................................................30 Mountains Breathe, photo by Stormie Sickler ..................................................................................................................31 Two Buffalo, photo by Meagan Hitchner ..........................................................................................................................32 Gracie, fiction by Britainy Kralicek ...................................................................................................................................33 Pixelated Moose, 2-D art by Colton Hondl ......................................................................................................... 33 Our Father, 2-D art by Colton Hondl ................................................................................................................ 34 Tree Swallows, fiction by Britainy Kralicek ......................................................................................................................35 Lone Tree, photo by Meagan Hitchner ...............................................................................................................................35 Him, fiction by Courtney Milliren .....................................................................................................................................36 The 701, photo by Stormie Sickler ....................................................................................................................................36 *In Awe, photo by Stormie Sickler ................................................................................................................................................................. 37 *Spirit of the West, 2-D art by Colton Hondl .....................................................................................................................38 *Death’s Tears, fiction by David Brevick ...........................................................................................................................39 Caged Walkway, photo by Colton Hondl............................................................................................................................39 Forrest Etching, 2-D art by Colton Hondl .......................................................................................................... 40 *Copper Metal, 2-D art by Hyunjin Han ............................................................................................................ 41 *Beautifully Undisturbed, photo by Stormie Sickler ........................................................................................................42 Picked Pepper, 2-D art by Colton Hondl ...........................................................................................................................43 *Poignant Parts of Me, 2-D art by Eden Jackson........................................................................................................................................ 45 The Apologies, fiction by Shannon Patterson ...................................................................................................................46 Abundance, 2-D art by Hyunjin Han ......................................................................................................Back Inside Cover
Fading Dreams by Courtney Milliren
Impressions 2015
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contest winners Poetry 1st - Britainy Kralicek - The Zipper - page 14 2nd - Christina Steckler - Remember - page 21
Fiction 1st - Kaitlyn Renner - I was Arrested on the way to my
Honorable Mention - Marcus Dietrich - Found Serenity - page 28 Meagan Hitchner - Shilo Baptist Church page 26
* - Winners have asterisks next to them in the Table of Contents
Wedding - page 8 2nd - Shannon Patterson - Bodybuilder - page 13 3rd - David Brevik - Death’s Tears- page 39
Portrait by Colton Hondl
Honorable Mention - Elaine Holli - Digits - page 16 Rachel Klein - Untrimmed Roses - page 24
2-D Art 1st - Colton Hondl - Spirit of the West - page 38 2nd - Gwen Coppa - Elf Face - page 17 3rd - Colton Hondl - Forgotten Forrest - page 12 Honorable Mention - Eden Jackson - poignant Parts of Me - page 45 Hyunjin Han - Coppered Metal - page 39
Photography 1st - Stormie Sickler - In Awe - page 37 2nd - Meagan Hitchner - TRNP - Front Cover 3rd - Stormie Sickler - Beautifully Undisturbed - page 42
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Impressions 2015
I was Arrested on the Way to My Wedding
purse in there, hung up on a coat hook near the front door. I fig-
by Kaitlyn Renner
get ready. I might as well grab it now. Two steps into the room,
ured she had some make-up or something in it that she’d need to
my foot stepped on the damp carpet, water oozing through my We were getting married tomorrow. Well, eloping would be a better word for it. It was a snap decision, made only last night. It was then I decided I loved her, that I wanted to be her lawful husband rather than just her lover. I proposed to her in the living room after we came back from supper. That was the first time she was speechless, tears running down her face as she stared at me with wide eyes. When planning everything, I decided it was best just to keep it between us and the minister. No one else needed to be there. I didn’t want other people telling me that I couldn’t marry her. That was why I got up early today, to make sure everything was in order. For a few minutes I stayed in bed, looking at her.
sock. I’d had to clean that up last night too, that spill of hers. The coffee table was still off to the side as well. I tugged the table back into to place, the leg falling back into its dent in the carpet. Then I carefully stepped around the wet area, to the door, and grabbed the purse off of the hook. I went back to my room after that, and lay back down. I must have nodded off because the dryer’s buzzer startled me, almost to the point I fell out of bed. Then I smiled, remembering that it was time now. I would make breakfast and then we could get ready for the wedding. First I would have to get her up, though she didn’t seem to want to. Something about her being cold and stiff, but I managed to pull her out of bed. During
She was lying on her back with her head turned to the other side. Her brown hair was a mess from going to bed with it wet, and the collar of my borrowed shirt was showing above the blanket. I was lucky she chose me. Out of all the people in Netmark’s office she could have had, she decided to be with me. Me, one of the lowly new hires. Her husband was always gone on some business trip, she complained. She was lonely and wanted someone to talk to, she said. That had been four months ago. Four months of sneaking around behind the marketing director’s back. Four months of me watching her hanging off that man, her kissing that suitwearing, slick haired prick, her telling him she loved him right in front of me. I smiled at the fact that that was finally done with, as of last night. She had been apprehensive, but, after a bit of convincing, she agreed. After one final look at her, I slid out of bed. It was only a few strides until I was out in the kitchen, my steps echoing on the linoleum. I opened the closet near the bathroom. The washer door creaked as I opened it to take out her dress. It had gotten dirty last night, and it was the only thing of hers she had at my house, so I had washed it. It was still damp, so I threw it in the dryer, the noise of it starting horrendously loud at this hour. With the dress drying, I went to living room. She had her
Impressions 2015
Wedding Kiss by Meagan Hitchner 8
Ice Cream breakfast she stared at her plate of
by Colton Hondl
scrambled eggs with glassed-over eyes. Then it was finally time to get ready. Since it was last minute, she did not have a proper white dress. She would have to wear the black evening dress she had on last night when we went to dinner, the one I had washed and dried because she nearly ruined it with her clumsiness. In her purse I found some make-up: a foundation that was too dark for her now pallid tone, a pink lipstick that looked more red than it had last night, and dark eye shadow that made her eyes look even more hollow and bruised. After she was ready, I went to my closet and pulled out my nicest clothes, which, sadly, happened to be the one suit I owned. Actually it wasn’t even mine. It was once one of my cousin’s, but I had borrowed it for an interview a while back. I never returned it. I suppose it was for the best, seeing as how I needed it now. She would probably hate it, considering it was not the latest style from whatever designer was currently popular. No, it was probably a department store special because black, pinstripe suits went out of style. She’d have to deal with it, though. I didn’t want to go out and buy one, therefore putting off the wedding. Now that we were both ready, it was time to go to the car. I decided to take her car, a BMW, because my
9
Impressions 2015
beat-up Chevy I’ve had since collage was definitely not wed-
Bear Butte, SD
ding worthy. After taking her keys from her purse, I went to the
by Meagan Hitchner
garage, moved my car out to the street and brought hers in. She would get cold if we had walked out to her car; she didn’t have
I may as well have been alone last night with how she ig-
a jacket with her. When I came back in, she was still tired, not
nored me the whole damn time though. My hands gripped the
wanting to move from her chair. So I carried her to the car, her
steering wheel tighter, the cuts on my right hand stinging, at
dead-weight difficult to position in the front seat. After I got her
that thought. She had sat there the entire time twisting that
strapped in, I got into the driver’s side and left my house behind
damn ring around her finger. She barely looked at me, barely
as I began the drive to the courthouse.
talked to me, barely acknowledged I even existed across the ta-
The courthouse was on the other side of town, near the res-
ble from her. Just kept looking at her ring, spinning it around,
taurant we went to last night, Le Stella, or some other French
the diamond catching the light and reflecting it mockingly into
name. I had stopped caring about the names. It was some place
my eyes.
that needed reservations made weeks in advance, had insane
Red and blue lights flickered in the rearview mirror, a siren
prices, and served little portions of food on decorative plates.
soon joining in. I glanced down at the speedometer. I was fifteen
She chose the place, like usual, and she paid, like usual. I just
miles per hour over the limit. I stepped on the brakes, coasting
followed along with wherever she decided to drag me. We never
over to the side of the road. I sighed, smacking my head into the
ate at the same place twice, so I didn’t bother to learn names
seat. I waited until the cop came to the window, asking for me to
anymore. I would never go alone to the places she chose with
roll it down to speak with him. He first told me to take the keys
the high prices and my meager salary.
out of the ignition. I complied.
Impressions 2015
10
“What seems to be the problem, officer?”
“I’ll need to speak to her.”
“You were speeding. I clocked you at forty-three in a twenty-
“She’s asleep.”
five.” He glanced over at her briefly before looking back at me. “I will need your license and registration.” I reached for the glove box instinctually. It was only when I
“And I will need to speak to her to confirm that you do in fact have permission to be driving this car. Keep making excuses and I will have to arrest you for driving a stolen vehicle.”
was opening it that I realized I was driving her car. She kept a
“Fine, talk to her, I guess.” I leaned back in my seat.
bunch of crap in her glove box, forcing me to dig for the car’s
He tried calling her name a few times, but she didn’t give
registration. The officer stood there, waiting, watching, staring,
the slightest twitch. The final time he said her name he trailed
until I found the document. I handed it over with my driver’s
off half way through as he stared at her. “Get out of the car,” he
license. He walked back to his car.
said, his eyes fixated on her, the realization showing through the
I took her hand and held her cold fingers to my lips. “I hope you’re happy. You’ve ruined both our lives now.” I lowered our hands, keeping a loose hold on hers. This was her fault.
disbelief. “Get out of the car!” he shouted. He opened the door, dragging me out with a crushing grip on my shoulder. He slammed me into the side of the car, forcing my arms behind my back.
“This car is registered to a Mr. and Mrs. Hart.”
“Did you kill this woman?”
“It’s her car. She asked me to drive her home.” I glanced at
“She isn’t dead, she’s asleep. She’s fine.” The cold metal of
her before leaning onto the steering wheel, blocking his view of
the cuffs clasped around my wrists. “I haven’t done anything
her. “She was out drinking last night. Now she has a hangover
wrong,” I said blandly. It was over so soon. I hadn’t even made
and fell asleep, but she told me I could drive her car to take her
Tatanka
home. Is this a problem?”
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by Stormie Sickler
Impressions 2015
it to the courthouse.
husband and didn’t want to lose him. She told me that she was
“She isn’t breathing and there is blood on her head!”
going to tell him. She was set on destroying my life. I hit her, I
“She’s fine,” I repeated as he pulled me away from the car and
remember. Fist slammed right into that pretty, treacherous face
towards his patrol car. I stared in the window, smiling. The gash
of hers. Then she fell. She fell right onto the corner of the coffee
on the side of her head was nothing to worry about. The blood
table, blood pooling around her, soaking into the carpet. After
matted in her hair was nothing important. Nope. She was fine.
that... After that I just remember thinking we should get mar-
Perfectly fine. Better, even, now that she was silent, unlike last
ried now that she shut up about her damn husband.
night. Last night we had had a fight. She told me that we needed to end “this.” She told me that she had decided she loved her
Impressions 2015
Forgotten Forrest by Colton Hondl
12
Transformer by Colton Hondl
Bodybuilder by Shannon Patterson Boom. The base drops. Boom again. The bud shifts subtly in the curvature of the ear. The words, the rhythm flood the mind and electronic adrenaline course through your veins. You run on the sidewalk, every pound of the foot brings a confident breath and you hold your abdominals in tighter, your back a little straighter. Sweat dollops onto the bow of your lips and the salty taste is bypassed when you lick your lips and it meets the tongue. You enter the iron playground. Dozens of eyes burn into your presence as you yank off the black sweatshirt that barely fits the bulk of your shoulders. In moments you are welcomed to your daily ritual. You pick it up, press it down. Harsh breaths whip through your teeth. Sometimes saliva follows. The lungs crinkle and your
13
throat runs dry. You squint your eyes and grind your teeth, squeezing out the last ounces of energy harboring deep within. It begins when you want to quit. But you never do. The day darkens and you infiltrate a lonely home: just how you left it. The only one greeting you is the poster of Arnold that hangs from afar. The clang of pots and pans fills the kitchen and you sift around for the cast iron griddle. You slap on three chicken breasts and steam a few bags of vegetables in the microwave. Got to reach six-thousand for the day. You stare at the tiny, multi-colored tiles of a shower that is built too small. The hot water cascades down the ravines of your back and then down the slopes of your chest. You plunge into the sheets of a familiar bed. A bed that is also built too small. With your hand on your chest, you ask what the next day will bring. Even though you already know.
Impressions 2015
The Swing by Colton Hondl
The Zipper by Britainy Kralicek My grandma and I – we were going to the carnival. Keep in mind, I do not like carnivals. I did once. Not now. I no longer care for the hollow pocket of air sensation that this evening I will go home and puke in the toilet on my knees and need to wipe my mouth. Anyway. My grandma and I – we were going to the carnival, and we were going on the Zipper because I was old enough and tall enough and brave enough to die if the switch on the door broke and let me fall face first to the asphalt co-mingled with dirt.
And my grandpa was at home, sitting watching TV, the local news because Grandma, she only likes Fox, the global news where the verve, the vim, the vibrancy of anchorage in other lands is always dramatic – someone’s dying and our country – it is in danger. And the president … it’s close to home but not really. Anyway. My grandma and me – we were in this cage going up and up and I let the cage spin naturally – I did not push or sway like some others did. I would accept the number of spins this ride chose to give me, no faster or slower than the drop of gravity. In the course of its swings until it was done and I’d
Anyway. My grandma and me –
get off. And walk to the next ride. The Tycoon, I believe. The one I really liked that year, it swung back and forth in a lateral motion that didn’t change and I didn’t need to do anything, and it was safer in my mind
we were going on the Zipper, a ride that went high and low and spun you ‘round in cages that were closed for your safety.
because if I somehow died, I wouldn’t die alone because everyone on the ride
Impressions 2015
14
was in the exact same way as me. That, and the swings. I liked the swings, the ones that spun around on the carousel thing, the center where every chord of every swing swung up and around retracing the path of white bulbs, and you put your fingers tight around the bar between your legs and pushed forward just the slightest bit to give yourself that extra spur, the push, that made you think maybe I’ll catch my brother in front of me. There was one ride that went upside down, and I had to convince myself I liked the feeling of dying in the pit of my stomach with all the blood in my brain. Somehow I didn’t like dying with these voices all around and these untried laughs trailing off before they reached a full sound on that ride, upside down and held together with these variegated strangers and piebald stories in a cage.
I always wanted to go to New York and see the Statue of Liberty. But she did. Love Grandpa. Some questions float and bump around in a granddaughter’s head unsaid, because Grandma loves Grandpa even if she’s jumbled, upside down, in a spinning cage with me right now, and Grandpa is a patient and stubborn man – and he’s stubborn to patiently wait on Grandma until she’s ready and late to church already, but they go and Grandma underlines everything in her Bible because she wants to remember everything, and she’s read the whole thing. Anyway. Will I have to get to seventy, then eighty, then ninety years to know my gray hair won’t mean I can’t love or he won’t love me – or will I be okay to say “gray hair is gray hair” and that’s all – or will I be sure gray hair means there is no Statue of Liberty and I’m not ready yet. Anyway. My grandma and me – we didn’t puke.
Anyway. My grandma and me – we were in this cage and we were talking and I was listening and my grandma was talking about how “hip” she was going on this ride with me. She was smiling. She was happy. She was still young. And then she told me about her trip to Denver and she met this friend and they talked on the phone and Grandpa knew about it, but he wasn’t happy. I mandated myself to smile. And I smiled at Grandma’s glee – she was still “hip” and everything. But Grandma, don’t you love Grandpa? He doesn’t take me camping anymore – He bought that motorhome for us to go alone and go camping where we once went that summer where there were little brooks and bridges and children playing and groves of dry trees thirsty and open squares where the grass wasn’t cut, but we don’t.
15
Wine Glass by Meagan Hitchner Impressions 2015
Digits by Elaine Holli (Two benches are on each side of the stage. The boy sits in one and the girl in the other. As the curtain comes up the stage will be dark. Then the spotlight will shine on the boy on the bench with a notebook. The girl sits in the other in the dark with a book. Although they are both on the stage at the same time a spot light will indicate which is being focused on in that particular moment.) -Raise Curtain(Boy sits on a bench with a notebook. He is focused intently on
his work.) Boy: So, I’ve been meaning to write this for a while. (He reads aloud what he’s writing.) You see the thing that motivated me to pick up a pencil and write in the first place was you. I saw how you always loved to read, and wanted to write something else that you would love. That time that we met in sixth grade changed me, before then I thought of all girls as just that—girls. But you were different. You were like a firecracker in a bucket of water. Silently exploding. Calling attention in a muted sorta way that only people who were really watching noticed. I noticed. I used to imagine—no. This is so corny. (He turned to the next sheet of notebook paper.) Roses are red, violets are blue, like it or not I’ve got a thing for you? Ugh, it’s practically dripping with clichés. (Frustrated, he turns to the next page with force. He pauses, and then writes quickly, but calmly.) This is it! (He tears the page from his notebook, folds it, and puts it in his front pocket. He stands up from his bench, and starts to walk back stage.) The spot light fades from the first bench, and illuminates the next one with Girl. (Boy enters from the side of the stage and walks towards Girl. Boy sits next to Girl reading a book on a bench.) Boy: Hey! I’ve been looking for you. How’s it going? (He extends his hand. She doesn’t respond) Boy: Sighs. So, I was thinking. It seems like forever since we’ve seen each other, and I was thinking maybe we could catch up. If you want. (He pauses and waits for a response. He receives none.)
Hay Watercolor by Colton Hondl Impressions 2015
16
Elf Face Boy: Is that the fifth book? I love how Darian tricks the naiads to give him the lastGirl: (Puts book down) If you don’t mind I’d like to read it for myself. Why don’t you go and bother someone else. Boy: Oh, she speaks! I could bother someone else, but I’d much rather pester you! Girl: Lucky me. Boy: Well, now that I have your attention-hey! You remember me? Girl: Oh, Hi! How could I forget? Mhm, I remember you. Boy: What was it that made me so memorable? My wit? My Charm? My sparkling personality? Girl: I think it was your inability to take a hint. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got some naiads to fool in the near future. (Girl reaches for book.) Boy: No, I’m sorry. I know you want to read your book—it’s a great one. Sometimes I forget that I’m not as irresistible as I think I am. Girl: (Laughter) Well, you aren’t entirely repulsive. Boy: (Hesitant Laughter. Boy nervously puts his hand on his pocket to make sure his piece of paper is still in there). Sometimes I feel like a Percy Jackson trying to pass as a Mr. Darcy. Girl: (Laughter). Mr. Darcy’s fine, if you like that sort of thing. I’ve always found him a little generic. After all, he doesn’t have much of a personality. Boy: (He smiles and points at book.) So, which character has a personality you do like? Once you’ve finished it we could talk about it. Do you want to get together and talk about it -- I mean the book, or you know, the characters in the book? Girl: You mean, hang out together? Boy: Yeah! If you want? Girl: Sure! Text me tomorrow afternoon. (Girl writes on Boy’s hand) Boy: Thanks. Well, I, uh, better go. Don’t want to interrupt your reading. (Starts walking away backwards).We’ll have lots to talk about! But yeah, I better go. So, see ya! Girl: (Laughter). See you later! (Girl happily begins reading book once again.) Boy: (Looks at hand and stumbles. Looks back to see if she saw. She didn’t. He keeps walking away and discreetly pumps his fist in the air, and then looks to see if anyone saw him. He continues to walk until out of view.) (The spot light goes out. Both benches are removed from the
17
by Gwen Coppa
stage and the back curtain is lifted. It reveals a room with two chairs, a fireplace, and random items crammed into every surface. An oriental rug lies on the floor, a green Buddha statue sits on the mantel along with other small figurines and African woven baskets, and a Hmong Paj Ntaub hangs on the wall. The Girl sits in the chair reading a book in front of the fire. The left side of the room has a wood board with a rectangular door separating it from the rest of the stage. The Boy is on the other side of the door.) (The boy takes the piece of paper out of his front pocket reading it once more. He nods to himself, folds the paper, and returns it to its sanctuary. He knocks three times. The girl puts down her book and opens the door.) Girl: Oh! You’re here. Boy: It appears I am. Girl: Come on in. (Girl leads him in and they each sit on one of the chairs.) Boy: You finished it then? Girl: Yes! Can you believe how he defeated Rider? Boy: I know that was incredible!
Impressions 2015
(They start leaning in towards each other.) Girl: Or that thing with his sword? Boy: I know! An ice sword? It’s brilliant! I never would’ve thought of that. Girl: Or— (Girl’s dad walks in the room. They pull back into their chairs when he looks at them. He wears a khaki shirt and a shark tooth around his neck.) Father: What are you two talking about? Girl: We’re just talking about a book. Father: Must be a pretty interesting book. Sorry about the smell. I’ve been baking banana bread. Girl: And burning it. (She mumbles.) Father: Would you like some? Boy: (shifts uncomfortably) No, I think I’m alright. Father: Well, you must like something. A soda? Or how about some water? Boy: Sure water would be great. (Father leaves room.) Girl: Sorry, where were we? Oh, yeah. The sword. But what really surprised me was that Darian and Selena got together! How crazy is that? Boy: I don’t know, I guess I didn’t think it was all that surprising. Girl: Really? Boy: Well, yeah. Didn’t you pick up on the little things he’d do? Girl: Like what? Boy: Like his lingering glances, or how he always made sure to open the door for her. Girl: I don’t remember them ever having doors to open. Boy: (nervously scratches his head) You know you’re right. I’m getting my stories mixed up. But he did get really worried that one time when she went missing. Girl: Well, of course. They were friends. Boy: Trust me, with most guys a girl is never just a friend. Actually, speaking of that—(he discreetly pulls his paper from his pocket, and hides it in his hand.) (Father enters the room with two glasses.) Father: Here you are! (He walks towards Boy who hastily thinks he puts the paper back in his pocket, but it really falls to the floor.) Do you want to know the story of this Paj Ntaub? (He hands Boy the glass.)
Freedom from all Thought by Hyunjin Han Impressions 2015
18
Boy: I— Father: I ran into these Hmong people over there in Minnesota, such nice people, they told me that one of these Paj Ntaubs are pretty common among them! Get it? (He laughs.) The best part is they didn’t even realize what they’d said! (He makes a sweeping gesture and knocks Boy’s glass over making him spill all his water on his pants. Right where he thinks his paper is. Boy tries to hide his panic, but a look of desperation crosses his face when he feels how wet his pocket is.) Girl: Dad! Father: Oh, I’m so sorry! Here let me help. Boy: No, no. It’s perfectly fine. Father: Please, let me help. (he leads him off stage for a minute. Girl is obviously annoyed. She shakes he head and looks over to where Boy was just sitting. She notices the paper and picks it up and reads it. She looks up to the doorway and puts it in her pocket. She then sits back down on her chair and fidgets, trying to be in the same position as before they left.) Father: (His voice is heard before he can be seen as he walks back into the room with Boy who’s holding a dish towel against his pants.) Is that better? I’m so sorry. I can be such an oaf sometimes. Boy: No, really it’s okay. It’s just water. Girl: Um, dad if you don’t mind could you go and check on your banana bread again? (Her father gives her an apologetic look.) Father: Good idea. (Father walks out.) Girl: I’m really sorry about that. He gets a little carried away
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sometimes. But anyway, back to talking about their relationship? Boy: Actually, (He absently taps his pocket) I forgot about some homework I have to finish tonight. Do you want to meet at this same time tomorrow to finish? Girl: (She looks a little disappointed, but forces a façade quickly.) Sure, that works for me! (He hands her the rag and they walk towards the door. He turns around as he steps outside the door.) Boy: See you tomorrow. (He fakes a salute.) (He can be seen walking off stage across from the door feeling his wet pocket. Girl walks back over into the middle of the room holding the paper.) Father: Why are you clutching that paper like you’re a Marmoset who just stole my orange slice? Girl: Well, I guess because I do feel like a monkey who just stole something I shouldn’t have. Father: I don’t think there ever is a stolen thing that anyone should have. Girl: You know what I mean. (She casts him a scathing glance.) Father: Alright, alright. What is it? Girl: This fell out of his pocket while he was here. (She hands him the paper.) I read it when the two of you were in the other room. I don’t think I should’ve read it.
Sibling Feet by Meagan Hitchner
Impressions 2015
(Father sits and reads the paper. His expression starting as con(Girl jerks her arms and the paper behind her back, then sighs fusion, then surprise, and then settling into amusement. He looks and pulls them back in front of her.) up at her.) Girl: I found this on the floor. (She hands the paper to him. He Father: Ah, so you’ve got an admirer! Well, I must say he’s got takes it.) great taste! Boy: Did you…read it? (Girl makes an exasperated noise and starts pacing.) Girl: I did. Girl: What should I do? (Boy turns the paper over in his hand clearly nervous.) Father: What do you want to do? Boy: And? Girl: I don’t know. That’s why I just asked you! Girl: You have a very good vocabulary. Father: Well, how do you Boy: Do you feel the same feel about this note? way? Girl: Like I snooped in Girl: Uh, yes. I do think by Colton Hondl someone’s diary. that everything Father: Do you will change in a feel disgusted by few months once it? we’ve graduated. Girl: No. (Nervous laughFather: Flatter.) tered? Boy: You know Girl: Surprised that’s not what I maybe, but flatmeant. tered… (Her eyes Girl: Well, um. trail around the How long have room, but she you felt this way? won’t make eye Boy: Since we contact.) worked on that Father: I see. science project in (He watches her 8th grade. You can and tries to hold tell me. I won’t be back a smile.) hurt if you don’t (Boy walks feel the same way. back onto the Girl: We both stage. He inhales know that’s a lie. and exhales a (She plays with the deep breath behem of her shirt.) fore he knocks on Yeah, I do. the door.) Boy: Wait, is Father: I’ll see who it is. (Father hands Girl the paper.) that a you do feel the same “I do” or an agreement that you don’t Boy: Sorry to bother you again. I think I forgo— feel the same way “I do”? (Father interrupts him.) (She looks up at him and stops fussing with her shirt.) Father: Come on in. (He gestures with his arm sweeping across Girl: I do feel that way about you. I just never thought you did. the room as he walks off stage into the “kitchen.”) (Boy is beaming.) (Father and Girl share a prolonged look before her eyes dart from Boy: Whoa. Seriously? her dad to Boy, and then back to her dad. She still holds the paper Girl: As serious as black. in both hands in front of her. Boy starts walking towards Girl.) (Boy laughs. They both smile.) Boy: (Clears his throat.) Hey, sorry, I had something important Father: Hey, Boy, come in here. I’ve got some banana bread that I in my pocket. I think it fell out when we were talking. (He stops need you to taste! (Father yells from the kitchen off stage. Boy and when he notices what she’s holding.) Wait, what are you holding? Girl smile at each other and walk off together towards the kitchen.)
The Journey Home
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Remember by Christina Steckler What do you do when you don’t know what to do? Do you go to the ocean and watch the waves, Or do you go on an adventure to show everyone you’re brave? Do you scream till your throat is numb to break the silence, Or do you enjoy the silence just this once? Can you handle being alone? Or do you call someone, anyone with your phone? Can you keep yourself busy on your own, Or are you always being told what to do and groan? Will you trust me with your problems? Or will you try to throw them in pits with no bottoms? Will you admit you were wrong, Or can you not see you are headstrong? I want to help you with your struggles, But the advice I give you cannot have any quarrels. You may have to be the first to forgive, Because sometimes that is the only way to live. To move on and be the bigger person, Is sometime the only true option. So always remember, Ask for forgiveness; forgive freely because it can be the only answer.
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Flowers with Purple Watercolor by Hyunjin Han Impressions 2015
Guerrilla Warfare by Colton Hondl “What are we even doing here Charles? We should be on the frontlines instead of doing these pathetic patrols all day.” “You know this job is more vital than you think, if the Viet Cong get to the base a lot of friendlies could die.” “I suppose your right but we’ve been doing these patrols for a year now and I still have yet to fire a bullet out of this thing.” “Hey you should consider yourself lucky that you’ve never had to shoot that thing.” “No way, I’d much rather be in the heat of battle and when I come home I will be known as ‘Roger the Raging Rambo’.” “That’s if you even make it back after doing that, that is. So you haven’t heard then about how the guys that go back expect to get pats on the back, but only end up getting slapped?” “Oh please that’s all just lies the army came up with to keep us all cooped up here like chickens.” “If you say so, but we should really start to head back before they drink all the mead without us.” “Your right I almost forgot that tonight the shipments coming in.” At that moment a barrage of lead started to rain down upon them and both men dropped to their stomachs and scattered for cover. Johnson got out his radio and instantly called headquarters. “This is Charley 1 we are under heavy fire, requesting immediate reinforcements to sector Q81, ASAP!” As soon as he uttered the last word the radio burst into scrap metal as the gunmen got a direct hit on the console unit. “Well looks like it’s just you and me for now.” “Go flank right and I’ll lay down cover support from here”. “Hey looks like you finally get to shoot that thing.” “Move it.” As Roger laid down covering fire, Charles flanked right and took cover behind a heaping log. As Charles peered over the log he could see the gunmen concealed up in the brush. He lined up his sights and fired a round. Suddenly all went still. Then Charles leapt up over the log and went to confirm the kill.
Impressions 2015
Roger called out to Charles, “Is it safe yet?” “I think I got him,” Charles called back. After hearing that Roger started to head out to Charles when he suddenly heard a harsh scream coming from Charles direction. As Roger scrambled to Charles position he arrived only to find two corpses laying side by side and something scrambling through the brush off to the side. He blind fired a few shots and then knelt down next to Charles. It was awkward, there wasn’t a scratch on him yet he wasn’t breathing. As Roger searched for blood he couldn’t find anything. Someone must have whacked him with their gun or something. He checked for a pulse but felt nothing. “I’m goanna kill that”… at that moment he received a sudden jolt from behind and was sent soaring headfirst and skidded along the lush and bristly ground. As he flipped over to try and retaliate he stopped and gawked in horror at…of all things a gorilla. As he stared lifelessly into the beast’s eyes the gorilla just gazed right back. “Since when were their gorillas in Vietnam?” He drew for his Colt 45 as the gorilla raised up his arms and smashed them towards Roger. At that moment the world seemed to come to an end, as everything around them erupted in flames, as though the gates of hell had been flung wide open. The last sight Roger saw was the gorilla slamming into him as a United States airplane dropped napalm from overhead.
Graveyard by Colton Hondl
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Painted Canyon by Stormie Sickler
Duck Pond by Shannon Patterson She grabbed the loaf of bread with both hands and high-tailed it out of the car. Grandma hobbled out and raced after her. The loaf of bread was almost as big as she was. “You little pill!” Grandma laughed, scooping the little girl into her arms. The little girl smiled with all of her tiny teeth exposed. She laughed and tried to wriggle out of Grandma’s tired arms, her eyes fixed on a blue pond home to several ducks. “Alright, alright,” Grandma mumbled. The little girl bolted for the pond with her sneakered, pigeon-toed feet fumbling all the way down. But each time she was about to fall, she caught herself. The ducks could not wait. As she ran, the little girl’s bowl-cut chestnut hair sifted in the wind. She wore a shirt with “The Lion King” characters on it: a shirt that would likely be stained and wet by the end of their adventurous day. Grandma trailed behind her, keeping a watchful eye. The little girl scuffled into a flock of ducks at the edge of the pond, causing a chaotic array of flapping wings and honking bills. She ripped open the bag of bread and tossed whole pieces into the water. The ducks paddled around her eagerly as she laughed, clapping her hands together. Grandma smiled nearby: she never got
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tired of their duck-feeding tradition. The bottom of the bread bag was coming closer, but the little girl was still grinning and laughing like before. Her smile was whisked away when a sudden huge bill snatched the bag out of her hand. A goose towered above her, its dewlap flopping around as it honked furiously. The little girl screamed and ran to Grandma with of the might in her little body. She climbed up her grandma’s overalls and clamped onto Grandma’s gray head like a water-soaked cat. Tears began to slide down the little girl’s plump cheeks as Grandma walked her back to the car. The territorial goose remained in hot pursuit of Grandma. The little girl’s screaming did not cease until she was placed in the back of the car. Grandma got into the driver’s side, readying the car to drive away her granddaughter’s fear. “You got your seatbelt?” Grandma asked. She received a high-pitched wail from the backseat in response. The goose was by the car with its head stuck in the window on the little girl’s side. The backseat was overcome with an array of honking and screaming and crying until Grandma sped off. The goose was not harmed and the little girl in the backseat, though red in the face, had calmed down. “You’re not too brave for a five-yearold, are you? Well don’t worry, rugrat, no goose is gonna get you. Grandma’ll make sure of it.”
Impressions 2015
Untrimmed Roses by Rachel Klein I was tired of always saying sorry. I was tired of always getting the blunt end of his mood swings and for never being good enough for him. After 25 years of marriage, I had had enough. I met him when I was seventeen. I went to an all-girls school in New York and felt smothered by the rigid lifestyle my parents brought me up in. They expected every aspect of my life to be immaculate- my appearance, my grades, my friends, and eventually my future career. I had dreams of being an artist and living a nomadic lifestyle. Travelling across the country and painting the things I saw, recording snapshots of strangers’ hometowns. I constantly dreamt of the little cow towns of Texas, hidden by Colton coffee shops in Seattle, and the below zero temperatures of the Dakotas. He was a drug store clerk in New York City and would always sell me cigarettes even though he knew I wasn’t old enough to buy them. He also romanticized life in which he would always be moving, always seeing things, always experiencing something new. My parents warned me that if I kept seeing him, they would disown me. He didn’t fit into their plan for my perfect life. Disowning me is exactly what they did when they heard that I ran away from school. I haven’t talked to them since. We roamed across the country, stopping and working odd jobs when we needed to. For a while I was a waitress at a small café in a logging town in Virginia. Later on he worked as a civil war re-enactor in Tennessee. We were happy for the first couple years. Both of us were doing what we had dreamed about. Our dreams grew bigger, though. Late at night we would talk of one day backpacking
across Europe and going on African safaris and hiking in the Himalayas. Eventually, when we reached New Mexico, we knew that in order to achieve these dreams, we would have to settle down and save money. We were able to buy our trailer and small amount of land cheap. It had been a foreclosure and the bank had to practically give it away. No one wanted to live on a dusty plot overrun with cacti and a good hour from the nearest town. This little corner of New Mexico was going to be our little bit of heaven. We would plant rose bushes and paint the rooms of the house in rich vibrant colors. We would fill its walls with pictures of the places we hoped to one day visit - us standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower, next to the carcass of the rhino that we shot in South Africa, or sipping sweet wine in an ancient Italian vineyard. The cramped kitchen would be home to all the exotic dishes we would try to imitate. It eventually grew into my little bit of hell. He had unrealistic expecHondl tations of how long it would take to save money and continue our never ending journey. He grew tired of staying in the same spot and driving to the same monotonous janitor job month after year. We also fell onto hard times. There was the year I was driving home from the grocery store and I was hit by a drunk driver. The car was beyond repair and I was in the hospital for weeks. The medical bills soon piled up. It didn’t take long for him to throw the blame on me. The man, who had been so sweet and interesting and fun not long before, grew mean and violent. It also didn’t take long for me to realize that I had been more in love with the idea of him and our roaming lifestyle than I actually was with him. It took about as long as we had been married to build up the courage to leave him and our life behind. I had come close to leaving a few times. But, by some reverse logic, he would give me a black eye and convince me that leaving wasn’t something I really wanted to do. After, I would squint through my swollen eye and
Wire Bale
Impressions 2015
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say, “Sorry.” What did I ever really have to be sorry for? actually go through with leaving. I tossed my Eiffel Tower keychain The night that I had finally made the decision to leave we had from hand to hand, as if that small action would magically tell me gotten into one of our worst fights. The white linoleum floor in what to do. He would eventually find me; my fear of being caught our tiny trailer house was sticky with blood, the kitchen table over- was what had always outweighed my desire for freedom. This night turned. Glass covered the living room floor from where he had however, was going to be different, and I was going to make sure he thrown something at the window. The actual fight is a blur, and wouldn’t come after me. what exactly went through that window, I do not remember. I do I ran past the untrimmed rose bushes to the shed behind our know that whatever it was, it had been aimed at my head. trailer and stumbled around inside for a few minutes. The lights After the fight he had passed out on the faded floral couch. I didn’t work due to the wires being chewed through by rats years sat across from him, underneath the broken window. The moon ago. He never did fix those wires. I finally found the rusted metal was high and full and bright. I made the decision to leave after gas can. I took it to the house and poured it all over the living room. staring at his sleeping face, illuminated by the moonlight seeping After our carpet and drapes were drenched, I took his black lighter in through the gaping hole in the window. The light seemed to with the skull and crossbones sticker out of his pocket. I flicked the make his face sharper and more cold, giving his face a deathlike lighter on and I let the small flame kiss the gasoline. It reminded quality. It seemed to only intensify how evil he really was. He slept me of our love, how it had started out as something small and had with his mouth open, and I could see his crooked, tobacco stained then erupted into something large and dangerous and destructive. teeth. His chapped lips seemed to be pulled up in a smile, as if he I sat in the car for a while and watched the flames engulf our was satisfied with what trailer like a hungry orhad taken place earlier. ange giant. As I watched, I by Courtney Milliren I could already picture sobbed and sobbed. Tears those lips hissing fell from my eyes his displeasure at like heavy Amathe blood and the zon raindrops. broken glass when The life I had he woke up in the with him was the morning. only thing I had I am not sure known for 25 exactly what made years. I was scared that night differto start life on my ent, what exactly it own. I also wept, was that made me because, I supwant to leave. Maypose a part of me be it was the little still loved a part glimpse into the of him. A part of future, that the rest had always hoped of my life would that somewhere be beatings and buried deep in blood and broken that demon, was glass. There had the man I fell in been enough of love with. I also that over the years. wept out of fear of I threw an armmyself. If I could ful of clothes and murder someone, what little cash we what else was I had into the same capable of? battered backpack After I had reI brought when I first moved in with him. I had very little and it gained my composure, I backed out of the driveway and drove the did not take long to pack up my dented grey Oldsmobile. I sat in hour and a half to the Mexican border. Where a new life, a full life, the front seat battling with myself as to whether or not I should was waiting for me.
Emerge from the Shadows
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Impressions 2015
Third time’s the Charm by Joann Burke Maeve Dabinette hesitated in leaving the safe cocoon of her aged Mercedes Benz remembering how bleak and dreary the stables were almost two years earlier. She hadn’t been back since and it looked just the same now with its weather beaten and raw wood fences and buildings that needed fresh paint. Her turbulent emotions over what happened at this place matched the poor upkeep of the stables in her hometown of Gorham, Maine. Sadness was a large contributor for why she never visited. “Dana,” she breathed out, a visible puff of air coming from between her lips, and lowered her head, shoulder length dark hair falling down on both sides to hide her from the world. Her fingers shook as she roughly twisted the well-worn ring on her finger when the words he’d spoken to her the day he died came back: Learn to
Impressions 2015
love again. They were young then and so very naïve to the nontraditional world in which they were raised. The neigh of a horse brought her head back up and forced the tears that formed in her eyes, irises a dark rich brown, to fall haphazardly down her cheek. Her thoughts turned to the recent “affair” with Bobby. His selfish betrayal concerning his wife burned Mae deep inside now, just a few months later. The image of Bobby’s young son’s wide grin finally made her smile. A sigh and brush of tears later, Mae forced herself from the car and into the warming morning air. “Derek?” It was odd for him to call for a ride home from the stables, especially before noon. Amy was the one in charge of his education in horsemanship despite her own, now defunct, famil-
Shilo Baptist Church, Blackshear, Ga. by Meagan Hitchner
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iarity with horses. She pulled the sliding door to the right and entered the barn, “Derek?” He’d called to say that Amy was called into work and he didn’t want to stay alone. Another oddity, she thought, that no stable hands were running about. “Derek, where are you?” A few horses stuck their heads out of their stalls. As she walked down the aisle, Mae couldn’t resist touching a soft muzzle here and there. Concerned that her son could have been hurt, she moved faster down the aisle. “Derek!” she called more franticly and stepped too quickly into the indoor arena. Her action startled a horse across the arena and Derek was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Anisia Swaine held the reins of the startled horse and was poorly attempting to calm him down. “Swaine, stop.” There was no friendliness in her tone. Ani turned quickly, almost startling the horse again, and stood still. “Mae!” There was relief in her voice. “You’re here.” Mae snatched the reins from Ani’s hands and started to turn the horse in a circle. “Step back.” Ani moved and Mae moved the gray horse away from her leading him in a tight circle. Soon, the horse started walking quietly and she allowed him to halt. Mae, rubbing the horse’s forehead, turned to Ani and asked, “Where’s our son?” Her question was more of a demand than anything else. Derek was her adopted son, Ani being the birth mother who’d given him up twelve years prior. “You aren’t dressed.” Mae furrowed her brow in confusion at her flat statement. “Amy and Dewitt took him home. We’ve been here
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Wild Blue Yonder by Stormie Sickler all morning…” Ani trailed off but stepped up to Mae to reclaim the horse’s reins. “This kind of ruined your surprise.” Ani patted the gray horse and stepped closer to Mae. Mae countered Ani’s movement by moving away, though she was reluctant to hand over the horse. “What are you talking about? Is he alright?” “The horse?” She motioned with her thumb over her shoulder, “Yeah, he’s fine thanks and no thanks to you.” Mae rolled her eyes. “The kid’s fine, I promise.” After a beat, “Surprise?” She’d tried to sound excited, but it came out as a dull question more than an exclamation. With that, Mae’s arms crossed. “I was asking Derek about his lessons a while back and Dewitt overheard. He told me how you saved him once; that you were really good with horses and you loved it. But you stopped riding?” Mae’s face reddened as Ani continued. “So, basically, I wanted to bring you back to something that made you happy.” A hopeful smile etched its way onto Ani’s lips once she finished speaking. Mae’s heart felt alight with anger. Dewitt had told her stories. Derek had lied to get her here. Ani thought she had good intentions and, as always, those intentions went wrong. She turned, hands in fists at her sides, and left the arena. “Don’t, Ani,” she said
Impressions 2015
hearing Ani and the horse’s steps behind her. “Mae, please.” Ani pulled the horse along. “Don’t go.” Mae’s step didn’t falter as she reached the sliding doors and slipped back outside of the barn. Still, Ani followed with the grey horse in tow. “I’ve been working on this for you for weeks, Mae, just hear me out!” She yelled as Mae reached her car, hand on the door handle, and stopped before getting in. When she felt Ani and the horse reach her, Mae turned. Hatred mixed with frustration and something else stirred within her as she took in Ani’s state. She was dressed in her typically too tight blue jeans, bottomed with boots she’d worn before, but today she’d chosen a plaid button down shirt with a brown vest left open instead of her usual white tank top. Framed by long golden blonde hair with gentle curls, her green eyes pled silently with Mae. “Do not pull a horse by the reins like that. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have a hunk of metal in your mouth that’s constantly pulled on?” Ani paled, whimpering a small apology. “What’s this all about, Ani?” Ani snapped her fingers and Mae felt cold for a moment as a cloud of opalescent magic swirled around her body. When the magic cleared, she looked down to find herself dressed in English style riding apparel from tall dress boots, tan breeches, and high collared white button down shirt under a black jacket. She didn’t need to see the safety helmet she felt on her head. “Ani,” she warned. “I know, it’s not what magic is used for,” she started out weakly, “but, as you can see, I’ve been practicing.” She watched Mae take in the clothing with a small approving look in her eye. “I think I got it right?” she questioned. “I don’t know much about horses or riding.” With a sneer, Mae nodded. “And Derek?” “Derek, Amy, and Dewitt helped with this. I can’t take back what’s happened,” Ani moved quickly into the past, “no one can, but I want to help.” Mae looked away from her. “I want you to be happy. I thought-” “You thought wrong, Ms. Swaine.” Mae turned and fingered the door handle again actually managing to open and get behind the door, using it as a shield. “I don’t need nor want your help in any-
Impressions 2015
Found Serenity by Marcus Dietrich thing. Especially my happiness.” As she turned the key, Mae caught Ani’s begging puppy dog look and sunken posture. She’d patted the grey horse as she reined him around toward the barn. Heavily, Mae breathed, and after a moment she turned the key back and got out of the car. Hearing the car turn off, Ani turned back. “You’re going to stay?” Hesitantly, again using the car door as a shield, Mae nodded. Genuine excitement exploded onto Ani’s face before she turned back to the barn and led the gray horse inside. Reluctantly, Mae followed her back inside, down the aisle, and into the arena. “Don’t make me regret this,” she half-hissed. She took the reins of the gray horse from Ani, checked the girth around his belly, and then adjusted the stirrups to an appropriate length before mounting. Ani stepped back, a little fright in her eyes. “I won’t trample, but you should stand elsewhere.” “You look… different up there.” Mae eyed her sideways as she moved the horse around the arena. “Like, I’ve seen horses and riders at fairs when I was a kid, but you’re…”
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Mae felt no reason to question Ani about it when her words trailed off into silence. The gray horse moved well under her and responded quickly to her hands and legs when she asked him to move. She felt Ani’s gaze on her constantly as she went around the arena at different gaits to get a feel for the horse. “He’s Amy’s horse,” Ani added after a long silence. “Oh?” The simple question was all Mae believed she needed to respond with as she continued putting the horse through exercises to supple his movements. “Did your father tell you he won ribbons?” Ani shook her head. “Didn’t you?” The horse faltered a step. “No,” Mae replied. She heard Ani’s simple acknowledgement but left it alone. There was no right time to discuss her history with Ani’s parents. The horse quickened his pace, so she took a breath and slowed him back down then halted where Ani stood at the center of the arena. “I’m done.” She hopped off the horses’ back quickly, handed the reins to Ani and changed back into her original clothes before Ani had a chance to rebut. “Walk him for at least ten minutes. Bathe and dry him then place him in his stall.” She made eye contact with Ani briefly as she walked by her toward the door. In the beginning, that’s how she addressed Dana: giving curt orders in how to care for her horses. It eventually gave way to something much more intimate despite the resistance from her father. She frowned. “You looked almost happy up there for a little while, y’know.” Ani’s words made Mae stop, a hand on the door frame as she turned just her head back. “You really did.” Mae shrugged almost imperceptibly before moving out into the aisle. Ani tugged gently on the reins, remembering what Mae told her earlier, waiting for the horse to follow her. “Oh, crap,” she said to herself then called out, “Will you wait for me?! I don’t have a ride back into town!” Mae was sitting on a tack box at the side of the aisle when she exited the arena. “And I kinda don’t know how to take care of a horse.” She cringed, knowing Mae would scoff. “They gave me the basics! Hold him by
the reins, Maeve will do the rest, they said.” Mae picked herself up off the box once Ani stopped next to her. “You’re an idiot for a thirty-three year old adult,” she snapped and took the reins once more. “Find his halter. Do you know what that is?” Ani muttered a positive word as she walked a few feet away. Mae slid the stirrups up on the saddle and unbuckled the girth while hooking the reins through her elbow to keep the horse from straying. Ani came back with the halter and held it out. “No. You got yourself into this mess, now you’re going to learn. Unbuckle the straps by his throat and chin then ease the bridle off from behind his ears. Be careful not to bang his teeth with the bit.” When Ani looked at her, she pointed to the straps. “It’s not hard, An-“ Mae’s words finished emptying from her mouth and into Ani’s when the other woman slammed their lips together. Eyes wide, she pushed Ani away and stared at her. Ani kissed her. Out of the blue, for no apparent reason, Ani kissed her. From enemy to forced co-parent to semi-friend to someone she hated with all she had over the last few months, lover was nowhere near the description she’d use for Ani Swaine.
Wild Horse by Meagan Hitchner 29
Impressions 2015
“I think I make you happy, Mae,” Ani exhaled, body relaxing. Anger flushed Mae’s skin. “Don’t you get it? Can’t you see how much I loathe you right now?!” The gray horse nudged Mae’s side. “I don’t want to see you, Ani. I don’t want to hear your voice. I just… Don’t.” She turned to the horse, followed her own instructions then slipped the halter over the horses head and snapped it securely to the cross-ties in the aisle. She took a clean towel from the box she’d been sitting on to wipe the bit clean and placed the bridle on a hook on a nearby stall door, not caring if it was his or not. She ignored Ani completely as she removed the saddle and placed it, too, on a nearby rack. Rummaging through the box, Mae found a lead rope and snapped it to the horse’s halter, unhooked it from the cross-ties then lead the horse out into the morning sun.
Outside, Mae looked left and right to find a place to bathe the sweaty gray horse at the end of her arm and idly wondered, again, why she and Ani were the only two present. She finally found a hitching area near to a hose and tied the horse securely. Ani followed her, of course, but hadn’t said another word. “How is it exactly that you think you make me happy?” Mae spoke over the rush of water hitting the horse’s body. Ani took her time to reply. “I think we’ve been bound together since before the beginning of all of this.” Mae shot her a dangerous, skeptical glance. “The coven hand-picked you to do their bidding and they tore your life apart piece by piece. They saw what your father had done-” “You don’t know what he’s done to me!” Mae screamed back at her, tears once more gathering in her eyes. They gray horse jumped, but stayed still otherwise. Ani continued without a beat, “and maybe they decided to give you some sort of messed up test to see if you’d survive; I don’t know. But they chose me to stop you.” She was yelling over the water now. “What if I was meant to stop you from following the darkness by loving you rather than killing you?” Mae let go of the trigger controlling the water and stared at Ani, teeth clenched. “What makes you think I can even love again after this? After what you did to me! How dare you think that I could ever love you after all you’ve put me through?” The anger faded throughout Mae’s words but the passion behind them remained. “Because, Mae,” Ani’s voice was strong now, “I really think you do despite it all. I see it in the way you look at me when you think no one’s paying attention. I think it’s why me finding Bobby’s wife hurt you so much. Not because it ruined what you had with Bobby but because it was me who did it. Me, the woman you share a son with. You love me, Mae, and damn it I love you, too, and I am so sorry that I hurt you, but I don’t want it to be like this between us anymore.” She watched Mae look around the area for something. “All
Old-Fashion Selfie by Colton Hondl Impressions 2015
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the choices we’ve made ourselves and the ones that were made for us have brought us here to this point.” Mae still searched, now on the opposite side of the horse. “Would you trade any of it to erase it all? To be back before all the bad stuff started to happen?” “Oh,” Mae said, not in reply to Ani’s words, finally finding the sweat scraper hung on the hitching post. Ani watched Mae swipe the rubber squeegee across the horse’s body, murky water flying off, and moved toward her. She placed a hand on Mae’s, stalling any movement. She saw the pained look in her eyes when Mae turned just her head toward her. Ani took a deep breath seeing the pain of memories etched on Mae’s face. “Turner and Caden for me. Dana and Bobby for you.” Mae’s glare turned heated again, but Ani smiled against it. “I’d say the third time is the charm, huh?” She finished quietly. Mae shook her head downward trying hard not to let a smile creep up on her lips. “That’s terrible, you know.” Ani furrowed her brow in confusion and Mae deadpanned her expression and shook her head once more as she straightened and fully faced her… Nemesis, co-parent, and friend. “What about monkey boy when you ran away for a year; doesn’t he count?” The man had claimed to be the next Jane Goodall before Ani found out he sold their organs on the black market, instead, and came back to Gorham for good. Ani smiled a little more, thankful the darkness in Mae had dissipated. “I’m not sure, but the cheesy reference to magic was referring more to you than me.” “Oh,” Mae said, this time in reply. She moved away from Ani back to the other side of the horse and returned to removing the water from his body. Ani followed again. “Ani,” she started then
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Mountains Breathe by Stormie Sickler faltered. “I don’t expect you to just fall into my arms after this. And this day wasn’t even supposed to go like this. You were supposed to reluctantly get on the horse like you did, but I was going to ask you to show me how to ride so we could do it together. Have fun. Be happy.” Ani’s shoulder sagged when Mae responded only by continuing her motions. “Mae, stop for a second, okay?” Gently, not wanting to be forceful, she turned the other woman toward her. “Talk to me?” “We aren’t good at talking. We’re good at fighting.” Mae fiddled with the scraper. “You don’t expect me to fall into you, but what did you expect? That I’d listen to your words, realize their truth after a few days, then come to you with pretty words and kisses?” Her words, slightly malicious, brought pain to Ani’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” Mae swiped once more across the horse’s body for good measure then untied him from the post. “Can you show me to his stall, please?” Ani merely nodded, wavy curls bouncing, and led the way back into the barn. As Mae secured the gray horse in his stall, Ani quietly put his saddle and bridle back where Amy had shown her. They walked back to Mae’s car in silence, Ani following Mae just a step behind. Before Mae had a chance to open the driver’s side door, Ani turned her around against it. In Ani’s eyes, Mae saw every ounce of the love she’d spoken about. Mae was pissed. She was sad and frustrated over her life’s events. And as Mae leaned forward, tippy toeing
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in her boots to meet Ani’s height, and pressed their lips together, those negative emotions were fleeting. It was nothing more than a meeting of flesh, like a cordial handshake. Mae felt Ani’s want in how she held back, and something buried deep down in her heart made her want more than just this slight brush of skin. When they parted, eyes reopened, they stared at one another for a moment. A small smile on Ani’s lips brightened her expression. “So…” she said after a few moments. The emotions she saw swirling in Mae’s eyes, still angry and pained, weren’t exactly the same as before. “I’m confused.” “Yeah,” Mae sighed. “To this day, I still can’t believe that you are Derek’s mother. I still wonder how the coven orchestrated all this so perfectly.” She paused to attempt to sort out the varying bubbles of emotions floating through her. Ani stood quietly in front of her waiting. “Shall we?” She asked instead of every other important question coming to mind and motioned to the car. “Okay.” Mae slipped into the driver’s seat with a great exhale and feeling a little chilly after Ani moved away. She started the car as Ani settled and began to drive before either of them had their seat belts on. “Home? I don’t know what else you have planned today.” A glance over at Ani proved she hadn’t had a single other event planned for today besides riding horses with her. “Why do you always keep trying with me? Just because they ma-”
“No,” Ani cut her off almost angrily. “No, this has nothing to do with what the coven has ‘made’ us. This is about you and me and how we’ve been pushed into everything we’ve ever done and how I’m making my own choice now.” “Me,” Mae whispered. “Yeah. Us.” “But if what you believe is true, don’t you think us falling in love may have been part of the plan, too? Not just you destroying me: possibly the darkest witch of all time?” Mae pulled over and parked in front of a quaint apartment building. She looked over at Ani and something flashed in Ani’s eyes just before she scrambled to get out of the car. Mae followed quickly and pulled Ani around just as she reached the door to the building. “Ani… I-“ She shook her head and threw whatever caution she had left to the wind and kissed Ani fully. Their lips met feverishly this time, working over another. Tongues tasting and exploring. Noses bumping a few times, but it didn’t matter. Mae felt a burst of white hot magic form within her heart, the wake of it exploding from her body. The invisible energy fluttered their hair together around their faces as if they’d been caught in a wind storm. Still, they deepened the kiss more before touching their foreheads together, breaths coming hard from them both. “Wow,” Ani breathed. Mae’s heart had felt like it exploded out of her chest. “Indeed.” “Do you believe me now?” Ani panted. She placed her hands on either side of Mae’s face and kissed her sweetly. “Perhaps I was lying to myself.” Mae smiled and watched as Ani’s smile grew larger. Her heart felt light and fluttered like hummingbird wings. This feeling for Ani that was growing inside her was not unlike how she she’d once felt for Dana in her youth and more recently for Bobby. “They cursed me,” she whispered, keeping her anger in check only because Ani was there in front of her like she always was to stop her from falling into darkness. She placed her hands on Ani’s over her own cheeks. “Whatever the coven did, whatever it was, I’m free now.” She allowed tears to fall freely down her face this time feeling no need to hold them back anymore. “I’m finally free.”
Two Buffalo by Meagan Hitchner Impressions 2015
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Gracie by Britainy Kralicek The wind blowing against the sides of the motorhome slipped through the windows’ edges, brushing our noses, cold. The motorhome shook with each gust from the northern skyline, fading gray‐white in the last light of the sun. The tree belt I had planted stood stunted, only three‐feet tall, and dead. Gracie and I sat across from each other, the fold‐out dining table jutting from the wall between our bodies. The table lay empty. “I have a gift for you,” I said, “that you’ve wanted a long time.” She said nothing. Cold food sat in the camper’s fridge that right now wasn’t on because the air everywhere did the job. Neither of us got up to dish out tuna sandwiches. The water in a Styrofoam cup sat with only a few sips left. I didn’t finish it. The faded orange‐and‐yellow‐striped curtain near our heads rustled back and forth, occasionally sweeping Gracie’s rough, wind‐beaten cheeks. The cheeks that had seen so many winters with me, shoveling the snow that drifted in front of our porch door and buried the cats that slept in the snow’s enclosed warmth. Gracie moved her index finger in circles, tracing the thin rings on the table’s paneling. She looked up occasionally, her gaze finding my face, for a moment, before her face fell back to her hands again, still circling. Her frail hands found her face now. She swept her bristled hair up and behind her ears. She rubbed her cheek, and her wedding ring’s tarnished stone caught the light of the dim hanging lamp that swung between us. The draft prickling my ears caused me to shudder. “David,” she reached forward and took the Styrofoam cup and raised it to her thin lips. I waited. She finished the last of the water and set the cup down. “Do you remember when I used to pick every dandelion on our little camping spot and put the yellow stubs in a vase, right here, every summer after our little Anna died?” She pointed to the center of the
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Pixelated Moose by Colton Hondl yellowed table. There were no dandelions to pick now in the middle of winter in the yard behind our house where the motorhome stood. Even if there were, she’s done picking them now. She’s given up on me. I bought this motorhome four summers before Gracie started picking the dandelions. Four summers spent sitting on lawn chairs together, watching the children from all over the campground convene at the simple old park, unkempt, the slide rusting and the swings sure to break from use and time. And the children stumbled up the ladder and slid down that rickety slide that moved just the slightest bit to the left and right as the kids tumbled down and the wind blew through its screws. We sat in our lawn chairs and watched our little flower grow and rove about on our little camping spot, picking dandelions for mama’s hand to hold. Four summers our little Anna grew, picking dandelions.
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Every summer after, we sat in lawn chairs, too, and watched the hand circled. “Gracie,” I said. “Drink some coffee.” I took her hand. children climb up and up the slide, redder every year with rust that My Gracie might wait until she dies. She might hold my hand as let loose flecks that flew in the air as the children tugged on the lad- we walk back into the house. She might close the door behind us, der, left hand, right hand, left hand, right hand. They callused their cutting off the draft from winter’s creeping hands. She might make soft hands with every climb. Gracie picked every dandelion on our us tea in porcelain cups meant to be reserved for special occasions, little camping spot. but she’ll use the holiday chinaware everyday hoping for ChristShe sat across from me now, her index finger circling. I got up. I mas, that miracle birth. made a pot of coffee and served it black, pouring full two Styrofoam My Gracie might turn on all the lights, hoping that the view cups and setting them on the from outside will be warm table. This is the anniversary of squares of light cutting across Anna’s death and fourteen years the gray tones of pine needles by Colton Hondl gone by watching fallen on the Gracie polish unground beneath scratched furniture the shadow of the and pour pine‐ house. She might scented varnish wear an apron over our hard wood while she’s fixing floors that have only tea, hoping to seen scuffs from my appear matronly. desk chair, pushed She might pour forward, back, forus chamomile ward, back on long tea, with no sugnights pushing for a ar, no honey, bedeadline. Ten years, cause she knows we’ve done this. We I want to sleep, camp in our backeven though I yard in the middle know she wants of winter, when the to make steamed water tank is useless milk with cinbecause the piping namon poured is frozen, and gallon full foam over jugs filled with wablackest tea, the ter nestle the space perfect blend heater to keep from of morning and freezing. We never evening. had any more chilMy Gracie dren. might pour the When finally the old park was taken down, Gracie and I tea then do what she’s doing now. Wait on me. stopped going to the campground. She stopped picking dandeliI tugged her hand. “Gracie,” I said, my breath visible. I stood ons altogether. Instead, she’d wait. When the yard was ready, she’d up. I rummaged through the closet by the tiny bath. I found a box I crouch down and blow the white seeds off of every dandelion until knew would be there. I pushed the box across the table, separating each one was just a green head without a seed left. She’d wait. She’d her and I. Gracie turned her wedding band, left, right, left, right. wait. She didn’t wait long until our yard would be covered in yellow She pulled back her hair once more, falling forward over her eyes. dandelions again. She peered inside. Tiny dandelions, dead and dry. She cried. I took “David,” she said. “I’m not done waiting yet.” the box back. “What for?” I said. “You,” she said. I took her hand. “Gracie,” I said, “Let’s go inside.” I picked dandeWe sat in our cold motorhome, in January the coldest month. We lions this time. I plucked every bent, fragile, broken stem and tucked sat. We waited. The wind blew the curtain back and forth. Gracie’s little dandelions in Gracie’s bristled hair. We made love that night.
Our Father
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Tree Swallows by Britainy Kralicek The usual trail. Twelve dusty miles cutting up, down like one skinny long snake – that is where dad and I are scheduled to be, to bond, to relate, and to fortify our common humanness by shared sweat and breath of the same air, tomorrow beneath the same weather be it sun, rain or whatever. A few lonely turns from our house in the cul‐de‐sac, I know every foot of it going around that man-made lake. The trail and the lake are like family heirlooms that I need to venerate, respect, and hand down to my kids, and dad likes to forget how this inheritance was some rich man’s project and not nature’s gift to our little existence on the outskirts of town. We’ll lace up our boots, mid‐calf, and tuck in our pants. I’ll wear the beige walking hat that’s mine, and I know it’s mine by the LS on the inside in sharpie black. Dad had to buy walking gear like it was a family photo, and it was: our walks were always photographed by dad lagging in the back as the family trailed through the grass, swiping ticks off our calves.
This time, it will be just him and me, but he’ll still be commenting like it’s a documentary. He’ll ask me, “What kind of bird is that?” I’ll turn my chin up to the sky and close my eyes to allow the chirping somewhere to the far left of my peripheral to come into focus. “That’s a swallow.” What kind, he’ll say. I won’t know or I will maybe, but I’ll indulge him to tell me again. I will keep my eyes closed. I’ll let his voice run across the top of the skyline like subtitles in my personal documentary, and the light on the other side of my eyelids will burn the world red‐orange just while the bird’s chirruping in the trees to the left of me, where the world is green, gets closer. I’ll keep walking. Over breakfast the next day, as he raises to his lips the mug with the tree swallow printed on it, dad will ask me about the bird’s population this season – how are the nests doing in the backyard and will the late spring’s start make it hard to catch up on collecting bits of grass and detached feathers caught midair and adding it to the cache – and my view of the world will shift from his tree swallow mug to the tree swallows on the other side of the kitchen window, swooping out of their nests to catch the floating grey feathers of another bird kind, drifting to the ground, snatched before touchdown. But all of that is tomorrow’s sweat and the next day’s breakfast. Today, I am in the chill room with the window open to the clatter of the mother tree swallow, twittering in the branches that swoosh and scratch the side of the house in the breeze and scrape, scrape, scrape at the wire screen stretching from window frame to window frame. The house is empty. The family computer in front of me, I flick my eyes up, down the endless stream of free internet innocence robbery, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I should close the browser window; the afterimages burn into the red‐orange vision of tomorrow’s eyelids shut. I keep my eyes open. The mother bird is louder now. I close the window and thwart the waft of outside air prickling my ears. I won’t hear the swallow until tomorrow.
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Him by Courtney Milliren Then it happened. In the shadows of my dark bedroom, I sensed his presence. I turned to look, but the room was still. I stayed still… and quiet. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw him move quickly, without a sound to the next shadow. I could hear my heart beat in my ear drums. I felt like my body had been frozen in ice and there was nothing I could do. I shut my eyes and prayed it wasn’t real but when I opened my eyes I was still in my room frozen to my bed. Shut my eyes again and searched for a plan… but I could feel his limbs upon me. The prickly poke of his hairy bristles. I swear I could see his eyes, dark and lifeless as if he was going to suck me of my life. Was this it for me? Would this be my last night in this room of purple walls, with so many stuffed animals on my bed that I can barely fit? Would this be the last night I could gaze up to see the glow in the dark stars on my popcorned ceiling? What would my parents do? A hot reluctant tear fell from my once ever-so-bright eyes. As I lifted my head from the knees of my tear soaked purple elephant pajama pants. I realized this was not the end; I would not let him take me from my parents. He would pay for this. Nothing scares me like that. Nothing touches me like that. And nothing makes me feel so little and helpless. With every ounce of anger I had, I grabbed the nearest thing I could find, Malibu Ken Barbienaked. He and I would escape this together. I closed my eyes, and ran toward the monster. He sped out of the shadow and moved with lightning speed out into the moonlit floor. I flipped on the
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light exposing him in all his glory. He was just as dark in light as he was in the shadows. There was no place left to hide and only one would survive. With God speed I darted toward him with Ken leading the way. Ken pinned him down with his plastic feet and stomped and stomped with no mercy until his limbs fell without a sign of life. He had nothing left to show but eight legs sticking out from his two squashed body segments. Spiders would never scare me again. That was a night I would never forget. Now at the age of 22, I am the only one of my roommates that will kill spiders. I hear that blood curdling scream and I grab a shoe and head on in for damage control. I feel strong and powerful that I had conquered that demon that so many years ago. At times I feel the urge to encourage Sara and Ashley to conquer their fears and reassure them that nothing should make them feel so small and insignificant. I was just finishing up closing the library when I received a text from Sara, “Supper is ready! Hurry home!” Sara was the best cook, always trying new recipes that always turned out to be the “new favorite dish”. I shut off the last light and rushed to lock the door to then walk home. The night sky was so clear that I could find every constellation visible during the winter time. It had just snowed that day and the snow sparkled off the street lights. The whole thing seemed like a creation that existed only in my thoughts. I breathed deep and let
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out a cloud that dissolved before my face. With only a block away from home, I wasn’t ready for the trip to end and even though it was cold, I stopped to take in the beauty once more. Then I thought heard something from around the sidewalk, but that street was a dark dead end and I figured it was some stray animal. I looked back over the scenery to hear footsteps not far away. I turned to see a man emerging from the darkness. He appeared to be limping and I could not help but to rush to him. As I grew closer I saw head was held down and his attire was all black, and for a second I thought about stopping and running the other way, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. “Are you ok sir!?” I yelled, but no response, he just kept limping toward me. I began to feel a tingling in my face and my palms became sweaty as my gut urged me to turn around. I had felt this fear once before, but this time, I did not have the strength to conquer it. I whirled around and began to run toward home, but behind me I could hear the limp was now a run. I pushed my legs to move faster and reached for my phone to call for help, but in my terror, I fumbled and dropped it into a fresh pile of powder. There was no time to stop, I turned to look to see if I was still being followed. But then, he was upon me.
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In Awe by Stormie Sickler He bear hugged my body so tightly I could actually feel his pokey bristles upon the side of my face. I could not move, I screamed for help but the words seemed to dissipate into the crisp winter sky that I had just stared so wondrously at. He ripped me to the ground, grabbing my arms behind my back, tied them, and then reached for a gag. He drug me across the cold icy sidewalk, then across the snow where grass grew green in the summer, toward the dark dead end street. I kicked, and screamed and tried to stand, but none of my actions seemed to faze him. Finally, which seemed like hours of being dragged, he reached his destination. It was an old, grey, house that I had believed was vacant. I looked at the house several times on my way to the library and often wondered why or how it still stood. He drug me into the house, and tied me to a bed post. It was freezing inside, but I knew I wasn’t shaking from the cold. I had seen many TV shows where the creep dragged an innocent female into his quarters to force unspeakable things upon her. While the
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images flashed through my mind, it became unbearable to think that was about to happen to me. I began to sob, needing to gasp for air every few seconds. I heard what sounded like knives scraping together, and the shear sound pissed me off. When I was young I remember my mother sharpening her kitchen knives with one of those hand held sharpeners and the sound shattered my ears. It made me cringe so badly that I could not stand to be in the room. Sometimes my mother would purposely sharpen her knives if she was trying to get me to play outside and her motive infuriated me. I was no longer crying and scared for my life, I was mad. I felt courage and strength, as I lifted my head from my tear soaked knees to look around to see what I could do. The knot around my wrists felt to be made of fringed rope that could be tasseled and torn with some determination. I began to work furiously trying to fray and pull the rope apart. I noticed a piece of broken glass setting on the floor on the other side of the room, I had to get this rope off my wrists. I could hear more noise and footsteps that seemed to be drawing closer to the closed door, finally I sprung loose. My hands were numb and sore from tearing at the rough rope, but I rose to my shaking legs to see the shadow just streaming under the door. I dashed to the piece of glass, and with it gleaming in my hand; I
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Spirit of the West by Colton Hondl could see him waiting in the shadows of the doorway. I then felt like that same terrified child again in my bedroom that night I saw a spider. I took a deep breath and dove for an escape but he sprung at me, and for a brief second I saw his eyes, the same lifeless eyes I had seen so many years ago. I let my blood-stained hand of glass lead the way right into his gut. He fell to his knees, and without hesitation I burst out the door running toward the spot I dropped my phone. That clear, crisp sky was looking down on me that night because in the light of the moon I saw my phone almost glowing in the snow. Within a couple of minutes the police arrived and found the man making his way down a cold, dark street not too far away. Turns out, they had been looking for this man for several weeks for murder and rape charges against two other college librarian females. As for me, after bit of counseling and night terrors, I feel almost safe enough to begin walking home alone at night. But every now and then, in the shadows of the night I still swear I can see him.
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Death’s Tears by David Brevick Sound did not exist. No matter how many steps the humanoid took the thick blanket of gray ash would not crunch. It just gave way below his feet, leaving a perfect impression. There it stayed in the field of ash until the light gray fall of new ash filled it in again. Head bowed the humanoid surveyed the ground through square framed glasses. His fingerless gloved hand combed ashes from his light blonde, almost white hair. Two massive gray wings capping his back twitched. Shoving his hand into his black pants, he tilted his head up enough to see a small collection of wooden, cylindrical huts on the hill’s crown. Their straw roofs were buried in a foot of ash. The humanoid’s free hand moved to rest on an eight-shot revolver on his hip. His fingers stroke the side. Then he removed the hand to brush ash off of his duffle coat’s chest. Probably pointless
due to the constant gray fall. As he approached the huts a sharp barking drew his attention to a naked tree. On one of the lower thick branches a dog stood. Despite being lean enough to be mistaken as death, the dog hopped in place, his barks protesting the man’s arrival. The humanoid stared for a moment. A hand slid out of the pocket and lay upon the revolver’s grip. “Excuse me sir,” said a feminine voice. The man turned to face the woman but saw a blue pant leg stuck out of a door. Tilting his head up, he looked beyond a gray jacket and settled upon a green, narrow face. Short, black hair partially hid pointed ears and red irises around black pupils. The narrow, haggard face drew back into a smile that conflicted with her eyes. “Good evening sir,” said the goblin. “Is it evening?” said the angel as he glanced upward. Thick layers of gray clouds blanketed the skies. Sparks of electricity jumped from cloud to cloud, but it refused to descend to the ground. “I haven’t seen the sun in a while now.” “Is there a reason you’re here?” asked the goblin. Keeping his eyes on the skies, the angel said, “There is. I heard someone here had fallen ill.” No words were offered. For a moment the angel didn’t look. His fingers started to caress the gun. “A while ago Kanli got a cold,” said the goblin, “but that has passed.” “What time is it?” After a moment’s pause the reply came. “About 6 p.m.” “Twilight hour,” said the angel. “Too bad the clouds obscure everything.” “Yeah,” said the goblin. Another moment of pause. “Do you have a place to stay for the night?” “Can’t say I do.” Glancing to the side, he gazed upon a slight frown. The goblin’s eyes darted across the area. “If you’re offering I’ll accept. My name is Gabriel.” “Mina,” said the goblin. “And I welcome you to my home.” The goblin did not move from her spot. Turning his gaze on the ground, the angel chuckled. He approached the door at a shuffle. Only when
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Forrest Etching by Colton Hondl he was about to run into Mina did she fall away. He knocked his shoulder against the door frame. Crouching down he entered. Kicked ash fell upon a packed dirt floor. “Sorry,” said the angel as he entered. He spotted the goblin right next to him. If he didn’t know better he would think himself a giant compared to Mina. Yet she was at the average height of her kin at five feet three inches, give or take one. He himself was a little on the tall side at six feet seven inches. Rushing away, the goblin grabbed a broom. With all haste she swept the ash from her house. Even when Gabriel was certain that
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she had gotten most of it she scooped a bit more out the door. Slamming the door shut, the woman said, “Make yourself at home.” Her home was small. An iron oven took up the middle portion of the room. Its vent traveled up to the center of the roof. Shelves bolted to the walls held cooking wares, clothing, stray books, and plates. On the east wall an ankh hung. Its dull, clean silver surface reflected his face. A quarter of the room was walled off by a suspended cloth. Behind it one could hear soft snores. “Nice place,” said the angel in a dull tone. “It’s a shitty place,” said the goblin. “But it’s home.” Putting the broom away, the goblin plopped down onto her hind end. “This is farming territory with nothing of great interest. You look to be a city poacher.” Staring at the ankh, the angel removed his hand from his firearm. “I’m searching for anybody infected by the disease.” “The grabao,” whispered the goblin. Glancing to his right, Gabriel flinched. Though a smile graced her lips her eyes had widened. Her body trembled in place. “It hasn’t been through these parts.” “Are you certain?” said Gabriel. “The first few days may be hard to spot, but once sy… “Blisters form on the skin,” said Mina. “Blood becomes tears. The victim loses all control over their bowels and sweats profusely.” Darting to her feet, the goblin strolled over to the ankh.
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Placing a hand on it, she bowed her head. “I heard of the details,” said the goblin. “A merchant who frequents our village tells us a lot. Has it truly spread throughout the country?” “Last I heard,” said Gabriel as he looked to the earth. “It had made it from the Trance coast to the city of Jakika.” That earned him a gasp. “That’s nearly three hundred miles!” Returning his gaze on the ground, the angel said, “The…number of victims has yet to be calculated, but it being estimated in the hundreds of thousands.” “Sounds like the gods need a punching bag,” said the goblin. “I don’t think germs care all that much about who they infect,” stated the angel. Silence fell between them. Walking over to the shelves, the angel scanned the books. Children tales intermixed with cookbooks and old men stories. The holy book Namos laid alone on top of the shelves. He tried to keep his attention on the
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Copper Metal by Hyunjin Han hard backs, but the soft snoring drew his attention. “Does someone else live here?” asked the angel. “Just me and my grandmother,” said the woman. Walking over to the shelves, she took down a teapot. “She generally takes a nap around this time. Care for some tea or hot chocolate?” “Mint tea will do,” said the angel. “After I visit the other villagers.” Placing the tea pot on the stove, Mina said, “Take care not to frighten them.” Gabriel slipped out the door before the words could be received. A ten-minute walk could get one from one side of the village to the other. Stopping at each house, the angel introduced
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himself to the residents. With cautious warmth they invited him in. Leaders of families, emphasizing their good health, made sure he saw all the kin. During all the prolonged visits the angel caressed his sidearm. When the angel again looked at the skies he was surprised by the veil of darkness. Even at night the stars and moon couldn’t be seen through the clouds. At a trudge, Gabriel returned to Mina’s hovel. As he pushed the door opened a muffled yelp greeted him. Bolting upward, Mina drew the curtain in front of her. She twirled around and held the candle out. “Welcome back,” blurted the woman. “The tea is ready on the stove.” With a nod the angel approached the stove. Despite the candle being their only light source he saw well enough not to bump into anything. At the stove he poured the tea into a waiting cup. Sipping from the cup, he stared at Mina huddled under a shelf. Her intense gaze focused on his heart, as if the act itself could somehow pierce him. “I have met the other villagers,” said the angel. “They all appeared to be in good health.” “We do what we can,” said Mina. Nodding, the angel glanced to the cloth wall. “Are your family members away?” “Except for Grandma, they all went to the other side.” “Sorry to hear that,” said the angel. Sipping on his tea, the angel watched the candle light dance on its wick. Streams of wax
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Beautifully Undisturbed by Stormie Sickler slithered down its towering sides. “I need to take a look at her.” “She’s asleep,” said the woman. Starting toward the cloth wall, the angel said, “It should only take…” “Leave her be,” said Mina as she stood. “She is doing nothing more than resting.” “Then what harm is it to take a peek?” Yanking the cloth wall aside, the angel peered downward. A frown formed as he examined the empty mat on the floor, the blanket thrown hap hazardously to the side. “Mina,” said the angel, “Nobody is here.” “What are you talking about?” said the woman as she rushed up. Kneeling beside the mat, she said, “My grandmother is sleeping.” For a long moment the angel stared at the woman. His hand went to his firearm and wrapped around the handle. “Where is your grandmother?” demanded the angel. “Right here,” said Mina. Reaching out, she brushed the air where a head should be. “Now be quiet before…” “Where is she?” repeated the angel. “I already told you,” said Mina with a stern frown, “she…”
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Picked Pepper by Colton Hondl
“I heard her snoring earlier in the day,” stated the angel. “Who has her now?” “Why are you…?” Gabriel’s hand wrapped around the woman’s throat. Heaving her up, the angel brought Mina to his eye level. “Enough playing,” said Gabriel. “I’m here to protect this country. Now tell me where the old woman went.” Spit slammed into his cheek. Grimacing, the angel tossed the woman into the ankh and rushed outside. Going to each house he barged right in. Each time he shouted, “Where is the old woman?” The residents questioned his intrusion, but Gabriel darted into every room. Anywhere that could be a hiding placed he searched. Yet each house had few if any places to hide in. After crashing the last house, the angel stormed around the village. At the base of the hill he weaved through the small cemetery. He broke the church door and knocked aside the priest. He invaded the few stores in the middle of town. As he exited the butcher shop Mina stepped into his path. “Enough!” shouted the goblin. “As I told you…” “Is Mina’s grandma the woman you are talking about?” asked one of the many villagers gathering outside. “Please forgive the
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girl for the wild goose chase. That old woman perished a couple months ago.” Yet the angel didn’t trudge through the ashes. His eyes scanned the area. He only paused when his eyes reached the tree. Up in the tree the sitting dog started to bark. “Why is that dog up in the tree?” asked the angel. Something grabbed him by the arm. He looked down to see Mina tugging on him. “You can’t be feeling well,” said the woman. “Let’s go back to my…” “Pardon?” “Odd place for a dog to be.” “It’s one of his favorite spots,” said the goblin. The angel’s wings sprang open, hitting the woman in the side. Startled she let go and Gabriel took to the air. As he got to the dog’s branch the pet sprang to its feet. Lips pulled back to show off teeth, while its tail held stiff in the air. “Move mutt,” said the angel. Gabriel started forward, but the dog lunged at him. The dog bit down on the angel’s arm. Gritting his teeth, the angel tried to shake the dog off. Teeth buried into his flesh. Balling a fist, the angel punched the canine in the eye. The dog wiggled around. “Damn mutt,” shouted the angel. His hand grabbed the revolver and whipped it out. Pulling back the half-cocked hammer, he pulled the trigger. Yelping in pain, the dog let go. As it fell to the earth the angel examined his arm. Blood seeped into the torn cloth. Ignoring the pain, the angel walked along the branch. “There’s nothing up there,” shouted a voice. Gabriel’s injured arm stretched out and brushed the surface of the tree. He kept doing this until it sunk into the trunk. “Illusion magic,” growled the angel. Stepping forward, the angel phased into the trunk. The hollow provided only enough room for his upper torso
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to enter, though this was partially because an old goblin huddled in there. Wrapped in a blanket the thin, frail woman stared at the angel. Two lines of red marked her cheeks. Boils covered what little skin Gabriel could see. Holding out an arm, the grandmother said, “Please, have…” In one smooth motion Gabriel drew his firearm forward. One shot to the chest quieted the old woman. Another caused her to slump over. The last one pierced her in the chest. A gurgling noise came from the old woman’s throat. It lasted for a dozen seconds before it turned to silence. “No!” cried a voice in sorrow. Pulling out from the tree, the angel glanced downward. Underneath him stood Mina and several of her fellow villagers. Tears ran down the woman’s face as a snarl formed. Cocking the hammer, the angel pointed the gun at her. “By order of the government,” said the angel in a cool tone, “all who have been in contact with the infected must be eliminated.” Without hesitation other villagers gathered around Mina. “Move away from her,” said the angel. “If that isn’t done in ten seconds I’ll be forced to mow you down.” Nobody moved. Glancing over his shoulder, Gabriel scanned the streets. “We’re not giving you another reason to shoot us,” stated a villager. “All we want is be left alone.” “You have just been in contact with an infected person.” “We’ll stay in the village,” shouted a man, “quarantine ourselves. Anybody who comes…” Another shot echoed. The speaking man stumbled back as a hand went to his shoulder. “Please obey my orders,” said Gabriel. “I can do this cleanly with…” “We’re not even doing anything!” shouted Mina. “The disease doesn’t care,” stated the angel. “It will…” “Go nowhere if we stay right here!” Mina finished. The gun focused on Mina. She didn’t even flinch. “Take my grandmother’s body and go. Come visit us again in a month. If we’re infected or die then you can do with us whatever you will. Until then leave us be.” Angel and goblin stared each other down, the gun held in position as the tears kept pouring out. “Does anyone have a tarp?” said the angel. When there was no reply, he shouted, “Does anyone have a tarp?” “What of it?” shouted a person. “I can’t just carry the old woman,” said the angel. A woman took hesitant steps away. When Gabriel paid little mind she darted off. Moments later she returned with a rolled up tarp. “And get me a rake or something of that manner.” Again his orders were followed. “Hand it up.” Grabbing hold of the rake, the angel yanked it up. He thrust it into the tree and used it to drag out the corpse. It took some time,
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but he managed. Once the corpse was laid out across the branch he kicked it off. It landed square on the tarp. Mina started forward, but a fellow villager held her back. Jumping off of the branch, the angel landed beside the tarp. He threw it over the still-bleeding corpse. With the gun trained on the villagers he grabbed the end of the tarp. “I’ll be back in a month,” said the angel, “though who knows. The government is fickle at the best of times.” With that said the angel dragged the corpse away. He could feel the many eyes drilling into his back. Throughout the night Gabriel walked without pause for drink, food, or rest. Night never left. It just became bright enough for him to spot his destination. Even before he got close he grimaced. The all too familiar acidic smell cropped up each time Gabriel observed the blocky stone building. Not even a story tall, the small building tucked at the base of the hill wouldn’t warrant attention from most. Only its tall smokestack bellowing out gray smoke might draw a wandering eye. Nearing the building, the angel placed a hand over his nose. Shallow breaths helped to keep the bitter smell from his mouth. The angel pounded a fist in the door, and the metal frame cracked open. An eye peered out. “Thank goodness,” said the voice. Opening the door, a gargoyle stepped out. The bat-headed creature’s free hand scratched at her gray, skinny arm. A gun occupied the second hand. Her clothing was covered in a thick layer of ash. “Good to see you, Gabriel. Nice to see a friendly face after a couple of days of raider’s potshots.” Glancing around the angel, the gargoyle said, “Is that all? You generally bring more than that.” “She was alone.” “Unwrap her so we can take a look.” Gabriel did as told. Bending down, the gargoyle stared into the corpse’s eyes. “Looks to be the real deal,” said the gargoyle. “You say she was alone?” “She was.” “Despite the obvious illness she appears in good shape. Strong willed one I guess.” “Nearly shot me down,” said Gabriel. “Well,” said the gargoyle, “better be sending her homeward.” Wrapping the corpse up, she dragged the dead inside. “I’ll write the report. You should go into the nearby town and rest up. Death likes to visit the weak bodied.” Offering a small smile, the angel said, “I’ll do that.” With that said the angel left. As he trudged away from the building he glanced over his shoulder. His eyes stared at the smoke stack as the brick and mortar shot the ashes of the dead up into the heavens.
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Poignant Parts of Me by Eden Jackson
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Impressions 2015
The Apologies by Shannon Patterson I’m sorry for the time I burnt dinner when we were still at Boulder and living in that crumby apartment. The stove was unpredictable and I did my best to work with it. I set the noodles and carrots and peas to simmer with the chicken and covered the skillet with the lid that belonged to another pan and didn’t quite fit it right. You were coming home from your late shift at the cabinet factory and I wanted everything to be perfect. I thought I had everything under control and checked the food with a confident lift of the lid as the timer went off. The noodles were burnt crisply to the bottom of the pan although the veggies and chicken were still salvageable on top. Despite my valiant effort, dinner was a failure and we both knew it. There was a tinge of disappointment in your voice: are you serious? I beat myself up over it. Did you read the directions? It says to stir occasionally, you said. That’s what I did. When you have kids someday, you are going to have to learn how to cook. I apologized, the thought of becoming an unfit mother manifesting in my mind, and we proceeded to the tattered couch—the couch because we had no dining table—with plastic purple bowls of my half-burnt, half-cold dinner. We sat there silently listening to the creaking of neighbors upstairs. Brief banter paraded through the hallways until it faded, masked by the violent churning of the washer and dryer down the hall. Years later, we would sit there—on a nicer, leather couch—the same way. We would have a dining table made out of cherry oak and dishwasher and a juicer we would use maybe once a year. I would apologize for forgetting to take Maggie out on her morning walk, and for the price of whole milk, and for the traffic on the 405. I would apologize for worrying all the time like I always did, for playing Springsteen on the stereo after all the years, I’d say sorry for all of the mistakes, even for the little ones like getting my face makeup on your sweatshirt during a hug or burning the noodles and carrots and peas that one night, and sorry for crying, and sorry for smiling, I would apologize finally for you having to deal with me for so long, and even now I’m sorry that you felt the need to stick around, just for me. And to my parents, I’m sorry for the times we argued when I came back home from college, for every Christmas and summer break. Every time I was on a plane heading to that golden coast of home, I promised myself I would make sure we wouldn’t fight. But we always did. We fought about stupid things I can barely remember: how I didn’t want Mom to buy expensive boots for me for Christmas because they were too expensive, how I was going to finish college far from home and you both still didn’t want to accept
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it. I would yell at you both until I could no longer bare the pulsing of my head and, as the years went by and the longer the time went while I was alone, I felt entitled to curse more and scream more. I felt entitled to be misunderstood. An outcast for being away at college for so long. A night of rest would mend the broken strings of our hearts and we could carry on the next morning like nothing ever happened. But deep in the pit of my gut churned a heaping pile of guilt that would sporadically erupt when I would see you both again. Una falta de respeto, Mom would say to me. Disrespectful. And I would cower away in the room that used to be mine, knowing I would never really win. There was nothing to be won, no reasoning with Mom. I was just glad she didn’t hit me. Years later, I would come back home again. I wouldn’t be at college anymore. I would have popped out the grandchildren you both so eagerly wanted me to have. I would apologize for not bringing them up to see their grandma and grandpa more often, for forgetting to keep in touch with my sister, and for being worried about everything because I had too much on my plate like I always did. I would say sorry for being late to the Christmas party because of the traffic on the 405, sorry for living in San Diego even though it was much closer than when I was at CU Boulder, and for not being there when Mom got hip surgery and needed help bringing in the groceries. I would apologize finally for my very existence, for not doing as much as I knew I could and even now I am sorry I let go, I didn’t stay your little girl. And to you, myself, I am both sorry to you and for you. I am sorry that I united you with people early in your life that made you feel inferior: the boyfriend in high school that said you weren’t pretty enough, the girl you called your best friend in middle school who said you would never be that smart. I am sorry that I never gave you the strength to overcome the insecurities, insecurities that never made you feel good enough, leading you to apologize to everyone around you. I feel sorry for you. For you are always apologizing to others, even when you make a minor human mistake or do nothing wrong at all. I am sorry that you don’t feel beautiful all the time, even though you are tall, thin and are complimented each day you walk down the tall city streets. I am sorry that you mask your achievements and strengths with harsh criticisms. For so many years, I am sorry that I have not helped you overcome this. I am sorry you have become so feeble with a tenuous grasp on life, and I’m sorry for botching that interview you had at the new Jefferson law firm, for starving you when you gained weight in your thirties, for forcing you to take the job at the bank that you didn’t like because it paid the bills, I’m sorry for it all. I am sorry for the life you suffered, but the one thing that makes me happy is knowledge that you are enduring that life no more. Knowing that you have finally found peace.
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Abundance by Hyunjin Han