2023 Bits of Flint

BITS FLINT OF

Bits ofFlint 2023

Front Cover: “Untitled” by Ashlee Palimo’o

Editor - Jessica Palmquist

Layout Design - Christian Dames

Art Faculty Advisor - Katy Jones

Faculty Advisor - Henry Krusiewicz

POETRY

Jonathan Mahoney

Old bare-bone branches heave and crackle. As the rib cage of an old and sickly man. Mother Death’s cold caress carries through the mid-winter gusts

I, the sickly old man, tightly bundled. Crunch feebly through the forest Across never-melting snow. Staving off Jack Frost’s sinking teeth.

Out spans a clearing Bleak and beautiful Coated with white icy snow brilliantly reflecting mute gray sky

To the center, a lone Evergreen.

Tall and broad, unrelenting against icy gust. A pillar of hopeful life, amongst cold stillness I stand before its massive bulk.

Intently listening over Anemois’ banshee howl.

Head tilted, ears yearning. I listen for the melody of memories

A cascading chorus of heavenly jubilation signaling the return of helios’ golden chariot.

For a moment I am brought back to June. Standing barefooted, in the lightly dewed grass. A warm waterfall of sunlight draping our backs. Wholesome and pure. Golden light dancing through the forest dew. Carpeting the ground in a kaleidoscopic rainbow.

Greens, Reds, Blues, Yellows, and Violets. As if heaven itself had been brought down to earth.

Then, music. In an instant, the forest comes alive.

Blue Jay.Tanager. Warbler, Thrush. Orchestrate their chorus. Calling out. Urging on. Inviting us to dance. And so we did.

Spinning, Twirling, Tossing. Her hair fluttering, like monarchs in October. Her smile, a mother’s warm embrace. The Eve to my Adam.

We danced on a breeze. Through the day and into the night. Her face, in stark focus, against the forest green blur. Every angle, a masterpiece in the dying day’s glow.

Michelangelo could not capture the essence of her beauty.

Warm day, song birds and sunlight, turn to Cool night, fireflies and moonlight. Warm breath upon neck, hearts beating in time. Falling softly to grass, spirits intertwined. Lulled by the soft hum of summertime cicadas. We watched stars streak by. Wishing the night to never end.

How I miss those days. When we were young and spry. Sparrows, just testing our wings. Young and careless. Living light as pollen in a summer breeze.

The swift kick of Old Man Winter’s boot upon my tender cheek brings me back to my spot Standing before June’s plot. Bones old, and weary. Eyes misty with the last traces of remembrance.

A rustle above lifts my head just in time to see a flutter of wings. As they disappear into the dreary ether. Flying as quickly as a fleeting memory.

Albuterol

Gabriel VanWinkle

My savior eternal, From the wretched claws of restriction, To give praise to thee is an asthmatic’s foremost diction. Treatment with such may vary, Whether through tube or inhalant, Relief thou shall carry.

Noture

Gabriel VanWinkle

Polarizing, Problematic, Pungent Nature, who would have thunk it? Sat upon a tree, Or laying in a drift of snow, One thing I’ll tell you; I will not do so.

Freshener

Gabriel VanWinkle

A scent of salivary salutation, One could only wish to explore, A world of delectable delicacies evermore. Whether an answer to sensory damnation, Or the elimination of an act of sleaze, The answer rings true; that of Febreze.

Diamond Head

Eddie Schweikert

you can put lipstick on a pig

Devyn Hansen

but it’s still a pig.

i’m aware of the unconvention of my beauty, tracing shapes and swirls on my unique face. dressing up to hide my body. all of my friends are so beautiful, magazine cut hair and perfect lips, i will never look like them.

i’m the one that sits in the booth while guys make their move, not enough to deserve them but enough to entertain them. i’m the one who gets taken by force when every beautiful girl in the bar says no because who else would want me? and when i say no, too, i get that look and i know what he’s thinking. you’re still just a pig.

heart shaped bombs

Devyn Hansen

somewhere along the way you decided that my house is made of glass and you kissed bandages before putting them on the cracks. it appears to you as if no one else would ever dare to send me heart shaped bombs so you defile me because if no one else will love me you will infest me like a parasite decide to love me to make you feel good. my house is opaque and beneath the beams there lies a home and all you had to do was knock.

things i don’t tell anyone

Devyn Hansen

some days i want to scream, but there is no place on earth private enough. i’ve always been looking for something to hold on to. i’ve never wanted to spend a single second of these last twenty years alone. everything i am boils down to a question. i don’t count how many miles left until empty. i wish i could swallow the whole earth and spit it back out clean. i think if i frame my hair the right way it will distract from how incomplete i am. maybe if i keep writing i’ll answer my own questions. if you can’t see me, i still make a sound. too much crisis, too much longing, too much loneliness. my contribution to this world is left to open love letters in the back of my closet. i used to have a voice, but it went out for a smoke and never came back. i don’t remember when i stopped becoming sensitive and started becoming obsessive. i’ve spent years trying to fix myself. you will consume me and feel raw inside until you spend days brushing your tongue until you can’t taste me anymore. i’ve eaten so much to stop my mouth from saying something incoherent until i’ve been sick. i used to be afraid of the dark until i became it, a monster until i became one. i’ve slashed my own skin with my teeth, changed my hair within the blink of an eye. let things ruminate with me until i’m marinated in my own self–loathing: grill me and i fall right off the bone. i go deeper than my mannerisms, my diagnosis, my half strung thoughts that hang mid–air and sting when i turn around to say goodbye. i am rotting flesh, i am seared skin, mutilated bone. i’ve loved in this ocean before. when the waves hit the rocks, i will start over again.

I’ll Look for You

Mikayla

Sasse

Through the trees, I’ll look for you. The bright color, Catches my eye.

I’ll look for you outside. I wonder if you heard me, Just one more look I promise I’ll be okay. I’ll look for you in the sky. You fly by and I smile, You’re home and yet you visit. Always managing to make me smile. A feathered creature appears, There you are and always will be. I’ll look for you in the trees. I’ll look for you.

Revealed

Emma Thompson

With this new way of thinking My rosy glasses drop. The laughter and calculations can’t fix What has been deemed broken, corrupt.

The Stars Belong to the Sky

Grace Staley

Stars of melody without reason. Some ride as passengers, Which of them shine?

Traveling quickly, to nowhere significant. Belonging to no one but the sky, their home.

Occupy, no occupyby the sea that is big and vast. Nothing is sporadic nor placed. Putting just some away. Necessary. So necessary. Take the moon and go many miles.

Untitled

Nick Luedke

Strange Fruit

Myana Sigers

The apples hang from the willow tree as the colony of white ants gather around to feast on their dreadful screams. The thrones of the vine wrap around the stem of the apple and tightens its grasp to ensure a halting opening on the apple’s core. The apple stayed in the tree for hours and their pallid faces were dried in the sun for months on end. In the midst of the colony their malicious smiles grow vastly and the apple starts to hear the horrid sound of their distorted laughter. The laughter echoed through the apple’s rooted lashes and the apple started to become unresponsive as its vibrant red peel started falling upon the ant colony. The ant colony looks up and stares as they watch the apple drip calmly on the corrupt willow tree.

Heartworm

Myana Sigers

according the dictionary of obscure sorrows.com a heart worm is a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head

which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire

and though this fire that has come to a slow but nothing burn us hopeless romantics stay seated on damp logs waiting for the day that it might ignite ahead some might call this heart worm a deadly disease, a way one can cross paths with a soul and become blinded to the ability of requiring healthy boundaries towards an equal amount of give and pull to its supplier

i don’t see this as a disease but as more a chamber in which we torture each other till we bleed every last drop of love from each other as some type of parasite that grows stronger as our love grows weaker

thus I came to the realization that our heart beats never synchronized, yet i chose to ignore that silly me, how could she possibly fall for the unconditional love i would give her as her heart bleed strips and mine paisley

i now sit in this chamber alone staring at the four walls around me that I call my brain, struggling alone in this twisted mental combat

The Screaming Man at the Last Supper

Catheryn Kieth

The man is screaming

I mean, actually screaming

At all of these people having dinner

What a lunatic

They look at him

They have concern in their eyes

They’re just trying to have a nice dinner

And this man keeps screaming at them

Just shut up already

Enjoy the bread

Enjoy the wine

Stop screaming

The screaming man

Doesn’t know how to stop screaming

If only he did

Their dinner would be enjoyable

What do they do?

Do they kick him out?

They’re with Jesus

Of course they don’t Jesus accepts everyone for who they are and this man likes to scream Jesus invites him to the seat next to him But the man is still screaming

The screaming doesn’t stop

Neither does the dinner

Everyone else is annoyed

Jesus is serene

This screaming man

Is fitting for the situation

The last supper

And it’s with a screaming man

Keaton Mackin

My Toxic Cycle

Catheryn Kieth

Understand where I’m coming from. Let me understand where you’re coming from. Chosen words. Wrong words. Chosen actions. Wrong actions. No, wrong actions. You’re crazy. You’re sane. Understand. Relate.

Know there is more. Maybe this is all there is.

Emptiness. Abuse. Neglect. I try to make you understand. You don’t understand. Nobody understands.

This world can be so cruel. I can be so cruel.

You’re even worse to me though. Mean words and names stab at my heart. I try to understand where you’re coming from. I’m driving myself crazy.

Is it that I love you?

I know that it is just lust for you. What is it to me?

It’s love, for me.

It’s love from me.

I try to give, and you don’t accept. Am I crazy?

Thoughts rolling in my head all day long. My thoughts regard you. My thoughts are consumed by you. All I think about is you.

Where will I be in 10 years?

I hope it’s with you.

I am fighting with you again.

I wonder when it became so toxic.

I wonder when it began to feel like I was drinking poison. Everytime I talk to you.

I get nothing. I want more.

I want more.

I want more.

Now, I am being greedy.

Will I work out with you?

I am beginning to believe that’s not the case. I have to get away. I have to get better.

I heard from you again. I heard the sweet little nothings, once again. I’m back in this.

I’m involved with the vicious cycle that is you. I feel so good. I feel so bad.

I can’t make up my mind.

Where am I going?

I need to focus. I’m in school. I have no time for this. My grades are slipping. I’m easily distracted by what’s right in front of me. I’m easily distracted by you.

I can’t say no to you. I’m trapped.

I need to be kinder to myself.

I find this hard with the cruel world. I find this hard with you.

I am not a concept that you understand. I am not understood by anyone.

I know there’s other people. I know you’re lying to me. I’m sick of you getting mad at nothing. I can’t get away.

I texted you again. I tried to be respectful. I was insulted once again. I am over this. I am over you.

I move on with my life. I find this hard to do, at first. I wanted to be better. I got better. I got better without you.

I Just Want to Be Friends Again

The wave was for you, Not the others in the room. But you clearly didn’t know — Your eyes were fixed on mine.

Eyes from your past — Why did your glance last? When we haven’t spoken, Or seen each other, in weeks.

I suppose I must’ve been staring too — Or I wouldn’t have noticed. Why am I so confused? I thought I was over you.

The space in my mind you occupy, Is this normal? You were a part of my life, A short, important, chapter in my story — Or is it a sign of something else?

Perhaps I’m just overthinking again, It’s just what overthinkers do. But that doesn’t change that you’re looking at me, And I’m looking back at you, too.

Eddie Schweikert Untitled Nick Luedke

A Good Thing Abused

Eddie Schweikert

Brimming: Tension keeps water from overflowing. The glass is full — People gathered.

First sip: Cutting the tension, It drips from the mouth. The water goes down easy.

Slightly consumed: Then water changed to wine — A blessing

All can enjoy.

Half full: Never seemed to empty — Enough for everyone. It made people happy.

Half empty: Wine goes down quickly. It became bittersweet, Against the Pourer’s wishes.

Empty: Too much wine

Makes a poor soul sleepy — Far too content.

Shattered: Overuse; Sitting in pieces; Never to be brought back together.

Am I the Poet?

Christian Dames

Poetry is my therapy, Of which my sessions have tripled. It hears me, it comforts me. Distracts me from my world, But damn is it dark.

Why is my poetry sad? Mad? A tragedy, not a comedy. It lacks the rhythm and tone, I want my life to reflect.

I’m often not the topic of my poems, I like the structure of the conjuncture, Of the made-up stories I create, Because poems about me often spiral freely, In a sea of emotions, Not of the celebratory kind.

And in the end, I look at this poem of my life, And see that it’s in dire need of a turn.

Untitled

Keaton Mackin

Snipe Hunts

Christian Dames

Snipe hunts are fun for the hunted, There’s a certain bliss to nonexistence, You find the levity in the anonymity, In being society’s running joke.

There is a certain bliss to nonexistence. But is it bliss to be unknowable, unfindable? In being society’s running joke, You are challenged by the depravity of your reality.

Is it bliss to be unknowable, unfindable?

I question my happiness as I consider my place. I am challenged by the depravity of my reality, In being the snipe that is hunted in jest.

I question my happiness as I consider my place, In the snipe hunt for me, supposedly fun for the hunted. In being the snipe that is hunted in jest, Can I really find my levity in the anonymity?

The Cardinal

Tevin Curry

We were in the recreational room

Of my grandmother's nursing home

She always told me

That the red cardinal was in fact

My father visiting us from heaven

Peering over us with love and protection

He appeared suddenly

The day was beautiful and the sun

Shown brightly on the dewy grass

The summer winds howled softly

As per usual

He rested on top of the fence

His chest sticking out with great masculinity

All alone

But never seemed lonely

Rather a father and a son

Simply doing his due diligence

My grandmother and I smiled at each other

Admiring his grace

We wanted so badly to escape the room

And speak to him

But we knew that there would be no point

We would be reunited in heaven one day

All the same

I fear God!

Tevin Curry

I fear God!

His power

His omniscience

His ever knowing mind

I fear God!

He keeps me in check

He loves me

He rules with an iron fist

I fear God!

For his teachings

For his far reach

For his messed up sense of humor

Isolated

Kristian Rocha

Treading downward past ruin, Sparkling, gentle water spans. Through my adolescent memory, Will nasty stains be washed away? Trembling beyond control, I ache to be close to god.

Breath

Kristian Rocha

The smell of rain

Indulging my nostrils, Whispering to myself It is going to storm

The first drops to fall Stream down my cheek, With a deep breath in Freshness fills my lungs

Rain begins to pour. Water pools at my feet, Through the ripples I see A brief glimpse of myself.

Rylee

Martin

Let’s Go for a Ride

Serenity DurhamGoree

let’s go for a ride.

Where the natural wind flows through the loose strands of my hair

Where the perfect lyrics are playing at a blare

Where my eyes choose to shut or go for a stare

When I feel the most serene.

Let’s get in and lock the doors

And hide from all the mental wars while the music blares and the wind flows through my hair and my eyes stare and I feel the most serene.

let’s ride until the sun goes down and watch the colors fill the sky

And find our loved ones in the clouds that hold our last goodbye

Watching the signs pass by with each destination

Not thinking about the endless duration of this ride

Where the wind flows through my hair

Where my eyes shut or stare

Where the music blares

And where I feel

The most serene.

Untitled

Serenity DurhamGoree

I love you today

More than I loved you yesterday

And I’ll love you tomorrow, More than I ever have before.

Be Brave

Rylee Martin

Hum of the Bees

Jenna Pool

Hearing the hum of bees scares me

I don’t want to risk the chance of being stung

I run away when I hear it

I know the beauty of the bees

But I don’t want to get hurt

When I stop to listen to the bees, I realize that they won’t hurt me

They are living their lives and don’t want to hurt me

As long as I leave them alone

They’ll leave me alone

We can live in harmony, together

The sound of the word “relationship”

I don’t want to risk the chance of being stung

I run away when I hear it

I know the beauty of a relationship

But I don’t want to get hurt

When I stop and think about a relationship, I get scared

But I realize that if I don’t worry too much

It won’t hurt me as much as I think

As long as I don’t do anything to risk anything

It will all be okay

Everything will be calm, happy, peaceful

Baby Brother

Reagan Gausman

Beulah Meyer Link Award Selection

How am I supposed to cope with knowing?

Knowing I will outlive you

You are my baby brother

I should not have to live with knowing

I remember reaching into that incubator Pressing my small thumb up to your even smaller foot

So proud of my new baby brother That someday I will have to live without

I try to push this feeling of dread out And savor every smile and laugh

You spinning on the floor tangling your chords

Knowing I’d come let you out

I am scared I won’t recover No matter how “prepared” doctors try to make us

To many times I’ve been told you are dying Your organs want to give out

You are so strong You always pull through I will keep hope Till there is none left

All I can do now is squeeze you tighter With whatever time I have left

Midland Cross

Jillian Dames

Fatal Smile

Reagan Gausman

I took down the pictures

The ones of you and me

I just can’t see your face

Haunts me now

The ones of you and me

Always showed you smiling

Haunts me to know

Inside you were dying

Always showed a smile

Walking down the halls

Inside you were dying

Because of life at home

Walking down the halls

For a final time that day

Because of life at home

Your own life you planned to take

My Heartburn and I:A Parody of E.B.B.’s “My Heart and I”

Jessica Palmquist

I.

UGH! frustrated, My heartburn and I. Bean-filled burritos, The decadent smell wafts into my nose. Fresh pizza stretching with cheese Oh! My mouth waters so!

Fingers coated in grease, Why, oh, why is it here? My heartburn and I.

II.

You see, we belch too much, my heartburn and I.

The over-crisp bacon, and sausages too, And my body betrayed me, As if it is incapable of digesting my love. Pain in the chest, bad stomach aches, I ate too much to keep it in; Tired of the betrayal from my heartburn and I.

III.

How hopeless I feel, my heartburn and I. Trying lemon balm; the pain still there; Why is nature not helping me?

Licorice, what a sweet, sweet treat, A treat not eliminating my sidekick! Please say there are solutions… What do we do now, my heartburn and I?

IV.

Giving up, giving up, my heartburn and I!

Bitter acid taste coating my tongue. Mistaking pepper for peppermint, Stomach acid backed up into my throat. My tongue, no longer graced with delicious bacon, Pizza, now far from my mind. No help, no help for my heartburn and I.

V.

We cannot find a solution, my heartburn and I. No herbs, no teas; no, nothing for me! Milk bubbles in my stomach, Chewing gum makes me dry heave. Wait. What is that sound?

Plop, plop, fizz, fizz, oh, what a relief it is; We hear something, my heartburn and I.

VI.

Might be hope for my weary heartburn and I. That sound, that sound; it tempts me. Suppose it is right… Will it succeed? Let it try. I know where that sound is from, Alka Seltzer, sent by Heaven! It is disappearing, the heartburn from I!

VII.

We say goodbye, my heartburn and I. The pain wears out, the acid disappears, My purple pill, Nexium, my new best friend. Back to eating the greasy, cheesy food, I can fight through another day. I am only I, goodbye to the duo, I think we’ve fared well, my heartburn and I.

Leo Ashlyn Diel

Unholy Embrace

Jessica Palmquist

A fistful of cotton Yanked forward to my Chest. Breath buckles In your lungs, in the embrace.

Little moments of intimacy, Bliss— leave sinful thoughts Unholy in my mind. Endless opportunities…

Lust? Love? Both? Neither? All of the above? Strings of my heart gravitate Towards your embrace.

The thigh grab, the chokehold The pin to the wall; Heightened senses cause me To melt.

Something has never before Been more meaningful to me Than your love, Than your soul— your embrace.

Untitled

Keaton Mackin

My Day With You

Jessica Palmquist

Strawberries are red, Blueberries are blue, I know this poem is already too cheesy for you. But please always do be yourself—stay true. And certainly know, my smile each day is always brighter because of you. :)

FICTION

An Excerpt from “3:41p.m.”

Jessica Palmquist

3:41pm

Glowing, grass green numbers kept the time. Every day, at the second bridge before the third curve those beady numbers would be the same. Driving around the curve the small hands grasped at the steering wheel, knuckles white as the blizzard spinning in the sky. The color of knuckles, a dramatic contrast to the sooty appearance of the steering wheel, ages worn. Down the road only trees and fields flew by—it felt…lifeless. Stopping at the only stop sign at this road there was a dull silence hanging in the air. The storm ruined visibility causing that intersection to be more dangerous than it already was. Turning the corner the wheels skidded; the car jolted. Black as night tennis shoes slammed on the gas, the car burst forward.

9:41am

Like freshly polished gold, the stars shone. The earth spun and those shimmery stars became replaced by the single brightest star of the universe. Warm light came through the tattered curtains that looked more gray than the original store label: sheep’s wool white. Piles of clothing lay on every inch of the floor. Books and makeup lay scattered between.

“Ellie!”

Birds chirped outside, but no sound came from the bed.

“Elana Carissa Howard!”

Shooting out of bed the frazzled girl landed in a clump of clothing. “I’m awake,” she showed a haphazard smile under her droopy eyes.

“Sleeping all day is not going to help you get anything accomplished,” her mom replied snorting at the disorganized situation.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be downstairs in a minute.” Ellie observed the sea of clutter all around her. She shrugged on a sky blue corset

Untitled Ashlee Palimo’o

Front Cover Selection

top that she had been sitting on and pulled on the nearest skirt to her. Glancing at her figure in the mirror, she decided to powder up her face in a gothic makeup look to match the black leather of her skirt. Blending out a mix of black, gray, and silvery blue eyeshadow, she drew a bold wing and lined the inner corners of her eyes as well. A dull pink lip tint was the only lipstick she could find in the chaos of her room. Heading to the bathroom, she curled her Rapunzel-esque locks and secured a corset color-matching bow to finish out the look.

Goodbye, and Thanks For Nothing Jenna Pool

WhenI think of all the times you’ve wronged me, I think of pain and suffering. I know I need to get away from you, but I just keep coming back. Why do I do this? We both know how horrible you are to me. Hell, you told me right out of the gate that you inflict pain for fun. Of course I originally thought, “that’s probably just a sexual thing.” But no. You do it emotionally to everyone you meet. I feel like I should have turned away and left for good right when you told me that, but I blew it off. When I realized that you were awful in the way you are, I turned away. I should have turned and ran, but for some reason I came back. You have a type of mystic force to you that draws everyone back to you, even though they all know that they shouldn’t go back.

When you told me that I only look pretty when I smile or have makeup on, I had the first thought of “I need to get out of here.” But I stayed. You started calling me horrible names and my friends saw the change in me and took me away from you and your abuse. But I still came back. We kept repeating this process, too many times to count. Everyone around me is constantly asking me why I keep going back. I can’t count the amount of times that I have been asked “Why do you keep going back? Don’t you realize how horrible he is to you?” I ask myself the same questions even more than I hear it and I can’t keep going through the process of figuring out why.

I think I need physical support. I think I go back because I know that I can live without worrying about going broke or not having food to eat, even though I worry about those problems while I’m there. You yell at me for not having enough money, even though you pay for almost everything and it doesn’t put a dent in your income. You yell at me for not eating enough, even though what you feed me is shit. You yell at me for not saying “thank you” or “I’m sorry” enough. So, I start saying those two phrases every chance I can, even though I have absolutely no reason to actually say it. No one like you deserves to be thanked or apologized to,

you haven’t ever done anything to deserve it. The more I think about needing physical support, the less I think that is why I keep coming back. Maybe it’s the validation. The knowledge that there is someone who will take me in, even if I don’t want it or they don’t want me. Yeah, I think that’s it. Because every time that I leave and am left alone, I have thoughts that swarm my head. All I can think about are lies. Lies that tell me that I’m not good enough for anyone except you. Lies that tell me that no one will ever want me because of how you ruined me. You have warped my brain so much that you have made me lose all my self worth. You have made me into nothing and I hate that. I wish I could love myself for who I am. I wish I could see myself as deserving of real love and be able to accept it without a reflex of turning away. I don’t even know what love is anymore because you abused it so much. You made me say it over and over again and now it’s just a word. It doesn’t have any meaning to me anymore.

I wish every day that I had a boring life. I would love to do the exact same thing every day. Wake up next to someone that I know I truly love and I know loves me back. Get dressed for work. Eat the same breakfast I’ve eaten for years. Go to the same job with the same coworkers I’ve been around since I started at that job. Go home, kiss my husband hello, make supper, eat it. Then watch TV until we’re tired and then go to bed. Then repeat that whole process every day. That is my dream life. But I can never have that all because of you. The way that you have manipulated me has made me unsuitable for any type of love or relationship or life like that.

I’m going away for good this time. I’ve had all my things packed up for a while now, I’ve just needed to actually leave. I’m leaving now to go somewhere where I know I can have all my needs met, especially my need of staying away from you. I’ve arranged to stay with someone who I know will do anything possible to keep me away from you and you away from me. I

won’t tell you who it is to keep you out of my life as much as I possibly can, but I do want you to know that you will never be seeing me again. I don’t have the money right now to put a restraining order on you, but I will get the money I need for that and I will get one. I will not let you screw me over like you have since the moment I met you. I will be free and I will find happiness, even if it isn’t exactly the happiness I want. I just know that I will be as happy as I need to be once I am completely free and over you.

It’s amazing how nervous and excited I feel right now, knowing that I will be gone so soon. I have to admit though, you will always live inside my head, tormenting me. But, I will choose to ignore everything I hear you saying. I

have also signed up to go to therapy. I know that I don’t have the money for therapy, but I found a group therapy that I can go to for free; and the person I’m staying with said that they will cover any fees that may come out of it. I will find ways to at least cope with everything you have put on my shoulders and I will recover enough to go on with my life and be as happy as possible. But for now, I leave you with the knowledge that you will never find anyone who will truly love you. You are incapable of love and affection and are undeserving of any of it. I hope you die a gruesome, rotten, horrible death and live the worst life possible from here on out. Goodbye Charles, and thanks for nothing.

Sixth and Park

Eddie Schweikert

Where did it all go wrong?

Kristian Rocha

Friday night was a great time. My friends messaged me that morning asking me what I was doing that night. I made up a fake story because I didn’t want to drive an hour just to see them. The homework I needed to get done was just piling up and time was running out. Having to juggle a full load of classes and going to work was exhausting. The next message I saw called me out on my bullshit and that they hadn’t seen me in months. After thinking about it, I finally gave myself a break from work and school.

“Why not? I deserve a break. What could it hurt? My homework would still be there tomorrow and I usually wait until the last minute anyway.”

So I got all my shit ready to go and made myself look mighty fine, if I do say so myself. Then I went to leave but my car didn’t start. Granted, it’s ten years old and I hadn’t started it in a week, but it’s usually pretty reliable. So back inside I went to beg and grovel to my dad to let me borrow his truck.

“Come on dad, the guys are counting on me to be there. I haven’t seen them in like two months. You say to get my ass out of my room and spend time with my friends. Look, I tried to just take my car but it didn’t work. You don’t have work tomorrow, you just said you were off for the next five days. Will you please, let me use the truck? Thank you so much! You won’t regret this! I’ll bring it back the same way it’s leavin’.”

And out the door I ran before he changed his mind, well at least as fast as I could move my ass. The whole drive, all I could think about was seeing the smiles on their faces as I strutted, like the fine specimen I am, through my friend’s front door. I mean we had been friends since middle school. Why wouldn’t they like to see me after all this time? It was then I noticed the dark clouds in the sky above and suddenly I became relaxed. Unlike most people, I love when it rains. *plop *plop *plop The rain then began to dance across my windshield. A couple of miles ahead of me there were flashing lights. I looked down at the speedometer to make

sure I wasn’t speeding because lord knows dad would beat me if I got a ticket in his truck. As I got closer, I saw one of the worst car accidents I have ever seen in my life. Both cars looked horrible. I thought there was no way anyone could have survived. Not going to lie, seeing that crash, shook me. So the rest of the drive I was extra cautious.

“Not my forte, the quicker I could get to where I wanna go the better. But screw it. If I have to drive like an old man to not crash this truck then I’m gonna do it” What seemed like an eternity, I finally pulled into Jack and Diane’s driveway. For some reason everyone was walking out the door. I thought it was strange, I mean I didn’t realize they were that happy to see me. Alas, they weren’t. I turned to say hi and a damn party bus pulled up. I hate drinking on a party bus. I’ve been on four different ones and not a single one of them was a good experience. I swore that party buses would be my nemesis after what they did to me last time. My poor body, I hurt for a week straight. Hell, the scar on my head was still scabbed over from last time. But here it was staring me down, something fierce. I turned to ask my friends what the hell was going on and why they didn’t tell me they rented a party bus. All they could tell me was they knew I wouldn’t come if I knew there was going to be a party bus. Then Jack called me over to help him fill up the two coolers we

were taking on the bus. Each one held our own specific drinks. One cooler was for beer: Busch light, Bud light, and Corona. The other cooler was for bottles of the hard stuff, like whisky and vodka, oh and a few mixers. After we carefully placed each can and bottle into the coolers we layered those suckers with ice. Nobody wants to get drunk off of warm booze. Before we piled onto the bus we had to do our normal ritual. Everyone grabbed a beer and got ready to shotgun them.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends but why the hell do we drink so much everytime we hang out? It is like they are trying to get me drunk every damn time. I get tired of it. But am I going to tell them no? Hell no! They would just say I’m chickening out.

I remember riding the bus, jamming to some 90s throwback music, and downing every drink they gave me until we got to the first bar. Once we got inside it was like magic! A drink appeared in my hand out of nowhere. Then every time I looked around the room my drink was full again. Listen, most of the time when I drink, I finish the drink quickly and chew on the ice for a while but I don’t ever remember my drink being empty. That wasn’t even the strangest part. Everytime time I went to rub my eyes I was in a new bar. This continued about five more times until I ended up in the grass at Jack’s house. I tried to sit up and look around but my body wasn’t moving like it should have been. I tilted my head to the side and there were my friends. Jack was paying the bus driver and Jayco was trying to stop Miguel and Dillon from fighting, this was a regular thing. Neither of them were happy drunks. Miguel always wanted to fight because he wanted to prove something and Dillon liked to push Miguel’s buttons. Jayco was finally able to get them to stop arguing but Miguel yelled, “Screw this, I am leaving and none of you are going to stop me.” Once Miguel left, Jayco and Jack came over to check on me. They helped me get inside of the house, all while trying to tell me everything I just did. Apparently, we went to six more bars after the last one that I remember and all of the drinks we packed in the coolers were gone. They said they were shocked that I was still alive and breathing fine. I asked them why I didn’t feel as bad as I should

and they said it is because of how many times I just puked. Once they finally got me inside, they threw on the couch and tossed a blanket on top of me thinking I would just fall asleep. I managed to pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time and saw I had five missed calls and multiple texts from my family. The news I got broke, that was the start of the worst day of my life. My mother was taken to the hospital and it wasn’t looking good. The only thing that was running through my mind was that I needed to get home, now. The adrenaline must have kicked into overdrive because it felt like I didn’t just try and kill my liver. I flew as fast as I could to the truck and tried to turn it on. It was like the damn key wouldn’t fit in the damn hole. I was finally able to start the truck after fighting with the key for far too long. I quickly started to make my way home until I remembered I was driving dads truck. I knew I had to rush home, but I couldn’t get caught speeding especially now since I just drank my own weight in alcohol. So there I was “grandpaing” my way home in a drunken stupor. But every car that I passed seemed to be going slower and slower. It made no sense. Then almost like magic it started to rain. But this time it wasn’t calming. It reminded me of the night my grandfather died. With that image in my mind I had no choice but to speed up to be with my mother. I was a mile away. One damn mile. Everything was going so well. Then my dad called me. He asked where I was. And I told him I was a mile away from the hospital. I just needed to turn off of the highway and I had a straight shot there. He told me it was too late. Everything went blank. It was like I was watching my life unfold before my eyes. I watched as I took the turn way too fast and hit a car head on. Then everything stopped. I closed my eyes and just like that I was laying in a hospital bed. I overheard the doctors saying the other person did not make it. She was mutilated beyond recognition and died on site. And that is the story from what I remember. I just don’t get it. How can one seemingly great day lead straight into a shitty one. Everyone says God has a plan. But what kind of plan involves you losing someone you love and taking the life of someone on the same day. Maybe we should just chalk it up to bad luck. I mean this could happen to anybody right?

An Excerpt from “The Problem of Everything”

Tevin Curry

Theyear was 2066. I remember being uncomfortable at this massive event filled with the extremely rich and powerful. Money was everywhere. I was standing next to my uncle, who was dripping sweat from his bottom lip. He was so nervous. This man could do virtually anything with his mind, but still had crippling stage fright leading up to his big presentation.

Given the circumstances, though, this was very understandable. He was about to present the world with the most innovative technology the world had ever seen. Me and him had spent months perfecting his life’s work: he recruited me to work for his company straight out of high school. The company is called StarTech (some real Sci-Fi stuff, I know). But don’t worry, nobody is going to space or anything in this story. I wish.

As I’m standing there with my uncle, my mom has the audacity to walk up to me with this strange man in a suit that I’ve never seen in my life. My mom works at the House of Representatives from the state of Georgia, a real butt-kisser but she enjoys getting things done. The man she walked up with was very stern and muscular, had a military buzz-cut, and looked like he had a 3-foot-pole stuck up his ass.

“Zeke! There’s someone I want you to meet,” she says, all fake and annoying-like. She’s nothing like this outside of the public eye. “This is John Cross, from the NSA.”

Ever since I got into MIT, my mom has always been trying to recruit me for the NSA. It sounds pretty boring if you ask me. Spying on the American public was never necessarily a dream of mine. After the Last Great War, government surveillance of the

public increased significantly. At one point, you couldn’t go outside, and at another, you couldn’t go outside without being seen. That’s the price of the American dream, I guess. Personally, I’d rather partake in building world-ending robots than join the NSA; it’s actually a passion of mine. With the war came unhinged AI innovations. Nobody knows how to drive, cook, or really do anything anymore. All computers can talk, so Siri is just an ex-girlfriend in the grand scheme of human civilization. I built my first AI robot when I was seventeen years old, and Uncle Sam took it away shortly after.

Considering I had one sitting in my mom’s garage at the time, I wasn’t in the mood for conversation with this character standing in front of me.

He stuck his hand out and I shook it. His grip was so firm I felt like my hand was about to fall off. Meanwhile, my uncle stood in the corner frantically trying to get his shit together. As I was awkwardly socializing, suddenly my skin felt hot. I wondered, what the hell was the world going to think of this? There had to be backlash.

My uncle was introduced by his official sounding name, ‘Doctor Charles Gibson’, and the crowd went nuts. I guess he was pretty famous for the time. He was like black Elon Musk, tech companies and everything. He was instead more interested in humanitarianism and social reform than anything though. Money didn’t mean much to him, and I still don’t think he knew a lick about business. At the time, I had bought into the whole ‘saving the world’ thing too. But not anymore. And when all this is said and done, I don’t think you will anymore either.

Uncle Mario started giving his spiel. “Ladies and gentlemen. I present to you today an opportunity for the evolution of our species. An end to discrepancies, an end to suffering in this world as we know it. This generational technology will be the springing board for new growth and ensures the safety and security of the human race. But I can show you much better than I can tell you.”

Ceramic Waves

Rylee Martin

He made a gesture towards the crowd, summoning five participants from the audience. Nobody else in the audience knew it, but these were the first test subjects. My uncle commentated as they stood in a perfect row in front of the stage. Simultaneously, he brought up an image on the holographic slideshow. His credentials were so long nobody even read them off, he just showed them quickly and moved on with the good stuff.

“Low and behold! I present you with my latest creation! The prototypes of the StarChip!” He awkwardly motioned with his hand to flip the slide, and a graphic appeared showcasing a nanoscopic microchip and method of insertion. “Shoot for the stars, because anything is possible with our new and tested cognitive enhancement chip. This infographic does not do it justice. Please give a round of applause for the first 5 Homo Sapiens supplied with the knowledge of the newest iteration of A.I technology!” The participants quickly marched to the front of the stage, and stared at the back of the room blankly as the crowd flared in applause. Even my mom got a kick out of it. Why were they not terrified? I guess we all saw this coming, sometime or another.

SCRIPTS

An Excerpt from “Mourning Dove” A Short Film by

Devyn Hansen

SCENE 2: INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

Dove sits on the floor below the couch, surrounded by candles. With a match, she lights each one, taking in a deep breath. A few beats of silence. The sound of a door opening and closing.

Side-shot wide. Focuses on Malia, standing in the doorway.

MALIA

Dove? What the hell are you doing?

Cuts back to a straightforward shot of Dove, eyes closed, focusing on breathing.

DOVE

I’m…… meditating.

Cut to close up of Malia.

MALIA (Dubious)

Oh, of course. Well, uh, I’m about to go to the green gardens if you want to join me for a drink.

Cut back to medium side shot. Dove lays a few items around the candles.

DOVE No thanks.

MALIA

Come on. It could be fun.

DOVE

I don’t really feel like going out tonight.

Cut to close up of Malia.

MALIA

Come on, Dove! You never want to go out. I think it could be really good for you to meet new people.

Cut back to Dove. Nate sits behind her, as if he just appeared out of nowhere. The candles are blown out, just smoke remains.

NATE (Amused)

She’s right. You’ve been kind of a mess since I died.

DOVE

(Under her breath)

Screw you, Nate. I’ve been a mess since the day I was born.

Nate laughs. Dove re-lights the candles. Long shot on Malia and Dove, Nate gone.

DOVE

Thanks for inviting me, Mal. But it’s just not the right time.

MALIA (Dejected)

Oh, okay.

DOVE

But maybe when you get back we could watch a movie or something.

MALIA

(Suddenly pleased) Yeah! Yeah, I would love that.

DOVE

Have fun. Be safe.

MALIA

Thanks! Good luck with your…thing.

A pause.

MALIA

(With an air of concern)

Hey… you’re taking your meds, right?

Widened shot on Malia.

DOVE (Hesitant)

Yeah, of course.

MALIA

Cause, I know things were hard after… Nate… You know…

Shot on Dove. She flicks the lighter on and off.

DOVE

(Carefully piecing her thoughts together)

Honestly, I’m fine. You know? Nate and I were over before he died. I got over him, and… It’s sad what happened, but he didn’t have a place in my life anymore.

MALIA

Okay. Okay, Just… call me If you need anything, Okay? Anything at all.

DOVE (Softly) Thanks.

Malia exits.

Cut back to Dove with Nate behind her again. From under the couch, she pulls out a bottle of vodka and chugs. Lights a cigarette off of one of the candles. Takes a drag. Nate watches with a mix of amusement and disgust. Dove smoking throughout their conversation.

NATE

This is really sad, you know that, right?

DOVE

What?

Shot fixed on Dove.

NATE

You’re so obsessed with me.

DOVE Shut up, Nate.

NATE

Why go to all the trouble just to see me, then?

DOVE

I wasn’t looking for you, but here you are. Just as much a pain in the ass in life as in death.

NATE

I saw you, you know. At my funeral.

DOVE

Okay, so? I saw you, too. In the damn casket.

NATE

(Amused)

You’re still in love with me, aren’t you?

DOVE

I wish I was driving the car that hit you.

She pauses, taking another swig of Vodka from the bottle. She puts out the candles as Nate speaks.

NATE

(There’s the disgust) You’re so delusional.

DOVE

What did you just say to me?

Dove stands up and sits on the couch beside him. They’re sitting relatively close, but there’s a distance. Dove is hesitant, unsure if she’s really seeing him. Staring into his eyes, as cold as his.

They stare for a moment at each other.

NATE

For some reason, you can’t let go of me.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket, dialing a number.

NATE You need me.

DOVE No I don’t.

Puts the Phone up to her ear.

NATE What are you doing?

DOVE

Hey, Scott. Y’wanna do something?

Nate rolls his eyes behind her. Dove takes another swig of Vodka.

Untitled

Keaton Mackin

An Excerpt from “Yarn Head” A Short Film by

Christian Dames

SCENE 1: EXT. UNIVERSITY – MORNING

Sun shines on a SMALL UNIVERSITY CAMPUS. A fountain sits at the center of campus, the lapping of the water fills an otherwise quiet morning.

A young man (20) sits hunched on a bench, fervently working. His head is made entirely of YARN, which feeds into his work.

This is YARN HEAD.

To his side, sits a wide-brim hat. A few stray dollars have been thrown in. Next to it, a SIGN sits:

CROCHETED FLOWERS! $5! JUST AN ART STUDENT LOOKING FOR SUPPORT!

SCENE 2: EXT. UNIVERSITY – MORNING

Crochet needles weave threads of yarn into a HALF-FINISHED, multi-colored FLOWER. There is a certain attention to detail to the flower. It is a piece of art.

Yarn Head continues his work. He looks down past the crochet piece. A foot taps on the ground.

YOUNG WOMAN

Are you about done?

A YOUNG WOMAN (22) stands over Yarn Head. She watches him work, impatience worn on her face.

Yarn Head gives her a brief look of annoyance.

YOUNG WOMAN

Sorry. I’ve got class, you know.

Yarn Head nods his head, pauses and lifts up a finger.

She scoffs. Crossing her arms, she shifts her weight back and forth between her feet. She looks down at the ground. She checks her phone for the time.

Several moments pass. Yarn Head continues his work.

The Young Woman reaches her limit.

YOUNG WOMAN

Okay. I seriously gotta go.

Yarn Head looks at the piece, still not content with it. He looks up at her, disappointed.

YOUNG WOMAN

It’s okay, just keep the money. I just have to get to class.

Yarn Head sighs. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a pair of SCISSORS. He cuts the end of the threads that hang from his head.

At the CUT...

He WINCES.

It is painful for him.

He hands the young woman her flower.

She looks at it and back at him. She shrugs and stuffs it in her bag.

Yarn Head cringes at the sight.

She leaves in a hurry.

YOUNG WOMAN

(Calling back)

Thank you!

Yarn Head watches before slumping over, defeated.

SCENE 3: EXT. UNIVERSITY – MORNING

Yarn Head begins packing his things.

He puts the scissors back in his bag. He stuffs the money into a pouch in his bag. Putting his hat on, he folds the sign up.

With everything together, he leaves.

SCENE 4: EXT. COFFEEHOUSE – DAY

Yarn Head sits in front of a COFFEEHOUSE. There is the light bustle of a city’s downtown. Cars drive past, people walk in and out of the coffeehouse.

He works on another crocheted piece. As he works, he briefly looks up. A GIRL (20) and her FRIENDS enter a shop across the street.

YOUNG GIRL (O.S.)

(Interrupting)

Do you go to school for this?

Yarn Head looks over at his client, a YOUNG GIRL (7-10). She watches as he works, observant and inquisitive.

He nods to her question, SNEAKING A GLANCE across the street.

YOUNG GIRL

I draw.

Yarn Head perks up at this, excitedly encourages her to keep at it. She smiles at him.

YOUNG GIRL

I won’t go to school for it though.

Yarn Head briefly stops his work and gives her a defeated look. He questions her. She simply shrugs.

YOUNG GIRL

My dad says it’s just a hobby. He says I won’t make money at it.

Yarn Head gestures to his hat, some stray cash thrown in it. He nods fervently about it.

YOUNG GIRL (Laughs)

I don’t think that’s a lot. (A beat) You should be a doctor. They make lots.

Yarn Head laughs and shrugs before he pats at his heart, implying its about what he loves. She nods at this. He finishes up the flower. He pulls out his scissors and makes the cut.

He winces.

He hands her the flower and she smiles at it, holding it gently . She gives him the $5 bill. As she does, her MOM exits the coffeehouse.

The Young Girl shows her mom the flower.

YOUNG GIRL Look Mom!

MOM

Wow! So pretty! What do you say?

The Young Girl turns to Yarn Head.

YOUNG GIRL

Thank you! (a beat) Hope you make lots!

Yarn Head laughs and waves as the family leaves.

YOUNG GIRL (O.S.)

Mom, can I get some new colored pencils?

SCENE 5: EXT. COFFEEHOUSE – DAY

Yarn Head looks across the street and sees the Girl leaves the store with her friends. Yarn Head straightens up as they cross the street.

They make EYE CONTACT and Yarn Head waves. She gives him a smile and waves back. Her Friends start to head into the coffeehouse before she tells her to wait a moment.

Yarn Head bristles as she approaches him- he was not prepared for this.

She smiles at him as she approaches.

GIRL

Hey! I just had to stop and ask, are we in a class together?

Yarn Head nods, perhaps a little too excitedly.

GIRL

I thought so, the art major right?

He laughs, nodding again.

She looks over at his set up.

GIRL

Quite the operation you have going on here, a lot of a traffic?

Yarn Head sheepishly shrugs.

GIRL (Laughs)

This is cool! (A beat) Well I am going to get going, good seeing you! I’ll see you in class!

She starts to go before Yarn Head stops her. He points at the sign and offers her.

GIRL

Oh, yeah sure! I’ll take one! Can I pick it up after we’re done here?

Yarn Head nods, excited.

GIRL (Laughs)

Sweet! I’ll see you in a bit then!

She returns to her Friends. They laugh at her, teasing her as they walk in.

GIRL (Quietly, from a distanced) What? I was being nice!

Yarn Head sits back down in his seat and gets ready to start on the flower. He chuckles to himself and begins to crochet.

SCENE 6: EXT. COFFEEHOUSE – DAY

LATER:

Yarn Head nears the completion of the flower. People walk in front of him as he works, some with AWKWARD LOOKS. Yarn Head pays them no mind, he stays focused on the crocheting.

Several moments pass and he hears the Girl and her Friends leaving the coffeehouse. They start to walk AWAY from Yarn Head.

He notices this, and quickly scrambles. He grabs the scissors and quickly cuts the threads. He winces at the quick cut, it is a pain like a stubbed toe.

Ignoring it, he rushes after her- catching her before she turns the corner.

She smiles at him and laughs at herself.

GIRL

Oh my God! I almost forgot! Thank you!

She begins to dig in her pockets for money. Yarn Head waves her away.

GIRL

Please, I insist.

Yarn Head fervently shakes his head again.

GIRL

Well, thank you. Maybe I’ll have to bring a coffee to class sometime.

Yarn Head perks up at this. He points to himself and then at her. Then to the coffeehouse. He mimics drinking coffee. He waits for her to respond.

The Girl’s demeanor changes. She tenses up and becomes more awkward.

GIRL

Oh...yeah. Maybe. Yeah maybe sometime...

She drifts off, looking down at her feet and then back around the corner.

Yarn Head sheepishly looks down at his, aware of the error.

GIRL (Forced laugh) Well, I gotta catch up with them. She holds up the flower again.

GIRL (CONT’D)

Thank you, again! See you in class.

She awkwardly waves at Yarn Head as she leaves, turning around the corner. Yarn Head waves back, awkward.

As soon as she leaves his sight, he begins to hit himself on the head- embarrassed. He slowly walks back to his set up, slumping down in his seat.

SCENE 7: EXT. COFFEEHOUSE – EVENING

LATER:

It evening as Yarn Head works on a customer’s piece. His customer is a MAN (50). Yarn Head is a little slumped, less energetic than before.

As he concludes the piece, he grabs his scissors and makes the CUT. He barely winces. His mind is elsewhere.

The Man takes the crocheted flower as he tosses the money into the hat.

MAN

Thank you! My girl’s gonna love this.

He begins to walk away.

Yarn Head nods solemnly. He sits there for several moments as he watches the man walk away. He looks across the street, at the store the Girl was at. Hardly anyone is there now.

He jerks as he hears people walk out of the coffeehouse, a barista begins to close up the store. Yarn Head lets out a slow sigh.

He begins to pack his things up like before. He stuffs the money in a bag, folds up his sign. He puts his hat on, tipping it to a patron that walks by.

He starts to go, heading towards the corner that the Girl and her friends went.

SCENE 8: EXT. COFFEEHOUSE – EVENING

Around the corner, he stops in his tracks. On the ground is the CROCHETED FLOWER. The one he made for the Girl.

Yarn Head bends down and picks it up. He holds it up to his face, staring at the yarn piece. He begins to shake with anger.

His fist closed around the flower, crushing it, ruining it. He throws it down on the ground and begins to stomp on it. Repeatedly.

He kicks it away, into the street. He kneels down on the ground, defeated. He begins to cry.

Yarn Head sits like this for several moments.

He picks himself up and walks away.