by The Jane Austen SocietyAusten

Austen

Coquettish pride is suspicious of Darcy’s bible Collins whispers “propose Darcy” Prejudice clergy fans coquettish Darcy; suspicious, suspicious whispers in coffee whispers are… coquettish, Collins whispers prejudiced whispers; clergy is coquettish Proposed pride are a prejudiced read and whispers and books and Darcy

Jane Austen Society

Pillars of Salt 33

The Night I Killed the Neighbor’s Cat

Nevermind my car in the late autumn night, curiosity killed him first. That bastard was always sneaking out and squeezing through my fence, stomping on my azaleas and keeping me up at night.

I’d repeatedly told Meredith to keep her Bobo on her own property, but somehow he always seemed to trespass in my yard, which, I reminded her, is a misdemeanor in the state of California.

And countless nights I ran out banging frying pans to silence the shrieks from all the wild sex he shared with Mrs. Butterworth from across the street. For some reason they found solace together under my new car.

Some nights, upon running outside, I found the sounds weren’t them at all, but instead the Sycamore tree rubbing the side of my house. And then, I’d look up to see him smirking at me through Meredith’s kitchen window.

His bites and scratches scar my legs, even though in front of Meredith, he’d be cordial, of course. He’d even fake a purr, masking his satanic behavior.

Although it wasn’t intended, I can admit the slight satisfaction felt when I hit that bump and heard a familiar shriek. I knew if I wasn’t the death of him, he’d be the death of me.

Ali Kiley (’16)

34 Pillars of Salt

This is Fate: A Tinder Odyssey

Strange first question What?

I just swallowed a flaming sword while singing opera It was bliss

For a minute it was nice talking to you Thanks mami I’m from Wisconsin Care to enlighten me? You look very European I really don’t know what pictures you’re seeing

I’m not sure, for a minute, it was bliss Not sure if that’s something I should have admitted to

A beautiful horse It slowly comes to learn your scent To get away with murder To tame

Take your furry hands and scratch their cheeks A flaming sword Worthless girls You have a toddler

Squidward, I have eyebrows like that Ate something I was allergic to

So verbose Haha grandma

Sex sex sexy sex I made some kid pee once

Lina Jegeus (’17) and Isabel Adler (’17)

Pillars of Salt 35

Shame

Cairo Dwek (’16)

36 Pillars of Salt

The Teal Shirt

My favorite shirt is teal. My least favorite word is teal, but I never think about that when I’m wearing my shirt, which should prove to you how much I like it. I’m wearing this shirt now and it has buttons that go up. They also go down. I know how many numbers of buttons are on all of my other button shirts, but I don’t know how many my teal shirt has. I do know my teal shirt has buttons -- lots of them. Brown buttons, like tree bark. The criss cross stitching in the middle is a color I cannot identify. This has never happened to me before. I try to invent new colors all of the time, letters too, but I think they all exist already. A lot of the time people ask me, “where did you buy this lovely green shirt.” It makes me angry when strangers call it green. It is teal. I tell them it is the color teal and not green. And I tell them I do not know where I bought it, and I am sorry I cannot help them. I walk away, and I feel bad becuase I have the best shirt ever, and they do not. And that makes me sad. Sometimes I am afraid to go outside because I fear someone might count the buttons on my teal shirt and tell me how many there are.

Chloe Hoberman (’17)

Pillars of Salt 37

Petunia

Ava-Rose Beech (’16)

38 Pillars of Salt

Work of Art

I am a work of art. They put me on a stage and open me up, pulling back my ribs to reveal a beautiful, moist rainbow. It’s a strange feeling, the fingers of air brushing against the inside and outside of your lungs; a shallow, empty feeling each time I inhale as if the oxygen itself were trying to escape me. There’s a zipper that runs from the tip of my chin to my pelvic bone as if my skin were some large fur coat I could shed every summer. I’m drugged, so all I see are blurred silhouettes. I find it funny when those figures turn away from me–they can’t accept that they contain these same multitudes. I’m the one that’s bared for all the world, I want to scream after them as they walk away. Maybe that’s just it, multitudes–this infiniteness. They don’t like that we look the same inside the only difference being I have a zipper to keep my guts in. The plastic skin that wraps around their mismatched organs and molds to their printed bones runs like silk against their fingers while mine is freckled with pinpricks. Perhaps I scare them. Perhaps they turn away because I have not a single artificial cell to create my body, yet I am beautiful. I am what they wish to be yet hate, so I am displayed. They say, look how beautiful she is, as they whisper curses behind their hands. So they open me up like an exhibit in a museum and they stare at every inch of me they hate, every inch of me they fear, every inch of me they desire, and every piece they wish was theirs. Yes, I am infinite, I am beautiful; I am a work of art.

Talia Natoli (’17)

Pillars of Salt 39

Tattoo

Shana Chin (’17)

40 Pillars of Salt

Internal Tattoos

Blank pages bask in their invisible glory. Blank pages bare all and hide nothing. Blank pages embrace the concept of an empty void. A blank page just is and is thus weirdly admirable. It exists for the sole purpose of being stripped away from its identity. That’s fascinating to me… I wish I were a blank page. Instead, the ink from scribbling furiously seep into my veins and slowly descends into my core. Dense, tainted, tar-like ink. It attacks with such a menacing vengeance, you would think I did something to deserve it. In order to stay sane, I must tell myself I don’t deserve internal tattoos…From the moment we are born, we are confined to a small room, with a noose hanging loosely around our necks, and an interrogative light shining brightly in our eyes. We are forced to roll the dice of life. If we refuse to roll, the noose will tighten. If we roll a four instead of a six , and then havoc ensues, can we really say our punishments are warranted? If I told you my secrets, I would tarnish any blank space left on my body. The tainted ink insidiously spreads, but I still have some untouched skin. I yearn to remain an empty void, but I know that’s impossible. Every time I breathe, or cry, or internalize the mini tragedies that surround me, I add blemishes to a space bursting with possibility and potential. I’m a page covered in words that mean everything to me and nothing to you. There are life stories that remain embedded deep within the crevasses of my human psyche, and they are bound to be sought eventually. Should I just let them be found? I am tarnishing a blank space right now, but I’m too much of a coward to keep going. I’m too much of a coward to retrieve my life stories and project them onto a blank page. I will stop before I say too much.

Haley Cohen (’16)

Pillars of Salt 41

Untitled

Meghan Marshall (’17)

42 Pillars of Salt

Circumstance

blood rushes through me; I can hear it behind eardrums and feel it raging under parchment thin skin of my neck, vibrating up until it washes body in scorching intensity.

it pulls at my fists muscles contract; dermis becoming strings of a marionette. tightening, tensing until bones quake, cartilage pleads for release.

but maybe it is worse to become limp. flowing with nothing but hopelessness that crushes nasal passages pushes on bladder; sinks diaphragm down, down; and then recedes.

Isabel Adler (’17)

43 Pillars of Salt