Vol. X 2017
*Circinus*
Volume 10
Stark State College 2017
I would like to extend my gratitude to all of the students at Stark State College for writing, writing, writing, transforming the community one word at a time. I would also like to thank the coordinators and judges for the 8th Annual Academic Writing and College Composition Essay Contest and the Creative Writing Contest.
Thank you, Leah Schell-Barber
*staff*
Editor-in-Chief: Leah Schell-Barber Submission Coordinator: Marie Cox
*table of contents* Creative Writing Shae Martin
The Four Gods
1
Darla Fleming
The Forgotten Present
10
Matthew Talbott
From an Ohio River
15
Essay Contest Winners Habib Ghaderpour Samantha Budd
Three Drops of Blood
17
The Price of Freedom
23
The Pet Store
28
Untitled
32
Visual Arts Angela Saude
Meet the Authors
33
The Four Gods Shae Martin Erik – Air This is going to be a short story because I don’t have a lot of time to tell it. As you read it, I am probably dead. There isn’t much other way to face that fact, though the knowledge of this kills me. But hopefully one of you, one of you will believe what I write and will complete my task. My name is Erik; last names are of no concern at this point. I learned two months ago that I’m a witch, a witch and a God. Yes, I know. I’m a male witch, but let’s not dwell upon that fact. I am twenty-four years old and I have a wife. I had a wife. I had two beautiful twin girls, but they’re all gone now. My children, five years old, my wife, twenty-three. They’re gone. Everything I ever held dear was ripped from me two months ago when a woman with fiery red hair showed up at my place of work. I sat behind my desk and looked over the paperwork. Another arrest, even more paperwork. I felt bad for the kid, but he’d robbed a store and killed someone. He’d be facing a life sentence at sixteen. A knock came at my door. “Detective Erik, you have a visitor,” the cadet said softly. I nodded and the cadet let in a gorgeous woman with flaming red hair. She stood roughly at 5’3” and despite this, had legs a mile long. Her relaxed heartshaped face was framed with that hair, strands of blonde and orange racing through her locks. Her sharp blue eyes latched onto me, shadowed with a black eyeshadow and black eyeliner. Her lips were slick with 1
black matte lipstick, and those perfectly plump lips quirked up on one corner. Her skin was smooth, pale, and clear. She was dressed in a red sundress and black flats, with nothing else. Not even car keys or a cellphone. Her large and round eyes gazed at me with amusement.
“Hello Erik,” she spoke gently. Her voice was soft, yet a bit deep. Not high and girly, but rather low and sexy. It was all I could do to tear my gaze from hers and check my watch dramatically. “I’m sorry, can I help you? I’m a bit busy as you can see Ms…” She laughed, and that sound nearly brought tears to my eyes from how beautiful it was. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew her from somewhere, though I couldn’t place where. “Scintilla. You may call me Scintilla.” Odd name. “And I know you would take any excuse to leave the paperwork for later. However, I unnerve you. I feel familiar, but you cannot place it. You do not wish to place it. We do not meet for the first time for quite some time. You are an old soul, and I’ve missed one of my closest friends.” I stared at her blankly. “Ma’am if you need something, please get to the point.” My patience was wearing thin. Her facial expression changed from amused to annoyed. It was a shocking difference. “Do not lose your patience with me, and I will not lose mine with you.” She stepped forward and leaned over the table. I scrambled for my weapon. “Ma’am, I’ll need you to step back. I do not want to hurt you.” 2
“You couldn’t if you tried!” She seemed to change in that moment. A branding of some five pointed star flickered across her forehead. A carving on her cheek spelling out her name. Her lips sewed half shut. Her eyes blazing with a terrifying fire, like Hades from that Disney movie. Her hair seemed to catch fire as well. She extended a thin, long finger towards me, nail adorned with black polish. Pain like I never imagined possible struck my chest. I doubled over and gripped my chest, hissing out a breath. Was I having a heartattack? “We do not have time to waste Erik. You must be strong. If you wish to survive this night, then attack me. Force me back. End your pain. The power and strength is within you; all you must do… is strike.” I cried out and flung my hands at her, trying to force her away from me. My hands did not even touch her, but something did. I felt a burst of wind, like a mini tornado in my office, and she stumbled back a few steps. Then it was over. The pain was gone. With a laugh, she vanished and I woke up at my desk. … That night, they came for me. The remainder of that day, I imagined it as a nightmare, but they came. Government officials. They broke in that night and took my children and wife hostage. I felt that pain in my chest once more and shoved my hands at them. The same winds from before slammed everyone before me into the wall behind them. To this day, I can hear their bones cracking. I couldn’t control it then and acted out of panic. I killed my wife and children, as well as those officials. But I know now what must be done. It’s been two months on the run, and they’ve caught up to me finally. However, when they approach me, I will end my own life. By merely falling into the air. This I 3
know, must be done. When the earth dies, it will need the God of Air. I’m ready for it. I’ve never been more Samuel – Earth As I treated the patient before me, worry creased in my mind. My name is Samuel, and I don’t have too much time. I was a doctor in an emergency room, and I treated everyone from children to the elderly. Every bad night weighed on me painfully. My girlfriend attempted to help me move past that, but nothing could take away the guilt of a lost patient. At thirty, I should be used to the death, but I don’t believe I ever will be used to such things. When I’d finished with the patient before me, I moved to the next room and was taken aback by the beauty before me. I had to force myself to not bow.
“Firinia, my lady,” I gasped softly. She smiled softly. The woman had deep black hair that rolled down her back in waves. A black pentacle etched painstakingly onto her forehead. Her light skin had a blue hint to it while her hair was dipped on either side at the end with blue and red. Bright green eyes with a yellow hint. Her dark purple lips were cut out at the ends, just like the Joker from those Batman comics. Stitching held the skin together. Her cheek had the carving: “Firi” upon it while her arm had the carving “Crazy Quinn” and both bled profusely. The great Goddess did have an unusual attraction to the old comic, of which wouldn’t even be around in her time. A gaping hole sat in her chest, ribs showing. It, as well, bled. In her hands, she held her heart. This was rather the more gory form of the Goddess, but I did not mind the blood. “Is it time then my lady?” She nodded and stroked her fingers down her heart before standing and kissing my cheek gently. 4
“Do not fear Samuel. Our meeting will be painful, but required. I cannot wait to meet my greatest protector,” she whispered. I know what it meant. I had known all my life of my duty, for Earth was all about duty and honor. I gave a sad smile as she left. …
That night, I kissed my girlfriend goodbye, promising that in the next life we’d meet once more. She cried a lot, but understood. I then moved into the backyard and allowed the Earth to consume me. As my body sank into the soil, the animals then understood. Time to leave, time to rebuild, time to take back our home. Cthulhu – Water I was running around my home, getting my children ready for school the day her almighty appeared. “Come on! It’s off to school!” I cried, ushering my children onwards. My teen rolled her eyes and snapped her gum, still waiting for her boyfriend to appear. My five-year-old boy jumped around, excited to start his first year of school. Thankfully, the bus stopped in front of the house. I handed him his lunch and kissed him on the cheek, sitting on the front porch as he ran onto the bus. His head stuck out the window and he waved to me excitedly. “Bye Mommy!” he called. “Bye baby!” I called back. And then he was gone. “You can smoke now Mom,” my girl told me, following me outside. I groaned and accepted the cigarette she handed me, lighting up. She was the only one who knew I smoked and that apparently made me the “cool mom” in a sea of suburban housewives. We chatted a bit, and I made her promise that if she had sex with her 5
boyfriend, they used condoms. This was another reason I was the “cool mom” because I didn’t care if she had sex, drank, did drugs, so long as she didn’t get arrested and was safe. She’d tried about everything, just like me, and hated it all with the exception of pot. But that’s understandable. She never understood how I got stuck with a “loser” like her father. She didn’t understand that back in the day, he wasn’t as stuck up. She didn’t believe me about that. “Mom, who’s that?” my girl asked softly, pointing to a beautiful woman with bright blonde hair and pretty violet eyes. A tattoo covered her chest, shown off from the white tank. A beautiful dream-catcher with the name “Ellie” etched into the strings. I stood instantly. “Oh almighty!” I cried softly, bowing slightly. Ellie scoffed and waved at me. “Don’t be foolish Cthulhu! It is, however, time to return to your oceans.” I blinked in surprise. “Cthulhu?” Ellie laughed. “Oh of course! Did you believe you knew all this information by sheer luck? You are my guardian and ruler of the oceans. Every sailor’s nightmare. And it is time. Your daughter will be your right hand. Well! I have more people to inform of the impending end of the earth! Bye!” With that, the Goddess skipped off, shifting before my eyes, first into her earth form, and then into a bird, taking flight. Naturally, my daughter questioned nothing, and instead just followed me to the beach. At this time of year, this time of day, it was deserted. I was suspicious, I didn’t know if Ellie was correct, but I wasn’t going to 6
question her. Hand in hand, my daughter and I waded out into the water, swimming out as far as we could before sinking into the ocean… Our bodies changing… Blaze – Fire I wrapped my arms around my Dom and clung to him. Tears were drying on my cheeks. With a soft hushing sound, he fed me another gummy bear, kissing the top of my head. “I’m sorry Sir. I won’t do it again, I promise,” I whimpered. Of course, he laughed at this, pulling me closer to him while he leaned back. “Oh my little Brat, don’t be foolish. You and I both know that you will do it again and we will return back to this. Good thing for you, that I never tire of punishing you.” I flushed and he tipped my head up to kiss me softly. “I love you my little Brat.” “I love you too my sweet Sadist.” He smirked and pinched my hip, causing me to squeak and huff, glaring at him. “Do you truly believe it’s a smart plan to glare at your Dom just after you’ve earned a punishment?” I shook my head rapidly and huffed, clinging to him just as the doorbell rang. “Ignoring it. I’m just going to lie here with my girl.” It rang again. “Not happening.” Then it started ringing in rapid succession, as if the person was mashing the bell. “For fuck’s sake!” He growled and untangled himself from me, shouting to the door, “Yeah, I’m coming!” I pouted before grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around me, ignoring the pain in my back. I followed him to the door and peeked over his shoulder at the woman standing in the doorway. 7
“Oh! Bad timing? Too bad. Alright Blaze, burn something to the ground, you have permission. I’ll even let you keep the hunk! Oh wait, no I won’t.” The brunette smiled sweetly. I frowned tiredly. “Who are you?”
“Oh that’s right! Silly me! We haven’t met yet. Casey. You need to hurry the dickens up. Time to let the world burn! Fire needs to leave until it’s time to come back. Here, just go to this address and it’ll work out, promise.” She thrust a piece of paper into my hand and turned to leave. I glanced at Sir, but he frowned. “Time to go my Brat.” Before I could ask why, he was bundled up, in the car, and on our way to the address. Upon arriving, he kissed me long and hard. I squeaked, completely surprised by this. His hand stroked upon my cheek. Then he finally pulled away, breathless. “We’ll meet again. But please, as my current last order as your Dom… Go. I love you, never forget that… And find me.” I didn’t understand, but I got out of the car. “I love you too.” And then he was gone and I was crying for the second time that night. He looked so serious, I couldn’t have made myself be Bratty if I wanted to. I had to follow his command. Though my heart hung heavily, I walked into the address, trusting him completely. The fucking cultists though… Every time I think of them now, I wish I could burn them all over again. Claiming to be a coven, but they were not. I still do not understand why the Goddess Casey would send me to such a place. Perhaps I will eventually. Those fucks… They branded me, trying to unleash my powers. Un8
leash it, they did. When I’d torched them completely, I lost my mind for a bit. I remember cutting into my face. Then Pan came to assist me back to the land of the sane, but I mouthed off to him. And he stitched half my mouth shut. But in all, the Goddess of Fire was free. And I was going to find my Sir. ‌ Four Gods free, Earth is dead. As it is said. Goodnight to all who dare enter here. Blaze, Erik, Cthulhu, and Samuel wander near. Nyx has freed their souls. Pan has freed them all. Goodbye to all who dare enter here. The elemental Gods grow near.
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The Forgotten Present Darla Fleming Fiction Contest Winner Grammom is like a pirate. The black video camera forever covering her right eye is an eyepatch and a telescope all in one. She has watched my entire life through its lens, and my mom’s before mine. She records everything. Not just birthdays, or holidays, or vacations, but everything. From the flock of gray birds that scuttle across her back porch in the summer, to the thick cotton comforter of snow that covers it in the winter, nothing is too mundane to escape her need to capture, to preserve. “I’m afraid she’s going to follow me into the bathroom with that thing,” my aunt, Cheryl, once joked. No one in our family really understood why she did it, least of all me. My earliest memories of her video camera cast it in the role of annoying interloper, hovering in the way of the smiles and laughs I wanted to see, occupying hands that I wished would hold mine. As I grew older, the camera’s presence became easier to accept, but the reason for it remained a mystery. Appreciated or not, Grammom was determined that none of her footage would be lost to time. When she moved to a new home in 2013, the cabinets encasing thirty years’ worth of clunky VHS tapes were her foremost concern. Her house sold fast. There was no room for so many tapes in her new place. At a frantic pace, she worked to transfer them all over to DVD, finishing in a miraculous two months. Even without a merciless deadline crouched and ready to spring, her dedication never wavered. She moved on 10
to making copies of the DVDs for all seven of her children. Each disc was tucked lovingly into a paper sleeve, stacked with others from the same month and year, and bound in its place with two rubber bands crisscrossed like ribbons on a package. Every Christmas, I would sit at the dinner table and dread the inevitable moment when she would ask if anyone had seen the latest funny moment in the latest batch of DVDs. Worst by far was the knowing smile she always wore as she asked, the sort of smile that begged for company. “I’m waiting for retirement to watch them,” Uncle Joe offered. I stared down at my lap, feeling about the size of a particle of dust, and said nothing. I had nothing to dread last Christmas. I was slated for a hot date with a hundred-and-one-degree fever instead. Chills tore through me, my muscles taut and trembling, each fiber a flag of surrender snapping in vicious winds. There was no part of my body that was not aching, and, by that morning, it was obvious the only place I was fit to go was the living room couch. The house was empty. I was alone, missing the indecipherable clutter of conversations that had always meant “holiday” to me. I yearned for my family. And I found them on an iridescent disc in a paper sleeve. The Smart TV looked decidedly dumb as it tried to make sense of the blotched, fuzzy cave art of an ancient technology. My first choice was a disc that was strangely unmarked. Its contents were as undefined as my expectations, heightening my curiosity. The screen went 11
white, then brown, before unveiling the washed out image of a pair of women traipsing up a sidewalk, in knee-length dresses and hats, pushing a baby carriage. It was a silent image, a scene that lasted for less than a minute and then dissolved into something completely different, but just as mute. There were fields of tobacco, endless green fields that stretched far beyond the plastic boundaries set by the screen, and I watched as men cut leaves bigger than their hands and strung them on some sort of stick until it looked like they had woven a miniature quilt with them. Younger boys dragged them away toward the barn, at which point the clip ended, and I was faced with a sign welcoming me to the Wood Family Reunion, 1943. Wood was my grandfather’s name. In 1943, he would have been fifteen years old. I spotted him. It was not an easy task to pick out familiar features through the poor picture quality, but there was one shot of him with the sun on his creaseless face, and I knew. I watched him roll around the grass with his five siblings, only two of whom are still alive, and glimpsed a carefree boy I never had the opportunity to meet before his own passing in 2001. I wondered how Grammom had gotten ahold of this film, as she did not know my grandfather at the time and would only have been twelve when it was shot. This film, I eventually learned, came from the home movies of my grandfather’s Uncle Chris, a man I had neither met nor heard of before. I delved into Christmas of 1987 next, searching for a stand-in celebration. There was sound. My aunts, uncles, and mom made faces at the camera and took turns wearing an afro wig. When it came time to open presents, they passed around a skinny microphone with a fat, rubber cord and narrated the proceedings like 12
sports broadcasters on the radio: “He’s picking up the green present… That paper isn’t going to last much longer. Is it? It looks like—it is! A Beatles shirt for Greg.” It was almost disorienting. I knew the people on the screen, all of them, and yet I did not know this version of them. I was taken off guard by the raw energy lurking beneath decades of marriage and children. The same group I could most readily imagine dozing together around the crackling, steady warmth of a bonfire seemed never to sit still. They trampled overtop of one another as they danced in the kitchen, wilder and more potent somehow. My personal definition of them expanded out to include new phrases, most of which would have been more at home in the culture of thirty years ago. Their “totally rad” expressions, their acid wash jeans, and the Atari game system on their floor were all things that had only existed for me through the tinted window of old movies, and suddenly, seeing my loved ones entrenched in them all, those things became real. I have watched thirty of Grammom’s DVDs since that Christmas, and the ones that are not covering any special event are by far the most interesting. They reveal the most about a time that, short of hopping aboard a speeding, silver DeLorean, I know I can never experience. There is no journey that has so captured the human imagination as the elusive trip through time. Regret makes us long for the past, and our fast-paced, instantgratification geared world has us chomping at the bit to know the future. The present is something we merely slog through. We have got our heads down in our schedules, and every day seems so like the rest, we often fail to realize that what we are living right now will one day be another tale of a bygone era, a tobacco leaf 13
dried up and blown away.
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From an Ohio River Matthew Talbott Poetry Contest Winner Can you reach into and pull the ripple from the stream? Can you tell me from my pitcher though it can’t recall its seam? Every page starts off-white, all Truth reached by committee. Each member proud though we be, think where you build a city. I must have held some shape before, I must have matched some place, but if that cup wrote anything, I can’t read it from my face. I chip away at all I pass, take torn threads for souvenirs, rage past offered branches, and take stranded rocks for peers. Am I the water, the motion, or the bedAnd could I please just be myself instead?
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8th annual Academic writing and college composition essay contest winners
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Three Drops of Blood First Place Habib Ghaderpour Sitting on an old couch, smoking a cigarette, reading a book by Sadegh Hedayat, and thinking about how absurd living in this world is: that was a snapshot of my life about ten years ago. For years I used to live alone in a studio apartment in Tehran. My life was a kind of secret to others. I had covered my studio's windows with newspapers so that no one could see inside of my home. I did not like to be in contact with others and tried to keep myself far from society. Rarely, a friend of mine came to my place to visit me. During the gathering, our conversation was about the complexity and vanity of life. At the end of every meeting, we exchanged some books. After I graduated from college, I started to look for a suitable job related to my field. My hometown was too small, and I could not find a good job. Finally, I decided to move to the capital city, Tehran, to achieve my desire. I sent my resume to several industrial companies, and after a few weeks, I got an adequate job. Working at the factory and communication with coworkers was not that exciting to me because I did not like to be someone who goes to work, returns home, and performs some routine activity. I thought living like others was too boring and dismal. I tried to discover some new ideas about the meaning of life. I thought understanding life's purpose was more important than life itself. I wanted to know why I was in this world rather than living routinely like millions of people around the world. One of my hobbies was reading books. I was interested in literature and poetry. One day, a friend of mine gave 17
gave me a forbidden book that is called The Stray Dog. It was a novel by a famous Persian author, Sadegh Hedayat. Before getting the book, I had heard something about him, and his magical writing. I could not wait to read the book. I was looking for the time to check out from work, go home, and enjoy my time with the novel. In three days, I finished the book, but I did not understand anything about its meaning. I decided to read the book again in order to get a better comprehension. But it was more complex than what I had expected. Eventually, I found a version of it that explained the concept of the text, and that helped me to get a better understanding. Apparently, the story concerned a trained dog, Pat, that was lost. On his way to find his home, he tried to deal with people and other stray dogs in the town, but no one could understand him. Pat was driven out and tortured by town residents and other animals. Finally, he lost his life because of people’s savagery. Pat was a symbol of the very few people who have different ideas than others in a traditional society and suffer because of society’s superstitions and thoughtlessness. Hedayat illustrates how these open-minded people are rejected by the public because of their nonconformist thoughts. Reading Hedayat’s book for the first time motivated my thoughts. I loved his writing, and his insight. I said to myself: “Yeah, that is the one I was looking for.” Hedayat found a place in my heart right away. His writing met my need to understand life’s meaning, and gave me a model to build an intellectual character that I wanted to be. I determined to continue to find and read some more books like that interesting novel. I visited the underground bookstores and asked for his forbidden books. In our country, trading or reading any type 18
of protest book that is against Islamic beliefs is unlawful. Hedayat had radical anti-Islamic beliefs, and that is why his books are illegal in Iran. Through a friend of mine, I found some people who were trading these kinds of books, and I could persuade them to trust me and sell me them. After a while, I collected a small bookcase full of Hedayat’s books. Hedayat's literary style was close to Existentialism, but he believed mankind's' effort for justice and truth is in vain. His writing showed me a dark world with some residents who do not know what they live for, and also talked about how people are brutal to each other, and how some malicious people have made this world worse during the history of mankind. I worked during the days and read books over the nights. Over time, my character started to change. Focusing on Hedayat's life and reading his books caused me to separate from people. He propelled me to a private environment which nobody was accepted except a friend who had the same insight as me. When I read a book, I put myself instead of a character in the novel. I imagined myself in his stories in my dreams. I knew some people read these kinds of books, but they were unaffected by them. My situation was different. I was overwhelmed by these stories. Hedayat became my teacher and master. He taught me how to think and how to live by his books. While I was living among people and working with them, my mind was traveling to another world, which was a hideous picture of the real world. Hedayat’s philosophy grew in me and affected all walks of my life. He changed my political, social, and religious insight, and also my relationship with family and friends. My beliefs turned radically anti-Islamic because I thought the first enemy of human beings was religion. In Islam I saw hate, 19
murder, and the destruction of human rights. I hated our government, who were extending Islamic laws. I kept myself far from society, even family and friends, because I thought they were steeped in traditions and superstitions. Little by little, my world got smaller and tighter. Sometimes I did not go to work and stayed at home, spending time with my lovely books. My life became unusual. I was living with the novels more than any reality of life. Reading one of Hedayat’s masterpieces, Three Drops of Blood, had a deep effect on me. The novel’s main character was a man who was in an asylum because of some indeterminate reasons. He was trying to find a way to be free of his torments, and for a reason to escape from his sorrows. He thought the only remedy was death. In this story, the author revealed some facts about himself through the main character. There was a strong relation between the main character, and the author’s life. That book stimulated me to focus on Hedayat’s life more than ever. After a few weeks, I found a book that was Hedayat’s biography and started to read. After the introduction, the narrator focused on the last days of Hedayat’s life. He said Hedayat was tired of life and all of its pains. He could not continue to live when he was defeated on his way to finding a reason for life. Under the sun, he saw human wounds, injustice, and nothing else. He decided to commit suicide, and finish his struggle with the universe. I could feel Hedayat’s situation within my heart. I became a part of his life or possibly he became my whole life. I was in the middle of the book when I asked my boss for vacation and went home to perform my own plan. In the biography, it was the last day of the author’s life, 20
and it could have been the last day of my life as well. I was going ahead with the book. I felt that I should be unified with Hedayat in order to get free from my own sorrows. I started to cover all the windows and door gaps as Hedayat did in his last hours, following him without thinking. I decided to be with him forever. I thought he was the only one who could understand me and who had the same trail as me. I was outside of time and space. The narrator said Hedayat took some medicine to make his death painless, so I did as well. Then he opened the gas tap to asphyxiate himself slowly. Of course, I did, too. I do not know how long gas had been flowing in my home when I decided to smoke the last cigarette of my life. Because of the medicine’s effect, my mind could not process reality. After I pushed the lighter to ignite my cigarette, I could see a big burst, and nothing else. I could feel nothing for hours, and after a while, I found myself in the hospital. I was alive, but my hands and my face were burned because of fire. I felt that I was defeated, and it was embarrassing. My family came to the hospital to visit me. I troubled them but they did not judge me. During this period of sickness, I was not able to use my hands for my daily routines, and I needed help dressing myself, eating, drinking, and even going to the bathroom. My family and old friends did not leave me alone, and I had their heartfelt help for all needs, physical and spiritual. They supported me, and recovered my spirit. They showed me their kindnesses and devotion. Their devoted care caused me to think about some familiar emotions like love and hope. They made me aware of a part of life’s truth that I had forgotten since I had started to read Hedayat’s books. I could feel people’s love again, and I started to give them love as well. I was happy to have a second chance at life and to be with family and friends. Yes, Love was the best reason to 21
exist. I know that Hedayat understood what is going on on the bad side of human life, but he could not see, or did not want to see, the beauty of the good side of life. He decided to focus on, and write about, pain and bitterness. Although I still loved him and his philosophy, I decided to exist. Mankind’s pains and perditions are undeniable, but those are not what whole life is about. Knowing this truth now, however, I live with hope and focus on beauty instead of filth and absurdity. Works Cited Hedayat, Sadegh. The Stray Dog, Iran: Bazargani, Nejat, 1942. Hedayat, Sadegh. Three Drops of Blood, Iran: Bazargani, Nejat, 1932.
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The Price of Freedom Runner Up Habib Ghaderpour It was in November, 2011, that my wife and I decided to leave home. At first, thinking of this matter was out of our vision, and it was hard to make such a decision. For a while, we had a fear of being arrested by the government, and this fear was growing and became unbearable for us, so that we could not have a normal life. We were visiting our family for the last time and saying, “You are not going to see us at home anymore.” Our adventure started about a year before that night, when a friend shared some new descriptions of God. For years, I was denying God and all other religions because when I started to mature, I focused on Islam, and it caused me to think that there was not any God, and people made this myth to achieve money and power to rule over others. I saw superstitions in Islam and nothing else. But on that day, my friend opened a new window in my life to see the real and only God, "who is our father," and he explained how we could achieve salvation through Jesus Christ. It didn’t take long for me to become a Christian. And then my wife came to Christ as well. Christianity, however, is an unforgiveable crime in Iran, especially for someone with an Islamic background. Islamic governments are against all other ideologies, and they do not let people have different ideas except Islamic beliefs. Sometimes even they kill people because of their non-Islamic insights. After a few months, I lost my job because the company's managers figured out about my new beliefs, and they fired me. But the issue did not end with that, and the security police tried to come into our home to find something like a Bible or anything related to our beliefs and then use them to condemn us. We were 23
lucky to stay safe in that situation. Our last hours at home and being with our parents and our sisters was like a dream. At that time, I could not record any reality of my situation in my mind. Time was running fast, and I was not capable of controlling anything. I wished I could hold onto the time forever and keep loving them and spending time with them. I would have paid more attention to the moments that we had together before this event. Sometimes I looked at my parents' faces and thought about their worry. We were leaving our families for the rest of our lives, and we did not know if we would be able to see them again. The hour arrived without asking, and we should have said “goodbye,” but it was out of the limit of my endurance. We hugged our loved ones and left home for the train station. When we got to the station, we had to pass security checks before getting on the train. It took a long time to hand over our suitcases and find our compartment on the train. After a little delay, the train departed from the station and my heart was deeply wounded. I felt that I was losing a huge part of my being. The train was going far from our lovely home, and it was separating me from my all attachments and memories. I remembered my whole life from my childhood to my last days living at home. Memories of my grandma’s house, of the laughter of my sisters when we were playing, and of walking with friends during beautiful nights in my hometown, were crossing my mind. My thoughts were traveling from one point to another, remembering family, being too far from home, and not having time to visit my friends for the last time to say, “goodbye.” I could watch the view that was crossing from a little window on our wagon. I looked at the sunset on the 24
Zagros Mountains, thinking about thousands of years of my country's history. We crossed from Lake Urmia, which is one of the most engaging tourist attractions, and saw the birds flying around the lake. I thought of how the Islamic government, thirty-eight years ago, came into power and destroyed freedom in our country. Before the Ayatollahs, we had a great life without any issue with our beliefs or personal insights, but since they started ruling our country, they changed the laws and pushed people to a radical Islamic culture in which no one has the right to have his/her own ideas or even a personal life. They came as invaders and destroyed the cultural and historical values that we were proud of. Day gave its place to the night, and darkness covered over us. That night was darker than a normal night. The train whistle was a sad song, whispering in my ears, and I was carrying a lot of sorrow. Thinking about moving from our home to another country, and how we could deal with new people, a new language, and a new culture crossed my mind. We had lost what we had because we had decided to put God as the first priority of our life. We did not have any chance to make changes in that situation, but we knew that we were not alone. We could not sleep until morning. It was about sunrise when the train passed from the last checkpoint and we entered Turkey. After a few hours traveling in the mountains, we got to a lake that is called Lake Van. The weather was too cold, as cold as whole days without home. We had to get the ferry to cross the lake and then another train to Istanbul. Our process for refuge had to start with registering at the office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), which was in Istanbul. Lake Van was surrounded by 25
black, sharp mountains and a heavy fog. Traveling on a cold lake and watching unknown views was not that interesting to us because we could not think of another thing except home. Eventually, we arrived at our destination and got onto the process with the United Nations. Our process was not as easy as we expected. We stayed in Turkey for a long time and lived with hardships and problems. Refugees’ lives are too difficult in Turkey; they are not legally allowed to have jobs, nor does the Turkish government support them. We had to work unlawfully, and sometimes job owners did not pay us because they knew that we could not complain. Finally, after about four years, we gained a US Visa and came into America. It has now been about five years since we left home. Sometimes I think about that night, and I say to myself, “If I turn back to the past, I would do what I did before, because there was not another way to choose for us, and we had to leave our home.” Looking back over our past reminds me of a major decision which has changed everything in our lives. We achieved freedom to be ourselves, who we were not allowed to be in Iran. Today we can express what we think freely, and we are permitted to have our own ideas about religion and God. We gained opportunities for new careers, education, relationships, and so on in America. However, we always feel some empty places in our hearts, which are memories of family and home. We must always remember that these places can be filled with God’s love, and by loving people. We learned how to live with happiness in any situation and be flexible to deal with hardships. At this moment, many people have the same experience as me. Some are leaving their homes for war reasons, some for political reasons, and some for religious reasons. These matters are coming from dictatorial governments who are ruling over people and breaking human 26
rights. Some do not know the meaning of freedom because they have never felt it. Some kids are born in these countries with war and they do not even have a chance of a low-level life. Some of them decide to leave their homes and take a dangerous risk to achieve freedom, and many of them lose their lives in this way.
Imagine when we relax on a comfortable couch, watch Friends, drink a cup of Starbucks coffee on a cold winter night, and enjoy our time with family and friends. Some people on the other side of the world, though, are fighting with ruthless governments because of their primary rights. It is good to keep in mind that what we have here, what we take for granted – freedom – is a huge desire of millions of people around the world.
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The Pet Store Runner Up Samantha Budd One afternoon, I walked into the pet store for the first time and was amazed. All the adorable small animals were just hanging out. I had to stop and look at every cage. The tiny malty colored hamsters with full bellies. The long and lean ferrets sleeping in their tunnel. All the fish swimming so happily in their tanks with their brothers and sisters. Most of all the reptiles that stuck to the glass with their mile-long tails. I was having the time of my life! I decided that since I loved animals so much I would apply for a job there. Who better to take care of animals then an expert animal lover? So after I got through all the boring paper work and corporate junk, I got to start my new job. I walked in my first day so happy and chipper thinking, "Heck yeah I am going to get paid to play with animals all day long! Who wouldn’t love this job right?" My trainer walked me through all the things my job entailed. As I expected, I had to feed and water all pets and change their bedding. None of this was new to me because pets come with responsibilities. However, I started to notice things that weren't so pleasant. One day I walked into work to find a coworker removing a lifeless hamster from its home to a trash can. The same trash can I threw my left over lunch into. I was horrified, but my trainer explained that we don't have time to dispose of them in a better way. This was something I would have to get used to. Growing up my family buried every pet we had no matter the size. Each one had its own hole and its own little service. The fact that I was going to have to throw these poor 28
souls away bothered me. That same afternoon, it was my job to clean all the animal cages. I started with the hamsters. All of them so small and colorful with their black beady eyes. It felt good to take care of them, to be a caregiver. The first three cages were exactly what you would expect a hamster’s home to look like: a blue running wheel in the corner, a green igloo with several small souls sleeping inside and a few drowsy ones having a late breakfast or grooming themselves. When I got to the fourth cage, I was met with a surprise. There were furry bodies scattered everywhere throughout the metal box. Each critter’s body was stiff, cold and mangled. It looked as if their bodies had been hollowed out. Blood spatter stained the food dish and igloo. My heart sank as I removed each one and searched for survivors. Lifting up the igloo I found one single soul sleeping peacefully. At first I was relieved but then it hit me. This cute face that was staring back at me was in fact a monster, or in worse terms, a cannibal. The very next day, I was checking up on the hamsters, making sure they had food and water. I was putting the food dish back in the cage when I found a small gray and white hamster barely breathing. I plucked him from the hay that he lay in and quickly ran back to the storage room in the back of the store where we keep all the injured or sick animals. I ran him a warm bath and tried to clean his wounds the best I could. The poor thing was missing a foot and was half chewed up from the others picking on him. After cleaning his wounds, I made him a comfortable safe place to sleep for the night. I checked on him every day for a week, even bottle feed him when he wasn’t strong enough to do it himself. But in the end my poor little friend did not make it. I came in one morning before the sun was 29
even up and buried him the best I could outside the pet store behind the dumpster. I felt this was better than putting him with the trash because he was far from trash. He was a small angel who should have gotten a better chance at life. After working at the concentration camp we called a pet store, I noticed a change in myself. I would come into work dragging my feet and have the worst anxiety about what I might find in the small jail cells of the poor little prisoners. In a way, I felt like the guard at a low budget prison. I would break up the fights between the strong and the weak. I would care for the hurt but not with hugs and kisses with medications and raw dinners because my time was better used somewhere else. Finally, one day I was walking into work and stopped right outside the door. I looked up at the sign above me. I started to think about how at one point I used to walk into this place full of joy and ignorance. Now I walk in with my eyes wide open and a heavy heart. I started to wonder if others have felt this way to. To do this job, I thought you had to be an animal lover, but really you have to be cold and unattached. All the death you have to deal with takes a toll on you. If I knew what I know now, I would have been appalled and never shopped here, let alone worked here. But now, this is my job because I was too blind to see beneath the skin of corporate propaganda and lies.
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Untitled Painting Angela Saude
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*meet the authors* Samantha Budd’s inspiration for her essay was obviously the work conditions she was subject to at the pet store. She would like to thank everyone at the Stark State Writing Center and Mrs. Modarelli for all their support! Samantha’s career goal has always been to work for Disney one day.
My name is Habib Ghaderpour “Kurosh.” I was born in a small town in western Iran called Borujerd. Seven years ago, after my wife and I converted to Christianity, we faced religious persecution in our country and finely decided to leave our home. It has now been two years that we live in United States. Last semester, we both attended Stark State College to follow our dreams.
In Shae Martin’s freshman year of high school, she would do extra credit for her English class by submitting short stories and story parts to her English teacher who absolutely loved her stories and encouraged her to continue writing. After graduating high school in Alabama, Shae moved to Ohio to live with family. Currently going for her English Lit degree, her hopes of becoming an author were put to an end when she was diagnosed with carpal tunnel at the age of twenty. Despite this, she still writes when she can, but Shae changed her career goals to being a publisher.
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Matthew Talbott tries to write down whatever little bit of interest and inspiration comes to him in the moment. He’s sure that very often what feels like a simple jotting down is actually a long time’s struggle, but putting words together prettily is deeply entertaining to him. Also, he is a communications student.
Also included in this edition: Darla Fleming Angela Saude
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Stay Tuned... The 7th Annual SSC Creative Writing Competition Win a $50 gift certificate to The College Store for a winning entry in poetry or fiction! Contact Tom O’Brien for more information at TOBrien@starkstate.edu
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