Kiosk Number Fourty-Four
Lit from the Univeristy of Kansas
LIT
Conversation Number 74 Vintage Memories
Miles To Go
Charred
Birthday Candles on a Menorah Isaac and the Father: First Memory
O
Re-Up Generation
The Stars Have Been Waxwing Dead for Years Three Different Views from the The Crime Smoking Porch Street Lag On Tight Intersections
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
let’s talk about that night you made orange light move faster than I wanted toward me on the slick black toward rain it fell faster and harder and white and yellow splashed away toward ditches into green and you knew lines that were not there let’s talk red, red the insides of my eyelids and you shook me, your hand shook and showed me in the dome light the speed as we shook down black out there and nothing and no one heard let’s talk chopped tire hum running by small ears that almost heard but did not see us white in moon and glare off rain drying but we shone perfect in that let’s talk that moment we shone perfect while rain dried and moon could glare at us off everything off leaves encroaching black off grass glossed to shine encroaching our car the only dry the only no moon glare let’s talk what we never can let’s say that song, that blown out song through open windows mist encroached, flung up, my face and tears tears dismissed as air pulling my water out to see. let’s talk tears out and shown perfect in that moon and you who know you speed me to dark and stars defy me to close my eyes or cut the lights let’s talk cold streaks behind my eyes dry, dry streaks behind the car and love songs blown out the down windows.
Conversation Number 74
Loren Cressler
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
Vintage Memories
By Brittany Pierpoint
Vintage Memories
Brittany Pierpoint
A panorama account
with intimacy at its peak
reveals their coiled anatomy. Low saturation colors the mood. A four letter word: noun
distinguishes their kind. Smelling Earth, they tussled in the grass. He tasted her intellect. It was violence on lace. Holes of light seeped through their green canopy. She touched his mind in all the right places. It was jammed with their future stories.
A scent of red was tucked behind her ear. He inhaled her warning.
It was decorated with beautified skeletons. Lips join by wild force.
She listens to the unsaid word.
It’s circulating in the orange of his eyes. Figures made of transparent affection
disturb the silence in each other’s lives. Four letter word: noun.
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
MILES TO GO
ALEX GARRISON
Miles To Go
Alex Garrison
A little man with neat shirts and crisp facial hair told me once, “No problem.” But it always is. We’re always giving and taking and walking through rooms so blindly it’s a wonder we don’t die. But we do, we do it every day; it kills us both to see a blonde little girl walking through blades of grass, and never get cut, with a paper kite. And it’s not really even a kite, it’s just a piece of paper with a triangle drawn on in washable marker. Just the rain will kill it. We saw this together while he was driving me through flat Kansas, on a little state highway that rips across the sky; the only other images available, being homemade posters that said, “Smile, your mom chose life.” He was taking me home because I had killed my chances at blending into the landscape. So we rode in a stick-shift pickup truck, letting our friend give us the news on public radio, outsiders, in communiqué. It wasn’t the first time I felt like washable marker. So I told him, once, “I love you.”
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
“Do you know what microwaves look like?” The ophthalmologist smirked, jabbing at a magnified, plastic mold: one of those detachable, multi-colored teaching tools. Complete with removable iris, transparent lens, and eyelashes. Refraction. Wavelength. Spectrum. Like those words are supposed to mean anything to me.
The toast was cold this morning. There’s a limited window between the removal of bread from a toaster and ingestion. Wait just a little too long, like today, and you might as well just toss it. Forgot about spreading butter. If there’s no heat, the butter doesn’t melt. But what about jam? You mean jelly? Now you’re arguing semantics. No, there’s a difference. They’re the same thing. Jelly is fruit flavored gelatin. Jam is crushed fruit. Learn the goddamn difference.
The ophthalmologist leaned forward, cradling the model in his palms. “The problem is here.” He shoved his finger in the eye.
The disposALL is ravenous. Spongy chunks of bread, hurried by the rushing water, careen towards the whirring maw. Toast has to be warm. It can’t be cold. The butter won’t melt. Jam is not the same as jelly.
CH
Charred
Evan Mielke
CHA HARRED
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
Charred
Evan Mielke
The ophthalmologist fiddled in the mold for a few seconds, making screwing motions with his wrist. “These…” He slowly retracted his hand from the plastirubber mold. He unfurled his palm, five small rubberplasti fragments crossing the crevices of his hand. “These are cones. They control color processing within the eye.”
The jam. The jelly. But they look the same.
“We think that microwaves are to blame. They degrade certain, more fragile pieces of the body.” What, like LG and Kenmore? “Like from space.” Microwaves from space.
The butter. The toast. They look the same.
The ophthalmologist spoke metallically. “Unfortunately, at this point, the damage is beyond repair.”
Why does everything look the same?
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
“There are some…” The ophthalmologist cleared his throat nervously. “Highly experimental treatment options. The success rate is low, the cost, high.”
Everything’s the same.
The ophthalmologist glanced over his shoulder, fiddling with his thumbs. “I’m sorry Mr. Green, but unless you’re incredibly wealthy, this is something you’ll have to learn to cope with.”
Charred
Evan Mielke
The jam. The jelly. The toast. The butter. They all look the same. It’s okay. I can still tell the difference.
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
BIRTHDAY CANDLES ON A MENORAH - BRENDAN ALLEN
Birthday Candles on a Menorah
Brendan Allen
I was born into a Jewish family, that decorated Christmas trees and lied to me like every good Christian about Santa’s knowledge of my moral fiber.
I’ve seen sepia photos of my pop-pop grinning my grin at his bar mitzvah, but all I got for my thirteenth birthday was two hundred dollars and pubic hair.
My biological grandmother, or my pop-pop’s first wife, (out of four) flew to Vegas with her new boyfriend to read by a hotel pool. She still lights a menorah every year with rainbow-colored birthday candles. My other grandmother, or my pop-pop’s third wife, (out of four) never gave birth, but she serves roasted chicken to her dogs. When we visit her in the city she laughs about the rednecks in Kansas and how they believe in God.
My pop-pop was a lawyer. His late nights and blood pressure taught me a lot as a child about why I’ll never be a lawyer. I don’t think he believed in anything.
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
MATTHEW TOUGAS
ISAAC AND THE FATHER:
Isaac and the Father:
Matthew Tougas
I
Amid clouds of white so dense they shield The valleys from the mountain peaks; Where light is granted open passage To flood the cities and the streets.
In this blinding, great expanse Two men sit as strangers would In a distant corner all alone To a table made of gopher wood. II The father asks his child frankly, “Will you drink this wine with me?”
Where creeks of light flood darkened plains,
Then reaches for his hands and begs-
Where earthquakes sound of choirs,
“For your mother then, at least?”
Where fallen angels whiten sand, Where kilns extinguish fires-
“Father, for every sip I take, You take delight in my defeat-
Two sons sit, with each, a father;
To justify the wine you drank
The elder looks above for guidance,
When you thoughtlessly betrayed me.”
“Please my Father, show me pity, I only acted in compliance.”
The youngest stands to walk away, “But how?” his father asks him. The child’s eyes, like thunderous waves, Or rivers made of boneBeat his father’s eyes to salt, His kneecaps then to stone; “I’ve forgiven you despite what you cannot atone; A father never asks his son To sacrifice his own.”
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
first Kelsey Murrell
First Memory
Kelsey Murrell
memory
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
First Memory
Kelsey Murrell
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
O
Sam Anderson
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
Re-Up Generation
Evan Mielke
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
His mother never allows him mother His to enternever the room. allowsThe him man to enter does thenot room. breathe. The man His leather does not breathe. sandals Hishave leather fused tohave sandals the floorboards. fused to the Stealthily, the floorboards. Stealthily, boy creeps the into creeps boy the room. into the room.
The first time he met her, it The first time met her, was raining. Hehesensed theit was raining. He sensed the city’s rhythm as he walked city’s rhythm as he walked down the sidewalk. Water down thecascaded sidewalk. Water droplets onto the droplets cascaded onto the street. The scent of lilac filled street. The scent of lilac his nostrils. Breaking stride, filled his anostrils. Breaking he made quick turn, but the stride, he made a smell had vanished.quick turn, but the smell had vanished.
THE STARS HA V E BEEN DEAD FOR YEARS b r a n d o n r u s c h
The Stars Have Been Dead for Years
Time passes without the recognition of a blink.
Brandon Rusch
The first time he met her, it was raining. He sensed the city’s rhythm as he walked down the sidewalk. Water droplets cascaded onto the street. The scent of lilac filled his nostrils. Breaking stride, he made a quick turn, but the smell had vanished. Up and down the street he clambered, wading through the smog for a whiff of the subtle beauty.
He is a man, an old man. Memories and imagination escape him. In his room he sits, in the same manner he has for as long as anyone can remember. His family considers him a relic, an antique collecting dust. His name and age are forgotten.
Past a hotdog stand, he picked up the trail. His feet led him down a narrow alley to a weather-beaten door. He knocked. Slowly, the door opened. Soft lips pressed against his agape mouth. The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but for him it was an eternity. He removed his sunglasses and
The house was built around him, one hundred and thirty-
opened his eyes. He could see. No longer was he blind. She
two years ago. He sits in a chair, gazing at a windowless
had beautiful almond eyes set in smooth mocha skin. His
wall. It is all he knows. A young boy with black, wavy hair
pale hand caressed her cheek. They were bound by love.
peeks at the man through a crack in the door. His mother
They married.
man’s chair. He makes his way to the front of the man. He is coated in a thick layer of dust. Their eyes meet. The man looks into the child’s eyes. The hazel rings expand, swallowing the man. He remembers.
walked out the entrance doors. A savvy nurse pursued the couple. He began to run. They ran well into the night. When they came to a green field, he slowed his pace. The moon was full. He lowered their bodies to a soft bed of grass. There, she rested against his chest as they gazed at distant galaxies. She kissed his cheek. Their eyes met for rolled off his cheek and fell to the ground. They both died
breathe. His leather sandals have fused to the floorboards. no movement. Gaining confidence, he tiptoes behind the
blanket and lifted her to his chest. They smiled as they
the last time. She said goodbye and leaned back. A tear
never allows him to enter the room. The man does not Stealthily, the boy creeps into the room. The man makes
the IV. Standing by her side, he covered her with a wool
He died many years ago. His head had long since been
engulfed in moonlight.
covered with salt and pepper hair. His wife slept on the hospital bed. She was dying. Her illness made her skin appear a rusty gray, and her bones protruded from her gown, yet he had never known anything more beautiful. He sat in a vinyl chair with his hand resting on her thigh. A stoic doctor entered the room, followed by a legion of students. In a monotonous voice, he delivered the news. She would not last the night. The medical staff exited as
His eyes focus as he emerges from the boy’s stare. He does not know the child’s name, but he looks like her. With his first movement in decades, he grasps the boy’s hand. The man’s life is over, but there is much more living to be done. A cough emits from the man’s throat. His eyes glaze over, and he speaks for the first and only time.
quickly as they entered. The two lovers sat in silence. He avoided her gaze, choosing to stare at the threads of his pants. Finally, he glanced upwards and held her stare. Her taught jaw released into a warm smile. She removed
“Go play,” he says.
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
Waxwing
Ian Cook
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
Fog mutes
spring returns
the punctuation
the nudity of trees
of every car’s
a glaring blemish
little red lights of stop signs of the pedestrians and their hands that touch.
Three Different Views from the Smoking Porch
We see the tower’s lights through a nightly haze of smoke. We wonder where it is and who built it and why.
Brendan Allen
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
Street Lag On Tight Intersections
Bethany Christiansen
Hey you in marmalade dress all sticky curves and legs like jam jars. You, with your pickled plum eyes set deep in sockets, and heavy lidded, with dents for fingers built in to your waistline, your neckline. Your vee neck, your goose neck, your green bottle neck. Hey you, handle of whiskey, yeah you, with the convex glass back just perfect
for fitting into others’ hip pockets.
Your cheeks are white butter pats sizzling on a hot pan. You stink of olives soaked in men’s martinis. Hey you, with the floral print face, prognosticate and see the string of evenings stretched out before you like trout dead on a wire.
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
THE C
The Crime
Feloniz Lovato-Winston
Feloniz Lovato-Winston
CRIME There were five people, but only three were perpetrators. Of
doctor’s appointments, his wife’s legs spread open, her feet in
the other two, one was an enabler and the other a victim. No
stirrups. They had arrived at the house together in an upside-
one else was involved. Not really.
down way, like waking up to a dream, when you just
What happened was this: Number Two decided to draw the
accept what’s happening. They had arrived together
line. Number One was required by circumstance to go along
— just like Number Three and Number Four.
with Number Two, Number Three went along willingly and Number Four ignored the situation until it was too late.
Number Three and Number Four were cousins,
They lived together in a small house in a nameless county, next
practically brothers. It was their job to get water
to a large field full of feral kittens. In the wintertime the field
out of the well. The day before the crime, Number
was barren, in the summertime there were wildflowers. Across
Two had an altercation with the old lady. This made
the field, a quarter of a mile away, stood another small house,
things tense, because the old lady owned the well,
inside of which lived an old woman. The old woman owned
too. So naturally Number Three and Number Four
the field.
felt sheepish about fetching water. The morning the crime was committed, they were at the well, and the
Number Two (the ringleader) insisted that the old woman had
old lady showed up. Number Four gallantly offered
been poisoning her cats. Number Two collected cats; that was
to carry her pail and Number Three was astonished
her thing. “I can’t have children,” she’d say.
— how could he? But they had been raised to carry things for old ladies. Or so they thought.
At the time the crime was committed, there were nine cats living with them, and they all had the same name,
Every conflict, every moment and every happening
Frankincense Amy. Number Five hated the cats.
in their household had a special significance because none of them could quite remember their prior lives.
Every once in a while a cat would die. Its limp little body would
Not clearly.
be found, and Number Two would grieve. Number Two was married to Number One, and all of the cats slept in their bed.
Number Five was the last to appear. He was older than
Number One liked the cats okay, but he often wished that his
the rest of them. He was not old, but there was gray in
wife would stop bringing them home. The house was too small
his black hair and lines next to his eyes. Number Five
as it was, and their bed was even smaller.
always said that he had been a musician in his prior
But he never complained. At night the cats would crowd
life, of middling success.
around Number Two, lay their heads on her chest and look into her eyes. They were remarkably like children.
Sometimes, the other members of the house heard him
Number Two and Number One never had intercourse on
singing, in an off-key voice that was very clear and
account of the cats, it just seemed wrong. Had they ever had
appealing. And there was a guitar in the barren living
intercourse? They weren’t sure.
room. But it didn’t have any strings.
Number One knew that he and Number Two had been
Number Two, the only woman, was beautiful. She
married before they arrived at the house; he was certain of
had red hair with a mind of its own. There was a lot
this. He seemed to remember things like a job and a car and
of it, but it never grew past the middle of her back.
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
Number Two insisted that in her prior life, she had
twenty minutes. The old lady sat on her front porch,
Two didn’t know what to do, so she settled for a
come from a family of redheads. No one believed her.
rocking in a rattan rocker, and Number Two got
vaguely familiar gesture — waving her fist in the
down to brass tacks.
air — before turning on her heels and storming back
She did all of the cooking and cleaning. Sometimes she
“Three of my cats have died in the past 24 hours.”
home. She could hear the squeak of the rocking chair
would get angry about this and insist that the others
“Izzat so?”
and the tingly feeling of the old woman’s eyes as she
help out, even Number Five. “Especially Number
“Have you been poisoning my cats?”
walked away.
Five,” she would say. The others would grudgingly
“Why do you keep so many felines? Don’t you know
chip in, but they wouldn’t put their hearts in it and
they should be free, running in the fields?”
But halfway across the field she stopped. Something
finally Number Two would give up.
“That is none of your business.”
little and sharp had hit her in the small of her back.
“I believe it is. I own this field.”
Number Two looked down and saw a tiny brown
It was Number One’s job to find the food. Every day
“You don’t own the house.”
bottle. She picked it up and examined it for a
he would leave when the sun was at a certain point in
“How do you know?”
moment before putting it in the pocket of her apron. Sometimes Number Two felt like she was
the sky. The town was so far away they had never seen it, but there was a dinky, barely-stocked general store a
Number Two didn’t know. She did know that her cats
the only person in the house who could feel
mile down the dusty road. It was run by a translucent
were dead and she had her suspicions. As for what she
anger. Sometimes she felt like she had a problem
old man. Number One paid the old man with the
didn’t know, that didn’t bear thinking about. It was
that no one else understood.
money from the money box, which was buried in a
what it was.
hole in the kitchen. It was magic, and it never ran out.
“I know what you’ve been doing! I hear your
Back at the house, Number Three and Number Four
footsteps at night, I hear you lift the lid off their bin of
were having a good time. For some reason, Number
That was how they all lived and it worked out
food.”
Five was spending time with them, and he was really
fine. None of them questioned anything, especially
“Then don’t feed them that food, young lady. That
holding court, regaling them with disjointed tales
Number One, who was always saying “it is what it is.”
oughter fix your problem.”
from his past. “I wasn’t a rock star,” he said, “but I
It was what it was, until their troubles began.
“So you have been doing it! I knew it, I knew it! I’m
enjoyed middling success.”
going to file a complaint with the elders.” Number Three wanted to know if this “made girls
Their troubles began with three dead cats. It was early summer, and three Frankincense Amys keeled over in
The old lady laughed. The fact that she was so tiny,
like him,” and Number Five smiled. It did seem like
one day. Number Two found them lying on their stiff
with her big nose and wrinkles, only made her more
women had liked him, way back then. He picked up
little backs, one in the bed, one in the bathtub and one
menacing.
his guitar and strummed an imaginary tune. Number Three was impressed. “I wish I could play like that,”
in the front yard, as she went about her chores. “You go ahead and try. You can do whatever you The previous night, she couldn’t sleep because she
like. Just remember: you weren’t meant to be a mother,
thought she heard the sound of geriatric footsteps
my dear. Ain’t nothing going to change that.”
he said, a fawning comment that earned a punch in the arm from his cousin. Just then, Number Two stomped in. The two
shuffling downstairs, of wrinkled fingers opening the She rocked and rocked, laughing the whole time.
cousins sat up a little straighter. She didn’t greet
Number Two stood stunned, as if someone had
them, just tossed her hat silently on the broken sofa
After the last little grave was dug, Number Two put
thrown a bucket of ice on her head. The old lady
and walked off into the kitchen. Presently they
on her sun hat and her apron with the pockets and
stunk. Number Two noticed that. She smelled
heard her preparing the evening meal, banging the
strode across the field of wildflowers. It took her
like death: like poison and rotten prunes. Number
lone pot against the only pan. Number Three and
bin of kibbles.
The Crime
Feloniz Lovato-Winston
Number Four looked at each other. “I think it’s time to go fetch the water,” said Number Four. They grabbed their old pails and slipped out the door. But not before Number Three, his voice filled with longing, said a timid “Hello, Number Two” to his roommate while his cousin looked on with contempt. Number Five was left holding his empty guitar. Things were awkward between him and Number Two. A few days prior, Number One had come home with a bottle of hooch and a pack of cards, and the night had opened up like a surprised flower. None of them could remember how to play, so they made up their own games, drinking the sour liquor from little jelly jars. Number Three and Number Four, skinny and perpetually adolescent, had segued into sickness almost immediately, vomiting in the front yard before stumbling off to bed. For the rest of them, the night still held promise. Number Two surprised them by transforming, through alcohol, from an angry harpy into a pretty good drunk. She laughed, she teased, she remembered jokes. “Why did the chicken cross the road,” she said, “because orange you going to let me in?” Number Five and Number One laughed, because Number Two looked so beautiful in the lamplight. Everything seemed funny and happy. They had forgotten about funny and happy. Number Five refilled Number Two’s glass, and their wrists touched. Their knees were also touching, under the table. Eventually, Number One fell asleep in his chair, his head lolling on his neck, and Number Two brushed the hair off his face. He looked so silly
and sweet, asleep like that, and she and Number Five smiled at each other. Number Five noticed that Number Two looked more beautiful than ever, that she seemed to be glowing. Number Two was suddenly aware of Number Five’s long legs, of his hands and fingers. By dawn they had stopped talking and just sat silently, watching morning come through the small window in the kitchen. It felt like Number Two and Number Five were the only people on the planet. “It’s weird to think that the world is spinning,” said Number Five. “It makes you feel so lost.” Number Two agreed, but she didn’t say anything. A few morning birds flew from tree to tree in the small front yard. She looked at Number Five. At his legs, especially. He was so gangly, the opposite of her compact husband. His long-fingered hands rested
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
on his bony knees. Soon things would go back to
Literature
And then it really was morning.
normal. The days would resume their bizarre routine. Suddenly she felt punished.
Things were different after that. Number Two
“I don’t know how I ended up here,” she said.
decided that she really hated Number Five. Suddenly,
Number Five smiled at her. “At least you brought
everything seemed to be his fault. And on the day
someone with you.”
that Number Two returned from her altercation with
“Do you think we’re in Hell?”
the old lady, Number Five just made things worse.
“We’re not dead.”
That night, she held a house meeting. The men sat
“How do you know?”
on the old couch and she stood in front of them with her breasts jutting against her sundress. Number
The lamp was still lit, even though the sun was
Three was painfully aware of them, and he wished
coming up. Number Five reached to turn it off and
he wasn’t sitting so close to the other men.
left his arm on the table. Number Two looked at him.
“I want to file a complaint against the old
She placed her hand on one of his long legs. Number
lady.” Number Two looked at them with blank
Five pulled his arm off the table. In that moment,
expectation, a look she got when she wanted
The rules of the house were posted on the ice-box.
everything was quiet. Even the birds stopped singing.
everything to go her way.
They had always been there, written in old pencil on
Number Two stood up from her chair and knelt down
tattered paper. One of the rules was that if you had a
in front of Number Five, her hand still on his leg.
“Why would you want to do a thing like that? Who
complaint about the old lady who owns the field, you
“Should we go upstairs?”
would you even file the complaint with?”
could file it with the elders, who lived in the town. But
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m sorry - this is
That was Number Five, playing devil’s advocate, a
there was a caveat: everyone living in the house had to
probably my fault.”
habit he had. A bad habit.
agree. You could not file a complaint otherwise. This
“The elders.”
was how they knew a town existed. This was how they
He stood up and her hand fell off his leg.
“But we’ve never even seen the town.” That was
knew there were elders, and that the old lady owned
Number Two was silent. After a moment, she stood
Number One. He was practical.
the field.
up too. Her husband was still asleep in his chair. She
“There’s a first time for everything.”
bowed her head, embarrassed and hurt. Number Five
That night, Number Five told Number Two that
coughed.“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to-”
Number Three and Number Four shifted
he did not agree. He was the only person who said
“Don’t worry about it. You’re not that charming. I
uncomfortably in their seats. Number Three felt like
this. Number One looked at his shoes. Number Four
just wanted to have a baby.”
he was been called on to act like a man, and Number
looked out the window. Number Three looked at
Four had a bad feeling about the entire situation.
Number Two with sympathy and understanding.
Number Five looked at her. He wasn’t sure what she
Number Two looked angry. Number Five refused to
meant by that.
Number Five looked at the beautiful woman standing
budge from his position, and Number Two stomped
“I’m confused,” he said. “How are babies made?”
in front of him. “Why are you angry at the old lady?”
off to bed, leaving the men to get their own dinner.
“I don’t know!” said Number Two, and began to cry
“She is killing my cats.”
The world tilted on its axis and night fell again.
beside her sleeping husband. Number Five watched.
“How do you know this?”
Number Two couldn’t sleep. She stood up in her torn
He considered holding her, decided against it, turned
“I hear her footsteps at night.”
nightdress and crept into the kitchen. Her apron with
on his heel, and left the room.
“I don’t think you should file a complaint
the pockets was lying against the back of the chair
with the elders.”
Number Five had sat in, the night they all got drunk.
The Crime
Feloniz Lovato-Winston
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Literature
intercepted him on his wait out the door. “Where are you going?” “There’s a doctor in town. Number Five is really sick.” “I don’t want you to go.” “You’ll be fine here; the others are around.” “Listen to me. I don’t want you to help Number Five.” “Why not?” “You know why.” As far as he knew, Number One had always been married to Number Two. When he looked at her, he did not see who she was, in that house at that time — he saw how she got there, even though he could not remember the details. That day, he did not try to find the town and he did not try to find a doctor. Instead, he wandered outside and Number Two felt around in both pockets until she found the little brown bottle. What she didn’t know was that Number Five couldn’t sleep either, and he was standing in the doorway of the kitchen watching her. The next morning Number Two made porridge for breakfast Towards the end of the day, Number Five developed a fever. His forehead was hot to the touch, and he had to lie down in the room he shared with the two cousins. The two young men tended to him, bringing water from their pails and answering his delirious questions. It was the first time that someone in the house had been sick. Number One knew of a doctor. The owner of the general store had told him about one. Number Two
stood in the front yard like a statue. Number Two sat in the kitchen. She had ceased thinking. She could hear the shuffling feet of Number Four and Number Three as they came down the stairs. Presently, the two young men stood in front of her, Number Four staring at the ground and Number Three looking at her perfect face. “He’s awfully sick.” Number Three was the first to speak. “Is Number One going to the doctor?” Number Two smiled. “No. We decided that it’s best not to interfere.” “He’s pretty sick. He might… “ “He might what, Number Three?” Number Four let out an exasperated breath. “You think he might die?” Number Two laughed before she forgot not to laugh. The room got quiet. Number Four could feel the
The Crime
Feloniz Lovato-Winston
earth spinning under his feet and it made him dizzy.
her accusations while the other three struggled with
Number Four swore he could feel something
Upstairs, Number Five had asked him for a special
the burial. A new kitten, found just that morning,
“opening up.”
favor. He thought of this favor, he tried not to think
purred on her lap.
“You mean you think we’ll get out of here?”
of anything else. Number Two had removed her
“I don’t know, but something’s bound to change.”
morning apron and Number Three was staring at
After Number One left, Number Four remembered
“You think it’s our fault, what happened?”
her chest. As far as he knew, Number Three had
the promise he had made to Number Five. He went
“It was everyone’s fault. I know that now.”
always been an idiot.
into the living room and picked up the guitar, bringing
“But we were just kids, back then.”
it to Number Two, who sat smiling with Number
“Maybe that’s why we’re still here. Our
Number Two’s cool white hand was on Number
Three on the porch.
punishment wasn’t as bad.”
Three’s face. “Let’s just leave things alone.”
“Number Five wanted you to have this.”
“Really?”
“What?”
They looked out the window. It seemed like the
“Really. It’s none of our business.”
“Yesterday, when he was sick, he asked me to give
clouds in the sky were moving, but it was really
you his guitar, in case he...”
them. They were in a strange place, where they had
Number Four looked out the window. He noticed that
It wiped the smile right off her face. She didn’t take
once done a bad thing, even though it wasn’t their
Number One was looking directly at the sun without
the guitar from his hand.
idea. Does that count?
shielding his eyes, as if he wanted to go blind. Number
Four suddenly felt very tired. His mind went blank,
Number One never returned, and with him gone,
Their only hope was a future somewhere else, where
and he didn’t say anything else for the rest of the day.
Number Two could never find adequate comfort in
the motions of the planets couldn’t be felt. A place
He and his cousin did not go back to the room they
her litter of cats. One by one, she took them out to the
where they had all of their memories, where even
shared with Number Five. They slept on the floor
field and set them free amongst the dying flowers.
their most shameful memories could help steer them
downstairs.
through life. Her affair with Number Three was brief. In fact, he
That is how the crime was committed. Quietly and
seemed to lose interest in her after she changed — her
with complicity.
skin shriveled up and her hair turned gray. One day they woke up and she was gone. When they looked
The next morning, Number Four walked slowly up
out the back window, across the field, they saw two old
the stairs of the small house and into the room where
women sitting on the porch, wrapped in shawls and
Number Five lay.
rocking in their chairs.
It took a long time for the remaining men in the
The duties in the house changed, with just two of
house to dig the hole in the front yard, the soil was so
them left. Number Three gathered the food.
hard and dry.
Number Four did the chores. It was pretty lonely. Number Four found that he even missed Number
Number One left after the body was buried. He
Two’s haranguing. It’s funny what you can miss.
said that he was going to file the complaint against
Without the presence of the others to keep them
the elders, now that everyone in the house could
young, the two cousins grew quickly into men —
agree. Number Two had written the complaint on a
because they had to.
scrap of paper with an old pencil, carefully wording
Lit Staff:
Designed, Edited and published by students, Kiosk is a semi-annual award-winning magazine featuring the finest art and literature the University of Kansas has to offer.
The staff of Kiosk 44 would like to thank the Department of English and the School of Architecture, Design, and Planning at the University of Kansas as well as Coca-Cola and KU Student Senate.
Additional thanks to Jane Hazard, Mainline Printing, Diana Rhodes, Andrea Herstowski, Jeremy Shellhorn, and the City of Luxembourg.
Some elements of Kiosk were taken from Deborah Turbeville’s Studio St. Petersburg (1997) and Daniel Wolf’s The American Space (1983).
Kiosk Number Forty-Four
Lauren Schimming
Michael Selby
Jovan Nedeljkovic
Jordan Jacobson
Design Staff:
Emylisa Warrick
Alexis Smith
Sydney Rayl
Dee Hogan
Amanda Hemmingsen
Ryan Fazio
44
Literature from the University of Kansas