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{issue three} I november 26, 2011

 

 

{visual artwork}

I am flowers, by Meret Slover

 

{poetry}

140-031, by Sera Park I The Magic Box, by Hanna Yip I The Basketball Player, by Hanna Yip

Monologue for a Banana, by Hanna Yip I My Reflection, by Hanna Yip

drink drunk done, by Olivia Lowery I A Bird's Life, by Alixandra Wilens

A Rainbow Truth, by Alixandra Wilens I Life of Miracles, by Alixandra Wilens

Lion's Heart, by Alixandra Wilens I A Scream, Scar and Miracle, by Alixandra Wilens

Surukh Laal Scarlet (Jamie Lynn), by Emaan Majed I Teach Me, by Devika Agrawal

Tree You are Growth, by Devika Agrawal I What a Sight, by Devika Agrawal

Book am I, by Meret Slover I The Artist of Stansbury Square, by Meret Slover

Writer and Reader, by Meret Slover I Clockwork flower, by Meret Slover

Dream, by Pranay Somayajula I Reflection, by Lilian Kong I Food Fight, by Kyron DeHoney

 

{photography}

Waves, by Charlotte Champ I Untitled, by Charlotte Champ I Footprints, by Charlotte Champ

 

{stories}

Soul Mate, by Rebecca Shea

{ISSN: 2161-9204 I Chicago}

 

 

 

{visual artwork}

 

 

I am flowers by Meret Slover

 

 


 

 

{poetry}

 

 

140-031 by Sera Park

We would dart across Main Street, two seconds before the lights change (I am already choosing between Cookie Dough and Cherry Garcia).

 

Hide-and-seek like agents. Ball games without nets or sidelines. When sun melted into asphalt by six o’clock we tossed our shoes aside and loitered by the stairway.

Sometimes, I hope to outdo the almanac and go back to then, when nothing was an eyesore, or rather, when I saw none.

 

 

 

The Magic Box by Hanna Yip

After Kit Wright

I will put in the box

The wind that flips a page of my book
The crunch of leaves under a deer's hooves

The wink of an eye to keep a secret

I will put in the box

A dive into a swimming pool creating no splash

The song of birds perched in the tallest tree

The ripples of a leaf resting on water

I will put in the box

Footprints left behind in deep snow

The reflection of a mirror staring right back

The rush of wind behind a speeding car

I will put in the box

The tic of a grandfather clock

The buzz of a busy bee

Sighs while I wait

My box is created from diamonds, emeralds, and rubies

with gold thread lining the lid

Its hinges are the doors leading to answers

I will ski in my box

on a chalk white, snowy mountain

sliding down through icy trees

with just a gleam of light

melting the frozen water

 

 

 

The Basketball Player by Hanna Yip

Switching hands
twirling the ball on its axis
spinning his arm around
and around keeping the ball going
tossing it up
and down, letting it roll
along his arms, and up to one shoulder,
and down again, letting it flow
all crouched over, balancing the ball
on his neck
squeaking shoes up
and down the court
bouncing the ball under,
over and through his legs
high dribble, low dribble,
spinning around
feet jumping side to side
like a dance
tossing the ball up, down, and
behind his back, catching and tossing
again and again
Two at a time now!
through, up, and over
over, up, and through
on the dark court
until the whistle
blows

 

 

 

Monologue for a Banana by Hanna Yip

I don’t mean to make you slip.
I don’t do it on purpose.
Well, I have to say, it’s kinda your fault.

You peel my skin,
uncovering my inside, the only part you will eat.
(You’re picky, I must say.)

You throw my skin behind you,
left for future accidents.
My skin is spread out on the ground:

an innocent star,
until…
you hear a cry,

a loud whine,
a child slips and falls.
You stare down at me,

pick me up like I’m a dirty sock,
drop me in a garbage can, and walk away,
leaving me brown, smelly, and alone.

 

 


My Reflection by Hanna Yip

When I wave,

she waves.

When I jump,

she jumps.

A ghost on the surface of the water

stares back at me,

playing mirror.

Which way? Which way?

Is it just me,

or am I upside down?

I play with my ghost until…

SPLASH!!!

Rings ripple from the center

of a pebble’s dive.

My image waves

like a flag on a windy day.

The whole pond spreads

into a paper fan.

 

 

 

drink drunk done by Olivia Lowery

drink.

Drink, father, drink.

Drink into a raging stupor

and take it out

on us and the car.

You have them all line out

-Vodka, Gin, Beer, and even Limón cello-

displayed,

for us to see

a reminder?

The shot glass

is constantly out

-along with limes,

always in the fridge.

Scream,

yell

in fits of rage.

I see and

feel it

- ingrained in me.

within my heart and marrow

A trauma.

 

 

A Bird's Life by Alixandra Wilens

I finally open my eyes.

Everything is white.

I look down

My body is red,

But my wings are black.

Somehow,

The word

Robin

Comes to mind.

It has a nice ring to it.

I like it.

Why is everything white?

It’s hurting my eyes.

I hit the wall with my beak in frustration

And the wall cracks.

I poke through

To a world

Full of color,

Possibilities,

Opportunity

And more.

I want that.

I hit the wall again.

A bigger hole

Again and again

Until the white comes crashing down.

I look up.

There she is;

My mother.

How did I know that?

She opens her mouth,

And feeds me her first meal.

I eat with my older siblings.

I was the last of four to be born,

But I’m glad I decided to come out.

 

I try to open my wings.

It’s the first time I’ve seen them

On the inside.

They’re pretty,

With white on the top edges

That slide quickly through grey

Into black.

My mother looks at me.

She wants me to come to the edge of the nest.

Although reluctant, I come.

I want to fly

But I don’t want to fall.

She makes me flap my wings.

It feels like being kissed by the breeze.

I keep flapping.

I’m so excited

I don’t notice Mother giving me a nudge

Towards freedom.

A stronger breeze comes.

I feel so happy I think I’m on a cloud,

Until I realize it’s not the cloud.

It’s me.

I look down,

To my paradise.

Freedom

Happiness

Joy

More

All wrapped up

In a big blue blanket

Known as the sky.

I tilt and turn as I explore my new home.

This is where I was meant to be.

This is where I will always be.

This is who I am.

 

I fly back to the nest,

Gliding around the many trees.

I’m so glad I collected food for the new arrivals last week.

I land to find I’m just in time.

There are five eggs that inhabit the corner.

The first one seems to be moving.

I never thought this day would come.

The girl pokes her tiny beak

Right through the eggshell.

Her eyes find the hole

And see the world for the first time.

What is she thinking?

Does she notice the trees,

Towering down on the little one?

Or the blue sheet up above,

With the cotton pillows?

She pokes another hole,

Eager to see more.

I can see her face now.

She’s almost here!

A leg,

Two legs

With little feet!

The shell dies,

As another precious bit of life enters this world.

She sees me.

I can see that she knows who I am.

I give the girl

Her first meal

As she watches four more little miracles

Come into this world.

I watch as well.

 

Through my eyes,

I see a view of the world

As whole.

A full circle.

A bird’s life just keeps on going,

Through new eyes every time.

A different journey each cycle

When will your eggshell crack?

When will your journey begin?

 

 

A Rainbow Truth by Alixandra Wilens

Red

Anger

Annoyance

The little brother

That keeps poking you.

The big sister

That always bosses you around.

Rubies

The teenager

Who desperately wants those new earrings.

What is your true red?

 

Orange

Confused

A forked road

That was unanticipated.

Sweet

Halloween candy

Scary

Halloween Jack-o-lantern

What is your true orange?

 

Yellow

Cheery

The yellow smiley face.

Hot

The bright yellow sun

What is your true yellow?

 

Green

Calming

The smell of grass

And the forest.

Lucky

A four-leaf clover

Leprechauns all around.

What is your true green?

 

Blue

Sadness

Awe

The majestic ocean,

Down below.

The mystical sheet over the world,

High above.

What is your true blue?

 

Indigo

Mysterious

Twilight approaches.

All becomes quiet.

Owls hoot.

Crickets chirp.

In the night,

Things come out of their shadows.

What is your true indigo?

 

Black

Serious

Daunting

Dead of night

A single car

On a road.

Headlights show barely three feet ahead.

All is quiet….

BAM!

An empty road….

What is your true black?

 

Violet

Anxiety

Elegant

Fun

A lavender egg.

The Easter Bunny leaves

With a smile.

Peaceful

Relaxing

What is your true violet?

 

Pink

Crazy

Girls during a sleepover.

Love

Valentine’s Day

Pretty

A little baby girl has just been born.

What is your true pink?

 

White

Playful

Kids run around,

Dragging their sleds through the snow.

Thoughtful

Creative

Imaginative

Every idea starts

With a blank white canvas

What is your true white?

 

Rainbow

Anything

You want it to be.

Take all these colors

And more.

Find out what they mean to you,

And you will find

A rainbow’s truth.

 

 

Life of Miracles by Alixandra Wilens

A little miracle
Opens her eyes.
She gazes into a woman
And smiles.
The woman smiles back.
The baby is given a blanket,
Then taken away from the woman.
Soon, the miracle closes her eyes
And drifts off
Into her first dream.

A little girl

Opens her eyes.

She pounds the alarm clock

And rushes into the bathroom.

Clothes are stripped of their hooks.

Stairs are pounded on.

The smell of syrup and pancakes

Encases the kitchen.

Soon, a horn honks outside.

Good lucks are passed

As the girl looks ahead

To kindergarten.

 

A mature woman

Opens her eyes.

She sits up.

Soon, the steady beat of a shower

Could be heard.

A bed is made.

The bedside lays out a cap and gown.

The woman feels butterflies

Flapping throughout her entire body.

A dress is zipped,

A deep breath is taken

As she hurries to the car.

She is finally ready.

Ready to accept the diploma.

 

A bride

Opens her eyes.

She sees everyone she loves

Staring at him,

Waiting to see her.

She looks at him,

And smiles.

She knows he smiles back.

Soon, the music is about to play.

Her heart beats in tune with the song.

The piano plays.

As the bride walks to a new life

That starts with the words,

“ I do.”

 

A new mother

Opens her eyes.

She hears crying,

But she smiles.

Her arms reach out

And take in the biggest blue eyes

She’s ever seen

And the rosiest cheeks

With the pinkest lips.

Soon, her girl has to leave.

The father walks with the baby

As she’s taken away.

The mother feels like joy has shined upon her

Through two sparkling eyes,

Filled with an ocean

Of blue.

 

The old lady

Opens her eyes.

Because of this,

She feels lucky.

She thinks of all she’s done in this world.

All of her accomplishments,

Her mistakes,

Her joys,

Her true moments to shine.

It makes her realize

Life is

Just another everyday

Bit of miracles.

 

 

Lions Heart by Alixandra Wilens

I have
Pride in my blood,
Memories in my mind
And
A lion's heart.
I got it
From a place
Where a lifetime has happened.
Everything so far away,
And yet,
As clear as day.


I see the place that roots me.
The garden where herbs are born.
I run through the auditorium,
The wind in my face.
A secret room,
On the edge of the Earth,
Where challenges are solved.
A nook in the 4th grade steps.
Open and free.
My secret escape.

 

I hear the roar.

Teachers’ voices carrying.

The cheers of the children.

It's Friday, so no homework.

The distant cry of ice cream

And the chirp of birds from the window.

The deafening kids at lunchtime.

Singing in music.

Footsteps in the hall.

The ticking of my watch as time flies by.

Chairs creak and squeak as they move.

Pens clicking away.

And the loudest of all…

The silence.

 

I smell the lion’s breath.

Rotten eggs from simple stones.

Mac n’ cheese,

Every Thursday,

Fill up the room.

The lemony scent of whiteboard cleaners.

Highlighters, sharpies, markers and more

All make the brain go fuzzy.

A fresh textbook’s aroma.

Much like a stack of freshly copied paper.

Our own odor after gym in June.

AXE cologne is brought into the classroom,

The owner is kicked out of the classroom.

Chocolate, vanilla and more

On ice cream Tuesday.

And the simplest,

Yet, most powerful:

Fresh air during recess.

 

I feel the lion’s fur, courage and pride.

Stiffness caused by the hard chairs.

Finally, a break from walking.

The cool wall on your cheek,

As you stop and rest.

Freshly copied paper as warm as can be.

Finished with your essay.

Your brain and your hand feel cramped and hurt.

You push the button

And lean down.

The water sprouts up and brushes your lips.

It’s like it was ice cubes not a moment ago.

The audience is almost here.

The butterflies could fly me up and carry me away.

I run backstage.

The Friday candy cart was once there,

And now it’s not,

So I am sad.

Excitement builds as I enter the lunchroom.

One of the few good things about Monday:

My grandpa’s egg-salad sandwich.

 

Now,

A lifetime must end.

But the roots stay strong

Even as I go.

Everyone I’ve come to know as my family.

They smile and wave as they fade away.

I walk through the halls.

The memories seem to fly by on the walls

And I struggle to hold my smile.

Soon I make it out the door.

Once I’m buckled and the engines on,

I leave

With my trail of tears filling the ocean of memories and love

That I will keep with me forever.

I silently say good-bye.

But,

No matter what,

I will always have

A lion’s heart.

 

 

 

Surukh Laal Scarlet (Jamie Lynn) by Emaan Majed

You’ve spilt a gallon of blood

It streams in the stripes in the air everyday

Proudly.

Isn’t that gory, would you rather be glory?

Glory, glory, gory, oh

That’s the quaint little thing about red.

 

How quickly things change with you, scarlet, by my side

One minute I was liberating you and now there are spears down your throats all full of

ruby.

Red, red, I see red flashing in my eyes

I swear I’m going blind,

Was that a cannon I fired towards your village or was it a love letter?

 

Jamie Lynn,

Oh, can you feel vermilion in the gun strapped to your daddy’s back

When he goes out to kill the innocent suspected civilians

Can you see amaranth, Jamie Lynn, in his ashes?

And I cry for you, Jamie Lynn, and my tears never turn crimson.

even if your eyes, half-shut but full of vengeance, gleam surukh for me.

(me and my country).

 

This is red.

These are your idols.

Can you see them, scattered on the floor at the end with hands intertwined in others’ who

were also,

taken away from their loving everything because of the reckless ruthless passion puce caused in some

puffed up big man’s eyes.

 

Maybe you loved in pink and hues

of beautiful summertime blues, and you survived, your sweet

fairytale peacetime ending.

Yet maybe there was a drumming, thrumming, in your head

and you loved in red, you loved in scarlet-violet, you

laal-loved and ruined it all. Broke apart, big explosion

boom

because

You can’t water flowers with sisters of blood, and brothers of rage, and the father of vengeance and the mother of murder no you can’t

love me with the cousin of hate.

 

Do you understand, Jamie Lynn,

What the stripes in the air and the carefree feathers in your hair

Mean when they’re red and what

It does to the world when your eyes become accustomed to that peculiar persimmon hue

do you?

 

The color of candy

apple red would you like to eat me

alive with your saber-tooth tiger’s teeth?

And you know all is sanguine, my sangria spilling

The folly and the flame,

you have both colors attached to your name, are you proud

of that suspicious sinopia scarlet?

Burnt sienna flies in the air, makes a home in your head

I know, I can feel it, can hear it pounding in your heart when you take the flame and burn down my town.

 

This is red.

 

Maybe this poem is badly timed

By a day, or two, or one.

But everyone bleeds red just the same.

And God hardly cares what in what language they cry out your name,

oh Jamie Lynn.

 

 

 

Teach Me by Devika Agrawal

If I give you my hand, will you teach me how to hold one?


If I pour out my soul, will you teach me how to understand?

If I ask you for help, will you teach me how to make a difference?

If I write you a poem, will you teach me how to read in between the lines?

If I paint to you a picture will you teach me how to be truly beautiful?

If I show up at your doorstep, will you teach me how to be polite?

If I disappoint you, will you teach me how to forgive?

If I lie to you, will you teach me how to be myself?

If I jump into the ocean, will you teach me how to breathe on my own?

If I close my eyes, will you teach me how to see the truth?

If I get down on my knees, will you teach me how to love?

If I ask you not to leave, will you teach me how I can make you stay?

Together

Hold my hand,

And together we will face the rush of the world,

The betrayal of the ones closest to us, and the feelings like warm apple pie called love,

We’ll learn to crush the false rumors that are spread, and read the unreadable languages of our peers

We’ll venture out to skydive out in the horizon and feed the ducks our chocolate covered blueberries

We’ll learn to come in through new doors, when the ones behind us close against our will

We’ll play hopscotch in the pouring rain, and make daisy chains of pure gold.

As everything seems as if it’s being taken away, we’ll do our best to smile simply because it happened and were together

And our smiles will one day make the whole world realize,

under that god pleated sunset and all the pain streaken faces, you’ll find some happiness maybe,

If you’ll just hold my hand.


 

Tree You are Growth by Devika Agrawal

The sweltering sun’s rays blind my vision as I sit underneath the shade of my old tree. Clouds roll in and I spot the large gates across from my corner. I come out from underneath this tree I know so well. As I stand out in the open, unshielded, the clouds burst liberating the pressure that had been building up inside of them. I hurried back to the refuge of the tree, my familiar friend.


It feels like you were made

When all of us were still in our mothers’ wombs

Now you are knowledge.

I sit underneath the tree’s branches, my old jungle gym when I was younger. I had returned to this garden after several years, finally convincing my parents that I had to go back. Moving away from this garden where I had spent my childhood, swung on my tree’s branches, played tag under its shade and made new friends under its canopy was not enough to let me forget the redolent scent of apples that hung every spring from its sharp branches.

Tree you are Growth,

You are stability

You are wisdom, and receptivity.

You are tall, fierce, yet calm.

You are one of many

But there aren’t many like you.

I am not the only one who likes to swing from your branches. There are several others now, and children are here climbing your trunk, imprinting their names into your bark, and eating chips underneath your comfort. People have fallen in love with you while I was gone, you are not only mine anymore.

You are my shelter.

A protector that shields me from all

When my tears cease to fall.

The little children will soon pick all of your apples and wear you out trying to climb to your top. I want to stop them, tell them that you are old and frail; you can’t handle the weight of so many. Interweaved in your bark are a chain of names, carved by people who want to leave their mark. Only my name is missing.

Broken limbs

I see your pain in the scars you carry.

The young branches that’ve held the weight of many.

You are giving

Your soaring trunk, in the gentle breeze

Takes away all my sorrows.

I can hear my mom’s voice in the distance, she is calling my name. How do I say goodbye to my first childhood friend, the one who saved me from social awkwardness? For now I must hand you over to these children, who maybe aren’t so bad. I wonder if when I leave you’ll miss me, or if it is possible that you haven’t replaced me. The rain isn’t stopping soon, and the sky is a chalkboard on which I want to draw a picture of you and I during those days when I was younger, and you were younger with me.

Time passes

I fear you’ll fall weak.

And I will be alone.


 

What a Sight by Devika Agrawal

I am standing behind an oasis of snow


A wintery shine, a magical glow

A frozen ground

A soft blanket of wool, and a shimmery gleam

A valley of daises, without any ends it seems

a river of milk, which I will drink before bed.

A million scoops of creamy vanilla

A fortress of fur, a sugary bed.

A lake of pebbles.

I am standing behind a lake of pebbles

That looks smooth enough to dive into

And tread until I can no longer stay above the surface.


 

Book am I by Meret Slover

I hold within uncounted treasures


Better than gold in unknown measures

More valuable than jewels or ore

I hold a conflict in my core

I have a spine fashioned of wood

I hold history when I should

I hold fantasy, comedy, all genres

I hold periods, dashes, slashes and commas

I sometimes tell truth and sometimes I lie

Stories I hold, for book am I.

 


 

The Artist of Stansbury Square by Meret Slover

They passed him by, not knowing his name


He knows each face, knows that none are the same

They gave him money for the skill they saw

He barely survives, but never questions the law

The stones are dirty, the gutter reeks

His clothes fray, his hat leeks

The old eyes are still sharp and bright and keen

From the sights and faces and places he’s seen

Though his hands were quick and his renderings pleased

If he were gone none would notice or care

The unnoticed artist of

Stansbury Square.

 


Writer and Reader by Meret Slover

His hands work.

The work of his hands.

His Mind works

They’ve only met him, no one else

Thoughts vary as if it’s real all inside one

Are they all the same?

Only he knows

Walking and talking and thinking

They aren’t all the same. We are the same.

Nobody sets themselves apart.


 

 

Clockwork flower by Meret Slover

There once was a king.

 

He lived in a crystal palace, with many friends and servants, and even a queen as beautiful as any flower. He was the only man to ever have all he wanted. All loved him, and he did not bear worry on his back.

 

But none of it was real.

 

Because at night, the king had bad dreams that were not dreams at all. The crystal was nothing more than glass, taken from a thousand windows of a hundred houses. Ordinary houses, with love and hate and crying babies. Not palaces like the king’s. His friends were puppets, his servants beasts, and his queen was a clockwork flower. She lived when he saw her, but when a door closed between them she would die. Purpose spent. A clock beyond time.

 

And when the king awoke, he yet again had everything he wanted. But he wasn’t happy. For the dreams were not dreams and the king never slept when he laid down in his golden bed. No, he would listen. And with every night of listening, the crystal looked more like glass, because when she thought her king was asleep beside her, the clockwork queen would not breathe.

 

And so the king listened.

 

And so he heard nothing.

 

And so he knew his queen had never been alive.

 

Each day, rising, he saw glass and puppets instead of his crystal palace and his friends, and what once were servants were only beasts who looked like men.

 

He lived with everything he wanted, but he did not feel alive, and his wants were never true.

 

One day, the king rose.

 

He looked at the beasts and the puppets and the glass around him.

 

And on that day, the king threw a stone.

 

 

 

Dream by Pranay Somayajula

I wish that someday I could be

A picture perfect cherry tree.

Standing in the meadow green

My fruit so sweet, my branches lean.

My uppermost branches would sway

In the wind and seem to say,

There’s nothing nicer than to be

A picture perfect cherry tree.


 

 

Reflection by Lilian Kong

Midnight is

layered liberally

In the stubborn curls in my

Violently straightened bangs,

Under which lie two dark gesshoku1

Floating above

Fragrant desert of dried mokuren petals

Which bleed pink to hide ivory secrets.

The granular Osakan sands of my skin,

Explosively dormant,

Smell of Neutrogena

And pressed lychee juice.

And I look at my reflection

Trying to block out your noises,

Your prayers that

My perpendicular

Accent will dissolve into

Flatness, and thin out

Into lethal white diamond.

You smooth criminal:

Ignoring

Tear-streaked whispers

From my cherry blossom lashes,

The pleading lines on my forehead

Before you

Every morning with

The palest foundation

And Marilyn Monroe lipstick,

Telling me I must learn

How to properly live in

1 Amerika, Kimu medaru no tochi.


 

 

Food Fight by Kyron DeHoney

One day in the school lunch room a kid name Johnny told his friends Sam, Chris, Todd, Jim, and Tim who were on his basketball team, “Let’s start a food fight with the football team and blame it on the soccer team.”

 

“Ok” said Tim

 

“Ready set fire”, said Sam throwing a meatball.

 

Freddy from the football team said “Who threw that meatball? You’ve got a rotten shot,” he said as the meatball slammed into the lunch room wall.

 

The basketball team pointed to the soccer team.

 

Freddy told his team “Ready set food fight” and then everybody in the cafeteria was throwing food all over the lunch room. Five minutes later the principle came and said “Everybody stop this nonsense now.” Then when he found out who was involved told the soccer and football team that they had to do detention for a month.

 

At 3:00 the football team waited for the soccer team. Danny said they were jerks. The football team didn’t think what the soccer team did was funny. The hockey team agreed.

So did the basketball team, hiding their laughter knowing they started it all. They all began to yell at the soccer players.

 

The coaches came. Why are you arguing?” they said. The teams pointed to the soccer team and said “They started a food fight.”

 

The foot ball coach said “Let’s go!” to his team.”

The soccer coach said “Let’s go!,” to his team.”

The basketball coach said, “Let’s go!,” to his team.”

The hockey coach said, “Let’s go!,” to his team.”

The football coach told his team, “Do one hundred push ups.”

The basketball coach told his team, “Do 50 laps.”

The hockey coach told his team, “Run around the field 50 times.”

The soccer coach told his team, “Do 75 sit-ups.”

 

When the teams went to school the next day they were all very tired. At the same time all the teams except the basketball team said, “We’re sorry.”

 

Max from the soccer team told the football team, “We didn’t throw those meatballs at you and we don’t know who did.”

 

Then finally Sam confessed. “I started it,” he said.

 

At first everyone walked away from him mad, except his friends on the basketball team. And then Freddy from the football team said, “Next time aim for my mouth instead of the lunch room wall.” Everyone laughed and went to class.

 

The End.

 

 


 

 

{photography}

 

 

Waves by Charlotte Champ

 

 

Untitled by Charlotte Champ

 

 

Footprints by Charlotte Champ

 

 


 

 

{stories}

 

 

Soul Mate

by Rebecca Shea

 

Eli was Anya’s one true love, but I was her soul mate.

 

Anya and I had been friends since third grade when our mother’s sat in the sun room to drink tea; Anya and I played Barbie’s in my playroom. We had almost everything in common. The two of us liked playing with dolls, drawing, reading, and watching scary movies. It was not until junior year of high school that I discovered we were destined for one another.

 

Anya was dating Eli Greene. He was tall, athletic, and outgoing like Anya. He was pretty much the perfect match for her. I admit I was jealous of Eli, but I had to support my best friend. Eli and Anya were in love, and even I could not get in their way. We were all sitting in the crowded lunch room at a dirty table with over cooked tattor tots. People were running around the school like monkeys in a zoo because the semi-formal was right around the corner. Anya was bringing Eli. I couldn’t find anyone. So, I made up a silly reason for not going.

“I’m going to a church dinner with my parents.” I rolled my eyes to make it seem more believable, “They can be so annoying sometimes.”

Anya tilted her head to the side, “Oh, really? When does it end? Eli has a few friends who still don’t have dates. Maybe they won’t mind showing up late.” She nudged Eli.

He sat up, a little startled at first, “Yeah, Nelly, I know two or three people who are looking for someone to go with.”

I shook my head, “No, there will be games afterwards. My mom wants me to start bonding with the kids at church.” My lie sounded really good to me. As the lies rang back into my ears, I began to believe myself. I suddenly transformed into a pathological liar, believing that there really was a church dinner that my mom was forcing me into. I could picture her alligator teeth and menacing eyes peering down at me saying, “I don’t care what type of dance is happening at school. You are coming with me to church.” If I could convince myself of the lie (and I knew it was false), then I would be able to fool Anya, right?

 

Not a chance. Anya sat with her back as stiff as a board staring across the table at me. It wasn’t a dirty look, or a sympathetic look, but a philosophical look. She was trying to figure me out. I could always tell.

Eli broke her stare, “Hey, you want to go up and get some-”

 

“Frozen yogurt?” Anya finished his sentence, “Sure. I’ll call you on Sunday mornings, Nell.” She stood up with Eli by her side, and I watched. I watched my best friend walk off with her other half.

Saturday night went nothing like my lie. The night was cold and windy, dark. A black blanket fell hard over the colonial houses, and the wind howled and blew the tree limbs into the empty street. The moon was obscured by the clouds, one little slither of moon did peek out from the top of the old oak tree near the Jones’ house. The town still had not fixed the broken street lights, it was like someone had flicked off the switch, and the only source of light was peeking through the cracks of the door.

 

That night, Mom did go to church, but to cry, not eat. Daddy was drinking again, and Mom had had enough. She asked if I wanted to come. I refused. It was bad enough I didn’t have a date to semi; I didn’t feel like listening to Reverend Cooper console my mom. It was always the same song and dance. Mom belittled everything about Daddy, and Reverend Cooper just nodded his head saying things like, “And how does that make you feel? How do you think it affects Nelly?” He’d look over at me for a response, and I’d say nothing because it didn’t affect me.

I sat in my dark bedroom. The only light was the blue glare from the T.V. The movie playing was Home Alone. I felt bad for Kevin, his family left him behind. I felt like my best friend left me behind. I slapped myself across the face for that thought. What type of friend was I, anyway? I needed to be happy for Anya, but the sense of loneliness engulfed within me.

A bottle broke down the hall when Kevin realized the people in the truck that almost ran him over were the robbers. I clicked the T.V. off, and slid under my covers. I wondered when mom was coming home, if she was coming home. She did that a lot, got a hotel room in town, and came back in the morning.

My alarm clock chimed 9:00 which meant the semi was half-way over. I tried to squeeze my eyelids shut to force myself to sleep. It seemed like the only way to pass the night.

A loud crash came from somewhere in the house. Something loud hit flat against the hardwood floor with a thud. It felt like it was in my room, but I just assumed it was Daddy stumbling around in the dark. I kept my eyes nailed shut.

“Nelly...Nelly...Nelly?” My eyes jolted open to the sound of my name. I saw the silhouette of a young girl inches from my face. The silhouette flicked on my bed lamp.

 

Anya stood over my bed looking down at me. “Nelly are you, alright? Your mom isn’t home, is she?” She was still wearing her princess pink dress with purple, gold, and silver Mardi Gras beads around her neck. Her long brown hair fell over her shoulders and tickled my cheeks; her ocean blue eyes starred deep into my mind reading the night I was having.

 

I nodded my head.

Anya crawled into bed, beside me. She kissed my cheek, “I already asked my mom, I can stay over tonight. You won’t be alone.”

I lifted myself onto my elbows. She was beginning to confuse me, “What about the semi-formal?”

“Well, I already spent two hours with Eli tonight, and you need me.”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. I could tell you were upset about not having a date to semi in the cafeteria, and I could sense you were sitting in your room depressed while I was getting ready for the dance. And do you know why?” She used her delicate fingers to lift up my chin, so I could look into her eyes. “Because you are my soul mate, yes, I love Eli, he is my one true love, but you and I know each other so well. We are soul mate.”

 

Anya told me I was her soul mate. And she was mine.

A soul mate does not have to be a boyfriend or a girlfriend. Or even someone you love in that sort of way. A soul mate is the ultimate best friend who knows you more than you know yourself and vise verse. I think every person has a soul mate; it’s whether you are a good enough friend to really show this person how much you care. Like Anya did for me.

 

 

 

 

A Scream, Scar and Miracle

by Alixandra Wilens

 

I felt a cool breeze come in and encase the room. My grandma took Sabrina, my three year-old Shih Tzu, right outside the waiting room in the veterinary office. Though many dogs are afraid of the vet, I was excited. It was just another reminder that I really had a dog, now. I really couldn’t have been happier.

 

The chairs felt a little hard, but I didn’t mind. Behind the chairs was a river of magazines that ended next to a giant scale. Bobbing up on the river were both stacks of business cards and bowls of dog biscuits. The dog biscuits smelled like liver and gravy mixed with something like mud, or worse. I’ve never really understood a dog’s eating habits. A stairwell scaled across the bright-yellow walls and near the one window closer to the ceiling. It was covered in black fabric. On the bottom was a mat of a white tiger. I wondered if it scared Sabrina. I figured they probably stored supplies on the second floor. It was so quiet that you could hear the scribbling of the pen the lady at the front desk was using.

 

You could also hear the flipping of pages from magazines.

The sunlight from the sun setting found its way through the glass of the door and window. It even hurt a tiny bit to look out. I saw my cute little dog. She seemed nervous and tense, but I thought nothing of it at the time. I should have. I wish I had. I could tell my grandma was getting frustrated with Sabrina. What happened next still haunts me to this day.

 

I had noticed how the leash, up my dog’s head until it was at her eyes, was pulling the collar. Suddenly, the collar had gotten over her head. Instead of a dog, there was only a collar. It was as if she had been carried away by the wind. It was official. My dog was on the run.

 

My grandma screamed, “ Noooooooooo!” Everyone jumped up. They saw what had happened. The cry was just audible through the glass of the door, but the sound seemed to pierce through my heart and the scar is still there.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps my mind went blank from the shock of it all, because all I remember is one second I was in the vet’s office, and the next, I was outside, screaming my dog’s name. I remember watching as everyone crowded to get through the doorway. In a flash we were all outside. I screamed until a head nurse told me that only made Sabrina even more scared. There were blurs of the purplish-blue uniforms of the nurses. They all flew through the sidewalk. Even my grandparents were on the chase. I could only see my grandma. I had no idea how far my grandfather had gotten. I heard the car horns honk their endless-seeming song. I breathed in fresh air, but it just seemed too sour to enjoy.

 

Sabrina was a blur. I knew I couldn’t run as fast as she could. I just stood at the front step of the office, helpless to someone I thought of as my furry sister. The only thing I could do was to make sure a nurse was still in the building to watch over my grandma’s pocketbook. I wanted to know that nobody would try to steal it while all of our backs were turned. At least it was something. I pinched myself, but this was no dream. It was a nightmare.

 

* * *

 

Sabrina tried to lose the nurses in the street. She dodged through gaps in cars. The horns just honked their engines out. I couldn’t go out to the streets, so I stayed there, watching, waiting for it all to end.

 

I could see it in my mind: the entire life I thought I would have with Sabrina was flying before my eyes. The little fluff-ball would watch me grow up, as I would do the same for her. Everyday, when I came home, I would arrive to her and we would be happy together. It all faded away, a memory never to be made.

 

Shortly, Sabrina made her way back to the sidewalk. The breath I didn’t even know I was holding was freed. I silently said good-bye when she turned a corner and I couldn’t see her anymore. I never thought I would see her again. I didn’t realize that some of the nurses had followed, along with my grandpa, who I still couldn’t find. My grandma was only a few yards ahead of me, standing, watching and waiting for a miracle, just like I was. All I wanted was just another everyday little miracle, and that was exactly what I got.

 

In the distance, I saw a woman coming towards me. I immediately knew she was a nurse from the purplish-blue outfit. That wasn’t the miracle. The miracle was the little white with a patch of dull-gold fur-ball curled up in the lady’s arms. I ran to my furry sister at full speed. I took her from the woman’s arms, ushered a quick thank you, and then I buried my face in Sabrina’s fur. It was very soft. I rubbed my cheek against her as we all walked inside. I couldn’t have been happier. The fluff ball didn’t seem to think anything of it, but the rest of the room was packed to the brim with celebration and relief. Relief that there were still memories to be made, still greetings of wet licks on the nose, still able to be there for each other and I still had a furry sister.