W i n g s p a n 2016 1
Volume 16 Fall 2016 Jefferson State Community College Editor: Sharon DeVaney-Lovinguth Production & Design: Greg McCallister
Cover photo: Greg McCallister
Editorial Policy Wingspan is an annual literary and visual arts publication of Jefferson State Community College in Birmingham, Alabama. Its purpose is to act as a creative outlet for students, faculty, alumni and residents of the surrounding area, thus encouraging and fostering an appreciation for the creative process. The works included in this journal are reviewed and selected by a faculty advisor on the basis of originality, graceful use of language, clarity of thought and the presence of an individual style. The nature of literature is not to advance a religious or political agenda, but to raise universal questions about human nature and to engage reaction. Therefore, the experience of literature is bound to involve controversial subject matter at times. The college supports the students’ right to a free search for truth and its exposition. In pursuit of that goal, however, advisors reserve the right to edit submissions as is necessary for suitable print. Appropriateness of material is defined in part as that which will “promote community and civic well-being, provide insight into different cultural perspectives and expand the intellectual development of students.� The opinions expressed are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of the college administration, faculty or staff. Letters to the editor or information on submission guidelines can be obtained by e-mail at lovinguth@jjeffersonstate.edu. All rights revert to the author/artist upon publication.
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Sigma Kappa Delta is the national English honor society for two-year colleges. The purpose of the society is to reward and encourage outstanding student achievement in English language and literature. Sigma Kappa Delta provides opportunities for advancing the study of language and literature, developing writing skills, meeting scholars and writers, attending conferences, submitting work for publication, and winning scholarships and awards. Students also receive recognition of their membership in Sigma Kappa Delta on their transcripts and at graduation by wearing honor cords.
Each year, SKD members assist in the production of Wingspan by soliciting, reviewing and selecting submissions for publication.
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Poetry
Shai Hunter
Morgan McLain 4
Poem for Sharon All I want for the rest of my life Is a few good books, a plate of Mom’s fried chicken, a galaxy xy of friendly smiles** For the rest of my life, I want a poem made of 100,000 stanzas, I want to sing a never-ending song. For the rest of my life I want life, whole and sweet. Ashley Jones
Sacred Oracles A noble bright gleam eradicates the landscape. A territory so vast and yet filled with air amidst a majestic reservoir. A man made miracle solemnly instilled peacefully to the naked eye. A silky film of relaxation releases as the moon replaces the sun. As it awakens, tyrant vessels disturb the everlasting drift of slumber. Rebecca Chambers
small talk Did you hear about the blind man? The deaf, mute? Yes. He died. Did he know? Who knows? He died of thirst. Don’t we all. They found him on the bank of the river. The one his brother drowned in? The same. Connor Strickland
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Visions of a Black Woman As I kneel at your feet, I’m truly blessed by your presents. You are the where my life began, As we lay in the Garden of Eden. I can’t take my eyes off your mocha skin until I had to sin just to get even closer to you. We made a great nation, you are remembered in time as my ascetic rib. But you are the creator of life on Earth. So Eve I will always Love You throughout time. Chandra Cheese
Broken Some may look at me and say I’m broken, choking on what to say about what I can’t do anymore, but I say I can do. I don’t focus on my disability; I focus on my ability. I’m not broken. Some may see a smiling face and a positive can-do attitude, and that is very true. Broken things need to be fixed, and handled with care, and again I’m not broken. Some days are hard, and my body feels like it’s coming apart, but never the thought of what I can’t do. Broken is not my state of mind. William Dunning
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One Rainy Day How does someone just walk away? After telling you every day, “I Love You! How do they just, get on a bus? Never mind anymore, us . . . How do they just dump all their memories? Yet, insist there’s no one “new” on the scene. Do they forget your face and all the things that existed between you get erased? How do they eat and sleep next to you? Look in your eyes and whisper, “I love you, too.” Then turn and walk away . . . One Rainy Day. Next comes the arguing, the break-up and fights. The endless craze and the sleepless nights. Till heartbreak leaves you without a will and a way. Soul so dry that there’s nothing left to say. When they know in their heart they were a part of you. Do they ever get sad or even feel blue? How do you cry in the arms of your lover, Only one day to become strangers to each other? Don’t they miss your face, or remember the taste of each kiss . . . How in the hell did we end up like this? How long will I wait and wait on you? Can’t help loving you the way I do. Something so precious between us just fell apart and went away. Sad to say . . . One Rainy Day! Carol D. Humphrey
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Signals 1 My father’s driving, right hand on the wheel, the chuff of his left on the chrome window ledge. Smoke slipstreams past the backseat, where my brothers and I line up, not quite side by side. The youngest, riding the hump, floats a head taller like an ebony piano key above the white. I’m hugging The Code Breakers, but reading in a car makes me sick, so I can’t open it. My brothers whisper terse threats, cupping their ears to show they can send but can’t receive. Before he makes a turn, my father parks his cigarette between his lips. Hand over hand, in a helmsman’s motion, he rotates the wheel, then returns the cigarette to its station between the knuckles of his first two fingers. Forearm out the window again, he flicks ashes with a tap of his nail. His taut blue eyes never swerve from the road.
2 On Saturday my father, like a solitary mariner, makes his own lunch from the contents of small metal packets impervious to heat and rain. He breaks the key off the side of the tin, fits the shaft into a slot at one corner and twists. The cover curls open. Inside, the fish line up intact, iridescent silver in their bed of oil. My father forks them out one by one, careful not to shred their grey-pink flesh. He arranges them neatly on a slice of white bread. He takes a coffee cup to the sink, runs a few drops of cold water into the bottom, spoons in dry mustard from a tin and stirs with a butter knife. When I bend over the cup the mixture’s so pungent it burns my nostrils. On the package of cigarettes beside his plate, under a target, a message: LS/MFT. If you read the ads you know the code: Lucky Strike means fine tobacco.
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3 My father is getting ready to take my picture, not a snapshot, but a real camera portrait. On the mantel next to his car keys, squat and implacable, his Leica surveys the living room. I’ve approached and inhaled its scent: leather, palm-warmed nickel, rigid pre-war plastic. Even the lens gives off a skeptical lunar aroma. As he considers the set-up–vinyl footstool ringed with silver-hooded flood lamps—my father snaps open a matchbook with his thumb and tears off a cardboard stem. He tucks the message— Close cover before striking—under the emory-coated flap. With his scrape a flush of sulphur, then the flame. He hunches, cupping the match as if guarding a feeble light in a strong wind. Prickly in mohair, I try to keep knees together, hands on lap, but soon I’m squirming. My father reads his light meter, adjusts the lamps. It takes a long time to get everything right.
4 My father is practicing Morse code at the dining-room table, pressing a black key cupped in the center for the ball of his finger. The key hits a silver plate and makes a tiny click. His code book lies open at his elbow, but his glasses ride the top of his head. My father is trying not to read, trying to remember dots and dashes. He flattens his cigarette, crushing the ashes into the bottom of the copper saucer my brother made in school. He creases the stub exactly in half. I’m standing behind him in my pyjamas, waiting to say good-night. My father is practicing tapping out bulletins in case he’s ever in trouble, say, torpedoed in a sub, all gauges stuck, acrid smoke spilling from the doors of the engine room, fish grazing his cuffs with their razor-thin gills, the last match slipping from his fingers. He’d fumble in the dark until he finds the black key, presses down, and makes contact. Mary Kaiser
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Electric Technicolor Hurtling through the asteroid belt, I am running out of options, Out of masses of land whizzing past That I can somehow grab onto. I remain without a reason For the loss of myself, As if having a reason would help at all. As if simply knowing why somehow cures what ails us, When knowing why should in theory be the easy part. The hard work, building new, tearing down old, and being what never was Comes after knowing why. Knowing why is nothing, And yet we put it on some sort of pedestal. I suppose the roots of this behavior Are somewhere in our chemical makeup, The sort of thing that can’t really be rewritten, But there again, if we only knew WHY Then perhaps we would have a line of defense, And when we acted in such a way, A way that is hungry for answers, We would know the answer, And simply say, “That’s just part of who we are, As proven by bored and boring scientists, And there is no reason to indulge in such a feeling.” What a beautiful discovery THAT would be. Christian Holt
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In loving memory and honor of Mr. Jack Johnson Wishing We wish and we wish but why? we are always wishing for peace, love, and happiness, fame and fortune. why don’t we stop wishing for the things we don’t need and wish for those we do need things like a better cure for cancer, or for family to come closer together, or just simply for all of the drama in our lives to go away forever. Jessica Mack
Ghosts of Tomorrow Ghosts of tomorrow haunt me today Running in fear of what could’ve been Paranoid shallow breaths Fumbled words, Asphyxiated emotion, All wrapped too tight inside my trembling body Exhausted, Catatonic eyes devoid of hope The strings of my heart are the only things that remain red That’s the haunting, The possession is worse Involuntary intoxication & Sedation Memories clear as Summer days Recall moments darker than winter nights Iron is my only escape I’m afraid I live in a future without you Ghosts of Tomorrow haunt me until I have no tomorrow But perhaps I’m the Ghost I often see you, very much alive Each time, it’s me who dies a little more inside. Cody O’Neal
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Photograph All your short life it has been hard To get a good picture of you. I never understood why, looking at the lens for you Was like looking into the sun for me, Until today. As I sat in my office looking at the best picture We have ever gotten of you, I realized. It’s not in you. Good pictures simply Are not there. It’s not your fault, I realized. They’re simply not there. The photo on my bare sheet-rocked office wall Shows you sitting on a log, knees together, hand on Your mother’s knee, grinning widely, showing your teeth, And that’s when I realized. It’s not your fault. Good photo skills – They’re simply not there. There’s skill in faking a smile for a camera, Of pretending to be laughing when you are not, And acting like you are in the happiest of moments when You are simply posing, and despite our wishes, You simply do not have those skills. As I continue to stare deep into this picture – the best one – I realize why it looks so good. I remember the photographer Teasing you, drawing you out, making you laugh – genuinely, And that’s the smiling blue eyes looking into the lens. Some would say this inability is a disability, But I would disagree. It’s an innocence. You cannot lie, And faking a smile, faking a laugh, faking life, is a lie. It’s simply not in you. Promise me You won’t ever lose that innocence. Experience brings death. You are too full of life and the stuff of life To be bothered with death. Staring at those high-arched smiling cheeks, My heart soars and is full. A fullness that is real and not feigned, Just like every fiber of you. Brian Rockett
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I Am From I am from a city, founded on steel and iron I am from the west egg of the magic city I am from a loving, big family, originated from long lines of success I am from days filled with luxurious vacations and nights full of parties I am from a stable foundation and a life of happiness I am from the state of “Roll Tides” and “War Eagles” Philicia Stapleton
History They walked into the field as boys unnerved With guns at hip not knowing what’s ahead Prayers between the few go unanswered For soon each one of them just might be dead The enemy appears out of thin air A miracle is what they are hoping for The general can only stop and stare They push forward not knowing what’s in store Before today these boys were young, naïve But now they stand as men and fight for life Surrounded by all sides they cannot leave It dawns that this will be their final strife With valiant effort each soldier falls To be remembered in museum halls Sean Thompson
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Even with
Even with the seas so rough, my heart will remain with the music within.
Savannah Turner
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No Responsibility
Driving at night, following the light, that precedes me. Darkness dancing on the edges, of my peripheral. Windows down, all the way, the wind, he, kisses my face, with air bubbles of laughter, congratulating me on my new found freedom. My hair reeling in jealousy, Starts to whip against my cheeks. Disciplining me for being out so late. Guilt decides that the latter is true. So I ride home before the sky gets too blue, Parking in the backyard and sleeping in the car. Joy Walls
Math Dragging an anvil by dental floss up A steep, rocky slope. Chalk grinding and squeaking on a green board without hope. X, Y, and P scurrying in my head like cockroaches in A garbage can. Malfunctioning GPS Arrival at destination, in the weeds with no solutions. Mary Yahn
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Fiction
Olivia Brockman 16
“She’s a Nightmare and a Dream” By Rachel Martin “You know you’re going to drink yourself to death, right?” Her dark hair fell in front of her left eye. She cocked her head smoothly to bounce it back into place. Her voice was soft and sultry. She sat in my living room, legs propped out in front of her on a couch that’s seen it all. Her billowing skirt puddled at the floor. Golden lamplight haloed her face and exposed the flyaway hairs she tried so hard to hide. “Maybe I will,” I slurred. The room was a thick cloud of smoke as I puffed on my cigarette, burning it to the butt and immediately lighting another one. I tipped my glass, well, plastic, to take another swig. Nothing. Ice slid down the smooth edges of the cup and kissed my lips with a piercing chill. “Damn,” I huffed. I slammed my legs down and folded the recliner back into place. Ashes jumped out of the fabric with the movement and the metal joints creaked. She sighed and repositioned herself to watch me make my way to the kitchen for a refill. I grabbed a chunk of ice from the freezer. The once-white refrigerator was yellowing and covered in family photos, crispy with age. “Damn ice maker, never worked right,” I muttered under my breath as I reached behind the cookie jar to find my secret stash. Thin arms wrapped around my waist. The sudden contact made me jump. A breathy whisper of a laugh tickled my earlobe. “I’m sorry, did I scare you?” I shrugged her off and continued mixing my drink. “Hmmm,” she said, tapping her bare feet against the cold linoleum, a sticky slap following each rotation of her ankle. ”I said, ‘hmmm’,” she urged. I slammed the stirring stick down on the counter with a clank, “what?!” “What do you think those pretty babies of yours would think if they saw you now? If they knew you were dancing with me...” her speech sloped off and she draped herself across my shoulder blades, letting her long hair hang over onto my chest. “Do you think they’d mind?” I turned my head to see her pout in my peripheral vision. I turned to stroke her hair, undeniably soft. “What does it matter?” I whispered. I took a deep breath in and inhaled her holy scent, closing my eyes, heavy with alcohol, I struggled to open them. There I stood, in the kitchen, alone. I turned back to the counter, grabbed my drink and trudged back to the recliner. Where had that vixen gone to? I settled back into my throne, extended the footrest and settled in, took another swig and exhaled deeply. That burn never gets old. “Did you miss me?” She hissed. She was exactly as she sat before, draped across my couch. Startled, I jumped slightly. My face burned, but I hoped she chalked it up to what I was sipping on. ”Jumpy today, aren’t we?” she laughed her throaty, sexy laugh. She moved her legs to reach the floor, effortlessly and graceful. She stood up as if she was floating. She moved her face right next to mine, “you’re right you know, it doesn’t matter what they think . . . because they don’t care.” A knot tied itself in my throat, so thick I was sure it was bulging out of my neck. “That’s not . . .” “Shhhhhhh,” she whispered, her breath tickling the hairs lining my ear. “It’s okay, you don’t need them, you don’t need anyone . . .” “I . . .” She reached around me, grabbed my heavy arm and lifted it, tilting my glass to my lips. “Drink up,” she soothed. Her velvety voice sent chills through my body. “I made this one special, just for you.”
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I gulped down every last drop until the ice clinked against my teeth. The room began to close in on me, the light began to fade. I had to consciously will my eyes to stay open. My breathing became low and steady. I could feel my heartbeat reverberate in every inch of me and hesitate alongside my breaths. I turned my head, the weight of it slowing me down. Couch: empty. I was alone again. Her words echoed throughout the room. “They don’t care” “Drink up” “They don’t care” “They don’t care” “You’re going to drink yourself to death” “They don’t care” My entire body was weighted by the air in the room, pressing down on me. Breathing became increasingly difficult. Finally, I succumbed, I let my eyes flutter closed and shut out this nightmare of an empty house: this ugly recliner, worn couch, and aging fridge. What’s the point?
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“Hell” By Annalee Osborn Hell is cloudy eyes that, like vines, twist and pull the troubled soul to its ocular surface, it is the stench of rubbing alcohol fuming from a gaping mouth, it is a hand curled around an empty bottle, and it is slurred speech, a voice that is meek with inner aching, curating incoherent responses to concerned questions. Hell is a void one screams into to combat the perpetual aching the soul, but the void is always silent and it never shifts, is always unyielding. It is the continual but slow dripping of a faucet, grains of sand moving through an hourglass, the ring of white noise in the ears. Hell is like a scratch on a vinyl, a single track on loop, repeating the same word, over and over and over again. There is a heaviness associated with hell that is equivalent to an anchor – being rooted in the same spot, unable to move, just stuck with the same view, the same feeling, the same sound, the same smell, the same taste. Hell’s foundation is paved with empty words and broken promises, and through the cracked surface spawns a bare skeleton of an unfinished structure, giving way to its impending decay with a low screech, wobbling against the loose screws barely securing it to its foundation. Its screech is a siren of pity and lonesomeness, a cry that reverberates through the chest of the afflicted, nudges the heart into an uneven rhythm, chills the blood sustaining the veins. Hell is filled with demons who are named addiction, depression, anxiety, and like a parasite, they gnaw at the supple flesh of the host until there is nothing but a skeleton, screeching, begging for redemption, begging for release. Hell is darkness that will never be relieved by light, it is a numbing coldness that evolves into a raging fire, until the two sensations can no longer be differentiated and feel like the same thing. Hell is not a single, defined place – it is many places, many vices, many sensations, united.
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“Close Call in a Southern Town” By Mica Hemingway
The Middletown Cookbook Committee met every September on the second Tuesday following the start of Rockland Woods Elementary. Ladies in hats, carrying shawls or parasols to shield their white skin from the sun, stepped into the mayor’s living room (as it was customary for the mayor’s wife to host such events) and sat in neatly lined rows of wooden folding chairs. On this particular afternoon, Jessie May Whitaker, the principal’s wife, and Sally Jo Hobson, co-owner of Incredible Edibles and the previous year’s cookbook editor, were seated beside each other. “Lovely day today, though the sun’s a bit hot,” said Jessie Mae, tilting her white starched linen hat into a jauntier angle. Sally Jo agreed and the two sat in companionable silence until the mayor’s wife, Rosemary Baker, walked into the parlor pushing a silver tray of cucumber sandwiches. “What do you think of Rosemary’s new look?” Sally Jo asked, leaning close to Jessie Mae so she wouldn’t be overheard. “I believe she looks younger.” Jessie Mae studied Rosemary for a moment, then remarked that she did, indeed, look years younger than she had at the previous month’s library potluck. “Maybe it’s something she puts in the cucumber sandwiches,” she continued, leaning over in her seat to observe Rosemary more closely. “What’s in the cucumber sandwiches?” Bernadine Vette (called Sugar Bean by everyone since her tenth birthday) asked, her brows pulled together in a thin, penciled line.
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“Something’s wrong with the sandwiches?” Allison Stowe asked from behind Sugar Bean’s shoulder. At that very moment, Janice Fieldstone, the current chairwoman of the cookbook committee, walked to the front of the room and rang a small brass bell she pulled from her purse. The four women leaned over in their seats, staring intently at the tray of sandwiches as Janice exulted over the new appetizer section, which promised to make this year’s cookbook the finest in Middletown history. Edith Wharley, the church organist, noticed the women staring at the sandwiches and tapped her neighbor, Sara Mills, who in turn tapped the minister’s wife, Samantha Lippit. “What are they looking at?” Samantha mouthed to Edith. “Something about the cucumber sandwiches,” Edith whispered, looking puzzled. “Something’s wrong with the cucumbers!” Rebecca Winter, who had been seated quietly beside Allison Stowe until that moment, exclaimed as she stood up, spilling her purse onto the floor. Three women in the back of the room gasped and covered their mouths with gloved hands. At the front of the room, Janice Fieldstone continued her presentation about appetizers. “I can’t eat spoiled cucumbers!” said a woman in a pink felt hat. “The cucumbers are rotten!” remarked one in purple cotton. “I heard of a boy who nearly died from a vegetable mold!” Jenny Mayo, Rockland Woods’s PTA leader exclaimed, her fingers splayed against her lips in horror.
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“The sandwiches are poisonous!” someone screamed from the back of the room. The women rose in a flutter of fallen purses and parasols and lunged like pigeons into the aisles between the folding chairs. “The mayor’s wife is trying to kill us!” Abigail Martin yelled, pushing at Edith Wharley’s back. “Get out of my way!” “The mayor’s wife couldn’t have known!” said Jenny Mayo—who felt obligated to defend Rosemary, as it had been she who had brought the poisonous mold to everyone’s attention in the first place. “It was Mr. Deacon, the grocer!” said a stout woman in beige, open-toed heels. “He sold her the rotten cucumbers!” “Look!” Sarah Mills screamed. The women froze, and looking in the direction Sarah pointed, gasped in unison as they observed Rosemary bringing a sandwich to her lips. Rebecca Winter, by far the heaviest in the group, barreled through the women and knocked Rosemary to the floor just before she took a bite. Later that evening, Edith Wharley, put in charge of keeping the minutes of the meeting by Janice Fieldstone, entered the following: Discussed new appetizer addition to the cookbook. Moved the “Freezes Beautifully” section behind the desserts. Voted unanimously to dismiss Rosemary Baker as the official hostess of the Cookbook Committee, as she quite nearly served us cucumber sandwiches containing a poisonous mold. Although it is the consensus of the group the grocer led Rosemary to believe the cucumbers were safe when she bought them, hopefully this will teach her not to believe everything she hears.
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“Prologue” (A Work in Progress) By Audrey House We are walking home from school together. I look at my sister. She looks the opposite of me, so fragile but she isn’t. I know this. For eleven she is short for her age and she is pale and skinny. Her brown hair is cut short. It still pains me to see it. It was long until a few months ago. Greg was holding her up by her hair. Somehow I had gotten a knife and cut of the part he was holding her by then rushed her into the room. I run my hand through it. I did the best I could with it but it still looks horrible. she looks up at me with her bright blue eyes. “What’s wrong?” her eyes are full of concern. “Do you know what today is?” I ask as I pull her into a hug. “Yes, it’s your eighteenth birthday.” She lights up with a smile, making me wish it was a happy occasion. “Do you know what happens on our birthdays?” Her smile disappears and she buries her head in my chest. It was her birthday when I had to chop off her hair. That’s the closest our godparents had ever gotten to hurting her, too close if you ask me. Our parents died three years ago and we moved in with our distant relatives that they had named as godparents. We didn’t even know these people and what made it worse after a month of being there that is when the abuse started. I do my best to protect Abelia but I don’t know what will happen after today. I’m a legal adult. Who knows what they will do? “Ok, Abelia, I need you to go in the house quietly and go to the room lock the door and hide in the closet.” “No, Lexus, I want to stay with you.” Her voice quivers as she tightens her arms around me. “You can’t” I yell and she cringes back. I feel bad as I remove her arms and squat down so I am shorter than her and hold her hands as I look at them. “I need you to do this for me. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you got hurt.” I start shaking at the thought of it. She takes backs her hands drawing my attention to her face. Her eyes look at me so gently that I almost can’t stand it. Then finally she gives me a nod. We walk the last half mile down the empty road to their house hand in hand. I can feel her trembling. She knows the truth. That I might not survive the night. I look at the sun as it sets. It’s beautiful orange, pink, and purple sky, but it sends a chill through my body. The sun itself is blood red the same as the day our parents died. Someone will die tonight. When we reach the house I slowly open the door. The light is on but no one is in the living room. We hurry silently upstairs and I push Abelia in our room with our stuff and close the door. I hear her lock the door right before a hand lands on my shoulder. It’s Greg; I can tell by the smell of his cologne. He squeezes hard on my shoulder, and I have to cover my mouth to keep from squealing. He puts his head beside my ear. “How are you Lex?” He bites my ear and I elbow him in the stomach. As he doubles over I run past him. “That wasn’t very nice Lex.” He gets out in between gasp for air. I run down the steps as he yells, “Carroll, she is home.” Carroll opens the door to their room at the bottom of the stairs and looks up at me. “Yay, now we can give her her birthday gift.” I jump over the rail and run the opposite way towards the kitchen. I turn the corner to reach the knives but my foot gets caught on one of the chairs, and I fall on my face. “Aww, the poor birthday girl fell down.” Looking up I see her beautiful face is twisted in sick pleasure just like her personality. “Were you trying to reach one of these.” She pulls the butcher knife out of the block. She waves it in front of her face. I jump to my feet to protect myself but Greg pulls me by the back of my collar slamming me against the wall. The impact knocks the breath out of me. Greg puts his hand around my neck then punches me in the 23
stomach. Once I catch my breath I look at them. You can tell that they are brother and sister, with their black hair, pale skin, and tall, strong build. You would even say that I could be their sibling. The only difference is our eyes; they have brown eyes, I have gray and when the light catches just right you can see the green specks in them. Greg gets an evil smile on his face. “You know now that you’re eighteen I can do whatever I want to you.” He licks his lips. He has always been watching me, and trying to feel me. He presses his lips to mine and with his free hand he grabs my chest. I knee him in between his legs and he lets go of me to grab down there. “Get your filthy hands off me.” Carroll starts to charge me and I push Greg into her. Turning to run I try to think of something to be able to protect myself. I head into the living room with Carrol not far behind me. I turn to face her as she tries to stab me I dodged just in time And she stabs the couch. She backhands me and causes me to fall into a small table knocking it over and breaking the lamp on it. Blood starts running down the side of my head mixing with my hair. She is still trying to free the knife from the back of the couch. As I get up she gives up on it and grabs me by my shirt and throws me against the couch, knocking the couch over. I fall to the floor with her standing over me. She takes one step towards me and I kick her legs out from under her, and run back into the kitchen. Greg is still laying in the floor. I run past him to grab one of the knives, when he grabs my ankle pulling it out from under me. Greg rolls me onto my back and sits on top of my stomach, and stabs the floor beside my head nicking my cheek. He has an evil gleam in his eye. “Are you going to accept me now along with the situation you’re in?” I look behind him to see Carroll. “It is hopeless. It has always been hopeless. The only reason you have not died is because we don’t want to kill you. We never have. You are too much fun. But now it is time for you to accept your fate and be a good girl and let me do as I wish.” He is right. I have always known this, but I will never give up because I know there is one spot I have always won and that is Abelia. I have always been able to protect her. “I will never give up.” I know it’s hopeless that they will always hurt me as long as I’m here and there are two of them and one of me, but maybe tonight will be the night I can separate them. His laugh is so malicious and spine-chilling I feel it deep in my bones. “Well I guess it wouldn’t be any fun if you just gave up.” He pulls the knife out of the floor and sticks it on the inside of my shirt and starts to cut it open. He gets to my bra when I punch him in the face knocking him off of me. Carroll squats down to check on him as I go back into the living room. I get to the front door and open it when Greg is right behind me. “Where do you think you’re going? You know what will happen if you take one step out of this house without our permission. We will go after your sister.” I turn around to face him and smile. His smile disappears and is replaced by a look of confusion. “I’m not going anywhere, but you on the other hand have somewhere to be.” I grab his hand. “What are you…” Before he can finish I pull as hard as I can and throw him down the three step outside the front door then close the door and lock it. He is pounding on the door yelling at me to let him in when Carroll drags me to the ground by my hair. “What do you think you’re doing?” I grab her arm and pull her down while at the same time kicking her in the stomach. She falls to the ground. I grab her by the collar pulling her back to her feet. She puts her arms up to protect her face but that’s alright. I get several punches to the stomach while holding her up by her collar. Next thing I know I hear wood
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splinter and I turn around to see Greg has broken the door down. I was hoping it would take him longer to cool down to do that. He pulls me off his sister and throws me onto the loveseat. He comes at me with the knife and I dodge as he shreds the couch. I fall over the coffee table breaking a glass vase and getting pieces in my hands. He comes at me and I put my arms up to protect myself and he slashes my arm. Carroll comes up beside him. “Let me have that. I want some payback.” He gives her the knife. My vision is starting to get blurry from the loss of blood. She pushes me on my back and leaves a gash on my side. They cut me a few more times and it is obvious they have lost interest in me. “She is not fun like this.” Greg says disappointedly. “Lets go play with the little one then.” Carrol says with excitement. “You hear that Lex.” He gets down on his knees beside me and puts his hand on my check. “We are going to go play with your sister now. You’re not entertaining us anymore.” I’m to the point where I am about to pass out. “Nnnnooo,” I whisper. He leans down so his mouth is to my ear. “Don’t worry Lex, you will always be my favorite.” He then kisses me on the lips and heads up the stairs with Carroll. I cannot move, I’m using all my energy to stay awake. A scream sounds through the house. They found her in her hiding spot. “No, no let go of me.” There is silence for a moment. “What are you gonna do with that?” She lets out a blood curling scream. I must protect Abelia. That was the last thought that ran through my mind. “Lexus, Lexus snap out of it.” I look down to see Abelia. She is clinging to me with a frightened look on her face. “How did I get here? What is goi...” That is when I see it. Greg and Carroll are laying in the middle of the floor of our room dead. “What happened? “ I stare at them for a moment. There is blood everywhere. You can barely recognize their faces with the look of horror they have. I look down in my hand to see a knife I have never seen before. Next thing I know it is retreating into my wrist. I look at Abelia and she is staring wide eyed at my wrist. It’s not my imagination. I look back to see it is gone and my wrist looks like nothing happened. No matter how I turned it, it looked the same as always. I look back at the bodies. I don’t have time for this.We have to do something quick. “Abelia,” she continues staring at my wrist like she can’t hear me. “Abelia” I clap hands this time and she snaps back to reality. “Whaaaattttt,” she looks confused like she doesn’t know where to start. “I don’t know what’s going on. We will have to figure that out later. Right now we have bigger problems.” I feel my head getting dizzy again. I don’t have long before I pass out. “Listen closely to what I say. I’m only gonna say it once. This what I need you to do.”
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Non-Fiction
Ashley Brook James 26
“16 for 2016” A Historical Offering of Absolutely True, Very Funny, and Just Plain Silly Presidential Political Lines By Zac Alexander
The 2016 election has been a very hotly contested and often vicious affair. Thus, this is my humble attempt to cast aside such bitterness and infuse you all with the best of medicines: good humor! I now offer up to you our loyal Wingspan readers 16 examples, since it is 2016, of wonderful presidential political humor. I encourage you to forget the current day political situation, laugh at these funny lines, and share them with those you care about. Heck, share them with those you do not like, too. Nothing builds bonds like two people enjoying a good laugh together! 1. President Abraham Lincoln once said of a particularly lengthy speaker, “He can compress the most words into the smallest ideas of any man I ever met.” 2. “When they call the roll in the Senate, the senators do not know whether to answer ‘present’ or ‘not guilty.’” – President Theodore Roosevelt on corruption in the U.S Senate. 3. President Calvin Coolidge chose against running for another term in 1928. Regarding this choice, a reporter asked him, “Why don’t you want to be president anymore?” President Coolidge replied: “Because there’s no chance for advancement.” 4. At a White House visit, the NFL’s Chicago Bears star player Red Grange and Head Coach George Halas were introduced to President Calvin Coolidge. Upon learning the two gentlemen were with the Chicago Bears, Coolidge stated “Glad to meet you fellows. I always did like animal acts.” 5.”I remember when I first came to Washington. For the first six months you wonder how the hell you ever got here. For the next six months you wonder how the hell the rest of them ever got here.” - President Harry Truman reflecting on his initial experience as a U.S. Senator. 6. “My choice early in life was between whether to be a piano player in a whorehouse or a politician. And to tell the truth, there’s hardly any difference.” President Harry Truman 7. In the lead up to the 1960 Presidential Election, a reporter asked then President Dwight Eisenhower if he could name a major policy idea that his two term Vice President Richard Nixon, the 1960 Republican Presidential Nominee, had come up with during the previous eight years. President Eisenhower sarcastically quipped, “If you give me a week, I might think of one.” 8. “Let’s not talk so much about vice. I’m against vice in any form,” President John Kennedy once responded to a friend that suggested it might be in his best political interest to be Vice President before running for the top job.
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9. President John Kennedy, while humorously addressing the wealth and influence of his father Joseph Kennedy, stated he once got a message from his father that said “Dear Jack, Don’t buy a single vote more than is necessary. I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay for a landslide.” 10. Another funny quote by President Kennedy about his rich and powerful father: “I announced earlier this year that I would not consider campaign contributions as a substitute for experience in appointing foreign ambassadors. Ever since I made that statement, I have not received one single cent from my father.” 11. When Republican Richard Nixon ran for President in 1968, Democrats hired pregnant women to show up at his rallies wearing T-shirts that read “Nixon’s the One.” 12. Senator Bob Dole told a story about a dinner event where he saw former Presidents Gerald Ford, Jimmy Carter, and Richard Nixon standing together on a podium. Dole pointed to them and exclaimed “Look! Hear no Evil (Ford), See no Evil (Carter), and Evil (Nixon).” 13. President Ronald Reagan on concerns about his age: “Thomas Jefferson once said, ‘We should never judge a president by his age, only by his works.’ And ever since he told me that, I stopped worrying.” 14. President Ronald Reagan on the corrupt nature of politics: “Politics is supposed to be the second oldest profession. I have come to realize that it bears a very close resemblance to the first.” 15.”I will not make age an issue of this campaign. I am not going to exploit, for political purposes, my opponent’s youth and inexperience,” Ronald Reagan said at the 2nd 1984 presidential debate, when he was asked if he was too old to be President. 16. “Being president is like running a cemetery: you’ve got a lot of people under you and nobody’s listening.” – President Bill Clinton
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“My Transcendental Path� By Esteban Arnold
I am walking on a path that has clearly been travelled before. There is no one else. It is simply me and Mother Nature. I feel scared, skeptical, and cautious as I enter a world that no longer pertains to the modern world. This is a new world for me, a place that has been left undisturbed for quite some time. It is a world that is filled with simple yet complex curiosities. I am left in awe as I look up at the tall, strong oak trees that overbear me at Moss Rock Preserve. These are not sights that I am used to seeing as I look at the bright blue sky, powdered with white puffs of clouds. Birds all flock from tree to tree, as I hear their young chirping for food, and watch squirrels dash quickly from branch to branch. This world is far unlike the one that I was raised to grow and embrace. The world I am accustomed to is still overwhelming, but rather than enormous trees there are monumental buildings. Rather than the sounds of the wind blowing through the branches and carrying away leaves, or the sound of water dripping stealthily through the rocks at the nearby stream, there is simply the echoing of car horns and lawn mowers. To explore this new world was an entirely new adventure for me, and one that would leave me enlightened and with a new perspective. The forest was filled with all the colors of the spectrum; there were bright greens, dark browns, and deep blues. It was truly a sight to take in, and one that I shall never forget. It was all so different from everything that I had encountered my entire life. There was nothing here that had remotely anything to do with the outside world. Everything that that surrounded me, although had existed for hundreds of years all seemed new to me. The smells, the sights, and the sensations were all entirely different; never before had I felt more connected to nature than at this moment in time. There was so much to do, so much to explore, so much to see and I felt like I had an eternity to do so. I would allow nothing to stand in my way or interfere with my progress of venturing through this breathtaking land.
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As I continued my journey through the forest I saw several spectacular scenes that filled my mind and heart with fabulous images. I saw an exquisite waterfall, I crossed over exhilarating rivers and streams, and I saw hundreds of trees as far as the eye could see. This was truly a work of art, one that I wish to carry to my grave. There were many priceless treasures out there, and it saddened me to believe that so many people each and every day drive by this forest and they never take the opportunity to find solitude and venture out into the unknown. Walking through the various trails gave me a sense of pride and courage; I felt like a great explorer such as Lewis and Clark, or Magellan as I travelled my own unique paths and made my own choices in which direction to head. However, the most noteworthy of the sites was a tree that had collapsed. This particular tree appeared to have once stood mightily over all the forest, but now it had fallen over and lost its roots in the ground. As I looked at this fallen tree, I began to think to myself how vulnerable all things great and small are. It is true that while I was out there in the forest journeying through different sections that I found a part of me that I felt had been lost for some time. It is easy to lose yourself in the world that we live in today, especially when we are surrounded by so many nuisances and distractions like television, social media, and social trends. Being a part of this coerced society causes individuals to lose a sense of self, especially when we are all so pressured to be alike. When children are born into this world, their whole lives seemed planned out already. They have to go to school, they have to learn the things that have been deemed as important, and they must act like the other individuals in the society. If not, they risk punishment or being judged. This tree that had fallen was like no other that I had seen. It struck a chord deep within my core, and I found this to be a fascinating sensation as I stumbled upon what I figured as a great revelation. There have been many times in my life where I felt pressured to be like everyone else, where I felt that if I did not have the same traits or characteristics as everyone else that I would be condemned. Though when I gazed upon this great marvel that had fallen, I realized that the tree was me. I, like this tree, had been uprooted several times throughout my life and as a result had lost a sense of purpose. This was a tree that represents the great fall of many men who had the potential to do so much with their lives, but were so intimidated by the future, and expectations that they buckled down. All things are vulnerable great and small, and each one of us has the potential to do remarkable things with our lives, but we cannot allow 30
ourselves to become a society that sets the bar so high that if you are not following the same path or set of beliefs as everyone else that you will fail. I came upon the realization that I or anyone else should not allow ourselves to collapse, and become uprooted like this tree, but that we should stand proudly among everyone else despite some differences like size, shape, and form. What I learned from this spiritual journey is that life is filled with many hidden wonders. However, sometimes these treasures are very hard to find because we look externally to find them rather than internally and as a result we become miserable. I learned by walking through this forest in the comfort of my own head that I was capable of being self-reliant, that I could chart my own course, and take my own path to wherever it is that I need to be. I learned by gazing upon the tree that lay in defeat upon the ground that I could not allow the same fate to happen in my future. I found courage, dignity, and perseverance within that had somehow been stocked up deep within my soul. Exploring these transcendental grounds led me to finding deeper meaning in my life and a deeper understanding of who I am, and am capable of becoming.
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“Monsters That Walk Among Us” By Bethany Pate It is a dark and stormy night. The power is off, and the mind is turned on. My senses are acute, and I hear every sound. I feel cold drafts and see shadows on the walls. Was that a bird or a bat that suddenly flew by? Was that a flash of light from the corner of my eye, or was it a ghost? Did the refrigerator make a noise, or did someone shut the door? Fear is racing through my mind. I am alone in the solace of my home, and it is slowly closing in on me. I feel claustrophobic and must get out of the house. I run in haste into the dark. Now, I am out of the house, and I have left all monsters behind me: “But in the dead of the night, when no one can hear, even a hero might admit that a monster inspires one thing more than any other: fear” (Blake and Cooper 1). I realized that fear was chasing me into the night. With the craggy fingers reaching for me, was that a branch that touched my back? I do not turn around to find out; instead, my footsteps become quicker. I want out of the night. I want out of the dark, and I steadily search for light. Just ahead of me, I see the sun coming up. I see the safety of day coming to rescue me. I am safe. The light wraps around me as a shield from the darkness. I have no reason to fear because I know nothing will hurt me in the day. I am among people, so what is there to fear now? There are no vampires, werewolves, or Frankensteins. I am surrounded by people that are like me. I hear a speaker talking about a great man who wants to bring the nation together, build a strong military, create jobs, and stabilize the economy. The speaker talks about the man’s past, of how he was an artist, a common soldier in World War I. How he went to jail fighting for the common people. As the speaker introduces Adolf Hitler, the crowd around me roars in approval, and I, too, join in on the excitement. Little do I know, Hitler is here to introduce The Final Solution. I am Jewish. As I gaze upon the monster, who I just cheered on, I now realize that I am also in a sea of monsters. For one brief second, I was one of them. “Miss, could you come and help me with my boat? I hate to ask you; but with my arm in a sling, it is hard to do with one hand.” After getting the boat on top of the car, I started talking to this polite, nice looking man. He tells me that he is from around the area and studied psychology and law at the University of Washington. Right now, he is working with the Washington Republican Party. He seems to me to be a very intelligent person, very handsome with a great smile. He asks me to go have drinks with him, but I told him I was unable because of my girlfriends with me. As I leave, I turn and ask what his name was. He tells me Ted Bundy. After having a horrific car accident, I find myself lying in a hospital bed. With my leg in a traction, a male nurse makes his way in to administer my medications. He is friendly and very personable. As he is getting my medication ready, he complains about all the rules and regulations and mumbles “some kind of health care reform” (Blake and Cooper 1). He tells me he will be getting off shortly. The next morning when I awake, I hear the commotions of nurses talking abruptly. They seem very concerned about an unknown situation. I ask them what is
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going on, and they tell me that Charles Cullen, the nurse from the day before, was arrested last night while at a restaurant. He had been accused of killing patients. It is twelve o’clock. The chimes are chiming in the witching hour. They have summoned the monsters and the demons from the shadows and depths of your mind. Your mind races in search of a place to hide, the light, because all you can find is darkness. Fear sets in. You become paralyzed, unable to move. The warfare is racing to connect mind to body, reality with the unimaginable. Suddenly, you feel warmth on your eyes. It is from the sun. Your eyes slowly open, a sense of passion is lit by the rays beaming on your face. You sit up realizing that it was all a dream. How was it all a dream when the vague reality of Adolf Hitler, Ted Bundy, and Charles Cullen are real. Which should you fear most? The monsters of your childhood imaginations or the monsters that walk among us? The monsters that touch us, smile at us, work with us, and patiently wait until the dark falls. The monsters of our childhood can harm us only in our minds, but the real monsters are the people we meet in everyday life. These are the monsters that terrify us, but only when we realize our close encounters with them.
Work Cited Blake, Brandy Ball, and Andrew Cooper. “Introduction:Haunting Boundries.” Monsters, Fountainhead Press, 2012, pp. 1-9.
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Art
Sandra Pugh 34
Julia Kafeena
35
Courtney Warden
36
Aidan Caskey
37
Julia Kafeena
38
James Cobb
Drawing 1 student James Cobb created the quick illustration of the Lion/Octopus creature, and Drawing 2 student Ryan Espy created the quick illustration of a Demogorgon-esque monster. All of the drawing students were given an assignment to design a monster as a one-day project. They were not meant to put a lot of thought toward craftsmanship, they just had to make a two dimensional representation of a fictional monster. Ryan Espy did a moderate amount of shading to give his monster a sense of volume, but James Cobb just did simple black outlines. These drawings were then given to the ART 143 Pottery Students who had to look at the drawings and try to recreate the monsters using clay as three-dimensional figures, in the round. This was a major challenge to the ceramic students who had to imagine what the monsters might look like in the round because the illustrations just presented a frontal view. All of the Drawing and Ceramic students were randomly paired and resulted in a motley variety of creatures, but these two finished sculptures really stood out.
Kera Cole 39
Kera Cole
40
Ryan Espy
Abigail Bowser 41
Julia Kafeena
42
Kelsey Hulsman
43
Heba Taer
44
Nadia Banilohi
45
Sue Anne Hoyt
46
Sue Anne Hoyt
47
Photography
Casey McDaniel
48
Reid Powell
49
Elinor Nilsson
50
Olivia Brockman
51
Nicholas Kin
52
Justin Barrick
53
Stacye Thompson
54
Stacye Thompson
55
Casey McDaniel
56
Greg McCallister
57
Mary Clark
58
Shai Hunter
59
Steve Putnam 60
Foster Jackman
61
Index
Abigail Bowser ........................................................................................................................... 41 Aidan Caskey ............................................................................................................................. 37 Annalee Osborn ......................................................................................................................... 19 Art .............................................................................................................................................. 34 Ashley Jones ................................................................................................................................ 5 Audrey House ............................................................................................................................ 23 Bethany Pate ............................................................................................................................. 32 Brian Rockett ............................................................................................................................. 12 Carol D. Humphrey ...................................................................................................................... 7 Casey McDaniel ......................................................................................................................... 46 Casey McDaniel ......................................................................................................................... 54 Chandra Cheese .......................................................................................................................... 6 Christian Holt ............................................................................................................................. 10 Cody O’Neal ............................................................................................................................... 11 Connor Strickland......................................................................................................................... 5 Courtney Warden ....................................................................................................................... 36 Elinor Nilsson ............................................................................................................................. 48 Esteban Arnold ........................................................................................................................... 29 Fiction ....................................................................................................................................... 16 Foster Jackman ......................................................................................................................... 61 Greg McCallister ........................................................................................................................ 55 Heba Taer................................................................................................................................... 44 James Cobb ............................................................................................................................... 39 Jessica Mack ............................................................................................................................. 11 Julia Kafeena ............................................................................................................................. 38 Joy Walls .................................................................................................................................... 15 Julia Kafeena ............................................................................................................................. 35 Julia Kafeena ............................................................................................................................. 42 Justin Barrick ............................................................................................................................. 51 Kelsey Hulsman ......................................................................................................................... 43 Kera Cole ................................................................................................................................... 39 Kera Cole ................................................................................................................................... 40 Mary Clark .................................................................................................................................. 56 Mary Kaiser .................................................................................................................................. 8 Mary Yahn .................................................................................................................................. 15 Mica Hemingway ........................................................................................................................ 20 Morgan McLain ............................................................................................................................ 4 Nadia Banilohi ............................................................................................................................ 45 Nicholas Kin ............................................................................................................................... 50 Non-Fiction ............................................................................................................................... 26 Olivia Brockman ......................................................................................................................... 16 Olivia Brockman ......................................................................................................................... 49
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Philicia Stapleton ........................................................................................................................ 13 Photography ............................................................................................................................. 46 Poetry .......................................................................................................................................... 4 Rachel Martin ............................................................................................................................. 17 Rebecca Chambers ..................................................................................................................... 5 Reid Powell ................................................................................................................................ 47 Ryan Espy .................................................................................................................................. 41 Sandra Pugh .............................................................................................................................. 34 Savannah Turner ....................................................................................................................... 14 Sean Thompson ......................................................................................................................... 13 Shai Hunter .................................................................................................................................. 4 Shai Hunter ................................................................................................................................ 57 Stacye Thompson ...................................................................................................................... 52 Stacye Thompson ...................................................................................................................... 53 Steve Putnam............................................................................................................................. 60 Sue Anne Hoyt ........................................................................................................................... 46 Sue Anne Hoyt ........................................................................................................................... 47 William Dunning ........................................................................................................................... 6 Zac Alexander ............................................................................................................................ 27
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