Mother by Adrienne Pine

My Mental Disorders Help Me

Do My Laundry by Anna Zilbermints

I. Depression hangs a sign over the dirty laundry heaped on the floor, a flashing marquis announcing

L A Z Y

the only light I’ve seen in days that I pass every time on my way to the dryer to pick out another clean shirt.

II. Anxiety chains me to the washing machine in case it starts

flooding self-destructing sparking screaming being on fire I might burn the house down with water I don’t know

it only lets me go to find the cat and make sure she’s somewhere in my line of vision as I turn on the dryer. III. ADHD reminds me that after I start a load, I wanted to make myself eat, but while I’m in the kitchen, I should probably do the dishes, and oh yeah, the trash has been piling up, I should really take that out, but first I should clean out the litter box, but how did I lose the scoop, I need to find it, I don’t know why I put it behind the dryer, but here we

Oh my god my laundry’s been in the washer for three days.

IV. Body dysmorphia holds up shirts with trunks too tight sleeves too small and throws them back into the closet. At least I won’t have to wash them. Again.

Confession

by Jeanette Smith

“Can I take your order?”

The crackle of the speaker box brought him out of his stupor, and he blinked in the too-bright fluorescent lighting coming from the backlit signs of the drive-thru. The bold purples and yellows of the menu seemed to jump from the boards and assault him. He wasn’t sure exactly why he had chosen a Taco Bell. He knew he needed to end up someplace, and this was just as good as any.

“Hello?” The speaker box’s tone seemed to question the man’s very existence which prompted him to speak.

“I need you to listen.”

“Uh, right, that’s what I’m here for. To listen to your order.” The speaker box crackled with the slightest bit of hope that the encounter wouldn’t get any stranger or be prolonged more than necessary.

“Have you ever run over something? A squirrel, perhaps.”

“Uh, sir, I need you to order something.”

“In a minute. I ran over something today. It was horrifying.”

There was a pause from the speaker box. “Can you please order something?”

“One order of chips with nacho cheese sauce.”

“Anything else?” the speaker box crackled blandly.

“Yes, I want to tell you about this.”

“Sir, there are other cars waiting.”

He checked in the rearview mirror before responding. “No, there’s no one there. I need you to listen.”

“Look buddy, this is a drive-thru. You drive up. You order. You pull through.”

“Fine, one beef burrito. I could see it by the side of the road. It was just sitting there in the grass.”

“Anything else for your order?” The speaker box huffed.

“One steak quesadilla. But, you see, I lost track of it for a second. There was a car.” “Please pull around, your order tot—”

“No, you’re not listening. I’m not through with my order yet. One soft taco. As I was saying, there was this car parked by the side of the road and I lost track of it for just a split second.”

“Your order tot—”

“One more soft taco.” His voice cracked. “I guess it lost track of me too. It had to have seen me coming in its direction.” He sniffed. “Your order tot—”

“One more soft taco. As I was saying, it was just there, in the middle of the road. I couldn’t stop and I tried to swerve, but there was no room with the car there and we both went the same direction.”

“Your order tot—”

“One more goddamn soft taco,” he shouted, his face red and his cheeks puffed. “I didn’t mean to hit the kid!”

The speaker box was silent. The man was silent.

“That’s one order of chips with nacho cheese sauce, one beef burrito, one steak quesadilla, and four soft tacos.” The speaker box buzzed and cut off into more silence.

“Anything else?” the man asked.

Blue Arson

by Carella Keil

Burning

by Brianna Ashmen

I survive in a constant state Of burning embers I never imagine will be smothered. Sparks that seem to have always lived And I ask, in awe, What of this, my mother’s wisdom knows? My mother says She could see this knowing in me The minute her eyes first met mine, But I see this attribute As only an acknowledgment Of instantaneous trust. I don’t know how to say, That I have been burning since my first memory, And I don’t know enough to say, That this will always be. I do know that I have learned. I have walked willingly into waters Lapping to extinguish And with bitter pain, I still hold faith in humanity. Although it tempts, I don’t let the sand sink And I don’t let my burn whimper. And when the ocean persists, I continue to fight to keep me. I’ll never let the pain of knowing Suffocate my hopeful light.

Love and Lost

by Shim Whitman

I remember it vividly as if it happened just yesterday. The social workers holding the tiny hands of my siblings and taking them away one by one is still etched in my mind. The memory comes to haunt me during random circumstances—like tiny bubbles that rise to the surface of the pond I used to visit as a child. I thought that someone must be under there, struggling for air, but I would never be able to save them. That’s the irony.

In the backyard, playing around, our noises reverberated through the neighborhood. Maybe we thought nothing could stop us from having fun and living life to the fullest. Or maybe we tried to challenge our fates, mocking each of them by blowing raspberries and making funny faces. However, we never thought that our joy at that moment would shortly end. I heard the sound of the car tire on the gravel path. I called after my siblings to at least make them organized. But something was nagging me deep inside—a weird feeling that made me struggle for air as if I’d run out of oxygen. I needed to go someplace quiet just to remind myself to breathe.

I knew something was up, and maybe they sensed it too. We looked at each other as if we all wanted one of us to take the initiative. Before I saw the black cop car parked in front or the pair of uniformed police officers in the front hall, we knew it was serious. We were young and naive, but we understood. But could we have stopped it from happening? There was shouting, crying, and helpless lamentations—everything at once. I felt as if the house was going to burst.

Everything seemed like it was going fine until we heard the doorbell ring. I rushed into the house with my brothers and sisters. The evening sunlight crept through the cotton flower-patterned curtains. A light breeze caused them to dance briefly. “What is happening?” my brother asked me. I shook my head. When I turned, I saw my dad come from the living room. He looked at me anxiously, then walked toward the front door and opened it. We saw the police in uniform. Their eyes traversed from beyond my father’s shoulder to mine. I was frozen with fear. I knew they had come to take us away. We heard a brief conversation between my father and the police. Then, they came into the kitchen where we were standing. “Y’all go sit at the table,” my father demanded.

It was just then my mother came from the bedroom. She had dark circles around her eyes, and the tip of her nose was red. She hugged all of us and squeezed my shoulder a little. It seemed as if she was trying to say sorry. “Mom! What’s happening?” I tried to ask her. “Just sit here for a while. Everything is okay,” she said, with a wan smile.

My parents and the cop went outside to the back porch. The back door closed on us. We sat at the table as if waiting for our execution.

To protect them, I told my siblings, “No matter what, don’t tell the cops anything.” “Why?” they asked, with innocent eyes bulging from the sockets. It seemed as if their life depended on my answer. “Because if you do, mom and dad will get in trouble, and we will be taken away.” The rest nodded solemnly. The incident had shaken them. They already knew what was going to happen. When I looked around at them, I realized that this day might be the last time that we were going to sit together. My heart pounded fast as I wove many different possibilities as to what could happen. Then, an image crept into my mind. I saw my parents going to jail and my siblings being taken away. I nearly wanted to cry. I couldn’t imagine life without my family. Then, the back door opened. My mom appeared.

I saw the others tense. Muted whispers and sighs. Then, slowly, each one of the kids was questioned, I was the last one. The policeman with the scarred face introduced himself. He asked questions politely. I swallowed and nodded. I was nervous and didn’t want to talk to him. That was it. Sgt. Cooper said I could go. I walked back, looking back toward my parents sitting at the back porch. I may have disappointed them. I went back to the table in the kitchen, and we all sat together as we did a few minutes ago. Then, I heard my mother crying on the back porch.

Afterward, everything happened in a quick flash. There were doors opening and closing, the sound of footsteps, crying, and shouting. The next thing I remember was the minivan—a blue one, like the skies. There was a blonde-haired lady too, she kept looking at us. I remember my father saying, his voice shaky with emotion, “You have to go with this nice lady here, but just know that I love you very much.” We all started crying.

My little sister held onto my arms as she wailed with sadness when the social worker grabbed her by the hand and said curtly, “It’s time to go.” She walked away, still sobbing and shouting my name. “Please, I don’t wanna go—I want to stay with you.” I hugged her and wiped her tears. “I know, beautiful. I don’t want you to either, but…just always remember I love you very much, and I will always be your big sister no matter what.”

That was the last time I saw my siblings. I wept like a baby as I watched my dear siblings being taken away from me and the only family that they had ever known. The loss of that day still haunts me like a tsunami leaving only destruction. The last hug, the last touch, the last memory with my family. Forever gone. Forever broken.

Hush

by Emily Prom

These words that I try to tell you are not for the sake of speaking. I do not open these lips to let flies nest in my throat. When I speak, you don’t listen. You hear me, but you don’t listen. You wait, watching my lips move like a hawk watches her prey, ready to pounce the moment I stop or pause for breath. And when I do, you’re off. I can feel the gunshot in my chest, starting the race. You’re the first one out of the gate, turning the conversation to you. I lift a hand, my eyes strained against the spotlights shining on you. I did not realize this was your show. I am sorry, but you asked me how I was. I was surprised when you did ask, for you usually do not. Always content to keep me quiet, to keep me over in a corner. Prop me up like a porcelain doll, my lips painted shut. With a face this fair and a body like mine, no one cares to hear the words I have to say. These lips are to remain shut unless they are wrapping around your member. Quiet, quiet, always quiet. Once I was loud. I was bold, bright, beautiful. Now I am quiet. You have dulled me down, turned down the light, covered the shine and the brilliance with the mud of my sins. I still hear my father’s voice, telling me to quiet down when the sound of my voice became too much for him. My mother, urging me to relax, to calm down, because my brightness shone too much light on her shadows. You, every single one of you, care only for my physical shape and what I’m willing to do with it. Never for the words, sitting on my tongue, just waiting to come out. Never for my thoughts, my dreams, any hopes or ambitions. But I have learned something in the midst of my silence. You cut me off— interrupt me— change the subject— ignore me— do whatever is necessary to shut me up because you are afraid of what I have to say. The things that come out of your mouth mean nothing. You and I both know this. Mindless, useless chatter. The more you speak, the less you’re actually saying. But I, I am a goddess. I am an enigma, I am the world. I, like every woman before me, and every woman coming behind me, possess the power to destroy you and everything. So when I speak, it is because I have something to say. My words are power. They are magic. I am through wasting them on you.

Autumn Falls

by Lauren Knisbeck

Silk

by Carella Keil