The Nighthawk Review, 2012

The Nighthawk Review

The literary magazine of USU Eastern

Nighthawk Review Editors

Chris Chavez

Rebecka Holt Hank Parry Brent Stockdale Grace Wilson

Cover Artist Rose West

Faculty Advisor Jason Olsen

Cover Design and Special Thanks to Chapel Taylor-Olsen

All rights revert to authors.

Mission Statement

The Nighthawk Review is a literary journal dedicated to publishing the creative works of students at the USU Eastern and representing the creativity and talent of the student body. All genres of creative writing are to be represented within these pages and all writers-so long as they are USU Eastern students-are invited and encouraged to submit work. All work is to be chosen from an editorial board of student editors and, while there will be faculty supervision, the content of the journal will be chosen by the student editors to ensure that this publication is created by the student population for the student population.

USU Eastern English Department Spring 2012 Volume XVV © 2012

Table of Contents

Grace, Teach lie Grace

Deliniag JoD

Scars DI The Son1

Dancin1

Refection

Bidin1

Bipolar

T1inklin1 KeDs

Deatk

Lile

lleaninu DI Lile

Butterflies

Love ls A Lie

Ilg Soul's Suicide

This Is

Fate

Nighthawk Review

Rose West

Rose West

Lana Axelsen

Chantelle Bradley

McKenzie Ranney

DyJ ana Elisabeth Laughbon

Bret Bennett

Kristalyn Edwards

Kallon Cowley

KaUon Cowley

Kallon Cowley

Kallon Cowley

Rebecka !Iolt

Rebecka !Iolt

Miriam Gileadi

Grace Wilson

I Bida't Think It lo1ld Work

TatZee

Matthew Thayn

Hank Parry

There is a Sea Hank Parry

Survivor

Deborah Tucker

Th Otbreahble DJtlnlst

MlhlgU Salvate

Alex Stoddard

Chris Chavez 32 Fendall1 F1tlle

Chris Chavez 33

lar Is Theater

Scott Zaborski 34 Addiction Amanda Spigarelli 35 Famllg Curse

Karli Morris 36

Pancakes For Breakfast Sara Price 37

Grace,TeachMeGrace

Rose West

I ask for Grace; her voice echoes through. I pace clutching her presence to my heart.

The steps I take, spine straight, shoulders back, need a strength

I do not own. I ask for grace in what I tell her:

"I'm sorry baby, I can't come home."

"It's okay," she says, voice strong.

"I love you."

"I love you, too." Then silence as a tear trickles down. Oh Grace, My Grace, Teachmegrace.

Defining Jog

You ask me for an answer I have none How do you describe a sunbeam The flash of a moment fleeting warmth glimpses of summers gone aAtaste of strawberry lingering on the tongue long after the moment is flown? You ask me what is joy. What is joy but all those things andmorethe crunch of fall beneath our feet, small leafy life stretching through the soils of spring. Your face-smiling in the weak light of winter

Rose \Vest

Scars of the Soul

Lana Axelsen

Deep the cut

But the wound unseen

It bleeds not blood but tears

The convulsions of pain

Not a shake or a scream

No it's a weak smile and dark eyes

Unseen scars are the scars that never heal

They are the size of the soul

That sucks you in

Never is your body whole

Dancing

Dancing has always been kind to me

Away with my emotions, it set them free Nevertheless, it came with some troubles

Collecting the counts was always a struggle

I loved being out on the dance floor

Nothing else mattered, but hearing the music roar Going count for count, my brain was on a tour

In your brain you need some space for Short and long term memory comes in place

Gallivanting around the stage

Over and over you repeat this phrase

On to the next step, the count makes a placement Doing the dance always makes a statement

Feelings of adrenaline and pressure

Overcome and release with a refresher

Resting and relaxing shortly come after

Tap, ballet

Hip-hop and jazz

Every count shows some pizzazz

Memory is a product of learning

In a sense, you are earning Nothing compares to this great find Dancing is good for the mind

Chantelle Bradley

Reflection

McKenzie Ranney

When I look in the mirror, what do I see?

Someone I don't recognize;

Is it really me?

This is the person I despise.

What you see on the outside doesn't reflect what I feel inside.

Everyone thinks my life is perfect, But in reality my life is like an ocean's tide.

People don't think about how they treat you and its effect.

It's constantly changing and never remains the same.

My childhood wasn't full of happiness and laughter.

It was just the opposite kind of game.

Abuse, lies, and hatred filled my home every day and thereafter, But life is what you make of it.

I don't let all these fears and sorrows I hold inside affect me, It fixes nothing to just sit and wait.

I will be who I am, and maybe one day like who I see.

Hiding

DyJana Elisabeth Laughbon

Elsing hurried down the ivory carved hallways with shimmering golden embedded decorations, and out into the honey light of Orlong city. She didn't pause as she looked up with her cool forest green eyes into the entangled trees with their closely woven branches that made the upper city of Orlong where most of her loyal subjects lived peacefully. Tears threatened to spill over as she turned her gaze toward the dark and lonely meadow over three miles away. Elsing picked up her pace with each step until she was running in her long flowing dark cloak that blended her in with the night.

She arrived at the other end of the meadow moments later. Her silver hair shown like thin strands of spider's web, her eyes glowed brighter than that of a dragon, and the little light from the quarter moon reflected off her skin making it seem like porcelain. Quickly, she spotted the tall wide frame of her lover on the edge of the old wise forest, and rushed to meet him.

"My love," she whispered, allowing herself to be caught up in his arms.

"Elsing," the Demon Lord breathed, burying his contrasting darkness into her light. Everything about them was an opposite: their worlds, their families, their powers, and much more. The one thing that came together was their love for each other, a forbidden love that everyone feared but they believed it could unite the worlds.

"\Ve have a problem." Her normally sweet song-like voice faltered as she pulled back from her love and looked down at her cold thin hands. Rarso gently pushed back loose strands of the silver strands that had fallen across her face. "My father knows about us, and the child," she said. At admitting the fear she had been fighting all day, her body crumpled.

"And you were able to come here? I thought he would lock you up," Rarso said, sighing in relief that was short lived as Elsing cast her eyes down again, this time to the cold unemotional earth. "\Vhat?" The realization that the child wasn't there hit him. "No, no," he whispered.

"He did, Irealas took my place. I told him you would not be coming until tomorrow. I tried to get the child but it is in his chambers. If I do not return, Irealas will be killed." Elsing sobbed, covering her face with her hands.

"I can't let you go back," he said, his voice cold as he pulled her close.

"I cannot let my dear friend die for me." She looked up at her love's eyes, which had always been soft and inviting to her but had now

gone cold, hard, and a brighter red than she had seen any demon's eyes.

"I will save your friend and our child tonight." He turned to leave when an unmistakable snap of a bow string echoed in their ears. Instinctively, the Demon Lord dove to the ground, pulling his love with him. More arrows assaulted them, many landing very close. The dull thuds of the arrows did not fully cover the deafening crack of flesh hitting stone. "We must move," he whispered, clawing a few inches to the left.

Elsing did not move.

"Elsing?" Rarso whispered, pulling tightly on her hand. The elfin princess still did not budge.

"Come out demon!" An elfin guard ordered. Rarso paid no attention to the warning shouts from the unknowing guru:ds. The Demon Lord rose from his hiding place, the elfin princess's body hung limply in his arms, the deep red blood staining her silver hair matching the color of her lover's eyes.

"Kill them," he whispered, his voice holding all the devils he had once slain. "Kill them all." At his command, the earth spat out the hell it had long ago buried. Skeletons of fallen warriors rose up, hands and teeth sharpened by the desire for revenge pouring from the Demon Lord's body in deep intoxicating mists that slowly started to choke the earth around him. The screams of surprise and fear from the Elvin warriors were mixed with the screech of the Demon Lord's Lithion who had felt its master's pain and shot out of the forest to aid him.

The warriors cried spells trying to repel the undead, but it was no use. As the Lithion landed, sinking his flesh and dirt stained claws into the earth as if it were a cushion, the sounds of bow strings and arrows turned to swords hitting bone. Rarso gently lifted his shallow breathing bride up on to the over towering black leather Lithion commanded it to rise into the sky holding her sliver head close to his chest.

"My lord, what happened?" Terko asked as he helped his lord and the elfin princess off the mighty Lithion and down onto the cold stone of the castle roof.

"Take her," Rarso breathed, offering his love to Terko before he quickly sunk to the ground. The strain of keeping up enough power to summon and then control over a hundred fallen men had more than taken its toll on tl1e strong lord before he released his grasp. "Summon the witch."

"Right away, my lord," Terko said, scooping the princess more firmly in his ru:ms before disappearing into the hell cut rocks of the castle.

"My lord," the old stubby witch, Kalgan, of the demon court screeched as she came out of the darkness. Her burnt and oily hair constructing itself around her face to look like a beast eating at her blind

eyes, and thin cracked lips. She reached out to her king with long bony fingers that had extensions of frail and cracked browning nails, grasping hold of his dark soft skin.

"My child ...the elves have my child and I fear they will kill her. Take who you need and retrieve my child for me," Rarso ordered, the flame of his desire fueling his body. Kalgan smiled, showing her rotting and missing teeth.

"I will have your child within the hour, my lord.," the witch promised, bowing low before her king. "I shall summon the healer for you, my lord."

"No, have them care for Elsing first."

16 years later

Shie knew she was dreaming the moment she saw a piece of the night sky quickly drive toward her before it formed tight leathery wings, sharp wide eyes, and curving gray claws. She waited patiently for the dragon to land in the tall whispering grass before she quickly made her way over to him. When the dreams had first started, Shie had been terrified of the dragon and she cowered in tall grass waiting for the dragon to find her and tear her apart. When she finally realized that the dragon wasn't going to kill her, she ventured toward it, touched its cold scaly skin, and rough thick wings. After many nights of getting to know her flying friend, Shie finally climbed atop the dragon's inclined neck and hung onto the hard bony scales as she soared into the air.

"Hello," she smiled, bowing her head before her friend. The massive dragon inclined his neck so she could slip aboard. As they took to the sky, Shie's heart pounded in her chest. The wind whipped her light brown hair higher into the sky, into her face covering her view of the brilliant night sky. She laughed as the dragon swooped down and around, coming close to the soft swaying tree tops before shooting back into the night air. She had never felt so much freedom as she did on her friend's back.

Shie had a loving family and dear friends, but she often felt misunderstood by them. She would stare out a window in one of her many classrooms wondering why everything came so easy to her. Teachers would force her back when she found herself dreaming of the world with her winged friend, glowing cities in tree tops, and lush river banks that gave birth to not only spiraling and vibrant flowers unique to her dreams but also wild and unreal creatures that roamed among them. She felt truly free running among the tall green grass, and unbound by a body when she danced among the towering trees that whispered with their down ascending leaves. Dreaming was the only place true happiness could be achieved; that revived her soul enough to push on with her teenage life.

The dragon made a final slow descent toward the open mead-

ow. Shie looked around to see another piece of the midnight sky break free and start gliding otherwise quietly towards them. Her heart picked up again as she and her beast landed in the meadow, the other drawing closer until it touched down only a few feet away from her. She caught her breath as a hooded figure dismounted. The other dragon quickly strode towards Shie, who retreated toward her own mount. Like her name said, she was shy, and didn't have a soft spot for strangers in dark cloaks. Seeing her retreat, the stranger slowed and, at a normal pace, stretched out a leather gloved hand with sharp protruding bone spikes. As Shie pressed herself up against the rough scales of the dragon, she could feel them cutting into her skin.

"My lady, please do not fear. I have no intention of hurting you." A dark cool voice came from the black hood. "You will hurt yourself." Shie knew he was right, but didn't want to move from the only safety she felt. Slowly, the figure removed the hood covering its face; he was a boy a couple of years older than Shie with dark caramel eyes that looked cold and stern as if they had never known joy, coal black hair woven closely to his head, and skin that matched that of the dead.

''Who are you?" Shie whispered, her voice shaking as much as her body. She had backed up as far as she could into the dragon and now had nowhere else to run. The boy stopped in his tracks, bent down on one knee and lowered his head covering his chest with his right arm like a Roman solider.

"I am Hale, the second son ofTerko, the head of command with your father's army. My brother and I were sent to find you, along with your father's Lithion." The boy waved to Shie's dragon. "He will be very pleased to know I found you," he said, in a very matter of fact tone. Shie almost laughed at his military like attitude.

"My father?" Shie asked, reminding herself that it was all just a dream and that she would wake and the boy would be gone. "I'm sorry but my father has been dead for several years," she explained, stepping away from the dragon towards the boy. Hale looked up sharply with his caramel eyes, piercing Shie's soul.

''Who told you these lies, my princess?" Shie retreated again as Hale rose sharply to his feet, his voice and presence suddenly taking on anger.

"It's .. .it's not a lie. My father, Roger Maxfield, died when I was four, I remember the car wreck." Shie breathed heavily. Hale's face became confused, his brow shooting up on his forehead, his head tilting to the right, and hands wringing together.

''You are the daughter of the elfin princess Elsing, and the demon king Rarso!" he declared, advancing and gazing at Shie with an uncertainty. Shie laughed, all her fear and confusion pouring out of her body in puffs of air. It was only a dream, her dragon wasn't real or the boy.

"No, I'm just Shie. My father was Roger, he was a mechanic in my home town before he died. My mother Ire is a first grade school and part time EMT for the hospital." Shie smiled at Hale, trying to show she understood his mistake.

"But, you are here." Hale gestured to the field around them.

''Yes, because it's a dream. It's my dream, or maybe your dream ... or it could be someone else's, I guess." Shie tried to lighten the mood. Hale's confused and annoyed state did not change.

"This is the Field of the Souls, only power magic users can come here."

"Uh ... okay." Shie shrugged, deciding to go along with it. Hale ran his hand through his hair as he let out an angry puff of air. "It's alright, it's just a dream," she added

"This is not a dream!" Hale growled, advancing so fast on Shie she had no time to react before he grabbed her shoulders forcefully and shook her lightly. ''You have to be the child. I can sense my king's power in you. I can smell the elfin magic in your blood. You must be their child!"

"Get off!" Shie demanded, her chest rising and falling so fast it was unclear if she was actually getting air.

"I will kill you, imposter!" Hale hissed, his already dangerous features changing suddenly and drastically. The caramel eyes went blood red as his jaw detached itself from his skin and sharp elongated black teeth sprang forward, and his fingernails broke the surface of her now pale skin.

"Get away!" Shie screamed, her face turning toward the night sky as an opal light erupted from her torso throwing Hale high into the air as if he was nothing more than a rag doll.

Shie opened her eyes to the fake glowing stars glowing far above her head; it was only a dream.

Bipolar

I do not know what's wrong with me, I don't think I am okay.

I can't tell if I want to go, Or if I want to stay.

One minute I feel as if I am Floating on a cloud.

The next I want the noise to stop, Because it is too loud.

And now I think my life is good, That everything is great.

I love my family and my friends, As for my future I cannot wait.

Then just one thing will set me off And make me really mad.

Now I am stuck in this dark hole, I am so depressed and sad.

Why can't my mind just figure out To not go so high and low.

I can't decide what to think, Are you my friend or my foe?

Bret Bennett

TwinklingKegs

I am only one person

With only two hands

I can't split into three

Or grow four extra arms

Just to meet your demands

I struggle in school and stress about men

Keep up with the gossip and hang with the friends

Take notes in class and test on Friday

Say "hey" to the family and keep my room all tidy

Don't have a psychiatrist to prescribe me relief

But still discover ways to reduce my great grief

I find my escape in twinkling keys

White like a daisy and as smooth as the breeze

Hands flowing like water along the keyboard

Tickling the keys with every chord

Though out of tune, it sounds peaceful to me

Kristalyn Edwards

And just for a moment everything is as perfect as can be

Death

Kallon Cowley

Death rides a fast horse. Don't ever look back. Live every day as your last. When death closes on your track, You can't help it. Except to never look back on your life as a regret.

Life

As dawn breaks, you notice the dew dripping from the leaves. You notice the smell of the stonn.

You notice things that you would never notice in school or out of it, things like age, race, social standings. Other things like the world that you came to know is not noticed when something you love or have taken advantage of is gone or forgotten, so you must ask yourself what is it that I cherish the most, the life I live or want?

The family I love?

The friends I adore?

Or what makes the most sense in the world of gifts?

Kallon Cowley

Meaningof Life

Kallon Cowley

A young man sitting at the dinner table with his parents. This was a special dinner, because the young man was graduating from high school. As they are eating their dinner, the son looks up at his father and says, ''Dad, what is the meaning of life?"

''\Veil," the father says, "I don't know how to answer that question right now, ask me in two years."

Right about two years later, the young man was going to college and had a fiancee. The day had come for the wedding and the father comes to his son and said, "Is there any advice I can give you?" The son replies, ''Yes, what is the meaning of life?"

His father tells him, "I don't think you're ready for that. Just ask me in five years. "

The college man is upset, but nods and says "okay."

Life goes on for the family they're expecting a baby boy. The family welcomes a healthy baby boy. Then they go through a tough financial time. The new father calls his dad asking, "what do I do? How can I make this work?"

His dad just says , "it will be okay. Keep working on it."

It's time to graduate with honors. It is a great day to celebrate! The college graduate was hired quickly out of school and offered a very promising job.

A couple years pass and his son, now five years old, celebrates his birthday. The working man pulls his father to the side and says, "Five years are up dad, what is the meaning of life?"

"Well son, I can't tell you at this point, it's not the right time."

The son, enraged, storms off, cursing under his breath. The working man, very angry, refuses his father's call. Communication breaks down. Five years go by, hardly any kind words are spoken between them. The young boy's birthday came again, but on this birthday he gets bad news-his grandmother has passed. As the family came together to mourn the loss, the working man goes to his father and finally apologizes for what he has done these past years. The father, touched by his son's apology, forgives him and all is well within the family. The funereal is nearly over and that fine son comes to his father and asks again, "what is the meaning of life?"

His father drops his head down low and says, "well, in the last five years, I haven't even thought about it. You better give me eight years to remember."

That fine son nods and says "whatever you say, dad."

Time passes slowly, but the family grows strong even though in

year six, bad news has fallen upon that fine son's father. The doctors call it cancer, the family called it hell in the form of a sickness. "He is bed ridden now," says that fine son to his wife. "I'm going to quit my job to take care of him."

The wife consents with his decision. The fine son stays with his father night and day, always by his side. "The time is getting near son."

That fine son calls for his young man to come quickly. The sickened father leans over to his grown son: "is there something you want to ask me boy?"

"No dad, I finally understand, you couldn't tell me because it's different for every one." At that same moment, the young man runs into the room to see his grandfather. As he says good bye to him, he looks to his father sitting across the bed and asks, "Father, what is the meaning of life?" His grandfather looks up to his son, smiles, says "good luck," and then passes.

Butterflies

Kallon Cowley

As the moon darkens the sun rays, you peer to the moon's eternal glow. As the tides are drawn to the moon, I also seek its majestic power. I gaze upon it as my imagination thickens. I begin to collect thoughts. They transform like a caterpillar to a beautiful Monarch butterfly. As you ponder, it comes, as clear the moon, Your dreams come and go, but the things you want the most you remember. Like the new birth of a generation of Monarchs, that inspires everything around you. Others disappear with the moon's glow. The light breaks the cold darkness thus bringing forth another day of butterflies.

Loveis a Lie

Rebecka Holt

There is no happily ever after No white knight to come and save you No riding off into the sunset No life-saving kiss.

The reality is heartbreaking; there is sadness, heartache,

People lie, cheat,

tears and sorrow. consumed with greed.

Love is nothing but a fantasy, an epic fac;ade!

MgSoul's Suicide

Secrets kept .... Lies told Mistakes made People hurt ....

Slowly killing myself my soul, my heart. With the drugs, booze, and recklessness. I hide the scars, tears, pain, loneliness, and fear.

Pretending with this lying smile that everything is fine, my heart was not shattered.

Hateful word

Broken promises

My soul made the decision It did not consult me nor care what I might think or how it might feel. Lost in darkness and agony.

Nightmares are unstable Flashbacks flow endlessly Screaming voices, unbearable weight that hovers, acts as a constant reminder.

Losing control umb to everything A shell.

o longer alive. Only to go through the repetitions of something that used to be my life.

Rebecka Holt

This Is

:tvfuiam Gileadi

This isThe creative out-pour

To the drain

To the moon, and back again Currented in forever magnitude

Magneted

The profession of undying loveIt only feeds the hungry bellies of Little stomachs

Producing an acidic taste, nuclear waterfue

The sound of it

A bell's after-currents, that stay solidly

Waving in and out with the ear

Vibrating

Levitating

Meditating the sun

The burn of skin, a freckle in the iris

Timeless

There is a ray for everyone to be touched Blessed

Gifted with warmth

Embraced

Not one direction, reflection of the moon

DIRECTray-

Each one person, especially for you.

Even in professed irony.

Pa\ving of the partnering thunder

To the storm

A male storm

It almost hurts, the strength and nourishment

Virtually perfect

At the end of the road, though

There is always the smell rising from

The ground

Earth and rock in water

The darkness of rebirth

A heartbeat of streaming light

The purple/blue bubble

ThemelodyLike a sonic flare.

The most painful

And the most beautiful.

Gracefully entering

The first door in a mansion of doors.

Lines upon a finger turning into masterpiece

A small loveliness. Hey, you look beautiful.

Fate

Here I was

7th east and 33rd south

The cracks in the asphalt wet from rain

Glimmering yellow from streetlights

There's the Rite Aid on the comer

Or as the sign reads "Rie Ad"

Standing slouched and awkward

Ahnost forgotten

Me and the ''Rie Ad" were the same person that day

It's where I rode my bike

That Friday before Halloween

Something about that afternoon

Made all the difference

It should have been:

Made up fieldtrips I had attended that month

Inspired by the great Ferris Bueller himself, My lack of care in anything

Expect the music and the mountains

Salt Lake City City built for the lost believer,

Truly though

The answer never belonged Among the memories Of youth

It was in running away

\Vhen the answers surfaced

Seeing the Rite Aid in all its glory

The dirty worn parking lot

How this part of town abandoned Tossed away to urban sprawl

I couldn't be forgotten So I ran

Sprinted

Bolted fast

But I didn't look

At where I was running to

A year living in a town of broken people

Losing the war of truth to myself

That's how I ended up here again

Staring at former life

On 33rd South and 7 th East

Grace Wilson

Because running doesn't give the answer

Skipping the problem leads to no solution

It's coming back to the place you run from

Seeing that both sides of the fence lack green

I Didn'tThink it WouldWork

Matthew Thayn

I was crouched down on one knee. My back was against a cedar tree in an effort to keep the ice cold breeze off of me. It was late October and the first snow had fallen two weeks before. I had dressed warmly, but with my lack of activity, I was starting to get chilled. I had been in the same spot now for about twenty actionless minutes and was really starting to get discouraged. My lungs were aching from the cold air

I was quickly inhaling in an effort to keep the sound from the mouth call going. This was the third and probably last stop of the day unless things got better. Just out of the corner of my eye ,I caught a glimpse of movement. Was it, really? o, it couldn't be. Just to the right of me and out about two hundred yards, a gray furry shape was working its way toward me. Suddenly, I wasn't cold any more. \Vas it adrenaline, or was it just the frosty nip in the air? For some reason, I was still shaking. My finger wrapped around the cold steel trigger of my AR-15 rifle. I had recently added some white tape to this rifle in an attempt to break up the solid black fmish and blend in with the terrain more. I peered through my scope in an effort to try and locate the movement I had seen earlier. Just as I was able to find it in the crosshairs, I realized that it was a big jack rabbit! It was probably coming to investigate where this sorry sound of a dying something was coming from. What happened? I thought, what did I do wrong? I picked myself up, grabbed my rifle and trudged back to my pickup. Discouraged and still shaking, I started to wonder if freezing my butt off for a flea bitten coyote was worth it.

My first few hunting trips were pretty uneventful. All I had for a teacher was the advice of my friends and a few videos that made it look really easy. I had always wanted to learn how to blow on a "howler" or make a "rabbit distress" call with an open reed caller. Everyone said it would be really easy, but when you actually try, it is not that easy. It takes a lot of finesse and patience. I tried for a while. I purchased every "easy" and "simple" call I could find. Still, I had no luck. I was not a dedicated student. I would try this call or that call a few times and if I didn't have any luck, I wouldn't use it again. I would look for the next latest and greatest and try them. Finally after much research ,I decided on an electronic caller, one that makes it supposedly "idiot proof' to call in a coyote.

The caller that I decided on was the Foxpro FX-3. It has an oak leaf camouflage design and is quite small. It is approximately nine inches long, four inches wide and six inches tall. There is a molded handle on the top, with sling loops on either side of the handle. The speakers are located on each end. Next to the handle, on one side is a small antenna so you can set it away from you and still be able to work the

machine. The control panel is on one side, and a small list of calls on the other. The control panel consists of a display, so you can see what number of call is selected. It also has a manual power button, and a switch to select one or both speakers. I figured this would be the ticket and boy was it ever.

I received the caller for my birthday. I charged up the batteries and tried to figure out how to load calls onto its memory card. As I looked closer on the company's web site, I soon realized that there was approximately two hw1dred different dying and moaning critter sounds that I could choose from. I looked and listened for what seemed like hours. I listened to dying rabbits in their final moments and even a fawn in distress. There were crows fighting, turkeys dying and even an occasional mouse squeak. There were also a few domesticated anin1als that sounded as if they had been hit by a truck and then backed back over again. It was not as easy as they said, but two hours later I had twentyfive different dying critter sounds at my disposal. \Vhat a relief, a machine that would do everything for me. All I had to do was push a button, select the call and, presto, the coyote was as good as dead. The instructions were pretty clear about the volume, the two different speakers, the mute button and this little furry thing that just wiggles on a stick until you decide to stop it. Simple enough, I iliought. It has to be easier than blowing on a mouth call until you run out of wind and are just about tip over.

The remote wasn't that hard to figure out. There was a power button, a call select button, a scroll button, a volume up and down button and a mute button. Piece of cake, all I had to do was sit there wiili my rifle in one arm, and ilie remote in ilie other hand and wait. It surely sounds simple enough, I thought. Maybe a test run would help me work the bugs out. What better way to try it out than a real life situation.

There was only one major problem that I could see in my whole plan. I had just gotten lower back surgery twenty-five days earlier. So I couldn't pack my rifle, my caller and my little furry thing on a stick. My orders were strictly "nothing, not even a gallon of milk for six months." I had a problem, and with a little ingenuity, I devised a plan. I called my girlfriend to see what time she could come over. She is a small, feisty woman with a lot of energy and always up for an adventure. It was ilie longest two hours that I could remember. I was like a kid wiili a new toy that had just been grounded. I patiently waited until she got to the house before I asked her to help me wiili my situation. To my surprise, she willingly said she would help, even though she knew I shouldn't be out.

We dressed up in camouflage in an attempt to be "sneaky." I gathered all of our gear and loaded her up like a pack mule. As we headed out the door, I started to get that old familiar feeling deep in my stomach, like a swarm of butterflies trying to get out. There were a mil-

lion things running through my mind, the least of which was how to operate this "simple" contraption. We walked through an alfalfa field on our way to a familiar spot just about a half mile from the house. I asked her ifI could help with something and got a simple "no." The closer we got, the more excited I became. Finally we arrived at the bottom of a small hill on the outskirts of \'v'ellington. This small mound of dirt is sparsely covered by some random sagebrush and a couple of thirsty cacti. Just on the other side of this was where we would try this fantastic new machine and become mighty hunters.

As we climbed the hill, I was surprised that I couldn't climb very easily. This was probably due to the surgery and probably the reason he didn't want me out and "exerting" myself. As we neared the top, we "crouched." For me, it was more like "duck your head and waddle to a group of sage brush just over the top." Once we got there, I kneeled down and began to assemble the caller, first the little furry thing that wobbles. It had to be placed away from you as to attract attention and take the focus off of us. I stood up and "crouched" as I hobbled about twenty feet away and placed the box with the furry thing on top behind a small bush. I gracefully made my way back to where we were going to set up. ext, I grabbed the caller and asked very politely if she would place it in the other direction, away from us. Finally we were set, ready to go. We talked in low muffled voices, trying to be sneaky about how this was going to play out. As we figured out a plan and neared the test run time, I was beside myself with anticipation.

I helped get her set and pointed her in the direction that I thought the action would come from. She was using my custom .220 Swift, a bolt action rifle that she had never shot before so she was quite nervous. This rifle has a custom light red, black and grey laminate thumbhole stock, so it is quite comfortable for me to hold. I showed her how the bolt action was intended to work. I also mentioned that after her first shot, she had four other shots in which to make sure the dog was really scared. The scope is a matte black and has a very large objective end for easy target acquisition. I gave her a quick rundown of the mechanics of looking through a scope, finding your moving target and pulling off an amazing shot. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was not very convinced with my "all you have to do" speech. I settled in next to her but quickly realized that I couldn't sit or lie without causing myself a considerable amount of discomfort. Great, what the hell do I do now? The sagebrush is only about two and a half feet tall and I was at least three and a half feet tall kneeling down. "That's just great." I thought. Here we are trying to be sneaky and I'm on top of a hill, sticking out like a sore thumb. At least I had on some camouflage that should make me harder to see, I hoped.

Finally, we were ready for the "smoke" test. I pushed the power button and nothing happened. I was so nervous that my hands were

shaking uncontrollably. ''Why won't this damn thing work?" I mumbled under my breath. I had read the instruction manual probably twice. I was sure that I was doing everything that I remembered. After what seemed like an eternity, I asked my girlfriend if she had turned the caller on when she had sat it down. She replied with a "you didn't tell me I had to" kind of one raised eyebrow look. So I hobbled over to the caller and sure enough, the power wasn't on. I rotated the switch to the "on" position and was instantly startled at the sheer volume of the "jack rabbit in distress" blaring from the speakers. It startled me and I dropped the caller. Frantically, I started looking for the remote in my pockets. I quickly realized that I had left it with my AR-15 about twenty feet away. Just as I turned to head back to my rifle (and remote) a coyote charged full speed into our set! It was approximately seventy yards and closing fast. I started to hobble very swiftly in the direction of my rifle. My movement caught the wary eye of this hungry dog and at about thirty yards, it grabbed another gear and circled us heading away at a very rapid pace. After it got behind us, we watched until it disappeared out of sight. There I stood in shock and amazement at the events that had just transpired over the last fifteen seconds or so. I looked over at Lori, my girlfriend, and her eyes were as big as silver dollars. When I could finally talk, I asked her if she was alright. She nodded and said, "I didn't think it would work, I didn't think it would work." She had watched the whole thing in amazement with her gun in her lap.

As I look back on this, I realize that moments like this are hard to find. The butterflies are always there every time I go out calling. That rush of being able to prey on a predator and succeed sometimes is very coveted. It is the blood pumping excitement of seeing a coyote up close and personal that I love.

TanZee

A little white poofball, Jumping up and down, Licking your face, Making you laugh, Jingling as she runs, She makes you mad, But the thought of losing her makes you sad, She jumps on you, scratches you, and bites you. She thinks she rules the world, And in the end she may as well. Because when you cuddle up at night there is nothing better.

Hank Parry

Inspired by my wife and dog.

There Is A Sea

Hank Parry

one not made of water but of flesh

with deep blues and majestic greens mixing like a spiraling mist of the sea with the waters of this sea dragging me in I must seek refuge on the only land that golden brown speckle seems so insignificant to the sea but it saves me until the blues drag me down to the edge of the sea in which it grabs a hold of me and rips me from the shore pulling me down into deeper blues almost suffocating me where I rest sleeping until I rise into the greens I go they take me high into their waves sparkling brighter than any emerald instead of drowning they hold me in an embrace an embrace so loving that it almost kills me the land rises to pull me down to the golden brown sand upon which I sit watching this flowing dance of greens and blues though it is selfish of me

I will sit here and gather these colors for looking away from her eyes makes me want to die so I will sit stealing this sight that I fell in love with so long ago

Survivor Survivor

In a world full of diseases

It's obvious that it seizes the soul

When all seems well, a doctor's visit brings the news

A deadly disease is in your views

Do I give up or do I fight?

I'll fight, I'll be alright, I'm not ready

To leave this world, there is still a story to be told

With the last doctor's visit the final results will unfold

And the doctor will say, congratulations my patient, You are a survivor!

Deborah Tucker

TheUnbreakableOptimist

Alex Stoddard

We all know that an optimist will always look at the glass as half-full. But I've always wondered, why was he tested only with the glass half-full? Was it possible to break him with glasses less than halffull? Was it possible that he could be converted to pessimism?

I was curious, so I found myself the most stalwart optimist I could find and began the experiment.

We sat opposite each other with a small table between us. I placed a glass-filled at the half-way mark--on the table. Then I asked him, "How do you see this glass?"

Predictably, he answered, "As half-full."

Without a word, I took the cup and drained half of it. Then I placed the glass on the table again and asked him, "Now how do you see it?"

Without hesitation, he answered, "As one-quarter full."

Again I took the glass, drained half of it, and returned it to the table. ''Now how do you see it?"

"As one-eighth full," he answered.

This time, I took and drained the entire glass. When I finished, I placed it back on the table and then brought my fingers together, staring shrewdly over the tops of them. ''Now how do you see it?"

He pondered it and for a moment I thought I had triumphed. But at last, he replied with a smile as though he had made a groundbreaking discovery, "As ready to be filled up again."

MidnightSalvage

Being young is hard. Being human is hard. Understanding humanity might be just as hard. Understanding that humans will find something like alcohol amusing, and will just seem to help humans get through being human.

Being 21 is new to any human of "the States." And when I say let us young ones salvage, we understand that. Almost better than humanity and almost better than our age. So we salvage what means we have to continue amusing ourselves; a drunken stupor.

At least I feel human enough to agree, "yes we shall drink further into the morning." Gather what "fallen soldiers" you can and money. ''We shall drink further into the morning."

Chris Chavez

FeudallgFutile

Mymy, I couldseemy cape!

I could111histledignitysullenfanfares as I stareout into nrycityand surroundinglands. Thosehills,eachhome,the 1/Jholestreetlqyout, that biggestmountainto theNorth areall mine.

I could say that about my dream of being King, Sultan, Dictator, Ruler, Czar, Emperor, Chairman, Mayor, Captain, Duke, President if I ever knew what exactly I was celebrating. Looking over an expanse of fluorescent trees that sit under a full, orange and air hugging sunset,

Chris Chavez

I would picture myself glaring into the details of many maps.

I just celebrate it, this group of ideals.

I can only devour each of these dreams!

"RUUUAAGHH!"

Mouth wide open for days of travel by any circumstance.

Those would be the days necessary for sacrifice when crossing MY land! Duke Relentless, Captain Power, King Naive President Chavez

Time to remember how much Presidency and Idealisms or Monarchy and overbearing forces of Idealism don't make sense to me or Earth at all.

But

I will always dream of when these hills are mine, I know this.

War is Theater

Scott Zaborski

War is theater. I mean that in every sense of the word. War is theater. When I say that what do I mean? I mean that war is pain. War is trials and tribulations. Most importantly war is waiting. I have been in training for over two years and still have yet to be deployed. I can't wait. I know it might not make sense to you, me sitting here on my ass all day waiting for my next training session, but let me put it into a perspective you might be able to understand. Imagine you are putting on a play. A play you are very dedicated to. A play you have been constantly working and fixing for months. You know everything like the back of your hand. You know your blocking, lines, choreography. You know what to say and when to say it. I know what to shoot and when to shoot it. You know how to perform. I know how to kill. It's a production that has been practiced on for so long that you can literally lay down and in your deepest unconsciousness you know exactly what needs to be done. After the long rehearsal process it's perfect and nothing changes. Everything remains constant, consistent. That is what war is for me. Every day, five days a week I get up and train and train and train my ass off wondering: When is my opening day? When do I get to fight for my America?

Addiction

Amanda Spigarelli

I used to look at you with admiration

Now I see nothing.

Do you see beyond those empty eyes and pale reflection?

Your dependence is killing those past your grasp, it's not just about you anymore, although it never really was.

Standing here for years with open arms and a heart willing to forgive. YOU chose to go alone, the dark path, you said. I've never understood and you're right, I'll never understand.

"ADDICT" rings through my ears as you scream it over and over. I get it, I've heard you!

Let the drugs go and the smoke clear from your lungs, put the needle down and look around you.

Finally sober, locked behind bars, away from the world; you are safe but for how long, who knows. othing I can do but hope your goal has changed, hope you want more, hope you choose to live.

Having it hard, you only know the half of it, watching the tears in eyes of loved ones when your name is mentioned, having your problems consume our minds living with your consequences. The truth is, it doesn't even matter what you put us through; we just want you to succeed without the drugs, without the pain Without the addiction.

FamilgCurse

Grab my list from the night before

Check it twice, or maybe more Brushing teeth up and down

Never sideways or around

Adjust the towels and turn off the light

Tip the frames so they're just right

Same routine day after day

Did I put the milk away?

20 steps and then I'm out

On my way and having doubt

Is it off, is it on? Did I set it right?

Do I keep going, do I go back? Within myself, I fight.

Now at work, things in their place

The only way I'll win this race

Eat a snack, on my break

Even up the food I take Eating odds I'd never do.

I will give those ones to you

Clock says 5 I'm on the move

Same routine, same old groove

In the lot don't step on cracks

In the car, still can't relax

Is it off, is it on? Did I set it right?

Do I keep going, do I go back? Within myself, I fight.

Order dinner, my plate is here

Make sure the food is not too near Separate before you eat

First potatoes, then the meat

I'll never stir it, never mix

Food that touches I'll have to nix

Finally home, it's getting late

Nightly routine is my fate

Shower, brush and then to bed

But before the pillow meets my head

Grab the paper and the pen

And let tomorrow's list begin!

Karli Morris

Pancakesfor Breakfast

Sara Price

Pancakes, those grilled hot cakes smothered in syrup. So innocuous looking, but they aren't, not after eating them my whole twelve years of living. On special occasions we did have potatoes ... charbroiled potatoes with green crunchy insides. They were terrible, but all the same awesome because they weren't pancakes. Add to it the undercooked egg that would go squish in my mouth when I least expected, or the very rare cream of lumps. The rest of the time it was pancakes. Now, I'm not talking Jiffy mix or fluffy buttermilk pancakes, they were whole wheat with that twang of baking soda kind of pancakes.

Christmas morning was the best breakfast ever. We'd get the most wonderful treat. Cereal. Not oatmeal or cream oflumps, but real cold cereal with sugar and color and everything!

Not today. We're in February, that one day of cereal bliss has long since passed.

Daddy cooked them today. As he plops one on my plate it's confirmed, he used whole wheat again, I can tell as it breaks the scale if I were to weigh them. The hot steam curls in the cool morning air. Will they be normal today and spare us, or did he experiment again? I have to admit his oatmeal ones weren't bad yesterday, but these don't look like they have oatmeal in them, maybe I got lucky and it's plain.

He watches me as I lift up the metal fork with a look of child-like anticipation. I take a bite, it hasn't killed me, yet something tastes off. I touch it with my fork and notice little balls of white. My stomach twists.

"Guess what I put in them?" A quiver of excitement waivers his voice. He experimented again.

I groan. Experimental, I knew it. My stomach rebels and I try to decide whether to risk hurting his feelings and spit it out, or choking it down before it can contaminate my tongue any longer. I opt to choke it down, washing it down with half a glass of milk only to find out the milk is "blinky" as we call it, meaning it's souring. I feel sick.

"Good milk, isn't it!" My dad lost his ability to decipher "good" milk about a year ago. "The pancakes, aren't you going to guess?"

Please don't be the left over rotten mashed potatoes from last week. I pleaded silently. I turn to him. "What could that be, Dad?" I fake my enthusiasm.

"You know those potatoes that were in the fridge?"

UGH! The rotten potatoes. I knew it. I glance at the clock. The bus won't be here for fifteen more minutes and it's snowing outside. Starve and freeze or eat these pancakes and souring milk? One more look at the potato riddled slabs and the choice was simple.

"Dad, I'm going to miss the bus, thanks for breakfast!" I scoop up my backpack, give him a quick hug and rush out the door before he can remind me I didn't eat enough. Not feeling my fingers and toes for an hour is better than suffering the feedback my stomach is going to give me.

But today is going to be great. Why? It's a Friday, I have a rare sleep over which means no pancakes!

My friend Amy says her family eats all sorts of things for breakfast, and often she even gets real cereal. She tells it like that's a bad thing. How lucky, delicious boxes of cereal, those elusive wonders we walk past. The ones we get only for Christmas, she gets to eat them every week! She must live in a small corner of heaven.

School whizzes past as the anticipation for the sleepover takes over and before long I'm there, blanket and pillow in hand, knocking on the door. A quick wave to my mom and I'm in.

The games and movies at the sleep over go quickly, but that doesn't matter. After we sleep, we get breakfast, and I might even be lucky enough to get cereal! I close my eyes, still grinning with anticipation.

Morning comes with rays of sweet sunshine and the anticipation revs back up. They're beautiful. A neat row of cereal boxes on top of the cupboard gleam at me. So many flavors. It's a dream right? I found the lost treasure or something. How can I choose between them? I stare at them, hungry, eager.

Amy's mom walks in, dressed in her pajamas. She grins at her daughter and me. I feel like the luckiest person on earth.

She reaches into the cupboard and pulls out two boxes of cereal. Beautiful cereal. She gives them a shake and smiles. This is it, where's my bowl? Then something's wrong, she puts it back. Maybe she wants a different flavor. Any will do.

"Since you have a friend over, I'll do something special for breakfast."

Amy claps her hands in excitement and my world spins. What could be more special than cereal?

She pulls out a box of pancake mix and grins. "Pancakes!"

Amy squeals out in delight.

I can't help it, my smile crumbles and my stomach twists. I gaze longingly at the beautiful cereal just out of reach. My heart sinks as my politeness kicks in and I thank her.

Pancakes for breakfast.

I take back the piece of heaven comment.