Reincarnation’s Comforts
Let me begin again as a sapling deep within a forest, so much potential stored within my roots.
I want to grow slowly, allow myself to learn, if by passersby, all the things I could not in this brief life of my own.
Let me begin again filled with love, unconditional, unwavering within the questions of my incessant thoughts. Throughout my continuity, allow me grace, allow me comfort.
I have been blessed with far too little.
Let me begin again as a ray of sun, providing light, providing warmth for the days within which people like me find it difficult to step outside.
I am a dreamer, a caretaker, a soft place to land.
This time, freedom will equate to the love I hold in my heart. This time, I can protect, provide life. Perhaps this time, I can fly free, unfettered by the qualms of being human. Would I enjoy it? Perhaps.
The only way to know for sure is to begin again.
Eastern Exposure 28 HAVI BROUILLARD
when i die make sure that i am cremated
when i die
i want to sit prettily in my urn atop a mantle adorned with leafy greens and jasmine incense beside my Beloved the fireplace crackling beneath us warming our silence
my body will not go back to Mother but i will still be close to Her foliage to keep Her company to listen to Her choir of canaries awake us
but my father, my father has become one with Her awaiting for Allah to beckon him on Judgment Day leaving Her nurturing soil for Him my father’s deeds swinging on a pendulum and i will not be there to meet him in Paradise or in Hell fire
i will be in my urn staying with Mother as Her vines curl around me
if there is no body what is there to judge?
2024 29 ADEBA REZA
Hurley Hall
We all acknowledge, within this college, There’s one place we all go. When hunger strikes, we go and hike, Whether in sunshine, rain or snow.
No matter your major, friend or stranger, We love to go and eat. To Hurley Hall, go us all, To sit on plastic seats.
You may ask, what is the cuisine? What is the food at our favorite canteen?
Well; eggs in the morn, at dusk there’s corn, Not to mention tasty treats. After your meal, one’s tempted to steal, A plate of fresh-baked sweets.
Five dollars invested, and when we are rested, We have a green go-box at hand. When we leave, we praise or seethe, A ballot for the voting-stand.
Is everything great, you may ask? Well, flawlessness is a difficult task.
Perfection sees here rejection, For nothing, nowhere is ideal. Another link that we all think, Is to wish for a better meal.
With a clink, like a broken sink, Our cups pitter patter puddle. The open times make us whine, ‘Why not all day’, we muddle.
The treats we acquire, mentioned prior, Are a stake to diets wide. It’s hard to resist, silver-pass gifts, Even if it adds a pound aside.
So despite the good, there’s bad. But that truth doesn’t make us sad. No matter complaints, we drain our plates, For the hall is the home of our food. We all can unite, through freshmans’ strife, In Hurley we all went and chewed.
Eastern Exposure 30 MATTHEW BIADUN
“Père
2024 31
et fille” by Nina Grim.
“The
Eastern Exposure 32
Green Bench” by Nina Grim.
“Reading Rainbow” by Nina Grim.
2024 33
“Sisters” by Nina Grim.
Eastern Exposure 34
She Saw Me
There was a fire drill. This wasn’t a drill ordained by the school, but a practice round done by Mrs. Carter. She wanted us to practice for the practice drill so that it didn’t freak us out. The class formed two lines, one for boys, the other, girls. The teacher walked up and down checking everyone’s posture, making sure that we all faced forward. Unsurprisingly, us girls were all in perfect formation, one after the other like trained little soldiers. Sure, we talked, but we didn’t mess around because as my mama said, it wasn’t ladylike.
Waiting to be inspected, I stood staring at the back of Jenny Erickson’s head when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Ryan Linden. He was digging for gold. I hoped that he wasn’t using the same finger he had just touched me with.
“Hey, wanna see something?” No, I didn’t.
I stayed quiet. Ryan wiped his nasty finger on his blue gym shorts, took his hands and pulled the edges of his eyes up saying, “Chinese” and down saying, “Japanese.” I had no words. My chest tightened and I felt my own eyes narrow at him. ~~~
Mrs. Carter grabbed Ryan by the shoulder and led him back to his spot in line. She never said anything to me. That’s when I learned a hidden rule that Mama never told me. Words that I wouldn’t understand until much later.
We don’t talk about how I look.
I always sensed that I was different. When I felt Mrs. Carter’s perfectly manicured acrylic nails absentmindedly running through my hair, I knew other people noticed it too. She was talking to my mama. Something about enrolling me in more science and math classes, I don’t remember exactly. She knew I had potential. I just needed to grow into it.
Mama was gonna take me to get new shoes soon. I wondered if I would grow into my potential then.
~~~
Sunday’s were left for two things: church and the grocery store. I had two dresses to choose from. One was knee-length, light blue with small white dots and a frilled collar. The other was all white with puffed sleeves. That one was worn in good company. I slipped on the first dress.
The grocery store was smack-dab in the center of town. We passed it almost everyday in the car, but we only went in when the regular crowd was gone. Mama was more comfortable sneaking in and getting out as fast as possible. Back then, I didn’t understand why. Back then, I saw everyone as a friend. I couldn’t see them for who they were.
The checkout line was where it happened. Right before we were in the
2024 35 KAI-LI DAVEY
clear, steps away from the sliding glass doors. So close that I could turn my neck and look out at the parking lot behind me. Cars pulling in and the sun peeking through the clouds. The shadows of people much taller than I, moving swiftly, covering the pavement. Blocking out the bright sun, cooling down the blacktop for a split second before racing off to the next place.
A blonde haired woman was waiting to be checked out and began to unload her eggs, peppers, and chocolate ice cream onto the belt. I wished we could go to her house.
“Wow, she’s beautiful,” the blonde woman said. She pointed to me, and smiled. She had red lipstick on her front teeth.
Mama brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, “Thank you.”
“You must be a great nanny.” I noticed a freckle on the woman’s cheek as she examined me with wide eyes.
Mama’s shoulders dropped. She looked at the lady, “She’s a lovely daughter. I’m very lucky.”
“Oh,” the woman inhaled sharply, “it’s so nice of you to take her in.” Mama’s hands tightened on the shopping cart. Her knuckles turned white. She fixed her purse higher onto her shoulder.
The cashier handed the receipt back. When all of the bags were in our cart, we headed toward the sliding door, the squeaky wheels getting louder. I swung my legs, pretending I was on my favorite swing set at the park. I would look up into the clouds and feel the blood rush to my head. With each push Mama gave me, I felt more empowered. Determined to touch those clouds and never let go.
Mama stopped the cart as we were about to head out into the lot.
She turned around and pointed toward the blonde woman, “You know, I hope you get food poisoning, lady.”
I didn’t know why she said that. One of my rules to live by was to never talk back, especially to adults. I guess when I was young, I never imagined adults could talk back to one another.
We got into the car. I buckled my seatbelt and grabbed Jumper, my stuffed bunny. I wasn’t allowed to take him to school. I was nearing the age where carrying around Jumper wasn’t cool anymore. I almost had to put him in a bag with my old clothes to be donated. But Mama let me keep him as long as he stayed in the car.
It wasn’t until we hit our first red light that Mama knew what to say. Actually, I don’t know if it was so much a situation of knowing what to say as much as wanting to address it before I did. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Eastern Exposure 36 KAI-LI DAVEY
She adjusted the car vents, the A/C hitting her in the face, and her brunette hair blew out behind her. Frizzy, brunette hair compared to my straight, black hair.
I wondered why she used her angry voice? The blonde lady only smiled. I thought she liked me. She appeared to be so happy on the outside. Though, I never thought that people may feel differently on the inside. “Why were you so mad at that lady?”
Mama knew everything. I savored her words like sweet honey on my tongue.
“You were a twinkle in my eye for the longest time. Now, it’s even better. Do you know why?” She never responded to my question. I saw her searching for me in the rear-view mirror.
“Because nothing’s stuck in your eye anymore,” I said. Mama giggled. Man, I loved the sound of her laughter.
“Oh, my sweet Hazel.” She parked the car along the curb outside our apartment. The only one with a skinny sapling in the front. I remember planting it, our hands and knees filthy. She promised that it would grow bigger one day. We just had to be patient.
So, every morning, the first thing I’d do was look out the window, at the shriveled up tree. I got tired after a while and gave up. I couldn’t wait forever.
My door opened and I found her there, kneeling down beside me. I forgot I was holding Jumper’s paw and he fell, face down on the sidewalk. Mama took my hand and pointed to the bracelet dangling from my wrist. “This is a special bracelet, sweetheart. It holds so much of your Chinese culture.” Her voice was a whisper, her words meant for only my ears.
I examined the bracelet with the curiosity of a scientist. I knew what scientists looked like, my teachers made sure of that. Posters hung on the wall, right next to my seat. All of them white. All of them male. I imitated the serious expressions of these men, hoping that channeling their smarts would help me understand the power this bracelet held.
“What do you mean, Mama?” I brought my wrist closer to my face, right under my nose, trying to believe that the closer I examined it, the more connected I might become to a part of myself I knew nothing about.
“It’s a jade bracelet. Jade is the most beautiful and precious stone.”
I rubbed my fingers against the stone, it was smooth, cool, strong. When I first received it, I set it aside and switched my attention to the red envelope, decorated with Chinese characters I didn’t know how to read. It was
2024 37 She Saw Me
Mama who slipped it on as I was admiring my new five dollar bill.
I slid the bracelet further up my arm and stared at the place it rested. I was trying to see if it had made my skin yellow. A boy last week had laughed and whispered to his friend about it.
Sitting there, with Mama, I tried to figure out what he meant.
My name was American. I read tons of books about mythical legends. Mama read them to me before bed and said that it was important to stay connected to my roots. My favorite was about the moon goddess, Chang’e, and her love for the archer, Hou Yi. Separated and never to be reunited in a search to gain immortality. At night, we’d go out and gaze up at the moon. I’d imagine Chang’e up there, alone on the moon, waiting for her one true love.
I looked up at my mother, “Do you think Chang’e has a jade bracelet like this?”
She thought for a moment, “I’m not sure. What makes you say that?”
My poor mother had forgotten the tale much quicker than I thought. “Just because Jade Rabbit is the only one living up on the moon with her.” I glanced up at the sky, even though it was still light outside. “Maybe he gave her a jade bracelet as a gift,” I said.
When Mama crossed her arms, I knew that I stumped her.
Looking back, it must have been hard. How was my American mother supposed to answer these questions?
Mama lifted me into her arms and I rested my head on her shoulder.“You know what I do know? Even though Chang’e was separated from Hou Yi, they’re still connected.”
“But how, Mama?” She’d been telling me this story for forever, but I’d never heard her tell it like this.
She bent down, picked up Jumper, and left the groceries in the trunk. Sometimes I thought about how much easier things would be if there were two of her. Kids had their daddies pick them up when their mamas were busy. Soon enough, I’d see how fast I could match which classmate belonged to which parent. It became like a game for me. I was predictable, though. Five days a week, the same person came for me. I thought that was what happened for everyone, until one day I woke up and realized it wasn’t.
“Well, you know how Chang’e lives on the moon?” Mama gave me a squeeze. “Hou Yi missed her so much that he built a palace on the sun. You’ll understand someday.”
That’s when it occurred to me that she knew more about this legend than I thought. How did she learn all of this? Why did she? I had no way
Eastern Exposure 38 KAI-LI DAVEY
of understanding her reasonings, no matter how often I turned the questions around in my mind.
My mother knew how cruel the world could be. In spite of the adversity, she always prioritized a connection to my heritage. There was an invisible line drawn between us. I tried not to worry about it because then she’d want to have a talk, but it was nearly impossible. One thing was clear though, I was an Asian-American, living in a normalized, white society. The person I saw in the mirror didn’t fit the mold of anyone around me.
I saw nobody who looked like me in the movies, nobody who looked like me on TV. I saw myself in the news sometimes, but Mama would switch the channel just as quickly, whispering that it was discrimination. ~~~
I get it now.
As far as the world was concerned, I was a nobody. Eyes said everything. My classmates, teachers – everyone – stared.
As a child, I felt hollow. I felt like my mother’s daughter, but looked like someone else. I knew Mama loved me, but why did it feel like she was the only one? If she could love me, why was our community so focused on hate? Hate directed towards me, her Hazelnut?
My answer came in her green eyes. She couldn’t control how the world saw me, only how she saw me. ~~~
On the first day of Spring every year, I meet Mama under the cherry blossom tree. This house isn’t our home anymore. The door has been replaced and probably doesn’t squeak when Mr. Soo opens it. I noticed his car last year and got to talking to him. He respected my wishes to stop by once a year. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m glad I decided to grab a sweater before heading out.
“We have beautiful blossoms this year, Mama,” I whisper, “Just beautiful.”
I shield my eyes from the sun. The breeze blows and I feel something land in my hair. I run my fingers through and retrieve the blossom. I think of Hou Yi living on the sun, waiting for Chang’e. Still connected, my jade stone no longer weighs down my wrist. It’s unbreakable, it endures.
“And so will we,” I say softly.
2024 39 She Saw Me
Empty Sky
Mosaics of multicolored glass welcomed in the sunlight, casting a display of warm blood reds, daffodil yellows, and the occasional, yet ever so tasteful, sky blues in its wake. Hidden in the beautiful stained-glass displays, biblical figures loomed, lying in wait. Maybe if they eyeballed the pews enough, they’d catch me in the midst of sinful thought or smell the alcohol on my breath and hurl me into the depths of hell. I wasn’t in awe of their imposing figures or even the pretty colors they left behind, they were only there to taunt me. I’m sure if any one of those images could come to life at that very moment, they would love to spit at my feet, laughing at my family for ever paying them a second glance.
I was only there because Mother died. I think it was about 8 years ago, or maybe 9. I had just got home from work and was greeted by a cacophony of earsplitting giggles emanating from my Mother’s room. At the time, it only felt like a nuisance to my tired ears. I slammed my bag down on the kitchen counter, causing the prescriptions I just picked up to rattle around inside. Ripping open the fridge, glass clanged together, and a cool draft hit me in the face. I tore a bottle out of the packed door and popped the top off on the island in front of me. By now, there was a deep groove in the countertop, chipped away from my daily imbibement. It started out of laziness, but soon became a habit that I couldn’t quit even after Anastasia placed a new magnetic can opener covered in Hello Kitty stickers on the side of the fridge. Perhaps I just couldn’t bear to use her innocent and thoughtful gift to help ruin my life or maybe I just didn’t want to taint something she gave me at all.
Now more relaxed with a beer in hand, I slipped off my shoes by the kitchen table and headed towards my Mother’s noisy bedroom. “Am I late to the party?,” I implored, ruffling my little Anastasia’s curly brown hair as she sat on my Mother’s bed. They were playing Uno with some silly family movie on in the background.
“Mommy! I almost won, I’m at 480 points!”, Anastasia proudly announced, too young and naive to remember or even understand that if one player reaches 500 points, the other one wins. I shot my Mother a look which she returned with a knowing wink and a smile. We laughed to one another as I congratulated Anastasia on her “almost-victory,” but my Mother began coughing at this overexuberance.
“Can you go and grab my purse girly? It’s right on the kitchen table,” I asked Anastasia, “I promise you can finish up and finally beat Grandma at Uno tomorrow.” I shuffled the cards into one big pile and shoved them back into the worn box, the instructions long forgotten about and ignored stuck in the bottom. With no objections, she tumbled out of bed and into the kitchen.
Eastern Exposure 40 AVERY RABER
“She never complains, that one,” my Mother choked out between coughs with a pained smile on her face. She gently took my hand in hers and waited. I stared at her decrepit hands, now wrinkly and weak, remembering them plump and perfectly manicured as they held mine just like this so long ago. “I can feel it, my dear.” I knew what those words meant. “I just hope that you’ll give me a religious ceremony. But no matter what, I will watch over you and Anastasia. I promise.” I couldn’t look away from my Mother’s hands, but I knew there were tears in both of our eyes. The only difference was the emotions that they stood for. Hers, I was certain, were happy tears; she had confidence in her next journey. Mine were sad tears, angry tears. The lung cancer was finally getting to her. I didn’t want my Mother to go. I knew I would never see her again. But I could not tell her that on her last night on Earth. I couldn’t do that to her. She was too certain in her afterlife; I could not be the doubt in her head.
“You’ll be okay Mom. You worry too much. Anastasia’s got my purse and your new meds are right in there. You have a couple of bottles of the normal pinkish ones, and they told me to grab more of that special syrup for that cough of yours,” I tried to reassure her, but I am sure the tone of my voice was less than convincing.
I never could get the feeling of my Mother’s feeble grip or the sound of her weak words out of my head. My Mother could not watch over me and Anastasia; God definitely would not either. The only figures watching me from above were those hellish judgmental glass images gawking at us in front of my Mother’s coffin. Soon, her body would be lowered into the cold dark dirt, and I would never be near her again. I would never see her again. All I would have are the memories that would fade with time and age.
“I never got to play Uno with her again,” Anastasia cried as she clung to the hem of my black shirt. “Do I still have a chance, Mommy?”
I decided against any verbal response, settling with a hug instead. I could see the worn down Uno pack peeking out of the pocket of her tiny black dress, the one that my Mother picked out for her last choir recital. She was too young to know that Grandma was gone. That she was not coming back. There was nowhere that we would see her ever again. If the prayers worked and there was a God above, she and I would not be alone, and I would not be drinking all the time.
I gathered little tear-stained Anastasia into the back of my black Sedan and buckled her into her car seat. The sunset was laying an almost ethereal blanket upon the vacant graveyard, a beautiful sky. Yet another tear escaped my eye at the thought that my Mother would not get to see it, or any sunset.
2024 41 Empty Sky
Life never would be normal after that. When I came home from work, I was no longer met with cheers or giggles or even my Mother’s rattling coughs, just silence. The calm I had once wished for was now just eerie and miserable. Instead of prescriptions rattling in my bag every day, it was now a 12-pack clinking together on the table. The pop of my beer caps was even more deafening than before in this quiet; now I knew Anastasia would hear them too.
She never said anything. Although, too often to my liking, I would catch her staring at the groove in the counter when we would sit down for dinner. I switched sides with her after a while in a weak attempt to preserve her innocence for just a little longer. I hoped that if it was out of sight, it was out of mind. Deep down, I knew better.
While I gravitated towards the bottle, Anastasia clung to the ratty old box of Uno cards. Just as you would not find me without a flask hidden somewhere on my person, you would never see her without that game. Unlike me, however, she would never dare crack open that box. The cards began to peek out of the holes worn into the corners and the already dull red of the packaging faded into a light pink, but it always stayed closed. We never dared to play it again.
Every holiday, I tried my best to gather little Anastasia and her beloved Uno box into the back seat of my car. She never did put up any sort of fuss, but it was I who had trouble putting myself behind the wheel. I would just be reminded of how I would never celebrate with my Mother again. She was gone. No family reunion. She was gone for good.
To my dismay, we kept returning to my Mother’s grave. Somehow, it brought comfort to Anastasia. We would stay for hours at a time, and she would just sit next to my Mother’s plot. Even if it had just freshly rained, she would get down next to her headstone and talk about her elementary school problem: what her snack was for the day, what new letter she had learned. It reminded me of the same scenes I would arrive home to every day, but instead of their intertwined laughter and a soft bed, it was the cold hard ground, and my daughter was talking to a slab of stone.
That Easter day was no different. By the time we arrived, it was dark out and Anastasia brought along one of the little chocolate bunnies I had given her in her basket to place beside my Mother’s grave. I wish I could remember what she spoke about that day, but I was too stuck inside my own head and my own bottle to make out any of her words. To me, I just heard a slur, one which only became more entangled the longer I sipped from my flask. I tried my best
Eastern Exposure 42
AVERY RABER
to sneak in my drinks when she was not looking, but I was too out of it for my “best” to be any good at all.
The drive back home was silent apart from the rumbling of the car and the faint sound of Anastasia sucking her thumb. She was too old for that sort of habit, but I did not stop her. It was a constant sound that seemed to soothe not only her anxieties but mine as well. One that reminded me of her innocence. The scenery was monotonous in and of itself: just darkness and barren scraggly trees that blended together. I was not sure if the blur was from the darkness or the alcohol coursing through my system. The occasional car would approach in the next lane over, causing me to routinely flick my high beams off and prepare to be blinded by theirs for a good couple of seconds until they realized my presence.
My eyes flickered to the clock on my dashboard, and after squinting, I could make out what I thought to be “10:17.” The graveyard was a fair distance away from our home; my Mother always insisted she be buried by her childhood church.
I missed her. I knew Anastasia missed her too. I glanced in the rearview mirror when I heard the sound of her thumb-sucking cease and figured she’d been fast asleep for the past half an hour at least.
My foggy line of vision traveled back to the road ahead as I noticed another car approaching. This time, this one was red with bright glaring high beams that were not flashing off. I let go of the wheel, tossing my hands up to block the light from searing into my eyes.
By then it was too late.
The impact was too quick to recall.
Red and black smashed together and glass spit down around me. There was a great gust of cold air as the metal carcass of the sedan was scraped open and the car was ravaged by another. It was only when I saw an Uno card, the number seven, flutter in front of my face that I had the strength to turn myself around.
Anastasia was gone.
I knew the moment I saw that Uno deck now sprawled out alongside the asphalt.
All I could do was look towards the empty sky and scream.
“Please God, please bring my baby back to me.”
2024 43 Empty Sky
Cold Flare
The sound of eggs crackling on the stovetop filled Norah’s ears. That, and the ever-so-loud silence between her and her father. Another day, another chance to mend what had been broken between them. But, once again, both Norah and her father remained silent. She was fine with that. As far as she was concerned, her father was the one being an asshole anyways. And, like her, it seemed he was content holding his ground on the issue.
The inviting smell of the eggs cooking in butter offset the quiet tension that was spread heavily throughout the kitchen.
Norah looked over to her father. He was standing beside the stove, peering out the window. The warm sunlight streaming through the windows brightly illuminated the room. She couldn’t see a hint of anger on her father’s face. In fact, he had a small smile. If he was still mad, he was hiding it well. As he started turning to look at her, Norah quickly looked back down at her phone.
She wasn’t overly concerned, though, and after all, she had something else on her mind. Just thinking about going to that store made her let out a heavy sigh. Every day there felt the exact same. It felt as if she was working in memory. But she liked the money. How else was she going to afford her weekly set of clothes? And in the end, that made it worth it. Even if it meant being treated like a robot by a never-ending hoard of customers.
She was counting down the minutes till she had to leave. As her phone’s time ticked to 8:15, she sighed again, knowing she only had 15 minutes left before she had to go.
As she continued scrolling through Instagram mindlessly, she saw a picture of her friend Sarah on vacation in Alaska.
“At least someone is enjoying their summer,” she thought to herself as her eyes drifted up from her phone. Her phone buzzed, and she looked back down to see a text message from Justin.
good morning Gm.
Cant wait to see u today after work.
She watched as the bubble popped up, showing he was typing. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the light coming from the window was suddenly brighter. Looking up, she saw her father squinting as his eyes went back over to the window.
She could suddenly feel the heat of the light on her face as it got even more intense. She looked away as her father raised his arm to cover his eyes. It
Eastern Exposure 44 GREGORY NOWINSKI
…
felt like she had just opened a hot oven and was hit with a wave of heat. Then it started to burn. She looked back for a second to see her father silhouetted by the light, and then, there was a blinding flash. Norah jolted backward in her chair, tipping over and falling backward. The last thing she heard was a loud sizzle before a spike of pain shot through her. ~~~
Norah opened her eyes. She couldn’t see a thing, but she could feel a pain radiating from the back of her head. But what hurt even more was her arm. She felt her arm as she cried out in pain. The texture of her arm felt strange. It was a bit rubbery. She could smell something putrid and burnt.
“Dad?!” She yelled out into the dark and subsequently flinched as she heard the pop of an egg on the stovetop. “Dad! Dad-!” Her yell for her father was cut short as the pain in her arm spiked up again.
Norah reached around, finding her phone on the ground. Squinting as she turned it on. She couldn’t quite make out the screen, so she turned it around to use it as a flashlight. It appeared she had fallen behind the table and hit her head on the cabinet.
Turning the light onto herself, she saw her palm and forearm were covered in second-degree burns.
“Oh- Fuck!” She yelled instinctively.
Though the pain was overwhelming, she realized she had to do something. The first thing on her mind was the need to find her father. She knew he wouldn’t just leave her there. Maybe he had gotten knocked out like her, she thought to herself.
Looking away from the burns and pushing past the pain for a moment, she slowly got up onto her feet. As she stood, the pain coming from the back of her head momentarily got worse. As she tried to rub the bump on the back of her head, she quickly pulled her hand back after touching it with the burns on her hand.
“Goddamn it,” She said, shaking her head, “Dad where the fuck did you go?”
She shined the light from her phone screen across the wall where she knew the light switch was. She flicked it on.
Smoke was rising from the burnt eggs on the stove, drifting out the window into a dark street, and she realized how long she had been knocked out.
Making her way around the table, she froze. At first, she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at, but a moment later, she realized what exactly was on the ground.
2024 45 Cold Flare
On the tile floor was a set of legs, wearing the pants of her father. It was as if he had been cut in half by a laser at the hip—a layer of what appeared to be ash coated the legs and the floor around them.
Norah fell to her knees screaming, screaming as loud as she could. A moment later, she puked. The vomit mixed into the ash on the floor. Then, the tears began.
“Oh god! Dad?! Dad!?”
She desperately tried to blink away the tears as she searched for her phone. She found it on the floor beside her, its screen cracked like a spiderweb. She picked it up and pressed the on button, and thankfully, the screen lit up. There were a number of texts and calls, which she ignored, and immediately dialed 911.
Norah could feel herself becoming light-headed, feeling like she was going to pass out. She tried to control her breathing to no avail. She listened to the phone ringing. As it continued to ring, it felt as if the time between one ring and the next was increasing. Until finally, she heard a voice.
“You have reached 911, please do not hang up” - Beep
Through the tears, she managed to scream, “Pick the fuck up! Please!”
Hanging up, she lowered the phone. “No No, No, Please fucking Pick up! Pick up! Pick up! Please!”
The next thing she saw was a number of texts from Justin, but before she could read it, the phone fell from her hand as a blaring noise overtook her senses.
BEEP! BEEP!
Rasing her hands, she covered her ears. “Ahhh! What the fuck!”
Attention, attention! Fire emergency. Please evacuate the building immediately.
BEEP! BEEP!
The next thing she saw was flames atop the stove.
“Fuck! Fuck!” She yelled out as she got to her feet. Opening a cabinet, she reached in and grabbed a glass. She turned on the water with one hand. Then she filled up the glass, spun over, and dumped it on the flames.
The fire went out in an instant. Norah reached over to turn off the stove, and the burns on her arm were met with hot steam. She yelled out and pulled back her arm but didn’t waste a second turning it off with her other hand.
Norah looked up at the blaring fire alarm. Turning it off was going to be her next problem. But, thankfully, before she could come up with a solution
Eastern Exposure 46
NOWINSKI
GREGORY
the problem resolved itself, and it went quiet.
A sobering silence washed over the room. Norah’s eyes once again teared up as she slowly slid down onto the tile floor. Her head was spinning, and she began to sob uncontrollably. That couldn’t be him, she thought to herself. This had to be a dream. How was this real? This wasn’t real. This just couldn’t be real. However, the pain spiking through her arm told her otherwise.
“What… W-” She tried to speak through the tears. “What… what is happening?”
This had to get better, right? What was she going to do? This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t be real. How could this be happening? What was even happening? How the hell was this actually happening?
As the reality of the situation settled in, she pounded her fist on the floor and yelled out.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” The way she screamed would make one think she had broken her hand.
Her mind buzzed with the same question. What can I do? What do I do?
Her phone buzzed; peering up, she saw it face down in a puddle of her own vomit.
“Shit!”
Scrambling over on her hands and knees, she picked up the phone, wiping off the screen on her jacket.
As the vomit cleared away, a corner of the screen wasn’t working, making her unable to tell how much battery was left. But she could see the rest just fine. The first thing that shocked her was the time: 9:22
Her mind began to spin, her eyes locked on the clock. How could it have been twelve hours? That didn’t make any sense. She stood up and looked out the window, looking out into the blackness. Not even the street lights were on.
Her phone began to vibrate. As her attention was brought back to the screen, the first thing she saw was a bright red warning symbol with the text “Emergency Alert.”
“Attention Citizens of the United States.
This is not a drill.
The sun is gone.
Any organic matter caught in its light was burned to ash.
The time in your region is 9:23 a.m.
And as some of you already know, We are no longer alone.
We do not know what they are.
2024 47 Cold Flare
Do not try to speak with them.
Do not go outside.
Do not answer the door.
Lock all doors and windows.
Do not make excess noise.
Turn off all lights.
We believe they are drawn to light and sound. Prioritize your own survival.
They can be killed, They can be burned. They believe they can snuff us out with shadows alone. What they have failed to understand is that we are the light.”
She stared at the message for a while. She wasn’t sure how long. It felt like she couldn’t take her eyes off of it. Until she eventually forced herself to set down her phone.
Her eyes drifted out the window. She couldn’t see the moon. She couldn’t actually see any stars. The sky was like a black void. She turned to read the alert again.
Knock-Knock-Knock
Norah’s eyes snapped over to the front door.
“Hello?” She called over to the front door. Three knocks again answered her.
Norah peered around the kitchen, and with a shaky and vomit-covered hand, she drew a knife from a drawer.
She held her ground, and the door responded with silence. She could feel her heart racing. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. The knocks continued at a more rapid pace and kept going until she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Stop it!” She yelled out.
Turning to her left, she frantically reached for the window to shut it. Leaning over, she noticed a figure in the front yard.
The knife fell from her hand. Every fiber of her being screamed to run, but her legs wouldn’t comply.
She couldn’t tell if it was the darkness playing tricks with her eyes or if something was actually standing there. Its whole body drifted slightly as if flowing with the wind. It appeared as if its skin was made from living shadows constantly writhing and contorting around themselves. Its six arms, better described as tentacles, twisted their way down its body and into the grass. Its neck was elongated, its face resembled that of a human, but its eyes were mere slits, its mouth a flat circle. It smiled at Norah, revealing countless spirling rows of vivid white teeth.
Eastern Exposure 48 GREGORY NOWINSKI
Its entire face meticulously shifted as its mouth widened. A chorus of screams erupted from deep within the nightmare. The screams slowly distorted into words.
“Norah! Help! Please, Oh God! Oh god please help me-!” Its voice was that of Justin. And as the words slowly turned into screams of visceral agony, she could see a flow of blood and sinew seeping from its mouth. As the liquid continued to pour forth, Justin’s screams became more incoherent until there was silence.
The creature vanished. The only evidence it was ever there was the puddle of bones and ooze sitting still in the grass.
Norah scanned the front yard twice over, and not a trace of it remained. She closed the window and locked it shut before closing the blinds.
Picking her phone back up, she re-read the message. Her eyes were drawn to one specific part. “They can be burned.” Taking a few deep breaths, her hands began to steady. She could feel her heart rate slowly decreasing, and that’s when she finally got an idea.
Stuffing her phone in her pocket, she searched the kitchen. Pulling open a number of drawers until coming across a lighter. Grabbing it, Norah made her way past the front door and up the stairs. In the bathroom, she grabbed a can of hairspray.
Knock-Knock-Knock
She stood at the top of the stairs, staring down at the front door.
Knock-Knock-Knock
Raising the hair spray in one hand and the lighter in the other, she pointed it down the stairs as the black mist once again seeped under the door.
Knock!-Knock!-Knock!
This time, the door shook with every knock. She could see the hairspray shaking in her hand, and again, she focused on her breathing in an attempt to calm herself down.
KNOCK!-KNOCK!-KNOCK!
A crack formed in the wooden door, and one of the hinges came loose.
KNOCK!-KNOCK!-BANG!
The door flew off, and she could see the entity rush inside, its giant shadow-like form coming straight for her. As it made it halfway up the stairs, Norah flicked the lighter on and adjusted her aim with the hairspray. Then, she sprayed in the direction of the terror. A stream of fire hit it in the chest. With an inhuman screech, it was engulfed in flames. Its tentacles began flailing
2024 49 Cold Flare
around, and she ducked to avoid one slamming into her. It tumbled down the stairs, igniting the steps and the walls of the house.
Norah retreated up the stairs. She sprinted into her dad’s room and up to the window. She tossed the hairspray outside and stuffed the lighter in her pocket. Grabbing onto the window, she didn’t waste a second lowering herself outside.
She grabbed the hairspray and began sprinting away from the house. As she made it to a treeline, she peered back. Flames consumed her house. The distant screeching came to a stop.
She could see a number of creatures emerging from the darkness around the house. The flames illuminated their bestial forms. Turning back toward the woods, she continued on into the cold.
Eastern Exposure 50 GREGORY NOWINSKI
A Shot of Whiskey
My father once told me that, in the desert, a man is alone save for the sun in the sky, the pistol at his side, and the steed that he rides on. Truer words have never been spoken. And in that isolation, a man gets to thinking about the many things in life and finds himself wondering about it all. The questions that he asks himself are ones he’d never dare to think of in other environments. Perhaps it’s because there’s none around to judge him for his actions here, so he himself becomes the judge in their stead. And the questions always seem to be why? Why’d you have to let them go? Why’d you have to kill that man? Why’d you have to break your poor mother’s heart? So many questions, and so much time to answer them.
The year was 1888, if I reckon correctly, though my memory can be fuzzy sometimes. As I rode alone atop my palomino, with my hat keeping the bastard sun’s rays from my eyes, I found myself questioning. Of course, I could’ve asked what had driven me to ride so far from home on a sweltering day like that. Why would anyone do something so damned stupid? Yet, I knew the answer, and didn’t need to ask again. Many people would ask it of me, and I could come up with my answer just as quickly. I could tell them it was for money or for freedom. That last answer wouldn’t be far from the truth, though it’d still be a lie to some degree.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky that day. The sun hung there, a drop of gold amidst the vast ocean above. What I would’ve done to swim in that ocean, to feel the coolness of water on my skin, ruddy and roughened from tireless work in the heat, and to escape. Yet, it was out of reach for me, beyond my grasp, and so I was denied. My throat was parched, my lips cracked with jagged canyons, and even my eyes felt singed by the searing heat. The sand was caught everywhere, turning my hair from black almost to brown and trapping itself in my beard too. It was also caught in the once-red scarf that my darling wife Amelia had made for me not long after our wedding. Now, the scarf too had turned a wasting shade of brown in the onslaught of dust and sand, and I was silently glad that she was not here to see it in such a state.
As I led my horse over the last hill, I laid my eyes upon a lonely establishment nestled amidst a valley of crimson, the rock seemingly forged in flames. The building was diminutive compared to the rocks, insignificant in its wind-weathered appearance. The cinnamon colored wood used to build it seemed as if it had been cut down before I was born and left unaided to withstand the whispering desert winds. No roads led in and out of the valley, and minimal light shone through its windows encrusted with sand and soot. If it weren’t for those lights, I’d have assumed that the place was abandoned. I was intrigued by the oddity of this tavern and began approaching it. I
2024 51 IAN HARRINGTON
could’ve asked why it was there, why anyone with any modicum of sanity would choose to build their tavern amidst a wasteland. I should’ve asked that, but who would I pose the question to but the nameless winds?
When I reached its doors, tying my horse up to the post outside, the first thing that I noticed was the sign over the door. Though the paint was scratched and faded, I could still make out the name of the establishment: The Black Dog. Below hung another sign advertising the sale of pomegranates from Californian farms. I thought it an odd choice in these parts, but moved on just as quickly as I pondered it. After that arduous day of riding, I needed a drink and was in no mood to think about strange things.
Inside, little light from the outside desert made its way into the tavern. The streams that did break through the glass caught the otherwise invisible clouds of dust suspended in the musty air. There were candles about the room, burning with dim lights that did combat the darkness, but still left the room in a shroud. As the wind ripped past outside, the whole of the building shuddered, bracing itself for the oncoming dust storm. The beams were moaning, shifting about like the motions of a breathing animal. What stood out most wasn’t the almost decomposing nature of the place. Rather, I was surprised at how empty it was. The place seemed barren, only occupied by the ghostly shadows that clung to the walls. Barren except for one.
At the back of the room was a bar, and behind the bar stood a man. His face was like the moon, a pale glow reflected off of it from the light. He was a man seemingly years past his prime, hair gray with apparent wisdom, yet well-groomed and maintained. The creases in his skin that seemed to multiply with every movement. The clothes he wore were black, blending into the darkness behind him, their details blurred and unfocused. And yet, the smile he wore was warm like a hearth and beckoned for me to come. A man reminiscent of my father in how he held himself, proud like a mountain, yet with apparent kindness that any man would welcome.
“Ahh, good evening, traveler,” he said, his voice gruff as grating stones. “You must be tired, you certainly look it. Come, sit and have a drink.” He reached behind the bar and retrieved a shot glass.
With my hand resting near my holster, an old habit that refused to die, I met him over at the bar. “A shot of whiskey, please.” I laid my hat down on the wood.
He went to work, whistling to himself as he carefully manipulated the bottles with such precision that it became clear just how long he’d been working at this. Then, once the shot had been poured, we began to talk. I will never forget what we spoke about on that day, for it’s not the kind of
Eastern Exposure 52 IAN HARRINGTON
talk that one can forget easily. The kind that sticks with you like a parasite in your mind. The kind that even a drunken stupor can extract from your memory.
“So, what brings you so far out here, Mr…?” He trailed off at the end. “Redding. Erik Redding.” We shook hands and I marveled at how icy his grip was. “I’m just a lone man passing through. Happened to need a drink and a moment to rest.”
“You a resident of these parts?”
I shook my head. “I’m from Tombstone, Arizona. Lived there with my wife Amelia for… Well, for some time now.” It was twenty-five years, in fact, almost to the day, but I didn’t want to talk about her much. The drink was for forgetting, not remembering.
The bartender chuckled, his laugh almost raspy. “That’s pretty damn far from here,” he exclaimed, pouring himself a shot and throwing it back with ease. “What do you do up in Tombstone? You don’t look much like a miner, nor a farming man.”
With a sigh, I ran my hand along my holster. “Bounty hunter.”
The bartender began to polish a glass. “Interesting. A necessary profession, that’s for sure. Can’t have too many unsavory folks milling about.”
“I only deal with the ones the Governor marks for me,” I added. “I get a contract, get told where to go, and go do it. Nothing to it but business.”
“Oh, of course,” he muttered. “What about your wife? She do anything?”
I shook my head and pushed my glass forward for another shot. “No, she doesn’t work. It’s just the two of us.” After he had poured another drink into my glass, I quickly threw it back.
For a while, there was silence. It was then I noticed how cold the room really was, even though the desert outside was molten. Overall, I couldn’t help but feel chilled by the saloon. It was almost like invisible hands were reaching out to gently touch me. Before I could ponder further, though, the old man spoke up again.
“I take it that, as a bounty hunter, you’re very familiar with death?”
I took a while to respond, breathing deeply as the burn of the whiskey began to subside. I had no reason to trust this man, save for that welcoming, almost guiding smile. Yet, he seemed genuine, and I found myself willing to let him be the judge of me instead of myself. Besides, after what I had been through, after what I’d done, what I’d lost, there had to be someone to hear about it.
“A man needs to become familiar with it so that, when it comes for him, he’s prepared.” I held out my shot glass and he slowly filled it up. “I guess
2024 53 A Shot of Whiskey
you could say I’m more familiar with it than most.”
“Do you ever keep track of how many?”
I shook my head.
“But, could you remember each of them if asked?”
I began rocking a bit in my seat. “Most of them, yes. Even if I don’t want to remember, I can’t help it. It’s the nature of the business.”
He nodded, pouring himself another shot. “So, tell me, Mr. Redding. Tell me about the last man you killed, if you’d please.”
I was just about ready to leave the saloon at that question. Such a provoking, personal question to ask, like a judge presiding over a courtroom where I was the defendant. I could’ve, and should’ve left then. I didn’t, because the very nature of him intrigued me. I felt almost compelled to expose what I’d done and let him be the jury before me. I had already come to terms with it, but having another pair of eyes was a prospect that I found appealing.
And so, I told him about that fateful night.
It happened not long before my meeting with the bartender, only about a fortnight. I had received my bounty from the governor, same as usual. It just happened that the target was a man with whom I was rather acquainted. Rex Teller was his name, an old friend who lived right in Tombstone, had been there his whole life, and was a humble miner as far as I knew. The governor, however, seemed to know more. He had dirt on Rex that even I didn’t know. The man was linked with organized crime in the county and the neighboring ones, the ringleader of a bandit gang that terrorized innocent folks. Naturally, he wanted it dealt with.
I had difficulty accepting what I was being charged with doing. Rex and I had known each other since the days of our youth. We played together as boys and our mothers were so close, they were practically sisters. I knew so many things about him that you probably wouldn’t even know about your own neighbor or even your own wife. Things like the name of his childhood pet dog, the first girl he had eyes for, or the kind of guns he preferred to use. He wasn’t some random faceless man I had no mercy for, he was almost like a brother to me. To take his life would be like taking the life of my father. I took the job regardless. I planned on carrying it out to fail. I didn’t want to kill him, didn’t even want to have him arrested for fear he’d be put to death, so I tried to devise a plan for him to run off. I thought to have him fake his death and escape, so that I may have my reward while he would be allowed to continue living. It mattered not to me what he had done, what he was accused of, for he was like my brother. And I cherish the lives of men like that. When I went to meet with him, we first shared a drink. Both our favorites,
Eastern Exposure 54 IAN HARRINGTON
a burning shot of whiskey. And we talked for hours that night about so many things. He asked how Amelia was doing, to which I replied that she was doing well and that things for us couldn’t be better. Before we were married, I’d done my best to keep a distance between Rex and Amelia, knowing of his womanizing tendencies. I once watched as he pursued three different women within the span of a few hours, and rightfully called him out on his doggish behavior.
After all the talking and plenty of drinks, I finally broke the news to him and told him everything. The contract, the fact that I was sent to kill him, and how I wanted to fake his death. Everything. He took it rather well, all things considered, though he was obviously upset that I took the contract at all. I reassured him that he would come out the other side in one piece. We crafted our plan together, down to the most minute details. I couldn’t remember it all after the ordeal, but I remembered us both agreeing on it. He seemed more nervous than I was, but still ready.
The plan fell apart that night.
As agreed, I came to his house late. The lights were all off, not as agreed, yet the door was left unlocked as we had discussed. When I came in and saw the bottle of whiskey on his counter, I knew then that it had begun to crumble. The bastard had gotten himself drunk. Then, I heard the sounds from upstairs. He was still awake, and clearly with somebody else. A familiar voice, not his, and not a man’s voice, spoke above me. He’d brought a witness to the crime scene.
When I entered his room that night to ask what the hell happened, I saw him there in bed, unsurprisingly, with a woman. At first, I didn’t recognize her, though she sounded familiar. Then, she looked out from behind him and I saw that he was in bed with my own wife, Amelia. And the two of them looked at me as if I were the problem, the intruder, and he told me to get out. Get out while he finishes his business.
I felt the rage take over then. My vision blurred. My heart tore itself apart, pounding against my ribcage, begging to break free and rip them apart instead. I couldn’t remember the words said, but I know that I said to both of them things that I swore to never say to people, insults and curses that I couldn’t have otherwise dreamt of. In my anger, I almost missed Rex drawing his own gun on me. He was a slower shot, and I was more prepared. Rage guided my hand, and I felt the light of God leave my soul as I took my shot. Twice on him, once on my wife, and two more hit the bed board and missed entirely. They were dead on the spot, but so was I after what I did.
When I finished my story, the bartender was silent. He poured me
2024 55 A Shot of Whiskey
another shot and I threw it back without hesitation, slamming the glass down with such force that it nearly shattered in my hand.
“Well, son,” he began. “That’s quite something, isn’t it?”
I fidgeted with my shotglass, refusing to make eye contact. “I swore to my wife that I’d never lay a hand on her, never hurt her. Even in my anger, I meant it all for him.” I then slammed my fist on the bar. “I didn’t mean to do it, I swear to you.”
The bartender rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Son, I believe you meant no harm. But killing him in front of her wouldn’t have been good either, and you know that. You’ve done wrong, and you need to… well, you need to rest on that.”
For a while more, we were quiet as mice. I kept my head rested down, feeling the tears streak down my face like trickling mountain streams. I was four shots in and felt nothing. I couldn’t understand why. I still can’t wrap my head around it now. I wanted to swim in the bottle, to take it all in and let the rest fade away. Normally, Amelia was the one who guided my hand. I needed another guide now, yet why when it gave nothing?
The bartender interrupted the silence. “A revolver only carries six shots, Erik, yet you only shot five.”
I only then remembered the gun at my side. In silence, I drew it out and rested it before me. I could still see the blood dried on the barrel. “I’m saving the last one for the man who deserves it the most. The man who was responsible for me being there that night, the man who made me carry out the orders I was given.”
“Can I see?”
I sighed as I lifted the gun up and popped the cylinder out. Yet, when I looked in it, all six chambers were empty. I looked curiously at it. I never remembered firing it a sixth time. “Perhaps I already used it,” I said. “Perhaps the man is already gone, just a ghost left behind now.”
As I sat there, I noticed something on the bar. In a small pot to my left sat a small tree, growing in an erratic and crooked manner up from the soil as any normal tree would. I’d never, in all of my forty-five years, seen anything like it. It looked so simple, so quaint and natural in this unnatural environment. “What’s that for?”
He glanced at it, smiling with a sense of pride. “Oh, that’s a bonsai tree. It’s a Japanese custom to take care of them. A small tree of life in this desert of death.”
“How do you manage it? I’ve never been good at gardening.” I recalled several times when Amelia tried to start a garden by our home, a plan
Eastern Exposure 56 IAN HARRINGTON
that never seemed to go too well.
He poured himself another shot as he spoke. “Well, I am its guide. Its caretaker, if you will. I nurture it and allow it to grow, giving it what it needs to survive. Yet, sometimes, plants need to be cut and culled in order for them to survive. Sometimes, a plant’s parts get damaged or diseased, and must be cut. If you want it to grow a certain way, you need to contain it and manipulate it with your own hands. And, when its time comes, you need to be prepared to throw it away for a new one. Yet, you are always its guide and caretaker. After all, that’s what everyone needs at some point in their life.”
Something about his words made sense, almost lifting my heart from its slumbering sorrow. Not to a height of immense elation, but rather a sense of peace. Perhaps I could go find a new place, a new town if only I had a guide other than the sun. Perhaps.
I closed the cylinder and rested the gun back in my holster, standing up from my chair. “I should probably get going. The road will be long ahead of me.”
He nodded with a smile. “You take care of yourself, Erik Redding. It was good to talk and to have a drink with a man like you.”
The pair of us shook hands, though his didn’t feel so cold this time. “I don’t believe I got your name.”
“Alas, you didn’t. My manners seem to have left me.” He raised his glass in a toast. “I’ve been called many names by many people, but I’ve always been particular to Azrael.”
I tipped my hat. “It was nice to meet you. You take care of yourself.” And then, I turned my back to him.
My father once told me that, in the desert, a man is alone save for the sun in the sky, the pistol at his side, and the steed that he rides on.
Truer words have never been spoken. And yet, there is something else that he forgot to mention that follows a man across the sands. Cast by the piercing sunlight behind him crawls the lingering shadow, the specter that always follows, growing closer to him every day.
I closed the door behind me and faced the burning light.
2024 57 A Shot of Whiskey
COVER ART
Victoria Prignano is a sophomore and is majoring in Early Childhood Education and Communications.
POETRY
Christeena Aaron is a Psychology major with a concentration in Developmental. She is from Meriden, CT, and enjoys baking, crocheting, reading books, and watching movies. She enjoys writing poetry as a creative outlet.
Sierra Madden is a double major in Biology and English with a minor in Psychology. She is from Burrillville, RI. On top of double majoring and multiple school organizations, she is a competitive figure skater.
Lilia Burdo is an English major and Leadership Communication minor from Norwich, CT. She graduated from Eastern in fall 2023 and will continue her education to pursue a master’s in Higher Education Administration in fall 2024. Her poetry focuses on her Chinese American adoptee identity and social justice issues.
Olivia Melillo is a double major in Psychology and English with a concentration in Creative Writing. She is from Bethlehem, CT and an interesting fact about her is that she has three dogs.
Monique Mclean is from Boston, MA. She majors in Business Administration and Women & Gender Studies with a concentration in Marketing. She loves connecting with and learning more about women’s issues.
Rachel Distin is from Willington, CT. She is a double major in Elementary Education and English, with a concentration in Literary Studies. Something interesting about herself is that she loves reading and writing.
Rebecca Barto is currently a graduate student at Eastern pursuing Elementary Education. She loves writing poetry and creative stories and reading other’s work, being in nature, sunshine and enjoying the creative process.
Eastern Exposure 58 Contributors’ Notes
Clelie-Ann Ryan is a writer and aspiring editor from Bloomfield, CT. Currently, she is completing a Bachelor’s in English and a minor in Communications. Her work has previously appeared in Here: a poetry journal and a zine by the name of Connecticunt.
Olivia Gardner is an English major with a concentration in Creative Writing. She plans on getting her masters in Education to teach High School English. She is originally from Cranston, RI, but lives in Griswold, CT.
Sean Domack is an English major with a concentration in Creative Writing. He is from Watertown, CT and spends most of his time reading, writing, and hiking.
Kyle Garneau is currently studying Political Science and Business Administration from South Windsor, CT. In his free time, Kyle enjoys playing board games like Go and Fluxx.
Savion Ross is an Art major with a concentration in Digital Art and Media. He’s from Bloomfield, CT, and he’s been working on creative writing for nearly five years now.
Amarylisse Rodriguez is a Communications major with a minor in English. She’s from Hamden, CT. One interesting fact about her is that she enjoys writing original song lyrics from time to time.
Jordan Wheeler is a Psychology Major from Preston, CT. She is a senior at Eastern. Fun fact, she owns over 300 books.
Samantha Vertucci is a junior English major concentrating in Literary Studies from Newtown, CT. She enjoys writing poetry and editing works.
Will Dube is a freshman English major from Bolton, CT and he is studying to be an author.
Evan Sinisterra is an English major with a concentration in Creative Writing from Berlin, CT. He is a member of Best Buddies and the Pool Club on campus. His favorite thing to write is dark fantasy.
Samuel Perez Lopez is an English major with a concentration in Creative Writing and a minor in Communications. He first discovered creative writing at an academic summer camp in Atlanta, GA in the summer between seventh and eighth grade and has been writing poetry ever since.
2024 59
Havi Brouillard is an English major from Vernon, CT. They’ve been writing poetry for a while now, and they take a lot of inspiration from the world around them, and from their own experiences. They hope to tell stories as a career, whether they be their own stories or others.
Adeba Reza is an English major with a concentration in Creative Writing with a Business Administrator minor. She is from Manchester, CT. She initially disliked writing poetry, but by learning to make her work personalized to herself to share her experiences and her story, she has come to love poetry. Her work typically focuses on love, religion, ethnicity, and childhood.
Mathew Biadun comes from Bristol, CT. He is majoring in History with a minor in Political-Science. He also writes articles for the Campus Lantern, and aspires to publish something. Fun Fact? He writes on a Christmas Dog Note Pad!
ARTWORK
Nina Grim is a sophomore Art major with a concentration in Studio Art. She loves painting, tattooing, and collecting antiques.
FICTION
Kai-li Davey is an English major with a Creative Writing concentration and a Psychology minor. She is from Southbury, CT and looks forward to producing more work shedding a light on Asian representation in storytelling.
Avery Raber is from Colchester, CT and is majoring in Labor Relations and Human Resource Management. Creative writing may have nothing to do with their major, but it is something they continue to pursue for their own enjoyment at the very least.
Gregory Nowinski is a Computer Science major from Tolland, CT. He is interested in writing fiction centered explicitly around post-apocalyptic and horror themes.
Ian Harrington is an English major concentrating in Creative Writing who is a sophomore. He is from Cheshire, CT. Something interesting about him is that he has been working on a fantasy novel since the tenth grade.
Eastern Exposure 60
