Torches n' Pitchforks Spring 2013

torches n’ pitchforks

teacher edition Fall 2012

2 / Spring 2013 / torches n’ pitchforks

EST. 2008, Founded and Edited by Jim Churchill-Dicks CONTACT: [email protected]

‘hunting for voices that rise above the angry mob.’

torches n’ pitchforks online literary journal is dedicated to exploring the evolving rela-tionship between form and content in creative writing, while also unleashing promis-ing teen voices to the public. Underwritten by The Nature of Words, with additional support provided by the Oregon Writing Project.

After some careful reading among eight teachers in Central Oregon, representing sev-eral schools, disciplines and grade levels, as well as a respected local author, we have finally come to a decision regarding the prize winners for the OWP Awards in both Fiction and Poetry. The winner of the OWP Award for Fiction goes to “Garbage” by Larry Farrington. The OWP Award for Poetry was “A Pair of Gloves” by Dakota Tyger. On behalf of the judges, The Oregon Writing Project, Torches n’ Pitchforks, The Nature of Words and myself, I offer them our hearty congratulations!

Joining these winners is a group of gifted writers in this issue. I am continually im-pressed with the work of our teens. Read well; these voices of our future.

ABOUT t n’ p

torches n’ pitchforks / Spring 2013 / 3

contents8 Dakota Tyger “A Pair of Gloves”

10 Larry Farrington “Garbage”

14 Raynee Roberts “My Forever Sleeping Beauty”

18 Jason Miller “Women”

20 Paige Scofield “The Good Boy Gone Bad, and the Bad Boy Gone Good”

24 Justin Gratreak “Rage and Laughter”

30 Silas Moe “Poems”

36 Torri Michel “Tick Tock”

40 Teara Howard “Missing You”

46 Luis Murphy “Boy Meets Boy”

54 Christopher Bush “Forgotten Dreams”


OWP Award for Poetry Dakota Tyger

Many thanks to this year’s judges: Suzanne Burns, Arlene Watkins, Rebekah Picard, Amy Sabbadini, Kristy Knoll, Megan Banan, Jane Sullivan Williams and Sarah Robertson

OWP Award for Fiction Larry Farrington


Many thanks to this year’s judges: Suzanne Burns, Arlene Watkins, Rebekah Picard, Amy Sabbadini, Kristy Knoll, Megan Banan, Jane Sullivan Williams and Sarah Robertson


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Pair of Gloves Dakota Tyger

I’m like a pair of gloves. That one pair that no one wants to try on until they have no choice. My exterior is not at all appealing, my soul, or in-ner layers are worn, torn and battered, the cause of people’s dislike for me. One of the gloves is new and one is old. One half of me is young, the other is aged. The only thing that links the two together is the zip tie connection. The spine of the pair. I’m that pair of gloves always seeking to be tried on but always being the last chance and then that person finds a pair that fits better, looks better, feels . . . better. After years of sitting in that bin with other, prettier gloves, I have come to realize that not only am I most often someone’s last option but I’m the worst option. I keep wanting to be tried on but then I realize they are only trying me on, never can I be the perfect fit. Not with the hands I see.

So I try to change myself. Try to force a better pattern on my rough torn surface. But with each attempt I find myself falling further into the bin. Forever dooming myself to be the last choice because I’m not patient enough to stay the same. My loneliness has become a safe ha-ven. Something I know I can depend on. My escape route. My beacon of light and cause is love. The one thing I seek for more than anything else. It drives me to do everything I do. The lust for someone’s affection. The desire to have someone try me on for size. My place is here, in the bin. To tell other gloves like me that it’s not all bad being unwanted. It’s safe here, surrounded by disappointment and neglect. For it shapes us and hurts us. But only to make us stronger because they are the worst things we can imagine. Our greatest fears. Forced to face them every day, we are. I’m like a pair of gloves. Unafraid of the cold hands look-ing to only try me on for a few moments. But those moments can last me.

. . . . a lifetime.


10 /Spring 2013 / torches n’ pitchforks

OWP Award: Fiction

torches n’ pitchforks /Spring 2013 / 11

GarbageLarry Farrington

My job isn’t hard. I know that I could probably do something harder. I work as a sanitation worker for the greatest city in the world, New York. It’s not that I don’t like what I do, I make a living and that is a lot these days. It was a few years back when I made the biggest mistake of my life. I don’t know if most people would have done the same as me or not but I chose and now I live with it every day. I was on my normal routes and I remember that the day was unusu-ally cool for the summer, and I don’t know if it was the feeling of the day or maybe how I feel about it looking back but it was weirdly slow. The people I mean, like the cars; they were like some ducks in the park. Just shuffling along… not happy… but like not bothering anyone. There are three shady alleys on my routes on Tuesday. Did I mention it was a Tuesday? Anyways, there are three alleys that like junkies hide in; they run away when my truck rolls up. That day there weren’t any slammers that took off… I didn’t notice then but I just think a lot about that day now. The dumpsters go the same way as the buildings so that like cars can still go through, but I can’t lift the bins that way so I have to get out and pull the dumpsters the same way as the truck. The lids were up

on it and there were a couple bags on the ground so I picked em’ up and when I threw the bags on top a few shifted over. There was a tiny hand. Like a kid’s hand, coming out of one of the bags. I was so scared I couldn’t move. The hand wasn’t movin’ either. I needed to see if this kid was alright so I pulled the bag back. It was a little girl. I think she was about four, skinnier than a twig. She looked like someone left her and she just dried up… I started freaking out! I didn’t want to find this kid, I was gonna have to explain how I found her and talk to the cops and see her parents all crying. I didn’t want to be involved. It was like my body was reacting and my brain stopped fighting trying to figure out what to do. My hands started to slip the bag back over her and I laid another bag on top of her real soft like. I looked around to make sure nobody saw me. The feeling I had was like… like how you feel if you someone was in the middle of mugging you but you don’t know if they are just going to take your money or stick you too. I climbed into my truck real slow, it felt like my feet were tied to cinder blocks. My body was moving on it’s own. I turned the switch that lifted and dumped the huge bin. You could feel the load empty into the back, it felt heavier than ever before. Not just the weight but the weight of what I just did too. Every day my stupid head reminds me of what I did. It’s like that little girl is making sure I never forget. Little flashes of what the kid’s par-ents look like over the years keep me awake when I try and sleep. Their faces go from like awful pain to… well what someone would look like if they lost a child and never found out what happened to her. Ya wanna know what I think about the most? Not who might have put her there, hell it could have even been her folks. But what she might think of me when she looks down at me from heaven. All little kids go to heaven because they haven’t done nothing wrong.

I know I didn’t kill her but I think I would feel just as bad if I had...



My Forever Sleeping Beauty

Raynee Roberts

My Forever Sleeping Beauty

Raynee Roberts

I was only gone for half an hour, apparently thirty minutes too long. She was unconscious, just lying there in a pool of her once covert intentions. Her previously full bottle of anxiety medication was empty just out of her arm’s reach. Her once rosy lips were now as white as the bathroom walls surrounding us. Every detail, of every moment, we had ever spent together instantaneously flashed in my head. I was thirty minutes late to the most im-portant moment of my life. I could have put a stop to this, to her regretfully catastrophic decision.


We were voted “Cutest Couple” in high school. She was the girl that all the guys wanted and I was the luckiest kid in the world. To me, she was more than the average lusting teenage fantasy. She was the love of my life. I made it very clear to her, everyday, that I loved her, “always and forever.”

My feet were glued to the floor. I tried so hard to rip them free that I fell to my knees. My heart shattered at the thought of ever losing her. The shards penetrated my lungs as every simple breath became complex. I engulfed her in my arms, and that’s when I lost it. She was as cold as the tile floor. By this point, it was near impossible to see through my tears. I grabbed her delicate, wilted arms and did all I could to wake her up. Nothing was working; there was no reaction to my touch, no response to my animalistic cries for help. I even kissed her and she didn’t wake, she was my forever sleeping beauty.

I remember the first time we ever held hands. I was so nervous I couldn’t stop the shaking and sweating of my palms. She slid her soft, affectionate fin-gers between mine. It was a puzzle piece fit. Now I am here with my hands in hers. These stone cold fingers are haunting. The walls are getting smaller, this space is shrinking. The air is too thick, my heart is racing. Tears are pouring. I squeeze my eyes shut. I gasp for air.

I open my eyes. I am in my bed, panting. My body is covered in sweat. The air feels lighter. I look next to me, she is laying there asleep. I flip off her covers to check her breathing; constant. She rolls over and opens her eyes. “What the hell babe? What’s wrong?” I can’t manage a reply. “What?” she asks again. Without saying a word, I pull her close and kiss her. I kiss her and kiss her until I cannot breathe. She pulls away and looks at me. I return the gaze as if saying “I love you”. I lay there awake as she fell asleep to the tem-perate striking and hitting of my broken glass heart being rebuilt. “Always and forever,” I whispered into her ear as her head was perfectly at rest on my chest.

Women Jason Miller

Gorgeous beauty resides within Where instant rage can soon begin A few small words can light the eyes When just one can destroy an entire night How many flowers, one two three? Wrong choices condemn me Swim through silk, tread through leather More and more, forever and ‘ever Turn right, turn left? Where ever I go, I’m wrong at best Why the anger, why the smite? Can I win; must I plight? Fret no more for you still mean the world Always a woman, always a girl

18 Spring 2013 / torches n’ pitchforks


The Good Boy Gone Bad, and The Bad Boy Gone Good

Paige Scofield


July 11th, 1953, a Saturday night.

I stand on the sidewalk outside of “The Fat Cat.” Extremely glad, that I’m out of the hot, sweaty air. My hands dangle at my sides and occasionally brush my smooth ruby red silk dress that flutters in the slight breeze. I glance at my unfamiliar surroundings. “The Fat Cat”, is located in between a barbershop and a delicatessen. Such an odd place to have a dance parlor, I thought. I briefly look across the street at the car we used to get here. Luke, Cindy, Ricky and I drove from Evanston earlier and made it to Chicago just as the sun was creeping away from the night sky. The moon is now an over-powering light in the darkness.

The parlor door slams open behind me, releasing two drunken girls that ram straight into my back. They don’t apologize, they just keep walking down the sidewalk giggling, and using each other to keep the other from falling over. I hear the door open again and whip my head around so I could dodge the next person to stumble out. Turns out it was Ricky. He flashes me an all American boy smile, “There you are”, he says with a sigh of relief. He combs his fingers through his greased blonde hair. His eyes suddenly dart around the street, and then back to me. He grabs my hand. But instead of going back into the parlor, He leads me down an ally way. I blush at the thought of Ricky holding my hand. I’ve liked him for some time, but he never seemed interested in me.

I look up into his eyes. The soft, inviting look he usually has, was abruptly altered into dark and malicious. He grabs my flushed cheeks and kisses me. My heart starts to pound as I feel his lips. Despite this, the kiss went from loving, to devouring. I tried to push him away, but he pushed me up against the wall, pinning me. Ricky started to push my dress up. “Stop.” I sternly say. Abruptly he strikes me shoves me, trying to knock me out of


my senses. I squirm under his forceful grip, but my tries to escape are fee-ble against him. “No!” I yell. He smells of leather from his lettermen’s jacket and tastes like booze. I’m suddenly ripped from his grip, and being led out of the ally. I look at the man leading me. He’s wearing a black leather jacket but I cannot make out his face. “Stay here.” Said a smooth deep voice.

The stranger disappears into the ally again. So many thoughts are rushing through my head. Why did he do that? I thought Ricky was the ideal quote unquote “good boy.” Who saved me? I’m brought back to reality from the sound of a wrong being righted. The smooth voice from before says angrily, “She said no, you sick son of a bitch.” My eyes dart up from the ground as my savior reappears from the ominous ally way. “Are you ok?” All I man-age to reply with is a nod. I study his features. He has brown tousled hair, green eyes and a strong jawline. He looks down straight into my eyes. “ Do you want some food? You seem a little light-headed.” I catch myself staring at him, my cheeks turn as red as my dress. I look away from his handsome eyes and once again reply with a nod. He grabs my hand and leads me to a motorcycle. Typical “bad boy” I thought. I smile at the bike, and then at him. This time he started to be the shy one, and avoided my eye contact. “I’m Joe by the way…” “I’m Penelope.” I utter back. He flashes me a smile and hops on his bike. I slide in behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. Gently he places his hand on top of mine “I’ll treat you right, beauti-ful.” He said. I rest my cheek on his shoulder. As we drove away, I contem-plate. He’s a complete stranger, but I’ve never trusted anyone more.


Rage and LaughterJustin Gratreak

torches n’ pitchforks / Spring 2013 /


Rage and Laughter Justin Gratreak

The pain was hardly bearable. It spread all over his body like a blanket. It covered him from head to toe like a lover’s embrace. The chilled marble floor at that mo-ment felt more comfortable than any bed that he had ever slept in. For that shadowy marble floor offered him something that his bed could not offer, reprieve from the pain. It would have been so easy to just lay there, close his eyes, and let sleep take him, to the painless dreamscape of his mind. He couldn’t do that though. After how much his allies, his friends struggled to stop a vile artifact that would cause untold amounts of destruction from coming into existence, now more than ever he realized that he simply couldn’t quit.

He shifted his arms and planted his hands firmly onto the ground. As he attempted to push himself up, his muscles screamed in protest and his bones popped in dis-tress. His right arm quivered like gelatin during an earthquake; it buckled under-neath his weight and the sable marble rushed towards him and greeted him as a spurned lover would.

The new pain instead of serving as a deterrent seemed to only strengthen his resolve and banish the listlessness from his body. He planted his hands firmly and began lifting himself up but this time his arm did not shake at all.

As he lifted himself up he swayed a bit but he clenched his teeth and steadied him-self using the burning rock of rage to buoy himself above the surging ocean of doubt and concern. “You got to get up.” He said to himself “You aren’t going to stay down because of a pansy blow like that.” he muttered to himself again. As he mur-mured this his bent back straightened out and his legs stopped shaking The mental ocean of negativity retreated away from the little rock revealing more and more of the rock that had been hidden and extinguished by the ocean, and as the water pulled away the previously cold stone burst into flames. Soon the ocean had van-ished entirely, and all that was left was a mountain of molten rock that burned as


bright as the sun. As the young mage was picking himself up the ugly monster of a man silently ob-served the work of the device that sat at the epicenter of that hollowed out marble pillar of a room. The man was a monster in the traditional sense, that is he was a sixteen-foot tall fiend that even the boogeyman would run away from. His shape was vaguely human, but instead of a thin layer of flesh covering his body a roiling ocean of muscles covered his from. It wasn’t as if his muscles had been scaled up to suit his new size, there was just lots and lots of regular sized muscles all work-ing together in a macabre fashion.

As the mage’s gaze settled on the fiend’s back a few errant neck muscles began to twitch spastically as if they were suffering from some sort of epileptic fit or as if they were trying to pull themselves free from the abomination.

The giant turned and met the mage’s gaze and the mage held it, despite the fact that the familiar human eyes were gone from the beast’s face, replaced with deep black caves that emanated a deep crimson light like the last spluttering embers of a dying fire. They stared at each other for a handful of seconds before the beast let out a dis-missive grunt and turned back towards the device. The young mage blinked in ut-ter confusion at the fiend’s reaction. “That’s it?” the mage asked in a confused tone. “Hmm?” the fiend grumbled questioningly. “That’s it?” he repeated. “That’s what?” came the rumbling basso reply/question of the fiend. “We lock eyes from across the room after I get up from your punch and no ‘ah, you’re tougher than you look.’ Or ‘how on earth did you get up from that punch.’ Just a ‘hmm.’ And then you just turn around and ignore me I mean what the hell man.”

“If you want I could punch you into the wall again.” The fiend said as the face mus-cles around his lip area jerked away revealing a set of gargantuan white teeth that looked quite similar to head stones. “No thanks, I’m good.” The mage said with an exasperated sight. ”but” the mage murmured “If you could just come over here and let me knock you out, I’d rather appreciate it.” The mage snarked as he grinned at the fiend in retaliation. The fiends ivory graveyard that he stored in his mouth grew from town size to city size as he grinned wider. “If you could also, on your way down, fall on that device and break it, well it would save me the trouble of having to do it.” The city appeared to be suffering from a plague as more grave stones popped out of nowhere. “Anything else?” The fiend quipped. The mage placed his fist over his mouth and stared at the floor intently. If you listened closely you could practi-

cally hear the gears in his head spinning madly. As he resolved what he desired he nodded his head, pulled his fist away, and stared at the fiend with an expressionless face and said “If I could have ten million dollars and a small private island I think we would be square.”

The fiend stood for a long moment staring incredulously at the mage. Finally he blinked and the bone yard was consumed by the stygian depths as he roared with laughter. It was such a rolling great guffaw that even ol’ Saint Nick would have gone just a bit green with envy at the sound of it. The muscles on his sides spasmed as he chuckled himself silly. His laughter soon descended into the open mouthed hyster-ics of a man battling between a need for breath and an irresistible urge to laugh. The mage watched with a grin as the demi humanoid-demonic abomination roiled with laughter. He enjoyed the bone deep satisfaction of making some one laugh, even if the one he had caused to laugh was not only his enemy, but something that crawled straight out of a nightmare. He didn’t care though; he didn’t have anything in par-ticular against the fiend, aside from getting punched into a wall by him. In fact if the two had had met under different circumstances they probably could have been friends. Here and now though they were enemies and even as the mage smiled and enjoyed the sound of laughter, he took long and slow breaths to avoid agitating his pained ribs. His arms rested at his sides but his fists were balled up tight. A large portion of his mind steeled itself and drank his anger deep, giving him strength and resolving that no matter how many times he would be punched that he would defeat the fiend and stop the device, no matter what. However a small part of his mind gib-bered and prayed that the fiend would keep laughing until he died of asphyxiation. He silenced that small part of his mind and focused only on that large resolved part. He stood the same though, dopey smile and all, but anyone who looked into his azure eyes would see a flame. A reflection of his anger that burned bright and fierce, that not even an oceans worth of pain could extinguish, and it promised one thing.

He would be absolute hell to fight.



Poems by Silas Moe

32 / Fall 2012 / torches n’ pitchforks

VoiceSilas Moe

i want to be a man with a voicea voice not easily mistaken, but heard clearnot of single word, but manya voice that so fluently spoken has been pondered.

PeopleSilas Moe

Reputable wordpondered every outcomestudied the worldhow it spinsstudied the worldhow you spinyou hang on every decisionyou think you are so perfectyou change to fit the moldto be pressed as yet anotheryou lie to sound alikethe words of the othersyour ears listenyour mouth waits to be fedyour eyes hide behind the hood you put onyou smell your chosen scentI BREAK THE CONCRETE MOLD AND SCREAM IN YOUR EARSARE YOU DEAF!?


DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING?!TAKE OFF YOUR BLINDS!DO YOU NOT TASTE ANYMORE!?THE WORLD IS NO PLACE FOR YOUyou were bornto serve a purposeyouare not yourselfthe world does not spin for you

bring it on worldSilas Moe

softlylightly on my cheek kisses this raina weighing shower in the worlds champagneslowlyi open my eyes so i might seeinto my hand is blessed a heavy keyeasyi breathe the flowing airto choke on wind without an other’s careshakingi touch the wallhumanity builtwe claim as ourswe show the world through a glassempty of the champagnefalling from the skiesis the answer to our world

34 /Spring 2013 / torches n’ pitchforks

humblei cry in the darkand freeze breathless for the lighti cannot serve this world without a revolutiona turning of the worldevery day i see the sunsetand close my eyes to the bloodshedmy face is weti wipe it drymy hands are shaking in the coldmy gloves hide my skin from the windmy mouth is open widemy mouth is filledi spit out this alien tasteand search for a pleasure to my tongueinside the walls i have builti cannot feel the rainor choke on the windi am trapped in a world i have createdto please myselfi cry in the lightfor i am blind in iti am taking off the glovestaking down the wallsbreathing in the windcatching the drink in my cupmy cup is overflowingi must take a sipbring it on worldi have Godwhat do you call home other than sin and firetake my handas the other is with God.

Illustration for Sayantani


Tick Tock Torri Michel

The door closes with a muted thud. The endless silence is deafening. The only sounds are my beating heart and the quiet tick tock of the clock. There is no screaming, and no crying, only me, disrupting the silence. I have homework due tomorrow; there will be more yelling if I don’t do it. All has left my mind though; I forgot everything, except that door. It has to open again. I stand there willing it to open, hoping and praying with ev-erything in me.

I could hear them last night arguing, about what, I couldn’t be sure. Out-side their door I hear muffled words and voices, one occasionally rising to drown out the other. I heard footsteps and ran to my room. Their door slammed and mine opened. As I pretend to sleep, I recall a silent promise that everything would be okay. I wake up to shuffling in the other room. I wander into the living room to ease my curious mind. The first thing I see is an old brow suitcase. He is by the door and I see him reach for it and head for the door. I stand paralyzed, seeing what is happening but not fully understanding. Tick tock.

torches n’ pitchforks / Fall 2012 / 37


The room feels heavy but I don’t move. What felt like hours, may have only been minutes. He must come back. He promised everything would be okay! I hear something outside and I feel my heart swell with hope as my breath hitches. I see that silver knob turn and welcome that familiar silhouette by running and jumping. He catches me, but doesn’t look at me. What did I do? Have I been bad? He sets me down ever so gently, almost as if he might break me. I watch him go into his room, I hear rustling and out he comes, holding his keys. He goes directly for the door. No, not again! “Daddy, don’t go!” I scream. He pauses, but does not turn. Tick tock. He finally turns and looks me dead in the eyes. Withdrawn blue into pleading green. With one look I know exactly what he is doing, with that one look my world begins to fall to pieces, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it.

This is my fault. I should have listened more and done what I was told. I should have done better in school. I should have prayed harder in church. Maybe they wouldn’t have fought so much. I was a selfish child for want-ing so many things. I won’t ask for anything again, I promise! I know I complained for weeks until I got that Barbie. She doesn’t mean anything to me. I am so sorry. Just please, don’t do this to me.

He turns almost as if time has slowed and opens that door. I watch him walk out without a backward glance, not even an “I love you”. Tick tock. I feel tears sting my eyes and begin to fall but do nothing to halt their slow cascade down my cheeks. With every tear that falls in a memory we once shared. With every step he takes, I feel my heart break. My father has just walked out of my life and with him a part of me has gone too. The door closes with a muted thud, only this time, it will not open again.


Missing Youby Teara Howard

I miss you more than today misses yesterday and tomorrow misses today. I love you more than the stars love the moon more than the sun loves the tree and the tree loves the spring. I long for you like summer longs for rain and winter longs for sun. you complete my life you make me whole when I’m without you I’m without me. Your the music to my soul without you my heart has no beat. I cannot dance I cannot think I cannot sing I cannot breathe your my oxygen, I’m suffocating. My first kiss lingers as the sun rises and falls to see the world together we almost had it all but our happiness was blinded by our inability to fall. I was scared you wouldn’t catch me. And my fear, stole it all.


Damage suffuses The Sin Eater and Other Stories. From within Elizabeth Frankie Rollins’ construct of the blighted home an adulterous husband calls on the services of a stranger to expunge his guilt, a young couple is diagnosed with the bubonic plague, and a bored woman finds herself growing a tail. Yet these others don’t dwell; instead, they frame themselves in a way that is sound in structure and sentiment and plunges them from metaphor into modern-day marvel. In the evocative stories of this debut collec-tion, even the tightest crev-ices dazzle with restorative possibility.

The Sin Eater & Other Storiesby Elizabeth Frankie Rollins

Cover design by Ben Johnson and Noah Saterstrom

PRAISE for The Sin Eater and Other Stories: “The way the human condition—with all its difficult, marvelous details: solitude, interruptions, loves—is constellated in these stories by Elizabeth Frankie Rollins reframes the vast space between ourselves and others. Where seemingly there is nothing in the spaces between, here we read compassion through attention. This book performs its title, visits us like a Sin Eater in the night, so that we all might learn better how to rest in peace even as we live with all of our messy love, hope, and desire.” —SELAH SATERSTROM, author of The Meat and Spirit Plan

“A few years ago I heard Elizabeth Rollins present ‘The New Plague’ at a reading. I thought back then that it was the best story I had heard in a long, long time. Rereading it, I still think it is one of the best stories ever. And I am happy to report that the rest of this book is pretty darn awesome. Rollins has vision, voice, and heart, and an ear for what disturbs and what restores us. Anyone with an interest in what’s really going on in new American fiction should read her work.” —REBECCA BROWN, author of American Romances

“In this brilliant and riveting collection of stories Frankie Rollins provides a courageous and intimate glimpse of the human psyche in distress. We are magnetized to plague, secret anatomy, and the allure of inexplicable impulses which blur reality with the uncanny. In The Sin Eater and Other Stories we en-counter a haunting text which lingers on the tongue, and an adept talent in the tradition of the best of storytellers—which strikes the reader as both new and yet reassuringly familiar—a voice one is immedi-ately compelled to trust.” —LAYNIE BROWNE, author of Roseate Points of Gold

“Rollins’ first collection places her solidly in the company of writers such as Aimee Bender, Kevin Brockmeier, and Deborah Eisenberg. The trapdoors in her stories are impeccably placed. Rollins knows all too well the beautiful, dangerous, bewildering human heart, and her stories live in the lulls between its beats. ” —ROY KESEY, author of Pacazo and All Over

“The Sin Eater consumed me night after night, enchanting me with its shape-shifting tales. This debut collection from spellbinder and fairy-tale marvel Elizabeth Frankie Rollins is a prophetic and wonderful book.” —KATE BERNHEIMER, author of Horse, Flower, Bird

“Elizabeth Frankie Rollins has drawn back the bowstring of apocalypse and let her arrow tales fly—a terrific debut collection that always hits its mark.” —BRENT HENDRICKS, author of A Long Day at the End of the World


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Boy meets boyLuis Murphy First class of the day and I all ready couldn’t wait until third period, because we were watching a movie and it is somewhat interesting. The movie is about a girl who really wants to move out of her house and travel the world, but her parents don’t like the idea of her traveling the world alone. I don’t know what the movie has to do with what we are learning, because it is an English class, but I’m fine with it. Sadly, I am still in first period, but we are doing a cool project that I’m all most done with it and I have to say that it turned out pretty good. While I’m working on my project the teacher called me up to his desk, so I walk up kind of shaky hoping I didn’t get in trouble even though I didn’t do anthing wrong. So I walk up to him trying to slow my heart down. “You wanted to see me Mr. Smith?” “Yes it seems that you’re grades are doing exceptionally well.” “Yes they are?” I reply as a question, because I am not sure where he is going with this. “The principle wanted me to ask you if you wanted to switch to a more challenging class you don’t have to he was just wondering.” “When would I switch?” “Tomorrow does that mean you want to?” “Sure why not I mean this class isn’t very challenging to me and I think a more challenging class would be good for me.” He gave me a slip and told me after school to give it to the principle. “So do you want me to give you my project now, because I won’t be here tomorrow?” “Yeah okay bring it her.” So I get it and bring it to him just as the bell rang great, but it’s not so bad I have one more class till I get to watch the movie. In second period Mrs. Patterson had us take a pretest to see of we are ready for the test tomorrow I probably won’t be. While taking the pretest I had no idea what I was doing only some parts I actually tried but I still wanted the bell to ring so badly. After the pretest we had five minutes left in class so for the rest of class I stared at the clock. Walking to third I saw Rob and he was



reading like that was a big surprise I didn’t have time to stop and say hi or I would be late, because third period was all the way on the other side of the school so I jest waved to him and kept on walking. When I got there I sat down finely I get to watch the movie after Mrs. Swift took attendance she started the movie, yes. During the whole class, we watch the movie until the bell rang. When the bell did ring, I got up and started walking to Mr. Pam’s class great there are about two people in that class that hate me. Class went by fast, because all we did was study for a test we will be having in two days. Man I have been having a test in mostly all my class’s so many things to remember. Well ad lest the two guys ignored me today and just paid attention to their work which was something they never did, but I don’t care. Next was lunch and I was happy mostly because I was starving but I also have to hang with Josh and Rob. I found them after I got my lunch so I went to sit with them they were debating on witch girl was the hottest, but I did not join in all I did was eat my lunch. They pretty much did that the whole lunch period well all most the whole time Josh had to leave half way through to get new cloths, because he had PE first period and he did not have his PE cloths so he had to where his school cloths and they got dirty when he fell in the dirt. His mom is sort of a clean freak. So when he left all I did was sit and read the whole time they wanted me to join before Josh had to leave, but I just said no and kept reading. After lunch I went to the rest of my classes in silence thinking why didn’t I join in at lunch I mean I don’t even think I find the girls they were talk-ing about attractive. Finely school was over for the day, and as I’m thinking about where to meet my friends something hit my head and I almost fell over as it fell I saw the thing that hit my head was a foot ball. “Hey can you through that back?” I hear from behind, so I grab it, throw it back, and move so I don’t get hit again. “Seth we are over here.” I turn around and saw Josh waving for my attention as I walk over I see that he finally put his foot down on his mom choosing school cloths for him, because he had black and red on two of his favorite colors. His mom didn’t really like him hav-ing red and black because she thought they were bad colors I don’t know why, but she did. He is one of my best friends other than Rob; Rob is pretty cool he rarely ever talks, but he and Josh are to of the best friends a person could ask for. “Hey Josh, hey Rob what’s up?” “Not much just watching the ladies play soccer right Rob!” “Right.” Rob says with his head buried in a book not even paying attention like


always. Like I said he rarely ever talks, but every time I see him he is either reading a book or sitting like a loner. I wonder if they are doing anything after school, but if not that’s okay because I can all ways hang with my brother. “Okay then other than that what are you doing after school?” “Family thing so boring, but I have to,” Josh said “I’m watching my little sister for a bit because my parents have a thing, then after that I’ll be reading like all ways” “Okay see you guys later then” I said as I start walking home just then Josh runs in front of me. “Waite there is some hot girls in the field playing soccer and you want to go home what’s up?” “Well it is time to go home” “Not yet come on you been single since Megan moved like I said what’s up?” “Nothing I just haven’t met the right person yet I guess.” I looked down not sure what else to do. “Come on, it’s more than that what’s up?” “It’s nothing, I’m fine. I’ll see you later” I try to start walking but I grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Okay fine you don’t want to talk I see that but I want to know if you’re okay and I’m sure that Rob does to don’t you Rob?” Rob put his book down got up and walked over to us his face expression looked con-cerned great. I hate it when we have these conversions I don’t know why we have to talk about this there’s no point we all know I like girls I’m a guy I have to like girls. When Rob got to us he jest stood there for a bit then started talking. “Yeah I do want to know because every time we bring up the subject about girls you shy away what’s up with that?” “Do you even like girls?” “Of cores I do why would you think that?” All of a sudden my face got hot I never really thought of that before do I like girls well of cores I do why wouldn’t I Shouldn’t I. “Okay don’t get all offensive I didn’t mean it, but if you don’t like girls we would be fine with it.” “Well I do so drop it” “Okay fine.” He put his hand up like he was surrendering or something. “So you want to stay and watch the girls’ soccer team?” “No I got to go see you later.” “See you.”


Walking home I was thinking about my conversion with Josh and Rob while I was I had to consider the fact that I might be gay. I can’t believe it no I’m gay I can’t be I just can’t be and I’m not I will find a girl if I have to I just can’t be gay. When I got home my brother and his friends where there Sam was only a year older than me and he could care less if I hung out with him and his friends Sam and I are very close. We tell each other everything. I love my brother, he’s awesome. “Hey guy’s what’s up?” “Nothing jests doing homework.” Sam said “you should do your homework to.” “Yeah come one we will help you if you need it.” One of Sam’s friends cleared a spot for me and I sat down on the couch, but I couldn’t concentrate because I was still debating if I was gay or not. After I finely got done with my home work mom and dad came home from work, and Sam’s friends left because it was getting late. Mom made dinner and we all sat down at the table she made my favorite spaghetti tacos they are really good and I could care less what people say I like them. During dinner my mom put her hair up so the food wouldn’t get in it family dinner I always pretty boring, but I wasn’t bored because I get to read at the table. The book I’m reading is called “Chrystal heart” and I at the part where the kid finds her dad after being lost for two years. Soon after dinner was done I went to bed because I was tired after reading half of the book. In bed I didn’t fall asleep for a while I read more of that book to try and get that conversion out of my mind, but after a paragraph I closed the book and fell asleep. When I woke up the next morning my buzzer went off for about three minutes, all because I was too lazy to turn it off myself like I am every morning. When I finely got up and dressed I go to the kitchen sit at the table put my head down and fall back a sleep. Jest then Sam wakes up and come down to the kitchen and jest makes a bunch of noise to wake me up. “Hey sleepy head wake up I’m not going to carry you to the car.” Slowly I put my head up and open my eyes then walked to get my bag. When I get to the car I want to fall asleep again then I realize that I have to wake up or I will fall asleep during first period. Sam gets in after me and cranks the music up loud to wake me up. “Dude don’t fall asleep in the car or you’ll be tired all day.” “I know.”

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Forgotten DreamsChristopher Bush

torches n’ pitchforks / Fall 2012 / 61torches n’ pitchforks / Spring 2013 / 55

I’m standing in my kitchen, all alone, in the cold darkness. What am I doing here? It feels like I’m waking up from a chaotic dream I don’t re-member. The glowing oven timer reads 1:26 am. The house is deathly si-lent. Not the comforting silence of content dreamers but the silence that feels like the absence of life. Why am I up so late? Leaving the kitchen I notice I’m already short of breath. As I walk down the hallway I notice the wall is covered in smudges. I must be seeing things. Why am I so ex-hausted? Ascending the stairs I notice more smudges on the wall. What are those? Some seemed to take the shape of…hands? I reached the top of the stairs and I can hear sirens in the distance. I passed my brothers room and instantly notice something was wrong. His door was open and his championship soccer trophy was broken on the floor. I entered his room, flipped on the light and what I saw made me let out an involuntary scream. There was my brother, sprawled on the bed, throat slashed, lying in his own blood. I could hear the sirens again, closer now. Fleeing to my parent’s room I was not greeted with a better scene. It was drawn right out of a horror movie. My mom was face down on the bed, crimson stained sheets surrounding her chest and my dad barely recognizable through his battered face. My knees buckled out of shock, the smell of blood stung my nostrils. This can’t be real, everything I’ve know is gone. How could this happen? The sirens were blaring outside my house, I heard a loud crash and a man’s voice yelling, “Police stay where you are!”. There was a rush of footsteps up the stairs and as they reached they pointed their guns at me like I was some kind of criminal. All I could say is, “They’re dead, they’re all dead.” The same voice from before commanded me to put down my weapon. What weapon? I don’t have a weapon. I looked down and I saw it. There was a large butcher knife with the blood of my family member firmly grasped by my hand. No I couldn’t have killed them. How could I? No. No! I rose to my feet and tried to run. Two gun shots rang out and I felt a sharp pain up and down my back. I fell to the floor and could feel the blood running down my sides. Everything is fading into darkness. At least now I won’t be alone.



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To the gathering of readers and writers who have supported us over the past five years, I thank you. It has been a lovely ride. I’m glad you shared it with us. Keep rising above the angry mob. We need hearts like yours that listen, and voices like yours that bring us back to our senses. Keep story alive in your body, and share it generously. With Love and Admiration, Jim Churchill-Dicks, editor

Torches n' Pitchforks Spring 2013

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Transcript of Torches n' Pitchforks Spring 2013