Eyes Elizabeth Cugini

The thing has been in my house for almost two weeks. I don’t know how it got in my house, and I don’t care. I just want it out. It doesn’t matter where I am in the house, eating breakfast, working on my computer, or even when I’m in the shower – I can feel it staring at me from behind the corner. Whenever I try to get a good look at it, it quickly retreats behind the wall. I did see it once, though. I was in by bedroom getting dressed, the creature watching me from the hallway, as usual. I walked over to the mirror and saw it. It had a human-like shape, two arms and two legs, but it had no face, only two large yellow eyes. It was completely black, like a living shadow.

I went to bed that night like any other. I walked across the creaky hardwood floor and sat on my bed. It was watching me from the hallway, just like every night. I laid down on my side and pulled the covers up over my shoulder; my back facing the creature. I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep. After a few moments, though, something happened that had not occurred over the last two weeks. The floor boards began to creak. The creature was walking to my bed.

I swallowed hard. At first, I thought the thing was an annoyance, but now, for the first time, I was afraid of it. The creaking stopped. There was total silence. Suddenly, my bed lowered and the covers shifted. The creature was now lying next to me on my bed. A chill came over me as I felt something ice cold touch my hand through the sheets. It was the creature’s hand. I couldn’t stop myself. I immediately turned my head and saw its face only a few inches from my own; its yellow eyes staring at me.

“W-What do you want?” I stammered.

It said nothing – not like it could, it had no mouth. Its eyes were still fixed on my face. Suddenly, something occurred to me. Perhaps it was lying in bed with me because it was lonely. Over the past two weeks, it followed me around and stared at me, almost like a curious child. A feeling of guilt came over me. I only wanted this thing gone, but maybe it was looking for someone to live with.

“You can stay if you want.” I said.

The creatures large eyes squinted slightly and a tear ran down its face. Although it couldn’t talk, I imagined it was saying, “Thank you.” 

I smiled, closed my eyes, and returned to my initial position. I drifted asleep; grasping the creature’s hand in mine.

WorldKevin Cao

“This world is for my eyes to see alone.”

The seven-colored girl examined her pocket watch. There was not much time left. This pocket watch was the only semblance of identity the girl had, yet the cover of the pocket watch was missing, stolen. She felt incomplete, as if a delicate balance had been shattered. Someone wanted a part of the world that had only been for her eyes. 

In this world were pale trees on the sidewalks under an unnaturally dark sky. All of the leaves and raindrops had their color stolen as if they became metal, resisting the laws of nature. A negative world, a monochrome world. The lights from the city skyline are muted alongside the stars in the sky. All of this world surrounds a girl of seven colors. Her body defies this world yet follows the laws of nature.

She walked into the middle of the bustling city street and all of the cars and people stopped for her. She waved her hands in front of the people. They did nothing. The girl caught a raindrop in her hand, then placed it where she found it. In an alleyway, statues of homeless people huddled around a frozen flame. 

She knew exactly where to find the cover of the pocket watch now, in the monochrome world. She would find all of that light near the breach of heaven, like a modern Tower of Babel. It was only fitting for someone who would soon come to recognize one’s own hubris. 

Like a dial on a clock, the girl climbed the staircase on her way up a hundred story skyscraper. There, on the edge of the roof was a silhouette much like a human being, whose space was void-like and carried the cover of the pocket watch. Within this void, one could see dim lights like stars. It gazed into the sky as if looking into a mirror. 

“You feel incomplete too, don’t you?” 

The void-like being nodded. 

“You mustn’t disrupt our balance. You’re needlessly endangering yourself as well.” 

The being shook its head, then fell backwards as if to spite her. The seven-colored girl immediate jumped off the building after him.  

ChewyLucas Baker

 "Hey Baker!" Chewy called out to me.

I paused a moment, waiting for him to catch up. He flashed a toothy nervous smile that made me wonder if he had just done something that was going to cost him half his pay for the month. I resumed walking, trying not to fall too far behind the rest of the patrol.

"Look at the women here! I am gonna love patrolling this town!" He exclaimed, slapping me on the back.

He recoiled slightly as I turned to face him. I nodded affirmatively, forcing a smile, trying to indulge his false machismo, and flatly stated "Keep your hands on your weapon. This is still considered a hazardous area, ya know."

"Oh, right" he replied, chuckling anxiously.

"So, what did you want?"

"I know I can trust you. I wanted to tell someone. That I could trust." He halted, letting the patrol move further ahead. "It's my birthday today. You won't tell anyone will you?"

"Not if you don't want me to" I said, feeling just a little confused. "But, why wouldn't you want anyone to know? And, happy birthday!"

"I know what they did to you. Everyone does. I'm afraid." he confessed, shedding all pretense of bravado.

I looked at him. It was late in November, and the sun was low, just above the rooftops. I looked at his dark myopic eyes, squinting in the sunlight, overly inflated by cartoonish concave lenses set in thick brown frames. For a moment I was mesmerized by the peculiar way that his appearance straddled the line between comical and piteous.

"They don't like me like they like you" he continued.

"I'm sure they like you, just fine! Besides, you can handle whatever they throw at you!" I wasn’t sure what to say, yet I wanted to try and allay his fears. Still, I knew he had good reason to be afraid. "You don't need to worry. Your secret is safe with me. Happy birthday, man! Just be careful if you decide to call home. That's how they got me."

Chewy nodded in agreement, as if to reassure himself, but his enormous eyes prevented him from masking his fear.

"You go on ahead, I'll follow." I stood still, watching him trot after the patrol with his geriatric gait, thinking about what he said. I had to break my promise. I had to make sure the right people knew before the wrong people found out on their own.

I was still thinking about it that night. What happened to me had earned me a new level of respect in my squad, even within the company. I tried to convince myself that it if anything happened to Chewy, he might be better for it. It might toughen him up, earn him some respect. But, I knew better. He was a hapless puppy that had lost his way, slipped through the cracks, and landed amongst a pack of wolves that kept him as a chew toy. I had decided to warn his team leader, someone who was immediately responsible for his well-being, earlier that evening. Something had to be done. Chewy was too weak willed, a pariah on his way to becoming a victim. The wolves would smell fear, precipitating a frenzy.

A commotion roused me from my thoughts. Screaming, shouting, trampling footsteps. Instinctively, I grabbed my rifle and ran outside. The room adjacent to mine had its door flung wide. I moved inside, and stood aghast at the sight of Chewy, blindfolded, suspended upside-down, naked save for the ape-like hair that covered him from his neck to his ankles, a green glow stick protruding from the crack of his ass. I tried to look at everything, anything else. Chewy's squad leader, desperately trying to get him down, the perpetrators, mortified, and his team leader, stock-still with only anger discernible on his face. Or, was it fear?  

 

GageDana Rozakis

“I can’t carpool today. I’m not going to school.”

“No problem. What’s wrong?”

“My mom died last night.”

That was the start to Gage’s morning on August 29th of 2013. It was easily the most traumatic day of his life, along with the worst text message I’ve ever received from anyone. Valerie Blazinsky was found cold, unmoving, and gone forever, and there was nothing anyone could do to change it. During the second week of a 19-year-old’s second year of college, the worst had happened. It could only get better from here, right? And that’s what I said to him. It could only get better. He wasn’t exactly in agreement with me:

 “Yeah?”

 That’s how he’ll let you know you’ve said something he finds stupid, sarcasm dripping from his voice, while he raises his eyebrows and waits for you to realize your mistake.  Obviously bitter after her death, I probably said a lot of stupid things to this man in that time frame.

You’ll find blue eyes framed by thick eyebrows and a mess of curly brown hair. You’ll find powerful legs anchoring a wide frame wrapping up a lean build. He sounds utterly ordinary, which is the wrong adjective to use next to his name. He has a habit of parting his lips ever so slightly when he is concentrating. His teeth, while straight and white, don’t quite run parallel to the rest of his mouth, and it’s an adorable flaw.

Sometimes when I want an answer from him, for something so simple, he’ll manage to turn it into a project. An example: I’m sitting at the dining room table, staring at him, trying, unsuccessfully, to describe him to you. I wanted him to do something besides typing on that stupid laptop. Maybe he could stand up and meander into the kitchen for food. Or he could pay some kind of attention to me. I got a little frustrated and just blurted the following:

 “Say something.”

 “Like what?”

 “Just say something.”

 “I’m eating soup?”

 He was starting to get better. About four months after, here he was, coming back with a healthier, kinder sense of conversing. Yes, he was eating soup, an action he knew that he was doing, and yet he added a questioning tone towards the end.

He always questions himself, and I don’t know why. He should be sure of himself. He succeeds every day, in math, in conversation, in anything. He rockets through exams and knows

exactly what to say or do to make somebody feel better. Generally, if he doesn’t like you, you’re going to know it. He’s terrible at hiding his feelings. Sometimes he’ll stumble his way through sentences. A perfect example:

  “She dipped schwib… wait, she chipped dip… DIPPED CHIPS. GOD.”

  He’ll tend to get a little grumpy after a bludgeoning like the one above.

 He likes things that you generally don’t, like comic book movies. Having said that, he won’t pick up a comic and actually read it. I call him a hypocrite because of that. In fact, he hates reading in general, aside from theory or Dracula. He likes plots where the build-ups are slow and tantalizing, which is his reasoning behind loving the Bram Stoker novel. What I don’t understand is why he won’t open his mind up to the world of other books, especially in comics, since he enjoys the movies so much. The only way I find him myopic is when it comes to reading. He is missing out, in my opinion.

 Even in all of the commotion tearing up his life, Gage manages to keep going, letting his mind wander and bringing calm wherever he goes. He isn’t loud. He likes to observe, rather than speak. He doesn’t like crowded rooms. He’s still learning how to deal with his issues daily. He’s just like any of us, I suppose.

GloryDavid Miller

This town was barely worth raiding. No loot to speak of and only one or two good-looking women, both young, thank Freya; God of fertility. The men will have to pass them around as we finish killing the survivors and rounding up our new slave stock. War is all I've ever known. It's all I have ever done since I could remember; and it's been done for my lord, Jarl Hormund, after his father fell in glorious battle years ago. Today is no different. He stands in his battle dress like a blonde blue eyed armored mountain with a battle-axe nearly as large as he; in addition to his shield and sword. Although once upon a time he lost the use of his left eye to a sword in a battle only he remembers, his fighting prowess still rivals none but Jorthar, the fool self-proclaimed "Man-slayer". One would think the Jarl's gear would be a bit more polished, but he thinks himself no better than his men; and that's why we'll follow him to Ragnarok if we have to. A natural leader, he took us in after his father fell years ago; fed us, clothed us, one by one until we became his small army, his strength.

"Today's looking like a tough fight, isn't it Baldr? They seem pretty angry about this town we raided."

"Jorthar would probably disagree, my Jarl. He thinks of the English as flies to be swatted." I replied.

"That's precisely we he's not up here surveying the battlements with us. Berserkers love to fight, not think. Kill the formalities."

Jarl Hormund winked at me with his one good eye. He loved asking his rhetorical questions; it always helped liven the mood before death struck. The English horns heard blowing in the background annoyed me, it seems they have finally come to defend the town we just destroyed. Either the snow must have slowed them down or they waited for the village to burn; cowards. The view from this forest cliff over the vast plains is breathtaking without that cruddy town, and it's covered the blood from the townfolk recently deceased. Our foe tramples through their own dead for revenge.

I surveyed the enemy below us. "We're outnumbered five to one, you think we have a chance?" "There's always a chance, it's up to us to take it." Hormund responded with a smile. "The skill of our hundred and tactics will overpower their numbers. Shall we start the fun?"

"Always ready. I'll take lead group." I flashed a grin at the Jarl.

"Not while I still breathe my war-brother."

I took that as a dismissal and left the cliff, heading for my group. The Jarl always lead his

men from the front of the shieldwall, a view that got his father killed. Every chance I got, as his second in command for the last two years, was to get him to lead from the behind the shieldwall. After a few minutes, I was at my armored troops, each with a wolfish smile thirsting for battle. Jorthar, my second in command of this group was the first to speak.

"Not leading the shieldwall again I see? Guess this means my promotion is gone."

"You generally need a brain to lead, Jorthar."

"Excuses, Baldr! Thinking is for the dead."

Athalarinn, the red head, piped up. "I love losing myself in battle just as much as the next guy, but if Jorthar's in charge, I think we're dead already."

       As Jorthar began to retort and scarred face paled, the signal came to prepare for combat. I cut the conversation short.

"Suit up." A needless command, because all forty of my warriors were already geared up to begin every day, but silence came quickly.

Hauberks were polished, weapons were sharpened while everyone sat hidden in the tree-line, waiting for a final signal to being our charge. Our job was to reinforce the Jarl's men, the shieldwall, once they broke through the enemy lines; in an attempt to cause confusion and panic among the enemy. If all went well, it would trick them into running, thinking we had a larger force than we did.

Mumblings came from Jorthar, eager for battle, and they distracted me. Praying to Tyr, the war god, or Odin, the all-father, his callused hands tightly gripped his great-sword, and a hand from Athalarinn to his shoulder calmed him enough to at least quiet him. All of us, had one thing in mind as we watch the initial battle break out on the plains; bloodlust. Hearing the Jarl's battle cries, the steel on steel, pained yells from injured men brought our blood to a boil as we sat as patiently as we could. Then, an arrow in the sky, on fire, sent my group screaming from the forest, running at full speed to our Jarl, and our foes.

      Forty men, sprinting, and chanting war-cries slammed into the enemy at full speed, as the shieldwall opened up just enough, and at the perfect time, to unleash our fury. A blade dodged, thrusting from my sword parried, the battle quickly became a dangerous blur of blows and emotion for me as I lost my sense of time. Men died to my sword, and before long I had lost count and care. The onslaught was going well, and we're heard a horn from the distance, the enemy signal to regroup. As the English began to retreat to regroup, Jarl Hormund's voice bellowed like Thor's, the thunder god, for us to do the same.

"On me!"

We hurried to our lord, with those who still had shields, kept them held high. Good thing to, because as we came together an arrow storm rained down, lightly injuring some of our more tired or careless brothers. I surveyed the field from behind my shield as the Jarl began his inspiring speech. The battle wasn't going as well as I had thought, a quick guess had them down two hundred or so, but us down to half strength. Most of us were injured at this point, Athalarinn dead. As Hormund continued his speech, imploring both men and god to give us strength for victory, I knew we had been fooled. The English had more men in reserve, fresh from lying in wait coming down the field to engage us once more.

"Shieldwall!" The jarl's order was clear and distinct for all of us: if you had a shield, get in front. Otherwise, sit behind and wait for the time to strike. I found myself standing next to the Jarl.

"My lord –”

He cut me off. "Ragnarok awaits us men. Take down as many English as you can, or the Valkyries won't bring you to the hall!"

       A loud chant of various gods and the jarl's name came in return. The arrows stopped seconds before the English were upon us. Again, I lost track of time in fury and gore, but after mere minutes, the Shieldwall was broken.

"For Odin!" I heard Jorthar fall by his battle-cry.

With a spare second, I caught him in the corner of my eye take a sword through his arrow-ridden chest, bringing him to his knees. His final ounce of strength was to decapitate a farm boy no more than fifteen. The sight of my brother falling nearly cost me my arm, but a quick move kept me from losing my shield-arm, and in the fight. Three more men fell before me when the Jarl went down. I didn't see it, nor could I find him; but the war-cries of my few remaining brothers told me he was gone. Surrender was never an option for us. We battled until four of us were remaining. I thought I would try my hand at being the leader, for the first time in my life as I stare death in the face. With my back to one of last companions, out of breathe, I rasped encouragement.

       "In death or life I will always be your brothers. Let's greet the Valkyries with a few more English to add to our legacy!" A voice I couldn't place returned my sentiment from my right, albeit as gloating.

"I'm up to sixteen English today, shooting for twenty," He goaded the foe, "Any takers?" They didn't understand our language apparently, and we sat poised for an attack that didn't come. Instead the foe waited, and I know why.

The English general rode up to us four looking down on us though his helmet with a smirk I knew was there.

"Will you yield? Or do you savages know nothing but death?" He asked calmly in his native tongue. I alone understood him.

        "I know nothing but war,” I retorted quickly in broken English, “But you know nothing but pride, staring at your men's asses throughout the fight."

I didn't wait for his angry response, nor did my remaining warriors. All of us toppled the cocky general and slew him instantly with a slash to the neck. As I stood up, the sudden realization hit me that the charge had left me alone. I spit on the dead general's corpse to provoke a fight and used my broken English to taunt the enemies surrounding me.

"Not one of you has the balls to finish me? Very well." I caught my final breath, knowing that if I don't die by the sword, I do not enter Valhalla, the hall of eternal warriors. I charged into the mass of stunned enemies.

Light flooded me as my last glimpse of life was my own blood leaving my neck. Before I knew it, I stood looking at my corpse upon the ground. The world was oddly colored in death, everything distorted by a blue gray and two blonde women fully armored in black with sword and shields in hand stood next to me; silent. My wounds were healed, scars gone, and I felt renewed, but I could no longer see anyone but these two silent beautiful Valkyries.

"If you're going to stand there silent like that, at least take off your clothes. I’ve had a trying day –”

I felt a blow to my face with a shield from one of the women, enough to stagger me. She finally broke the silence with a stern tongue.

"You have been chosen to defend Midgard for eternity. Don't make us reconsider."

The other one spoke, with a faint smile as a ray of light begin to pull us towards its center.

"Freya will like this one, at least. He has spirit. Maybe even enough to satisfy her."

ColeEmily Herbert

Friday night is beer night at my house. We have people over, turn the music up, and let loose. For most people, this would be a time to relax, but not for Cole.

“Hey Cole! The twins are coming over again, aren’t you excited?”

He stares at me with nervousness as I mention the thought of people coming over. Cole is very fond of the twins, and greets them upon arrival, and I wish he could bring himself to do that with all of our guests. Although Cole loves attention, he is very defensive when it comes to his family, and with so many people coming in and out of the house throughout the night, it makes it hard for him to protect us from what he imagines may occur.

“Cole, did you hear me? Cole?”

Again - that stare. He studies me a bit longer before turning to head into the living room. Just as I begin to go after him, the doorbell rings. He will be fine, he just needs to get used to everybody, I thought. I open the door to find some of my dad’s friends waiting to enter. “Come on in!” I say, and so they do.

By now the party has been going on for a while, and I feel like I should make sure Cole is doing alright with all of the bustle. I turn the corner to find Cole, standing tall, between my sister and our guests. It is a nervous thing he does. See, whenever Cole feels like someone may be a threat to our family, he tries to subtly “herd” us away from this inane danger of a situation. So, that is what he has done. Cole has my sister almost backed up all the way to the wall, away from our guests. I grab him aside to try and talk some sense into him.

“You can’t do that when we have people over… we have been over this.”

He comes in for a hug, demonstrating his understanding, and returns back into the hallway to inconspicuously study our guests from behind his mask of unruly black locks. I guess that’s harmless enough. I’ll come back to check on him in a bit.

By the end of the night, Cole was able to relax and enjoy the company. I even ended up joining him to howl along with the music. I think we made a pretty great duet if you ask me. Thinking back to that night, I am pretty proud of how it turned out. It isn’t every day that Cole has to deal with the stress of strange guests interacting with his loved ones.

On days when Cole doesn’t have to worry about us, he is pretty content lounging in the solitude of his room. Within a few feet of him, you will always find three of his most cherished belongings: a blanket, a gecko, and a teddy. Without these securities, he becomes very unsettled. Even on walks, the gecko must go with him. About halfway through the walk, he religiously sets it

down and examines its behavior. His gecko never moves, and only makes a noise if you step upon it, because believe it or not, it is made of plastic.

After his walks, Cole likes to cuddle up with his teddy and blanket in bed. His blanket is embroidered with his name, and he has had his teddy since he was about one. These are some of his most peaceful times, and we all enjoy his restful company. 

After his nap comes dinner time. Cole will always wait to eat dinner with everyone in the family, even though he has the ability to eat his food at any time of the day. Family is very important to him. His alertness towards strangers is a direct product from his love for his family.

Given all of this, I must say my favorite attribute of Cole is his smile. Lying down, belly exposed, lips curled back, teeth unmasked, drool pooling on the floor. It is the sweetest, yet creepiest, thing I could ever ask for from a dog.

 

Life Support – Creative Writing Contest Winner, Second Place Becca Kinsey

  I always knew I’d end up in Hell.

            Okay, maybe I didn’t. But I always knew it was a distinct possibility. And where else could I be, surrounded by blinding lights, a temperature just warm enough to be noticeably uncomfortable, and wrapped in blankets made from what could only be special scratchy hell-sheep?

            Are there sheep in Hell? I figure there must be. That’s the only logical explanation for all the uncomfortable sweaters and blankets knitted by well-intentioned grandmothers. That’s how the road to Hell was paved, after all – with all the wrapping paper that revealed scratchy knitted sweaters made from wool sheared from hell-sheep.

            Well, damn! I’ve figured out Hell’s best-kept secret, and all I had to do was die to discover it.

            I find that I am stuck here, in this room of harsh lights and heat and pressure. It feels like I am breathing, which is strange because I am dead and this is Hell, and dead men in Hell do not breathe.

            If ever I had doubts of my location, every single one of them vanished as my wife came sprinting into the room, to stop short right in front of me. Olivia’s always-neat blonde hair hung down in unkempt chunks, like she had just gotten out of bed. Tears streamed from wide hazel eyes that looked around frantically before resting on me. My favorite blue blouse of hers was stained with dark patches that looked like the rust that currently patched my truck.

And still, I smiled.

            My girl was a mess in every sense of the word, but she was without a doubt the most beautiful thing to enter my vision.

            She whispered something, but I couldn’t hear her over the constant beeping in my head. Even so, there was no way I would have been able to miss my name on those lips. I have watched her lips paint my name a million times over, each time a different shade, but in thirty years of knowing this resilient, stubborn woman, never had she uttered any word with so little hope as she did right then. I could see it in the broken sigh that racked her whole body, threatening to topple her over. I could see it in the haze of her eyes that had become unfocused, unseeing.

            Which made me wonder what exactly she was looking at. If she was even really standing here, and not just a hallucination. But the part of me that knew my wife – really knew her – said that she was here, and that I might be the illusion.

            Maybe Hell was watching your loved ones find your body.

            As if summoned by my thoughts, my daughter was the next to rush into this white little room. My wife wore the word ‘hopeless’ on her face like a child cakes on makeup, but my daughter Zoey was the walking definition.

            “Dad!” she shouted the word and fell to her knees in front of me. Her voice rang out and silenced the constant beeping. I forgot for a moment that I was dead, and reached out to comfort her, but my hands passed through her face like a light trick from one of my shows. 

            “Oh God, Mom. He’s gonna die, isn’t he?”

            In more than fifty packed years of life, I have done a lot of things most people would call “difficult” or “crazy.” I do well at keeping the word ‘impossible’ out of my vocabulary.

            Watching my little girl asking her mother if I was going to die was the hardest trick I had ever managed to survive.

            I know now that I am not dead. Not yet. I am blinded by hospital lights. The uncomfortable temperature is my body heat. The scratchy blanket… is still made from hell-sheep, but at least now I know it’s real. And even more importantly, I fully realize that you don’t have to lack a pulse to be in hell.

             Under normal circumstances, I would be the one to offer guidance and support to them. Never in my entire life had I imagined that I would be at the center of a life-shattering issue. 

I wasn’t dead yet, but I might as well be. I sure as hell wasn’t alive. I could see that now; the blinding lights dimmed and the beeping faded, and everything around me sharpened and voices became louder. I could move now. I could sit up, and see that the real me wasn’t moving at all. The real me looked as if he had already died. Even breathing made him look dead – it was forced and mechanical. But somehow I was conscious enough to be aware of everything around me. And I knew that if that me stopped breathing, forced or not, there wouldn’t be me anymore.

The thought was humbling, but I was not afraid. Some might fear the unknown, but it just made me curious. The only tragedy in my death would be to the ones left behind. My beautiful wife, who taught me what love was. Will she be able to teach others after I go? My headstrong daughter, who has become everything I could have envisioned her to be and more. Will she let herself continue to grow?

But of course they will. The women I’ve shared my life with are strong. I have supported them, but I have watched them stand and rise alone. I have watched them bend, but never break. I would expect nothing less of them.

“Daddy? Are you there?” Zoey had come to sit beside me. I tried to reach out and touch her, to comfort her just one more time, but my hand went right through her once again. Of course this would be the detail that all of the books and movies got right.

“Dad… I just wanted to let you know that it’s okay. It’s okay if… if you have to go. I mean, you might not. The doctors aren’t positive yet. And I want you back. I need you back,” her voice dropped to a whisper and my heart dropped with her.

            Green-hazel eyes welled up with tears, but she ignored them as they sprung free. The women in my life had taught me the strength behind tears in general, but I’ve always found subtle beauty in those who felt forced to cry without a sound.

“But if you can’t, Daddy… it’s okay. I’ll take care of Mom. I promise I’ll take care of her so you don’t have to worry. We’ll be okay. Just so you… just in case.”

I had never been more proud of my daughter. Even though I had never doubted that they would be okay, I had been proven right.

Tears were still flowing down her cheeks when the doors slid open. Zoey rushed to wipe her face with her sleeve. She turned to her mother with nothing but a sad smile. It made me wonder if she had ever done this before, to her mother or even to me. Like every other father, I’ve tried to be the ‘cool dad’ that his kid could confide in. But in reality, everyone knows that everyone’s kids will keep secrets. Any parent who believes that their kids will tell them everything that happens is lying to themselves. I consider myself lucky to have skipped the majority of the angsty teenager stage, but I knew she still must have kept secrets. Was this one of them? Would my wife be able to handle it?

Olivia stopped beside our daughter and took a moment to smooth back her long hair, just a shade or two lighter than my ginger hair. I looked back at the near-death me and grinned tightly – her hair had been lighter than mine even before grey had touched my temples. It would never have a chance to spread.

Olivia sat beside her daughter as a dark-haired man in a lab coat strolled in the door.

“Hi, ladies. My name is Dr. Andrioli, I’m the doctor in charge of Wesley. How’re we doing?” His voice was compassionate, sympathetic.

“Do you know if he’s gonna be okay?” Olivia asked, her voice hard. She stood up, pushing the chair back noisily. The way Dr. Andrioli paused and blinked rapidly suggested that he took my daughter to be angry, but I knew her better. This was how she reacted to bone-chilling fear. She slammed her walls against everyone who did not know her. It threw most people off their guard, and I suspected that she had learned the value of this reaction long ago.

“I… Miss Marshall, I’m sorry. Your father, he… he hit his head very, very hard. I was actually going to ask you if you could explain to me exactly what happened?” He turned to my wife, but she shook her head, shooting a quick glance at Zoey before becoming intensely interested in her hands.

“Does it matter?” She countered sharply, continuing without waiting for an answer. “We don’t know. I came home, and he was just on the floor, just like this,” her voice was still low, as if she were out of patience, “I called my mom. Then I called an ambulance. Then we ended up here.”

Had I been able to communicate, I could’ve told him exactly what happened. I had been fixing a light, something I had done a thousand times. While reaching for the bulb, I lost my balance and fell onto the tile floor. My family would shatter because I failed to reach a light bulb. 

 “Okay. That’s okay.” Zoey didn’t even bother to respond to his soft answer, but simply raised her eyebrows.

“Mrs. Marshall… Miss Marshall… The fact is, the only thing that’s keeping Wesley alive is the ventilator. Once it turns off… he’ll be gone. I can either do that now, or give you some more time with him. Your choice,” He declared.

Throughout my life, I’ve observed that all men seem to achieve greatness after their last breath. The goal is, then, to do so before death. It’s not easy when people are always there to remind you of their faults and utter humanity. Death is preferable, because people can remember you in ways that you might not have been able to live up to when it counted. While you’re breathing, they simply have to deal with you as you are. I’ve always thought that this was a task too great for our high-standard society.

However, I kept a list in the back of my mind of people who have achieved true greatness, even in life: My wife. My daughter. My little brother, who would be greeting me once I left. This was, of course, solely in my opinion. Anyone could hold this honor if you talked to the right people about them. And as long as we lived in a society where everyone is great in at least one person’s mind, maybe we weren’t doomed after all.

My daughter and my wife looked at each other, and I could’ve sworn that the entire hospital held a collective breath. Olivia opened her mouth, but my daughter got there first.

“We’re ready.”

My wife, who was still sitting, seemed to crumple further into her chair. Zoey remained standing. She maintained her glare at the doctor, but a hand dropped from her hip onto my arm. I noted with little surprise that I could not feel the warmth of her skin.

The doctor nodded and moved to turn off the machines. The machines whirred one last time and slowed to a stop. Olivia looked up at the machines and opened her mouth in a noiseless scream. Zoey slid her fingers down her arm to grasp my hand and squeeze. I felt none of it, but I didn’t mind. Death is just another great adventure, or however they say it. I had no doubts that it would be an adventure worth exploring. Who knew – maybe I’d even get to see a hell-sheep.

 Velocity Online Poem Selections:

Food for Thought By: Samantha Gonzalez

Hatred towards gays leads to questions 

Should they be able to hold hands 

Kiss in public and go out to dinner

 

Two men at Red Lobster 

Two girls Panera

People staring and whispering 

 

Love is love no matter who it's between

Just like macaroni and cheese 

If they belong together just let them be. 

 

Affections can't be bought 

Approval or not

Put a lid on it

Revelation By: Rebecca Kinsey

 There are nights,There are so many nightsWhen I stay up late and Wave with hands that are not mineTo the early hours of the morning

As I pass them by,The day is young and so am I,But our youth makes me sad.Our youth makes me lonely.

I approached midnight with a heavy sigh,And greeted Two AM with tears.Now the Fourth hour brings racking sobs. I do not know whether I cry because I am lonely,Or because I know one phone call to you could change that,Should I choose to make the effort.

Four AM brings comparisons I do not wish to make:If our blood shared the same antibodies,Would you kiss my forehead goodbye too?If our lives shared the same house,Would I worship you still?If I grew up under your wing,Would you love me then?Do you love me now?

You told me once that the bond between Uncle and niece could be closer than Father and daughter,But we are neither - Lie to me all you want.Despite all the afternoons where You sat me down and talked to me,On carpeted staircases and wooden benches,I have no claim to you.These thoughts lead me to Five AM.Ten hours until I see you and counting.

But in ten hours, I knock on the door and you answer.And your blue eyes light up.And I think maybe, just maybe - Blood doesn't love.People do.

College Poem By: Tabor Stanislaw

Why do we go to college?Just to get even more confused about who we are?Are we just wasting thousands of dollarsfor something a therapist can tell us for half the price?

Is it to go to parties every weekendand make as many friends as possible?Just another skewed version of high school?Were they were right when they said it would never end?

Is it to figure out what it’s like to be an adult?To see that they’re just as confused as you?Pick your major wisely they say!Maybe they wish they can take their’s back?

Such a stress is put on getting it all right.Even the slightest doubt and you’ll go crazy.A loss of sanity that leads to enlightenment.Maybe that’s why we go to college?

Storm Clouds By: Elise Yardley

The rain drops fall like wishes

Falling from the sky

I hold my breath and make another

To join those passing by

 

I don’t care if it comes true

In a week or in a year

I just care I put it out there

For anyone to hear

 

I try to force a smile

I try to hide the pain

But I know that won’t come easy

For far too much has changed

 

Still I let my heart journey

To a world where I am free

No shackles on my ankles

No binds confining me

 

It seems too strange to fathom

It seems too far from true

A life that’s free of suffering

Where I am just like you

 

The storm is raging on

Outside my window sill

Much like the one inside me

Ever since I’ve fallen ill

 

I take one last look

And repeat my wish again

I hope the illness will go away

I wish the pain will end.

Constant   By: Kevin Cao

Time waits for none

A man discards his opportunity to rest in order

To pursue his futile future

Constant clock

The man's force falls to fatigue

He must rest

"Tick-tock" goes the clock

Because he discards sleep his body

Needs more

Now the man is no longer ahead

Only regret remains, among exhaustion

Continuing cycles

The man will never exceed endless time

So why rush?

There was a Time By: Deema KaskasThere was a timeWhen I thoughtI can do it 

There was a timeWhen I thought  I had it all

There was a timeWhen I thoughtI’d never miss you

There was a timeWhen I thoughtI could live without you 

Now I knowThat this timewas not real

The Child By: Dana Rozakis

Be careful what you wish for

The consequences could be grave

You'll regret it more and more

 

It'll break you from your core

It'll make you its slave

Be careful what you wish for

 

You'll want to it adore

You may think you want to save

You'll regret it more and more

 

You'll have chosen to explore

Do not misbehave

Be careful what you wish for

 

You'll learn to it abhor

You'll wander to a cave

You'll regret it more and more

 

You won't want it anymore

You'll find it to be knave

Be careful what you wish for

You'll regret it more and more

The Last Night By: Rebecca Kinsey

I squeezed your hand and you squeezed back,Although I don’t know if you knew it was me.To everyone else, you were already dead;I’m the only one who saw you as you are.Please, please don’t let your song fadeWithout your knowing the extent of my love.

We stood around you and gave you our love,Knowing that there was no going back.I sat with you as I watched you fade,

Wishing that you could stay with me.I know it’s your time and I know that you areSlowly crossing the veil to the realm of the dead.

We knew that by morning, you would be dead,So we cried and we told you to give Nana our love.My sister said she was scared, and I told her you areReady to leave us and never come back.I said I was sure you cared for her and me,And that would not change though away you would fade.

The strength in your hand clasped in mine will fade,And that was when I would know you were dead.I wished more than ever that you’d know it was meAnd hoped you could hear as I spoke of my love.I wished you would know and say “I love you back”But the Alzheimer’s took away all that you are.

Our time now is ending and I know that you areMore than ready to let your life fade.My sister got up and said she’d be back,She didn’t want to be here after you’re dead.She said to give you all of her love,She said she wished she was as strong as me.

In your death room there was only you and me,I whispered “I’ll miss the kind person you are.”Not many people could give your unfailing love,The kind that we both know could never fade.I know that your memory will last after you’re dead,And I wish that my longing would bring you back.

I know you are tired, so I’ll lay you backAnd tell you I’ll love you long after you’re dead.You smile at me, and let your song fade.

Wandered By: Brittney Clouse

I don't know, but it's something.

I wandered as a lonely soul,

Down the twisted, broken road.

One look at you and I was sold.

Desperate for a place to call my home.

But I can’t let you in the door

For fear of hurting anymore.

I know that lovers seldom soar,

They often glide into abysses…

Slowly I let you in my door,

Blue is not a color anymore.

Suddenly I’ve seen us soar

Then drown in the abysses.

I’ve wandered as a lonely soul.

Down the fresh laid road.

You are the place I call my home.

The Man with No Head By: Elizabeth Cugini

There once was a man with no head

Who lived in a rickety shed

On top of a hill that was red

With poppies in thick flowerbeds.

 

One morning the man travelled south

To see what the noise was about.

The man with no eyes bellowed out

That somebody stole his brown trout.

 

Then suddenly there came a cry

From Cindy, the girl with one thigh,

The wife of the man with no eyes.

She said someone pilfered her pie!

 

They searched every nook in the house,

Every pocket of dress pants and blouse,

But nothing—not even a mouse;

So they asked their dead neighbor Clouse.

 

Clouse claimed that he saw a large bear

With black claws and brown colored hair,

Except for its head which was bare.

It went in the forest somewhere.

 

 

At that, Cindy ran at full speed

For the pie and trout to retrieve

Before the big brown bear could feed.

The men ran and followed her lead.

 

Against a large tree the bear sat

Wearing Cindy’s pie as a hat.

The brown trout was covered with gnats

On the ground and looked somewhat flat.

 

For stealing the brown bear was blamed,

But the bear looked rather ashamed,

For it thought the things it obtained

Would make up the hair he’d not gained.

 

All anger at once subsided.

Then an idea ignited,

The man with no head’s hat provided

Cover; the bear seemed delighted.

 

 

The four of them went to the home

For pastries of sweet honeycomb.

And after the bear left to roam,

The man with no head returned home.

 

After all hardships were mended,

The man with no head felt splendid.

In his warm bed, sleep descended,

And, as he dreamed, the day ended.

Dem Limericks By: David Miller

Once sat a man with an ax

Who found himself far too lax

Angry words were spoken

His neck was broken

With no healthcare due to tax