Table of Contents RKYV # 52 {Dec. 2011} RKYV ONLINE LOGO – David Marshall {current} r. j. paré {modified} Roy G. James {original} Virtual Covers # 52 - art by Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver - Design/Layout by David Marshall & r. j. paré Interior Art - by r. j. paré, Kevin Curtis Barr, James ‘Jig-One’ Titman, Roger Price, Stephen Gibb, T. B. Hoopdriver, Corinne Vuillemin, Josh Bowe, Larissa Gula, Orly Shalem
Editorial Column - “At the Outset: A Few Thoughts from the Editor” - By r. j. paré World View - “Bullying - a different perspective” - by r.j. paré
- “Walk This World” - by Mick Edwards Art in Focus - Orly Shalem - by r. j. paré Poetry - by Marie Lecrivain, Alvaro Cortes Ortiz Jr., Wanda Smith, Frances Nichols Vargas, neil burke, r. j. paré
Featured Creator Review - Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver - By r. j. paré Pop Culture - “Digital Scribbles” Short Fiction - by Darke Raven - “Deadly Friend, pt II” - “Raised on Saturday Morning - by Patrick J Nestor, Jr. Cartoons” - by Pauline Paré On Writing
Domestic Bliss – by Stephen Gibb
“1970's Wild Child� is one of 3 posters made for a painting Kevin did of Chaka Khan. The painting is in watercolour; the size is 11 x 17; the piece was originally created 2-10-2003
At the Outset _____________________________________________________________________________ RKYV ONLINE Printed as PDF | Dec. 2011 | rkyv.online@rogers.com آ
A few thoughts from The Editor… by r. j. paré December promise you gave unto me December whispers of treachery December clouds are now covering me December songs no longer I sing Collective Soul
Hardly the cheeriest song, come to think of it. But hey, it was the 90's, an era when grunge had run its course and hip-hop & gangsta-rap were now dominating the charts. It was okay for a white kid from the ‘burbs’ to wear his cap side-ways, cross his arms and pepper his speech with “yo, represent” and “word.” Or was it? No. Most. Definitely. Not. Here’s the thing, we [rock audiences] were waiting for a band to lift rock out of its [insert modifier]-rock doldrums. We were tired of the sub-genres raining supreme and wanted to hear some friggin’ rock music again. Not Southern Rock; not Punk Rock; not Grunge Rock or even Rock-a-billy damn it! For Those About to Rock We Salute You
AC/DC
And Collective Soul did just that. Starting with 1994's HINTS ALLEGATIONS AND THINGS LEFT UNSAID – they got us cranking up the volume again. They reminded us we didn’t need to wear drug-lord amounts of gold chain or shiny synthetic clothes. We could don a simple tee-shirt, pull up our jeans and take a hot chick out to a concert on Saturday Night. Maybe we’d even get lucky. Now what has any of this to do with comics, pop culture, writing or art you say? Oh... Mr. SmartyPants huh? Well, to quote Dr. Demento:
Boot To The Head Actually it all does make sense in a round-about fashion. I write & create according to my moods. The tunes I am listening to usually play a part in getting me in a particular mood or vibe. For example if I’m listening to John Denver, you bet your Grandma’s Feather Bed I am not gonna be able to muster the emotional zone to write dark, violent scripts, poetry or prose. It’s just not happening. Don’t believe me? Try it sometime. When you sit down to write, listen to some tuneage that reflects the tone of your material. Need to write a comedic scene? Why not listen to some Weird Al? Going to write your lady a love-poem? Try listening to some classic AM GOLD. Are you about to script the pay-back sequence in the next action blockbuster? Go ahead and crank some metal. Let me know the results – I bet you’ll be pleasantly surprised. This month, for your reading pleasure, I am pleased to present the following: x Artist & Poet Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver is our Featured Creator of the Month and joins us for an interview and to share a look at some of his fantastic work. x Patrick J Nestor, Jr. returns to finish his creepy little tale – “Deadly Friend.” x Pauline Paré pens a stark look at the final hours of a little girl lost, in nightmarish woods, in her fan-fiction piece: “Sophia’s Last Walk.” x Mick Edwards continues his series of articles “Walk This World.” x Darke Raven, Pauline Paré and yours truly, r. j. paré discuss comics, movies and TV in a series of pop culture reviews. x For fine art aficionados I am pleased to direct you to our "art in focus" segment as we continue our look at the beautiful acrylics of Orly Shalem. Many thanks, as well, to all of the talented artists [credited throughout the issue] who continue to share their fantastic work with us - their contributions make every edition of RKYV’s a pleasure to produce! And lastly, for more RKYV entertainment than we can fit into a PDF, here are some fun and engaging sites we’ve set up, to expand the RKYV-al fun all month long!
RKYV twitter feed – text us with your feedback! http://twitter.com/#!/RKYVOnline
RKYV Editorial Video Blog – watch me act the fool and hype the Zine!
Darke Raven’s RKYV Blog & Pod Casts – vote for your favourite segments!
http://www.youtube.com/user/RKYVONLINE
http://rkyvrevue.blogspot.com/
RKYV ONLINE Facebook Group – post submissions and chat with contributors!
Official RKYV Blog http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2399067108 – send us your comments, questions & suggestions! http://rkyv.blogspot.com/
Here’s a sneak peek at next month’s featured creator, Mike Whoo hoo, see you all in 30 for that one…-
Gustovich.
Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this issue of RKYV and tune in next time as we ring in The Holidays and commence our countdown clock with the first issue of the end of days…*
but you tell me over and over and over again my friend, ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction. Barry McGuire
*RKYV Legal Dept. – Urgent Disclaimer – RKYV Online does not endorse the notion that a bunch of ancient Mayans and their limited stone calendar carving operation in any way predicts that 2012 amounts to anything more than “the year immediately preceding 2013” and would advise any gun-toting, food hoarding, bunker building militia-men to ignore Mr. Paré’s rants – he hasn’t slept much and we have it on good authority [his wife] that he is rarely “right” about anything – let alone apocalyptic prophecies…
Raindrops – by Larissa Gula
Bullying – A Different Perspective by r. j. paré _____________________________________________________________________________ RKYV ONLINE Printed as PDF | Dec. 2011 | rkyv.online@rogers.com Ø¢ I recently read a sad news story about a teen committing suicide because they could not handle being bullied and it made me think.... Now listen, I know this isn't very PC of me... But I believe that if you get rid of zero-tolerance rules on fighting, bullying will be significantly reduced. We have forgotten that a controlled degree of violence in growing teens acts as a safety valve. It lets off the steam and avoids an explosion. It is funny, in a pathetic way, that the “no fighting” policies they enacted in order to curb school bullying have actually increased it. You must understand, bullies adapted quite well to the no fighting... they could “crowd, intimidate, belittle, insult and stalk” without fear of consequence. And when a child, who is a victim of bullying, finally stands up for themselves and fights back - they are the ones who get suspended!?! What was once a seminal moment in a young person's life [a moment that helped them develop confidence and the inner strength for the challenges ahead; the moment they first stood up to a bully] has been eliminated by misguided Educators. I am 42 and when I was a kid, I was the smallest in my school. I was scared and ran every time I was bullied. But when I finally stood up for myself, it changed how I viewed the world and it gave me confidence. It doesn't matter if I won or lost every such encounter – what matters is that the message was sent that “I wouldn't submit; I wouldn't back down” and that, very soon, ended the bullying.
I know people don't want to hear this. But we won't learn how to have healthy conflict resolution later in life... if we don't learn the very basic concept of standing up for ourselves and thus gaining confidence. I don't doubt that Educators had their hearts in the right places, when they instituted these rules. But since then, teen suicide rates and school shootings have gone up exponentially.
I would never suggest that violence ought to be a 1st resort. But, and I can't stress this enough, we can't really ignore the fact that violence is a part of us, especially when we are in our teens. I truly believe it acts as a safety valve and that, two kids in a scuffle, is a far better result than what we seem to have traded for. I grew in a factory town with rampant alcoholism and plenty of abuse. As a result, I have done my best to shelter my girls from such experiences as much as humanly possible. We live in a small town that is nothing like where I grew up, in fact. I also took the time to sit them down, especially with my oldest, and share with them what it was like for me growing up and letting them know they never have to bottle their fears and anxieties up – that Dad will listen and help no matter the problem. Thankfully, they've never been bullied [fingers crossed it stays that way] but they know that I would “take their side” with school officials, if they ever felt the need to stand up for themselves. As a side note, despite her tiny stature, my oldest daughter can throw a mean uppercut {I pulled out my old boxing mitts and taught them, just in case.-} Take care of yourselves and your kids, r. j. paré
Charles Saatchi Does Not Approve! – by Stephen Gibb
Digital Scribbles
by Darke Raven
Top Ten Digital Comic Wishlist for 2012 (aka Anytime you feel like updating your digital comics, PSN... feel free.) Starting with the Playstation Network Store going back to adding new digital comics... if they haven’t completely given up on it that is. So in no particular order what Id like to see in the New Year digital comic-wise... from the PSN Store... unless some large corporation has an old tablet or iPad they can donate to a reviewer in need... sigh.
So the year has once again drawn to a close. If this was video game reviews we'd have a lot to talk about... but its digital comics so not so much since it has been weeks and weeks on end without a digital comic store update. If you want to read reviews of the DS, 3DS and PSVita please send all your requests via the editor.
One - DC Digital Comics stuff Celadore and Imaginary Boys for starters...
This year for me it is not so much looking back I can’t think of much else but this is a good at the year and picking what I want to see in the start... anyone have any recommendations in the non-superhero comic relations? brand new year of 2012...
Two - DC Comics 2011 Reboot. I recently mooched 3 issues of Power Girl (DC Comics) for review, and ended up getting a look at the rebooted DC Comics universe in a little promo comic added with the order... so... might as well look into it. I'm talking about it next month, and have some titles I am interested in. Stay tuned... yeah, Catwoman is one of them... go figure.
Three - IDW Publishing Doctor Who. There is a ton left of the Doctor, and by ho means do I mean the eleventh Doctor Matt Smith. I mean more stuff of the classic Doctors past that we have yet to see, as well as more of the tenth David Tennant Doctor. I would love to see more of it. Speaking of which...
Five - Classic Star Trek (DC Comics, MARVEL Comics and Paramount Comics). Already digitized (though to date only available if you buy this archives collection DVD holding years of classic Trek comics according to a much treasured colleague no longer with us) I'd like to see somebody pick up the rights to digitally release the many years of Trek between Gold Key (Devil's Due) and IDW.
Four - IDW Publishing Star Trek. Another digital series we have yet to see the full scope of is Star Trek. More classic Trek, and a bit more 2009 reboot Trek. A bit of Star Trek The Next Generation and more... what is presently available is just the start, there is much more we could see... speaking of which...
Six - VIZ on digital. One of the last mega manga publishers in America after ADV fell and TOKYOPOP left for Europe, I'd like to see them make the journey from print to digital, more important to them and their bottom line now more than ever since the collapse of the corner physical book store like Waldenbooks and Borders.
Seven - Antarctic Press on digital. Last I checked Antarctic Press was one of the oldest and most successful examples of OEL Manga out there. Containing icons like Fred Perry, Ben Dunn, Rod Espinosa and more with such generational titles like Ninja High School, Gold Digger and more. Its coming to digital (ie you Playstation Network Store) is long in coming... so come already.
Nine - So obscure you didn’t even knew it existed nostalgia Did you know there used to be a Quantum Leap comic? A old Linda Hamilton in Beauty and the Beast comic? A whole company revolving around an icky Nickelodeon slime world universe whose name I forgot? Walter Koenig's Raver comic? William Shatner's TekWar comic? Leonard Nimoy's Primortals? Gosh, there is like a ton of comic history you’re missing out on... somebody bring it all back!
Ten - Adult Erotica
Eight - More Disney Digital Comics. Not the present fare. I mean dig into the stuff based on TV Series and movies (Tailspin, Rescue Rangers, Lilo and Stitch, Kim Possible) and roll it all out. Nostalgia will be digitized... and speaking in turn of nostalgia...
...yeah... that's not happening... well at least the other nine are a varying degree of possible... Somebody know why the PSN Store hasn't updated digital comics in like forever? Please let me know, thanks... otherwise Merry Christmas and Happy New Year... see you next year!
Lotus Bloom – by De Tourist
Featured Artist Review _____________________________________________________________________________ RKYV ONLINE Printed as PDF | Dec. 2011 | rkyv.online@rogers.com Ø¢ {Artist's Statement} “An invitation to slurp tea at the home of one's own perception and be host to an infinitesimal assemblage of glance, osmosed through a gaze of cerebral distraction. Laze a mental limb upon the abstracted sands of chance and emerge from a maze, hook in eye, as a liege of deduction with the spoils of answer. Using an eye or three, feel free to reflect on what passes. Take the hand of blind curiosity and send it through the dwelling expanse of your own interpretations, to essentially become that which makes art complete.” – tbh – Post-indifferential line traversing spatialist
Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver by r. j. paré
1. Who were your main sources of encouragement, in pursuing art?
Artist’s Name: Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver Title: Foreword Media Used: Digital Capture Date Created: 2008
Maker dearest was very much the main provider of supplies, praise and safe keeping of my earliest a6 rainbow covered notebook workings which now unearth to me an old spring of support far beneath remembrance’s reach. While the source of these scribblingly ‘interesting’ tributaries and merrily etched banks provided a full stream of comic, wildlife and crucifixion scenes, my eleventh year provided the inevitable ‘back of the hand’ view of art as a not so valid career choice. Fortunately, my rearing raised just enough gumption to rebel and my exploration of art, defaced schoolbooks aside, continued around institutional obligations that would have swamped the following endless few years and seen the artistic ship run aground on an academic Alcatraz, were it not for my art instructor, who also had the foresight to facilitate a lighthouse.
A later merger of melody and camaraderie generated the required vibratory muscle to gatecrash the gut-given entitlement to an unconventional existence via the imaginative collaborative, and the resulting fascination with abstract and self-enlightening concepts was enough to escape ‘inside’ life. The apparent revelry in composition and verse, which began as an outlet for symptomatic pangs, began to provide nourishment to the artworks and vice versa while an escalating interest in the harmonic conversion of my incarcerating adolescent angst gradually took over as a central channel of creative euphoric energy and skills acquired during this period served will in merging independence, expressiveness and contentment further.
3. What is your favourite media to work with? Presently, the bare line of lead and ink with a sub-sponge link, as it eases the conceptual flow through the working lenses and removes the tedium of rigid techniques. Software provides the vinaigrette. I would use pastel if it weren’t for the humidity and resulting mould growth in my current country of residence. Earlier work was digitally captured.
What sparked these works in particular was, to cut a long story short, an exploratory trip to the base of a spiralling pitfall of starkness where light from its mouth revealed new sources of awe, but to sum up, almost everything was an encouragement. 2. Did you study or major in art while in college / university? 3 years of design in communications grossed an a3 roll of paper that could have served a much more suitably mediocre function outside of its laminate. Yes, guidance, education and reception received there was comparable to a dowsing in the early hours of winter but it did reveal some nuggets and a tang of what lay ahead; the design house, an apple, shackles and a smoking area. 6 months and 2 jobs later, I fled to a new city to de--mc the self and slug a 2 year swig from a musical binge barrel. From there, reality, self-study, visuasonic experiment }ment}ment}mentation and literary heartmining ruled the night.
Artist’s Name: Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver Title: Kamk Ahrm hooplah Media Used: Charcoal pencil + software Date Created: 2011
4. Do you use any special tools and techniques to create your art?
Freedom is the main source in that the observation of it reveals a diverse array of contrasting characteristics.
This feels like handing a mob of blinging scobes the keys to my pushbike, but to A the Q, the only technique and tool is the ‘sponge’.
Artist’s Name: Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver Title: Lesson in light Media Used: Digital Capture Date Created: 2008 5.
Where do you find your inspiration?
Through a grateful absorption of new viewpoints and the luck of returning inspired and in one piece, in spaces where passion dares me to explore. In the contemplation of opinion mould. In feigned indifference and sharp illusion. In conflict and departure, diplomacy and peace. In the nature of things. In the lost and found. In sides.
Artist’s Name: Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver Title: Post-torrential shower scene Media Used: Lead pencil + software Date Created: 2006 The above piece, selected by David Marshall for the front cover layout, demonstrates some of the elements I love about Tindersen’s work: Blending illustration with touches of the abstract and the surreal with digital finishing. It is not just that Tindersen is ‘outside the box’ of traditional categorical nomenclature, it is that he is challenging each and every viewer to define the observational experience on individual terms.
7. Would you say that there is a message or unifying theme in your work? Theme: Interpretational sponge fodder. The message should contain the answer to the question that arises out of the words, “Soon you will see”. In other words, see the artist’s statement above.
Artist’s Name: Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver Title: Pull to Media Used: Charcoal pencil + software Date Created: 2011 6. How would you categorize your artistic styles? Early works: Post-indifferential spatialism. Current workings: Linear traversing. I have a phobia of being designated a style as it only seems to erect unwanted picket fence rifle rests around the intentional result, that only spoil the viewers’ freedom to make up their own minds independently.
Artist’s Name: Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver Title: Sos cos suas Media Used: Lead pencil + software Date Created: 2011
8. If you could meet any living or dead artist, who would it be and what is the one question that you would ask him/her? I would have to ask Paul Klee about his colour techniques and M.C. Escher for a geometry lesson. 9.
What do you think of the term "starving artist"?
To be a starving anything for the sake of art is somewhere between vain pride, obscene mockery of one’s own abilities at finding food, especially if one has the means to do so, and a tragically gallant protest at a contemptible band of world governing entities.
Artist’s Name: Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver Title: Captured vibrational persuasion with refining recurrent acquisition manifesto event Media Used: Lead pencil + software Date Created: 2011
To me, this ambitious piece is like a foundational framework: an illusory topography in the process of manifesting the quintessential ‘stuff of dreams.’ If a follow up piece were to demonstrate the fully realized dreams in vivid Technicolor, I suspect the results would be akin to a Dali.
10. Do you feel more a sense of community with other artists or a sense of competition? 13. What advice would you have for a young artist starting out today? There are some things that paralyse my ability to express. Do not be limited by the majority. Absorb life with curiosity. Pursue your craft with a 11. Do you find that the advent of internet comfortable passion. Enjoy the in/visible exposure & distribution has "changed the game" rewards. Have no expectations. Eat vegetables. for today's aspiring artists? Jam it. I see the ‘game’ accelerating and competitiveness mounting with an increase in contributors and I wonder how so many can be appreciatively catered for. The internet is full of opportunity, a hallway of doors, and though you probably don’t want to open all of them, you probably couldn’t, with such a crowd. 12. With advancements in computer graphic tablet technology, some artists are now creating their work directly in the digital medium and releasing it in purely digital formats... are the days of paper & canvas doomed to the realm of fading memories? Nanotechnology looks very promising. Corporate slavery aside, I welcome technologies that save space, time, energy, expense and the environment and to respond to a traditionalist sighs, ‘Indeed the environment ‘. I’m against the preservation of methods that accept the idea that waste, deforestation, water and soil pollution are necessary sacrifices. But, having said that, I dare not point a finger without raising the other to myself. My use of paper, ink, lead and oil-bound machinery is something I would propose to rectify. I think a Post-Digital Cave Art movement using fruit juices and animal droppings would be the answer. Alas, I have not a cave of my own.
Artist’s Name: Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver Title: Dueity Media Used: pen + software Date Created: 2011
14.
Do you have any big plans or shows coming up?
My initial answer was, ‘with a turbulently claustrophobic dread, ‘no’’. This interview is likely to be the climax of this two dimensional journey’, but the future may hold the making of a series of moving musical pictures about the conversion of my work into more functional and space saving combustibles. 15.
How would you like your art, and by extension yourself, to be remembered?
The ‘off’ button. A thankful recipient and preparateur of ‘your’ ‘time’.
Artist’s Name: Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver Title: Sos cos suas Media Used: Lead pencil + software Date Created: 2011
I would like to thank Tindersen for sharing some of his wonderful work with us and I hope that all of you – the RKYV audience – were as intrigued by the cerebral machinations of this unique artist, as I was, in the preceding interview.
Brad PITT – by Corinne Vuillemin Crayons de papier/Pencils on paper Septembre 2010
Art in Focus _____________________________________________________________________________ RKYV ONLINE Printed as PDF | Dec. 2011 | rkyv.online@rogers.com آ
Orly Shalem
Title: Abstract Landscape [Lyrical Abstract Gallery collection] Media Used: acrylic on canvas
by r. j. paré
rjp: From a base of rich earth tones springing forth a verdant field to a canopy of fall colours, these autumnal woods, while presented as abstract landscape, resonate with an emotional realism.
Artist's Statement: Painting is a poem, a thrust of joy, a cry, a craving, a quest, a longing... Painting is a need to express myself with colors and shapes where words are lacking or are not enough. My paintings are mainly abstract, painted with a variety of tools and techniques. I believe that shapes and colors are a universal language that touches everyone. The process of creation is an unplanned journey into the depths of my soul. It starts from my need to express myself and spirals to the point where I feel the painting is complete. I enjoy hearing about how my paintings are experienced and seen by their spectators. I am often surprised and enriched by the diverse reactions and interpretations by viewers. My goal as an artist is to touch and excite people beyond understanding. My muse: Little moments of excitement and grace, and all of the beauty surrounding us. My web site: www.orlyshalem.com http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/orly-shalem.html
Title:
Summer Celebration [Lyrical Abstract Gallery collection] Media Used: acrylic on canvas
rjp: In shades of yellow, green, gold and blue, Summer delights us with its vibrant beauty. I wonder, coursing through the centre of this composition, is that the satisfied hint of a Cheshire grin?
I hope everyone has enjoyed this continuing review of some of Orly’s beautiful work. I encourage RKYV readers to share their impressions of these pieces with us by posting to our twitter feed http://twitter.com/#!/RKYVOnline or by sharing http://www.facebook.com/groups/2399067108/ on our facebook group.
Jess B&W 6 – by Josh Bowe
“Read and Write” Stories should be emotional, the reader has to feel that you are speaking to them, that you can identify (with) their insecurities, touch their feelings, and make them feel what they are Reading and writing is very important to reading is worth their time. becoming a solid fiction/genre writer. More so that you read a wide variety of works, and keep I can name writers who I have met who think an open mind of how they can be valuable to intellectualism is the best source of writing you. However, there will be works that won't be material, that people have something to learn of any help. I don't read Chuck Palahniuk's from them. This is far from true, good work because shock and awe has limits and his storytelling is about capturing the imagination minimalist style is of very little use to me. It is of your audience. Not supplant it with ideas or the same of William S. Burroughs, Hunter S. notions that are confusing and superficial. I Thompson, Bret Easton Ellis, and the other firmly believe if any of us wish to be a published pseudo-intellectual works. Stories that read as novelist, comic book writer, or film/television dissertations on someone's beliefs cannot only writer that reading a variety of subjects, fiction be boring, but repulsive in that they hold back and non-fiction, and devoting time to that and the fun and joy of reading. writing can only make our chances grow.
Stephen King's often said: “Write six hours a day, read six hours a day.”
Morning Break – by De Tourist
The Hint is in the Beit – by Igal Fedida (from The Conceiving series) 48” x 60”, Enamel, stain, Inks… on canvas.
Short Fiction The body still looked at me. It made no effort to try and climb out… not that it would have done it any good. The walls of the hole looked rather slick with nothing to hold onto. In its sitting position the body was a good four and a half to five feet away from the top of the hole. It had no chance to getting out on its own. The realization calmed me a little. It was trapped, and likely had been trapped for a very long time. “You’re stuck.” I told the body. “I know what that feels like.” I stood up and the body seemed to try and lurch forward as I did but all it mange to do was slip onto its face. I walked to the brush wall and looked out again. I couldn’t see much so I ventured a little further and broached the outer mass of vines. The trails seemed clear. There was no sign of Julie and the Bombers anywhere. I almost left then, even started to move forward but something drew me back to look at the body again. I’m not sure what it was… a desire to understand how it was alive… or maybe a morbid curiosity… but in the end, I think it was just plain loneliness. Yes, I understand how bizarre that sounds, but unless you spent the majority of your childhood with no friends to speak of and no brothers or sisters The body continued to look up at me to spend any time with then odds are you could and tilted its head. To me, it almost seemed to never understand. be asking why I was there. I hesitated and turned back and went “I’m hiding.” I told it. I don’t know why I back to the edge of the hole. The body was back was talking to a dead body. I’m not even sure I in the sitting position. When I came back into understood what was going on. I had been its view it reached up again, looking like it was through a large number of scares in a short waving to me once more. period of time and my adrenaline rush was I stood there for a minute. Then I sat starting to wear off. down. After I sat, the body lowered its arms and I was suddenly very tired. just stared at me.
Part II
“How did you get down there?” I asked. “How long have you been here?” The body didn’t answer. “How did you die?” I asked. Again, no sound came from the body. “Are… are you a zombie?” Again, total silence. I asked it a million questions. None of which got answered. Eventually I gave up trying to get any and started telling the body why I was there. I told it about Julie and his nasty little sidekicks and the beatings I got. The body didn’t interrupt me or ask any questions like why didn’t I stand up for myself or what did I do to bring it on myself. It felt good getting it off my chest and I started rambling about how I hated being called “jelly-legs” and being picked on. The body didn’t make any sounds. It just listened. After a while the little alarm on my watch went off. I was shocked. School had closed at 3:30. It was now 5 PM. My mother would be home soon from work. I had been in the trails for almost an hour and a half and I had to get going. The odds were good that the bombers had given up on me. Either way I couldn’t stay there forever. I got up and picked up my knapsack. “Well, I have to get going home.” I told the body. “Um… bye.” I started to leave but turned back. “You need a name.” I told it. “Since you can’t tell me what yours is, I’ll have to give you one.” The body looked up at me and seemed to tilt its head again. “How about Zully?” I asked. That must have suited it fine, because it gave no protest. I grinned and tossed my knapsack over my shoulder. “Bye Zully! Wish me luck staying away from those jerks!” I called down and smiled.
Zully responded by reaching at me again. I was convinced he was waving goodbye so I waved back. With that I left the brush and worked my way back to the main road. There was no sign of the bully patrol but I ran home as fast as I could anyway. I got home a scant minute before my mother. That night, as I lay in bed, I wondered if Zully slept. *** The next morning I got up early and went into my parents’ room. My father was still asleep, since he had worked until midnight. My mother was sitting up and reading a novel. “Can you get yourself breakfast?” she asked without looking up. I nodded and plodded into the kitchen to pour myself a bowl of smurfberry crunch. I hated the smurfs, but I loved the cereal. Go figure. After three heaping bowlfuls, I went back to my parents’ room, hoping we would do something today. My mother was out of bed and in the shower. My father was sitting up and pulling a sweatshirt over his head. “Dad?” I asked. “Do you believe in zombies?” My father turned and looked at me in a way that made me immediately regret the question. My father was an old time, man’s man. He drank a lot of beer and loved sports and trucks and looked like he could bench-press a ton. I constantly felt like he felt almost betrayed by the fact I was bone skinny, not athletic and totally incapable of throwing a baseball or football. To his credit I suppose, he didn’t sigh and shake his head like many of my questions seemed to cause him to do.
“No.” he said simply. He turned away and continued to get dressed. “How was work?” I asked. “Shi… um… crappy.” he managed to stop the curse just in time. He was trying to not curse around me since my mother had chewed him out for it. “I have to go back in today.” “On Saturday?” I wined. The sound in my voice was evident. If he was going into work then I know my mother would be dragging me to her Saturday errands like the hairdresser and getting her nails done. “Do you think I’m happy about it Jason?” he hissed at me. “No.” I responded, looking down at my feet. “Well I’m not.” my father continued as if I hadn’t given my own answer. “So don’t give me shi… crap about it.” He got up and left the room. I wandered into my bedroom and got dressed myself. Before I was finished I heard my father’s car pull out of the driveway. I sighed and went to find my mother. She was on the phone when I found her in the living room. She was talking to her friend Shelly and making plans to go to the salon. I quickly grabbed a few books that were on an end table and called out “I have to go to the library to return these mom!” “Hold on!” she called out. “We’re going to go to the salon and to…” I cut her off and held up the library books. “I’ll go to the library.” She sighed and nodded her head. “Ok, I’ll be gone for a while though. You’ll be ok?” Better to be alone than stuck around her and her friends gossiping all day. “Yes. No problem!” I called back as I ran out eager to get going before she could change her mind.
I walked swiftly to the library and after returning my book went to the reference section and tried to find what I could about zombies. After a while, I gave up on trying to find anything scientific. I was able to find a few books and stories including ‘Herbert WestReanimator’, and ‘The Serpent and The Rainbow’ but the librarian wouldn’t let me check them out, saying I was too young. I had heard of movies like Dawn of the Dead and others that had zombies in them but had never seen any. The only thing I really knew about zombies is that they were walking dead people and the only exposure I had ever had to one was the Michael Jackson Thriller video. Disappointed, I decided to go back and visit Zully. I went home first and made a few peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Grabbed a sleeve of chips ahoy cookies and a bottle of coke and stuffed them all in my knapsack. I then set out for the trails. I had no problem finding where I had entered the trails the day before but finding my way to Zully took a little more hunting. Luckily I found it within a half hour or so and soon I was carefully sliding into the brush and back at the edge of the hole. Zully was still in the exact same position he had been when I had left him. “Hi Zully.” I said, dropping to a sitting position. Zully raised his arms like before and did his waving thing. I waved back and opened my knapsack. As I took out my lunch I told him about my morning and how my father had to go back to work. I munched on my PB and J and tried tossing a half sandwich down to him, but he completely ignored it. I wasn’t really sure what a zombie would eat. I tried giving him a cookie also but like the sandwich, he showed no interest in the cookie at all. I chatted away, telling Zully about school and the comics and books I liked.
After a while I had finished my lunch and I thought I had better get back home. I cleaned up the wrappers and put them in my knapsack. I stood up and waved to Zully as his arms rose up like they did whenever I made a move to approach or leave. “Bye Zully.” I said. I walked out of the brush and vines and heading for the main road. I walked along humming Thriller and feeling kind of happy. As strange as it was, I liked having someone to talk to. Someone who didn’t make me feel stupid or what I said was worthless. I was halfway home before I realized I wasn’t alone. At some point, Julie had come up silently next to me and walked with me until I had noticed him.
I was trying very hard not to cry and Julie could see this. A sly smirk started to form on his face. “What’s the matter baby? Do you want to cry?” he asked. He slapped me again, three times. “Does the little baby want to cry and call for mommy?” He then balled his hand into a fist and slammed it into my stomach. I doubled over as the air burst out of me and fell to my knees. Julie drove his knee into the side of my head and I fell the rest of the way to the ground. He dropped to his knees and shoved my face into the dirt and grass and rubbed it in. He then got up and spit on me and walked away without another word. I laid there for a few minutes before I could push myself up. I felt a little dizzy and my face was caked with dirt and strips of grass. I tried to clean off my face. It was then that I realized my knapsack was gone. Julie had taken it with him. I managed to get to my feet and work my way home. I needed to get home before either of my parents so I could wash up before they saw me. I approached the house I saw neither of them was home and I figured I would be ok. As I came up my driveway however my father pulled up. “What the hell happened to you?” he demanded as he got out of the car. I froze and stared at Julie wide eyed. “I… I…I…” I stuttered. I never seemed to “What made you think you could run from me?” he asked me quietly. His eyes burned be able to deal with any sort of confrontation. “GodDAMMIT Jason!” he exploded. into mine. They were very dark. “When are you going to fucking stand UP for “I…I … “ I stammered. I didn’t know yourself?” what to say. “D… dad...” I tried to explain how Julie He stood there for a moment and before was bigger and stronger and of course nothing I could do or say anything else, his hand would come out. snapped up and slapped me in the face hard. “I don’t know what the fuck it is you do My head shot back and I felt my cheek burning. to bring this shit on yourself but whatever “Don’t you ever fucking run from me bullshit you are pulling it had better STOP!” he again.” he said and slapped me again, even thundered. harder than the first time.
It was at that exact second that I realized something. My father was a former bully. The simple fact he thought I was actually doing something to bring this sort of thing on myself showed it. It was one of the first sophisticated thoughts I had ever had in my life. My first real insight and it was one that made me feel even worse than I already felt. There was nothing I could say. I hung my head and did everything I could to not cry. “Just… just…” my father sputtered to a stop and stared hard at me. There was a mingling of anger and disgust in that stare. It was hard enough being me without my father openly despising me. He shook his head and walked to the door. I followed him meekly. He opened the door and held it open. I walked in and as I passed him, he smacked me once in the back of the head. He didn’t do it very hard. It wasn’t meant to hurt… it was just meant to “send a message”. He did it when he was making a point. The little head slap was him driving that point home. “I’m tired of seeing you come home like this. Whatever you are doing to encourage this shit, make sure you stop it.” He hissed at me. “Now go clean yourself up.” I nodded and went into the bathroom. After I was cleaned up I went into my room and crawled into bed. Later when my mother was home, she came in to call me to dinner and I told her my stomach was bothering me so she left me alone. My father came to my door once later that evening and seemed like he was going to say something but in the end walked away without saying anything. It took a long time for me to fall asleep. I wished that Julie and the bombers and my father all disappeared.
My mother mostly ignored me, but that wasn’t much better than being treated like a piece of garbage. Not that I had a lot of feelings of love for her at the moment either though. It was like Zully was the only person in my life who I didn’t feel hate for at that moment, which was a pretty pathetic thing. Sunday dragged on as I spent most of it in my room. I dreaded school the next day. I didn’t tell my parents that Julie had stolen my knapsack with the both my library books and my school stuff in them. I didn’t know what I was going to do. There was a chance I would get them back, since Julie has taken my knapsack before, but he always had finished his taunting with throwing the knapsack at me or in a tree to end it. He had actually never taken it with him before. Of course I had never run from him before either. It had been a weekend of firsts. The next day I left for school early before either of my parents could realize I didn’t have my backpack with me. I walked slowly, knowing that the day was going to be a bad once. It was cold and the sky was overcast with a slight mist of rain in the air. As I neared the school my stomach felt sour and I felt like throwing up. Julie and Donnie stood at the corner just before the school. Donnie held a few books held together by a strap and Julie had my knapsack slung over his shoulder. He never seemed to have any books of his own. Knowing there was no way to avoid the confrontation, I walked up to them both. Tooth was no where in sight. “Why hello there Jelly-legs.” Donnie grinned at me as I walked up to them. “How was your weekend?” I wasn’t sure what to say. When I talked to them it seemed to always be the wrong thing. When I stayed quiet I got hit for “ignoring” them.
“It wasn’t very good.” I said, my head down. Surprisingly, Donnie and Julie both just nodded, like it was pretty much what they expected. “Well you do know why that was, right?” Donnie asked. I hesitated to answer. “RIGHT?” Julie demanded. “Yes!” I burst out. “Because I brought it on myself!” Julie looked surprised for a second. It was like I had read his mind. “Damn right you did, running from me.” he replied softly. He looked at Donnie and smirked. “You know, I was just gonna drop this sack in a dumpster…” Julie said. “But I’m gonna give you a chance to get it back from me.” I didn’t know if this was another trick or maybe Julie had gotten the answer to his question he wanted and was willing to reward me for it. Either way I knew I needed to get my knapsack back. “Wh… what do I have to do?” I asked. “Just take it.” Julie replied, a strange smile on his face. He took it off his should and held his arm out in front of him… the knapsack’s strap in his fist. I looked at Julie with a wary eye, and then reached out slowly. As my hand got close he pulled back slightly. I pulled my hand back and he reached out again. When I moved forward, he pulled back again. I let my hand drop. “C’mon Jelly-Legs.” Julie taunted. “You want it?” “Yes.” I suddenly hissed. “But I know it’s not as easy as just taking it.” “You always were a smart boy.” He replied. “You can have it back, but you have to do something for me.” I had a feeling I knew what he was going to say.
“What?” I asked anyway. “You’ll be doing my homework for the rest of the year.” he answered. “And you’ll get me just enough good grades to move up. No one’s going to believe that I suddenly started getting straight A’s, but you get me at least C’s and you can have your fucking baby-book bag back.” “Baby book-bag back.” Donnie echoed, chuckling. So yet another old cliché was fulfilled. The tough older kid, making the weaker smart kid do his homework. Wonderful. Where was the cheerleader with the heart of gold who sees something noble in the school loner? I could have used one of those. “Ok.” I told him. There really was no doubt I was going to agree. We all knew that, Julie, Donnie and me. Julie nodded as if all was the way it should be and turned to walk away, still holding my bag. “Wait!’ I burst out without thinking. Julie turned. “What?” “You still have my bag.” I said. “Oh. How silly of me.” Julie replied. He tossed the bag to me with a smile that I couldn’t read. Of course, instead of catching it I dropped it. But as soon as it hit my hands I knew it was empty. I dropped to my knees and unzipped the bag. As I thought… the books inside were gone. Only the wrappers from my lunch on Saturday was still in it. When I looked up Julie was staring at me in a way that chilled me. He was waiting for me to protest. I could see the anticipation. He was actually trying not to smile. “Something wrong?” he asked.
I didn’t know what to say. I could almost sense the beating that was going to follow. My heart raced. “Please.” was all I could muster. It came out almost as a moan. For a second I thought I actually saw sympathy in Donnie’s eyes. In Julie’s though, I could see the spark become a flame. “PLEASE?!?” he thundered. “YOU FUCKING WEAK-ASS LOSER!!!” He suddenly charged at me and before I could even react he kicked me in the chest. I went sprawling back, the air knocked out of me. My back had barely hit the ground when he kicked me again. And again. And again. “PLEASE?!?” he was screaming as he used me for a soccer ball, “WHY DON’T YOU FUCKING STAND UP FOR YOURSELF?!? I THOUGHT FOR A SECOND YOU WERE ACTUALLY GOING TO BE A MAN! YOU ARE A FUCKING WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT! PLEASE?!?” “Hey, Julie man…” Donnie was saying. “Enough man, you might really…” Julie stopped and turned on Donnie so suddenly that Donnie stumbled back a few steps. “You fucking say one more word and you get the same, you got it?” he hissed. The rage on his face was terrible to behold.
Donnie held up his hands and nodded. It was the first time I ever saw him scared. For a moment though, I thought it was done. Julie turned back to me slowly.
He stared for a second and then lifted his foot and brought it down on my head. Then he stomped on my stomach. Everything went white. I turned and vomited. I’m not 100% sure what happened after that, because I seemed to go into a cocoon. Everything was blurry and muffled. I could hear someone shouting and then I felt one more kick, but I barely felt it. Someone was talking to me but I couldn’t understand them. I felt someone try and lift me. I stayed limp. I tried to open my eyes and they managed to open in the barest of slits. Then the white washed over me completely.
To Be Continued…
Poetry _____________________________________________________________________________ RKYV ONLINE Printed as PDF | Dec. 2011 | rkyv.online@rogers.com آ
Teresa at Prayer – by r. j. paré
Selected Poetry by Frances Nichols Vargas
Thank you for your Sacrifice and for Opening Our Eyes Under a beautiful clear blue sky The day just beginning all the hustle and bustle spinning All the buzzing and busying of our unsuspecting normal daily lives 9/11 soon proves disturbing Innocence soon profoundly changed As two mighty landmark buildings would crumble and disintegrate Into rubble and remains Heartbroken, stunned and covered in dust A Nation would dust off, rise above and pull together, as one, united in disgust Images flashing on TV of people weeping while others would be leaping Still others brave and mighty Would answer their last call Repeating the oath and gather their tanks They would ascend the wounded staircase towards heaven looking to save the souls of men and women A thunderous sound would soon be the end of that fateful journey and any hope The swiftness and amazing speed in which the hand of evil would proceed Strangers of a common bond trying to escape from a terrible and unexpected end All reaching out for God's hand
Once there stood – by r. j. parÊ
Life snuffed out in an instant all due to radical and narrow minded beliefs- giving shape and new meaning to a distant word- terrorism A Nation forever changed and put on notice The end of an era End of our nation’s innocence Many years have since passed, the memories haunt and linger in the hearts of loved ones The anniversary comes as a reminder Magnifies the loss as friends and families and strangers mourn that day when so many paid the ultimate price Rays of light point towards the sky Even in dark of night these lost lives will be angels to those left behind United and better prepared Our Nation has become a reckoning force and more aware of the evil that lurks filled with hatred United as one we stand tall and shout out "Our Loved ones will not be forgotten, They were the chosen ones" Sending Sweet thoughts and kisses towards the sky Our Nation says “Thanks for your unprepared and sad sacrifice” It will not be forgotten as it has since changed so many lives and has opened our Great Free Nation’s Eyes. Sunlight on a stormy day – by r. j. paré
HOLIDAY GREED Flipping channels during the early morning hours Nothing but infomercials and news to scour Punctuated by the holiday madness Wondering how this country has come to this Holiday must have toys Parents huddling in masses to beat the clock After a long night sleeping on the block All dishevelled and exhausted No longer smiling and all worn out
Greed It seems the holidays have now become Nothing but a long overplayed holiday tune Black Friday has now become Black Thursday Pretty soon it will begin in June! Call me Scrooge, I really don’t care I Miss the real sounds of Christmas and holiday cheer Christmas Carolling to the neighbours Hot Apple cider to warm by the fire
Placing the cookies and milk by the tree The surprise in the eyes of the youngins in the early sunrise Now everyone makes a list and checks it twice There is no coal for naughty and there is no prize for nice Everything is over commercialized I miss the beautiful sermons on Christmas Eve Instead it is all lost among the shopping and spending and the greed
Season’s Greedings – by r. j. paré
Selected Poetry
by Wanda Smith
1 GYPSY
2
I go to a costume musical Gypsy Rose Tea Quartets harmonize “It's Just the Gypsy in my Soul” They are all dressed in Gypsy regalia except me among bright scarves, dangle earrings and jangly jewelry
Out of place in little black silk dress, hat and pearls A dark eyed strolling violinist plays Golden Earrings I am tempted to strip tease like Gypsy Rose Lee I am dressed like a fifties movie celebrity
Quartets harmonize “It's Just the Gypsy in my Soul,” I am out of place in little black silk dress, hat and pearls among bright scarves, dangle ear rings and jangly jewelry I am tempted to strip tease like Gypsy Rose Lee
A dark eyed strolling violinist plays Golden Earrings A fortune teller warns, “don't go to sea.” I am dressed like a fifties movie celebrity because I came to the tea as Natalie Wood.
3 A fortune teller warns, “Don't go to sea.” Don't Travel On to Avalon.” Because I came to the tea as Natalie Wood, A quartet sings “Let me Entertain You” in harmony.
4 “Don't Travel On to Avalon.” In memory of Natalie as Gypsy Rose Lee a quartet sings in harmony “Let Me Entertain You” I went to a costume musical Gypsy Rose tea.
Natalie’s Gypsy Rose & Tea – by r. j. paré
1 Today I come across a faded letter from the jungle of Viet Nam. You thank me for the magazines, Surfer, Mad and Playboy, the whiff of California that I sent to you in a Manila envelope in 1963. A surreal soldier, G.I. P.F.C. far from the sea you write in closing the letter, “I’d like to be a surfboard.” I smile, visualize you catch a giant 11th wave in Saigon, carrying you over mountains thick jungles and the Hanoi Hilton, A beautiful blond beach bunny rides on the nose into the Hermosa Beach surf,
ESCAPE FROM NAM ON A SURFBOARD 2 That’s far more ambitious than the career you planned when you were in the sixth grade. “I want to work in a car wash,” you said. “It will be cool in Summer and I will have A chance to drive a lot of hot cars.” I tuck the letter back in the family album. I go for my regular car wash and later at the beach I think I see a camouflage’ long board in the foam with a nude blond girl on the nose in a curl.
I Love the Smell of Napalm in the Surf ! – by r. j. paré
SUPERHERO APPRECIATION 101 Shelves filled with pristine paper books, bright coloured covers, mysterious and fun. Their titles scrawled in tantalizing logos, and with names like Batman, and Action Comics, The New Avengers, and the Uncanny X-Men. Books filled with pictures and wonder, where near-mythic herculean men and Amazonian warrior women battle against evil.
Selected Poem by Neil Burke And on, and on. Forever, and ever. They will still be young, and glamorous, and thrilling, and fighting the good fight, when we have all withered with age, gray and archaic.
Fighting against those threatening to do harm, battling the Joker, Lex Luthor, throwing down with H.A.M.M.E.R, and Magneto's Brotherhood. They exist in a different world to us, a world which we can share and be a part of... For two dollars ninety nine. A brave and bright new world, full of adventure, endless wonder, and possibility, that we buy into week after week, month after month, year after year. The adventures of these four colour heroes, with their fancy costumes, advanced healing factors , mastery of martial arts, and red lasers shooting from their eyes, will go on.
by Danny Kelly
Selected Poem
by Alvaro Cortes Ortiz Jr.
Juan and Kramer's Excellent Sandwich Shack I was hungry didn't eat breakfast went to Juan and Kramer's Excellent Sandwich Shack
Went out back went out back went out back
Juan smiled and shook my hand Kramer wasn't far behind told me they had something neat out back I got curious but curiosity killed the cat
Juan hit me with the frying pan Kramer tied up my hands I was put on the meat table they took turns with the butcher knife
I felt the piercing metal break my skin from my rib cage up to my chin I got cut back as I was dying Juan and Kramer chalked up today's special value menu
Author Notes Lol this is a lot different from what I usually write, I know. This one came up after an online conversation with a fellow writer. We were chatting about grunge music before it became mainstream and what not, and how ‘out there’ the songs were. Wrote this after the conversation. People laughed really hard. Good times!!!! =D
Hipster Sandwich Shack – by r. j. paré
I got cut back I got cut back I got cut back I was hungry didn't eat breakfast I wound up being someone's lunch
Poetic Perspectives
Call me scamp, a rapscallion artist and digital cheat… Triumphs through mischief-making this whippersnapper rogue so faux-villain…
by r. j. paré
In gadabout ways
Call me bard, cahier metrist; itinerant versifier… Authoring self-parody an odist rhymer in a limerick land…
& vagrant phrases...
Call me tramp, a facebook wanderer and keyboard hobo... Spending my vagabond days in gadabout ways & vagrant phrases...
Raised on Saturday Morning Cartoons by Pauline Paré
I cannot give enough praise to everyone working on AMC’s The Walking Dead after the amazing and shocking mid season finale. I love the idea of an after-show to discuss the previous episode. Space Channel had a show like that after every BSG episode [Inner Space] and after The Walking Dead became so popular, there is now an aftershow called Talking Dead. Chris Hardwick is a personable and charming host. The parade of guests range from the graphic novel author Robert Kirkman, to the many actors from the show, to a surprise phone call from Alice Cooper. In university, I lived with a group of students and one of the joys of watching a good show with friends is the discussion afterwards. I love shows that warrant deep and fun discussion and banter. The Walking Dead is not a show just about running away from zombies, it is about the people who are left to survive and the dynamic of their interactions with each other. These are people who may never have formed friendships in the civilized world who now have to depend on each other for their lives. This last episode not only inspired much conversation, it also inspired a short piece of fan fiction from the imagination of yours truly. Warning, there are spoilers ahead. If you haven’t seen the episode yet and may want to in the future, do not read further.
Fan Fiction _____________________________________________________________________________ RKYV ONLINE Printed as PDF | Dec. 2011 | rkyv.online@rogers.com آ
Sophia tried to slow her breathing down but to her ears, it sounded deafeningly load. Her heart was being noisy, too. She was certain that anyone within 5 feet would have heard the terrible pounding noise… it sounded as if it would burst from her chest at any moment. She tried to think of anything else but just how close she had just been to being walker chow. Rick had lured the walker away but she could still see it, as it had been just 5 minutes before. It had been so close that she could trace the decay on its horrible face and smell the rot. It was a smell she had unfortunately become all too familiar with since she had been on the road with her mother and their adoptive family of survivors.
After Sheriff Rick left 13 year old Sophia hidden in some roots at the base of the stream so he could draw a zombie away form her, the 12 year old girl from “The Walking Dead” TV show somehow ended up on her own. We know how her adventure began and how it ended but I have imagined the events in between for RKYV readers
Every night since the dead began to walk, she had nightmares of being bit, torn into by those horrifying mouths and in the worst of those dreams, becoming a walker herself. During the day she tried to be a normal girl or what passed for a normal girl these days. She hung out with Carl, a fortunate companion her own age. She dreamed of marrying Carl in the future. Not that he was the cutest boy she had seen and he was darn annoying most of the time. She dreamed of a life with Carl because as far as she knew, he was the only boy around her age that existed. Only shot at a future if a future could be had in this place. She spent the rest of her time worrying about her mother. Her mother seemed so frail and so out of place in this horrible world but she could not imagine living without her.
She sometimes wished that her mother could be It was maybe not too brave of her but it was the as strong as Sarah. That was Carl’s mother and best idea. Sophia looked around through tearSheriff Rick was his dad. blurred eyes and headed off… in a completely new direction. These thoughts and a thousand more raced through Sophia’s mind as she tried to calm When the sun started to go down, Sophia herself. Sheriff Rick had told her where to go to realized that her bad situation was about as bad find her mother and the others at the road. She as it could possibly get. She was completely and needed to steel up her nerve to leave this thoroughly lost in a forest filled with bears, tenuous hiding place and walk through the wolves and worse of all, walkers. She tried to woods alone. She wished she were a little less listen for the sound of searchers but she had like her mother and more like Sarah, just for blindly walked for hours trying to get her long enough to get this done. After what bearings and she must be too far away to hear. seemed liked a long time sitting in the stream in She was too afraid to call out; a walker was just the cold water, she finally left her hiding place as likely to hear as her searchers. She spent that and looked around. She listened for sounds and night feeling hungry and questioning every she heard plenty. The sounds of the forest were decision made that day. She had been living in all around her but nothing seemed out of the this hellish world for as long as she could ordinary. She tried to take a step but her feet remember but strong men and women who felt like lead. Would it be better to wait here? dedicated themselves to keeping her safe had That would be what scared little Sophia would always surrounded her. Now she just had her do but life on the road meant that Sophia stupid doll that she had probably outgrown a needed to change. She started off in the couple years ago anyhow… direction given to her by Sheriff Rick… She began to play “I Wish” She wished that she The most frightening sound in these woods was had run in a different direction when chased. the sound of her, very own, footsteps on the dry She wished she had just stayed put. She wished leaves and cracking branches. As careful as she she had paid better attention to the men when tried to step, to her own ears she sounded like a they discussed woods survival. She wished she buffalo crashing through the foliage. She had to had anything with her to eat. She wished the stop for a second to get her bearings. She swore walkers had never come around while they were that she had only run for a couple of minutes on the road. She wished she had kissed Carl, through the forest with that zombie chasing her. even just on the cheek, just once. She wished She had been walking for what felt like the she hadn’t been born… longest time now and she had not reached the road. She must have gone the wrong way! Sophia had fallen asleep in the wee hours and Sophia sat on the ground and tried her the sun woke her up much too soon. She was darnedest not to cry. She needed to be brave encouraged that she had survived the night. She Sophia, to be like Sarah. She did not know tired her ignore her rumbling stomach as she where the road was so she had best head back to thought about her situation. Maybe she should where Sheriff Rick left her so he could find her. stay still today. If she climbed out she could call out safely.
They were bound to search for her today. Her attempts to ignore her hunger were beginning to fail. If only she had grabbed something more useful than this stupid doll. She thought of throwing it but then decided to tie it to her belt loop. She looked around for something to eat. After a while a bush with some scrawny berries looked promising. She tried to remember what types could be eaten. She figured if she tried just one, she might find the taste familiar. She placed the berry in her mouth and chewed. It was terribly bitter and strange but it felt so good when she swallowed it. Her tummy seemed to want more. She picked as many as she could shove in her pockets and began to look for a likely tree chewing sour berries as she walked.
She thought about her tree plan and realized that her ankle was 5 different colors and swollen. She shook off the morose thoughts and remembered the wisp of smoke. She found a tree branch nearby to help her walk and hobbled slowly off in the right direction for the first time. Her strength was waning since her encounter with the berries and her ankle hurt so bad that the tears could not be stopped. Sophia limped through the woods as straight a line as possible and just before nightfall, she saw the outline of a house. A different type of tear began to sting her eyes; she staggered in that direction. As she got closer, she could see that this is not where the smoke was coming from. She was confident that this house was abandoned long ago; she had experience with abandoned places in her last few years. It was shelter though and a place to spend the night. She turned the doll hanging from her belt and yelled “We made it!”
After about a half hour, Sophia found the perfect tree to climb. She found a foothold and began to pull her self out. This tree was perfect for climbing. Could walkers climb? She didn’t’ think so. She climbed as far as she felt was safe and began to call out. Her spirits were lifted; she could see smoke in the distance! Someone, anyone, could be near enough to hear her. She had yelled just 3 times when her stomach began to burn and tighten. She pulled the last sour berry form her pocket and threw it to the ground. Her stomach was cramping something awful and she needed to go before she soiled herself. She tried to lower herself from the tree too quickly and fell a good distance to the ground. She could hear her ankle pop when she landed. She ignored the pain and spent the next hour with the bad berries coming out of both ends. It was mortifying and her lifted spirits dropped right into the basement. Afterwards she just lay against the tree feeling numb. Morbid thoughts floated through her head. Why would anyone look for her? She wasn’t Just then, Sophia felt a sharp pain in the back much use around camp yet. of her right shoulder and she smelled the frighteningly familiar odor of rot.
Sophia ran wildly until she saw a sturdy looking little shed and so she ran toward it. She didn’t dare to turn around. She did not want to see what was chasing her, but she sure it was something that used to be a person. Sophia managed to propel herself through the door and bolt it. She listened to the walker groan and bang at the walls for a couple of hours before it moved away. Then Sophia crawled to the house, too tired to try and walk with the stick and her injured ankle. Sophia tried not to look at her bite as she made a bed in a closet of the house. She didn’t bother to barricade and bolt herself in. She knew deep inside that it would not matter soon. She spent her last night alive in the closet with her imagination. She dreamt that she was somehow immune to the walker’s bite. She imagined that it was not a walker but just a person with some kind of terrible brain injury and she would be fine.
As the fever began to burn her up, he dreamed of her and Carl’s wedding in the future, (he looked just like his dad grown up) in a house like this but all fixed up, with all the people she had grown to care about in attendance and they were saying “We are so happy we found Sophia in the woods those many years ago.” The next morning the thing that had been Sophia wandered out of the cabin. It could not feel the sprained ankle so it ambled along at a decent place. It rolled into a ravine with a river running through it and there a man named Otis snagged it with a rope on a pole. The doll fell off a belt loop in the struggle but the walker child did not care. Otis led the thing to a barn near a house with a whiff of smoke coming from the chimney, and locked the door securely. In the darkness, several walkers shuffled about and Sophia blended in.
~ Fin ~