Staff — Spring 2015

Danielle Dean

I’m an English major currently working towards earning my A.A.at SCF. Reading and writing have always been my favorite hobbies (bibliophile might as well be my middle name), and working in publication makes it easy to fulfill both of these! I hope to transfer to USF or another state school once I’ve finished my time at SCF to pursue a Bachelor’s degree. After school, I hope to one day become an editor and/or author.

William Goetluck

Everyone knows me by Jake, and its always fun to see teachers reactions when i don’t go by Will or Billy, since those are usually the first two names that are asked first. Im studying to be a Graphic Design major and hoping to run my own business sometime in the near future. I was planning on transferring to UCF once i get my required credits but I’m leaning more towards just getting my two years in and be done with school so I can focus on my business, and if I feel like I need more schooling then I’ll finish up my bachelors later.

Leslie Stanley

In my day to day life, I am known by Nikki. But in the realm of my creative works, I’m Syn.
I don’t waste time telling people who I am; people don’t listen. I show people who I am. And just like any good work of art, people will form their own opinions of you, regardless of what you tell them or show them. And that’s why I leave that up to the individual.

Maria Sacali

I am originally from Moldova, a small, poor country in Eastern Europe. I came to America about 8 years ago and lost most of my Russian accent due to my American friends. I am planning on majoring in either writing or psychology. But I might surprise myself and do something completely different, because I am good at most things I try. I am a strong believer in self worth and it took me almost 20 years to figure out that the only persons’ approval I need in order to succeed is my own, and when people see you succeeding, despite their previous opinion of your success, they will come crawling back and stand next to you. And it is completely up to you to let them stay there, or push them away, just as they’d done to you. But all of that depends on if you care for them, or not.

Fall 2014 Staff


Anthony Vittorio
Anthony Vittorio is a sophomore student and has attended SCF for two years. After achieving his A.A in the fall he will transfer to FSU to pursue a Bachelors degree in creative writing and a Masters in Editing, Writing, and Media.

 

Megan Finsel
I am a Special Education major, but writing is my first love. I have been writing and telling stories for as long as I can remember. To me, there is no better outlet for emotion than the written word. I’ve done proofreading and editing, performed spoken-word poetry, competed in Slams, and I am currently President of The Swamp Scribes; the creative writing club of SCF Venice campus. If you want to get to know me more, the best way is to read my work because I put my heart into everything I write. =)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scarlet Flower Pickering
Scarlet Flower Pickering is a reserved animal lover that enjoys writing fiction. She has six pets, six potted plants, and a younger brother that she cares about and loves greatly. She enjoys singing, music, playing gore-less adventure video games, and reading romance stories.
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tim Nail
I am a photographer, and I enjoy exploring fellow photographer’s works. I decided to take Magazine Production to see what it is like on the other side of the submission guidelines.

 

 

 

 

Daniel Flood
Hi I’m Daniel,
I decided to take Magazine Production II because,well I took the first one and went great. I wanted to understand the idea  of writing poetry and short stories, and being able to be a part of a online  Literacy Magazine is awesome. Also I forced my girlfriend into the second one =P, the benefits are amazing. As for me I don’t write much. I  would like to start up again one day with the added a billion other  things I want to do. But I read a lot of books and love criminal  justice, Police, Military movies, Science Fiction and more. I’m a guy which means l love guns, cars, women, especially my girlfriend ;) one day I’ll be a Police  Officer or Video game designer. Music is a Passion  as well from Orchestra, Rock. Another passion of mine is  gaming, I have a Xbox 360 a ps3 and i have my computer back =D. On a good note my girlfriend wants me to get into  Taekwondo, but classes are expensive so we wrestle privately which is a bonus =P, hopefully I don’t make  her mad and we start sparing in the kitchen or something like in the movies Like Mr. and Mrs. Smith =P. My Favorite color is blue, and my dream  car is a 1969 Ford Mustang Fastback, like from the movie Gone In 60  Seconds, the gray and Black Stripe Eleanor

Well that’s it. That is what you ought to know about me

from my last staff bio it states ( I love…. [ Asian boys ] ) this is a typo. but this made me laugh

Now please leave

 

 
 
Michelle Valkov

Hi, I’m Michelle. Nice to meet you, the sky is blue and the grass is green. Today’s a good day. Writing has been my passion most of my life and well, there’s not much to say about me other than that I love sweet things, everything from sweet people to sweet desserts. Come on, who doesn’t like cupcakes? Anyways, I’ve finished two semesters and plan to finish my General A.A and transfer to a univeristy. I’m not sure where yet, but hopefully a place I can pursue my Bachelor’s in Creative writing and possible become an editor or author of an amazing book one day. Alright, stop wasting your precious life and go discover! 🙂

Staff Page

Megan Finsel:

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Words have a great power to me. They can evoke emotions, thoughts, and ideas. They can start and end wars, and they can paint pictures. When I learned I could use words to express myself, I realized I had found my passion. Writing is my way to communicate the complex emotions and thoughts that we all tuck away in the recesses of our hearts. And if I can make at least one person smile through my writing, then I know I have done my job 🙂
    
Brandie Hyde:

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Words that could easily be used to describe the way past two years have gone and the trend that seems to be continuing are: complicated, challenging, colorful… those are the most polite ways I can think of to put it. But as the saying goes “life goes on”. The only words of wisdom I have to offer are these: NO relationship is worth putting your education “on hold”. PLEASE finish what you start! Live your lives as though they were one big adventure, and as often as possible, without regret.
    
Daniel Flood:

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Hi I’m Daniel,
I decided to take Magazine Production because I wanted to see how people write, how they feel when they write. I wanted to understand the idea of writing poetry and short stories, and being able to be a part of a Literacy Magazine online is awesome. Also my girlfriend dragged me into the class lol, but it has its perks. As for me I don’t write much. I would like to start up again one day with the added a billion other things I want to do. But I read a lot of books and love criminal justice, Police, Military movies. I’m a guy which means l love guns, Asian boys, cars, women, especially my girlfriend 😉 in my heart I love protecting people, and one day I’ll be a Police Officer. This means i will be doing three things, Serving the People, Keeping the peace and upholding the law. Granted the law is not perfect but I want to be that police officer that you see in movies where everybody loves and willing to help and serve people. Music is a Passion as well from Orchestra, Rock, and Country. Another passion of mine is gaming, I have a Xbox 360 a ps3 and well I temporary computer that I play games on. On a good note my girlfriend wants me to get into Taekwondo, which I can’t tell is a bonus or not, hopefully I don’t make her mad and we start sparing the kitchen or something like in the movies lol Like Mr. and Mrs. Smith =P. My Favorite color is blue, and my dream car is a 1969 Ford Mustang Fastback, like from the movie Gone In 60 Seconds, the gray and Black Stripe Eleanor

Well that’s it. That is what you ought to know about me

Now please leave

    
Moriah Luiz:

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Hi Everyone , I’m Moriah
I am a hard working dedicated student who loves writing. I think that writing is the best way for a person to express themselves and I find that it is also very therapeutic as well. In addition to being a part of Elektraphrog I am also an Active member of swamp Scribes the schools creative writing club. I will become a teacher after the end of my academic career.
    
Patricia McGraw:

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Aries, INTJ, O positive; if any of that means anything to describe myself. Female, 20, likes long walks on the beach.. Will be graduating and attending USF for Elementary Education. Holla at yur gurl!

    
Taylor Simensky:

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I am a full time student at SCF, grew up in North Port. After attending SCF, I plan to attend USF to get degrees in English and Music Performance and become a teacher. I enjoy writing fiction as well as poetry. Holla at yo boi

    
    
    

Spring Staff 2013

    Editorial Council

 

Ashley T. Pitcher – I am the secretary of Elektraphrog. This a very time consuming and difficult position on the online magazine. You could say that the most important role on the magazine. I am a beautiful twenty year old smart red head with a shopping addiction and or habit.Once I am finished at SCF I plain to attend the University of Central Florida and will get my bachelors in Event Management at UCF’s sister campus of Rosen.

 

Kaitlyn Beck -Is a sophomore at SCF  and majoring in English Education. Kaitlyn hopes to be a teacher specializing in English as a second language in other countries. When Kaitlyn was a small child she was abducted by fairies and Dean Winchester saved her there probes. At the end of Kaitlyn’s freshmen year in high school she was bitten by a shark during shark week and still has all of her appendages.

 

Josh Felthoff– Is the leprechaun of SCF . Josh’s major accomplishment at SCF is running student government and participating in  all of the clubs on campus and going the extra mile to help his fellow students. Josh works in the library helping students with their papers and finding course material. Josh is a real stand up guy. And guards his lucky charms because they are magically delicious.

 

Tim Kujawa–  Tim is just a city boy, born and raised in and  grew up..ish  in the small town of Kincaid Illinois.
He took the midnight train goin’ anywhere. At 11 he moved to Florida where he attended L.A Ainger Middle School, and Lemon Bay High School. He now attends SCF and is pursuing a degree in film.Tim is also Quinton Tarantino’s biggest fan boy . Tim is always a fanatic all of the Marvel comic books especially Iron Man comics and movies….more or less he is in love with Robert Downey Jr..

 

Jackie Anderson – When she is not busy with school and doing homework Jackie likes to slay dragons, go on epic adventures, bake, cook, and hang out with friends. Halloween and shark week are her favorite times of the year. Also she is trying this new concept of getting tan. She is getting her A.A degree at SCF and hopes to transfer to Keiser University in the fall to purse her love of cooking and baking.

 

A Cruel Irony

By: Robert Griffin


A Cruel Irony


“Hello. I am Ted,” I said “and I am carrying the new living lord.”

The “wagon circle”, as the counselor called it, was comprised of: Sarah, the counselor (forty-sevenish, married but lonely); Parker, a schizoid homeless nihilist man with, get this, a chronic masturbating syndrome; Jeff, a man who stabbed an elderly woman with a plastic “spork” at a picnic for no reason; and me, thirty-two, single, male and pregnant, pretty damned happy if you ask me.

The group sessions for “people like us”, as Sarah would say, was what was replacing my church visitations these days. Ever since I had been

“Immaculately conceived… in…” Which is what I had told people when they noticed my swollen stomach and new, “touchy”, attitude, invoking short choking fits and a glare of disgust.

“Yes, I was knocked up by God…” I told the people in my church with a big smile. At first they thought of it as cute, but as they began to see it as a lifestyle choice, the less sensitive they became until, I had to leave. I had expected a different reaction.

“So, Reverend Bob,” Parker always called me “Bob”, “What are you doing tomorrow at four in the afternoon?”

“Parker, we don’t ask other member’s to join us in our neurosis!” Sarah chimed in.

Parker mumbled something close the word “Bitch” before one of his alter-egos got him and he was suddenly a plumber from New Kinsey, Kansas, named Buck.

Two men in white coats came and pulled him away as he kicked and screamed about a rusty copper pipe in the ceiling.

“So, Reverend Ted,” Sarah distracted us from the scene, “How has your community been reacting to your…Discovery?”

The pretentious bitch doesn’t believe me either, I thought. I put my hand on my stomach and gave her puff, jerking my head away from her in disgust.

Hussy…

“Oh, it wasn’t too bad.” I responded to the wall, “You know, the normal. They basically shunned me out and now my unborn child and I will be looking for a place to sleep!”

“Oh, I am so sorry!” She exclaimed. Thus began an hour long apology session in which I developed a pulled muscle in my neck due to the length of time I was staring at the wall.

I’ll show you! I’ll get an ultrasound and let you see the little savior!

“I think we’re done here, Doctor.” I said and stormed away.

Now, normally, I would think of an ultrasound as a sin, what with the inherent evils of technology, especially when it came to seeing the unborn savior deep in my belly, but with the lack of the patrons of my church to support me, I had begun to fall away from my reliance on the acceptance of my congregation.

I arrived at the Gynecologists office around eleven thirty in the morning. As I sat and waited for the tech to get back from going to the bathroom my mind wandered and raced as I began to think of the possibilities of its sex (admittedly, I was a bit behind in my education of medical advances, because when I asked the technician if she could tell me if it was a boy or a girl, she gave me a puzzled look and told me that it was far too soon. We had an uncomfortable laugh I only stopped looking at the ceiling panel when she gasped and said something in a foreign language.

Over the course of three days and four “exploratory operations” it turned out that the “baby” I was having was actually a “nondescript mass in [my] abdomen containing estrogen”.

Trying to explain to my “brethren in Christ” that having a large mass removed from my stomach that I mistakenly claimed to be the next christchild wasn’t even close an abortion was a difficult task and eventually I decided that I didn’t care for them anymore anyhow.

Arriving at the bar, the bartender acknowledged me, and went back to entertaining the customers. I ordered scotch on the rocks and sat down in a booth with my head hung between my arms.

I wonder what Parker is doing today…

I looked at my lap for a moment….

“Besides,” I said aloud before taking a hard shot, “what has God done for me anyhow?”

Suburban Voodoo

By: Rhonda Kitchens


Suburban Voodoo


She hustled the cup of her husband’s coffee with its morning shadow of grounds to Sister Hannah Mary Swan Song Cantata.

“Oh, this is bad.” Sister Hannah Mary Tango Isis Swan Song Cantata could see no good in the sparse pattern of the grounds.

“Yes, yes?” Pauline’s hands were clenched. Her forehead was seismic.

“Baby, you just need to clean your coffee machine.”

“But Sister Mary Hannah…”

“Look it, Hon, I could sell you a gallon of St. John the Conqueror and hose you for a few hundred dollars and that man would still be seeing Widow Smith.”

“Sister Mary…”

“No, shush, child and stop asking me about your useless man. You can go down to the High Holy Totally Reincarnated His Pacemaker is Still Ticking Moe and you would still be poorer in love with that no good can’t keep it in his pants man.

“I don’t know what to do,” Pauline anguished.

“Well, a lot of your suburban, gated community sisters would just chalk it up to the high cost of living well with a roof over their head and summer vacation roof shielding their precious pale skin when it gets too hot here in the city. A handful of prescription drugs and those Stepford bitches are happy and venomous as jellyfish. My business always dips when they find new way to make everything pretty from Valium to Prozac to Yoga. So many souls need a sedative. Pauline, what makes you want
more?”

“I believe in love.” Pauline was a supra-ballet-piano-recital-Little-League-violin-concerto mom. Her Capri’s were well pressed, fitted yet yielded nothing in terms of her sexuality or soul. Sister Mary Quick Step Hannah Swan Song Cantata added, “You, Pauline, if you do what I say, you’ll have more love than you can imagine in 6 months. Leave him.”

“But…”

“Leave him and the kids and walk out with precisely $30,000 in spending cash. Get yourself the sharkiest, dirtiest lawyer in the Valley.”

“My kids?”

“Honey, women who take their kids are playing martyr and just stupid. That man will make 8 times what you make this year alone. Leave them with the moneybags. No matter what you do, they’re going to hate you. Right now, they hate you for letting that dog doormat you.”

Pauline knew it.

“Children will never love you more than when that dick wielding fool starts parading his silicon enhanced mom replacements trying to get their approval.”

Pauline had seen it.

“What Sister Mary Hannah Swan Song Valerian Cantata tells you is to leave and don’t even go to a school play for six months. Honey, people love most what they cannot have.”

Pauline dropped her bone China coffee cup to the floor with a smash of new found knowledge.

“Pauline, sister,” Sister Mary Hannah Tabasco Altis Swan Song Cantata said, “that’ll be $5 extra plus the usual fee and I’ll throw in a bottle of St. Hi John the Conqueror Powerful Mojo Bubble Bath for free. Just keep it away from open flames. I don’t need the Fire Marshal sniffing around here again.”
________

Grocery shopping had become her grandest luxury. Wide open aisles that she could navigate without fear of her charges breaking things or mouthing unbought cookies into an embarrassing mash. She could buy what she wanted. She didn’t have to plan. Picking up the extra creamy peanut butter, she didn’t have to consider the brand. She could buy a store brand. She picked up the veal without any posh private school whining about veal pens. Her kids were living in a fucking veal pen out there at the estates.

“We’re all dead meat,” Pauline whispered to the pink fillets. “It is simply a matter of style.” And she promised the veal, that latter day golden calf, a lather of lemon sauce dimpled with capers.

Pauline’s short black dress brushed her tan, toned thighs as she straightened up from the meat counter. The stock boy turned away guilty and hot.

The bag boy would not.
________

“Pauline, we need to talk”

“Well now, shouldn’t you be at Edina’s? Isn’t this your ‘work late’ Thursday?”

“Pauline….” he says to a closed door.
________

Pauline, we need to talk.”

“Won’t the kids be worried, sweety? Shouldn’t you be picking Heather up from practice?”

“Pauline….” he says over a moat of the impossible as Pauline pulls the gate up to her castle.
________

“Pauline, for God’s sake, it is the kids. We need to talk.”

“Let me see, my back talking spoiled brat kids and my philandering husband need to talk…”

“Pauline….” he weeps up against a surface into which a door has sealed itself into the smoothness of a wall.
________

Sister Mary Hannah Karpathos Michelob Swan Song Cantata and Pauline share drinks at the Art for the Artfully Downwardly Mobile Fundraiser.

“Sister, you were so right. Love. We waste it on the things that are facing away from us when right in our own hip pocket is the love that passes all understanding.”

Sister Mary Hannah raises an eyebrow and considers she may finally face real competition

Man-Making

By: Caitlin Moloney


Man-making


The moon was hiding tonight. Balbo’s mother had always told him that the moon only hides when children do bad things. Now that he was older, he realized that his mother had only said that to see if he would come in with a guilty face on a dark, mischief making night like this. Balbo’s mother had been a smart woman. He hoped she was watching over him tonight.

The bark of the tree Balbo was sitting in was rough and rubbed against his bare skin. It didn’t hurt very much because Balbo’s skin was tough. But he tried not to move around too much. It was best to stay as quiet as possible. He wanted to be able hear the prey approaching.

Balbo flexed his hand around the dagger he had made early that morning. It was sharp and easy to hold onto. He remembered how it had hissed like an angry snake when he’d plunged it into the water. Since then, he had not let it go. He had been holding it for so long now that it felt like an extension of his own body, like his own arm or leg. Huyt and Falan had told him that was good thing and it would help him kill cleanly. He hoped so.

He wished that the waiting would end soon. It had been long enough waiting for this, his fifteenth year. The hours sitting in the tree were like torture, but not because his back was stiff, though it certainly was. Balbo was itching to become a man. Huyt and Falan had already had their man-making ceremonies earlier this year. Balbo remembered watching with envy as each had returned to the village with the blood of their kill painted in thick lines across their body. Huyt’s kill had brought praise from all the villagers for being so large. Even Chief Elder had remarked that the meat would be enough to feed the whole village, and he was not supposed to show any favoritism.

So, Balbo was ready. It was his turn to win praise and a place of belonging among the men. With this kill, he could finally join the fire talks that Huyt and Falan had told him so much about. He wanted to prove himself as a man. He wanted to prove that he was worthy to keep the village’s secrets.

Hoot hoot.

Balbo heard it echo from down the path and his spine straightened as if jerked by a string. It was the signal. His quarry was here. He peered down into the forest and strained his ears. Balbo could hear the crunch of leaves underfoot, slowly growing closer and closer. He flexed his knife hand once again and his lips silently mouthed a prayer to the Mother.

The prey stopped right beneath him to inspect the bait Balbo had laid out. Was it really going to be this easy? he thought. His body was as tight as a wire and he took a deep breath to release some of the tension. He needed to be limber for this. Balbo watched the prey investigate the bait and waited for the right moment. Just a bit more, he thought, and then he was a panther leaping from the tree.

“What the–” the prey said, and Balbo’s dagger narrowly missed the glide against his white throat. The white-walker jumped back and met Balbo’s eyes with his own. They were a night sky opened wide in terror.

Balbo was surprised. From what he’d heard of the white-walkers, they were supposed to be feeble. He’d expected it to be over in two quick slashes. But Balbo was determined. This was his night.

“Don’t hurt me!” the white-walker said. Balbo stared into his night sky eyes and tried to make himself cold as steel.

“The Mother will take care of you,” Balbo said. “Don’t worry. It will be fast.”

The white-walker screamed. He scrambled to his feet and began to run, but Balbo did not let him get far. Balbo leapt forward and grabbed the white-walker’s legs, bringing them both crashing to the ground. The white-walker flailed his limbs and one of them connected with Balbo’s skull, dazing him. He could taste the sharp tang of blood in his mouth. His face stung and blood ran into his eyes. Another blow caught him in the ribs. Balbo tried to focus, but the fight was too frenzied. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t see. The white-walker kicked again and his foot sunk into Balbo’s stomach. Balbo started to panic. It was supposed to be easy! He struck out blindly with his dagger, hoping that he would hit the white-walker and end this. Please Mother, he prayed, and then felt relief when the blade found its home in flesh.

The white-walker cried out, and the sound was dreadful and full of pain. Balbo sprung back, pulling the knife out. The white-walker curled up into a ball, moaning and keening like an animal. Balbo had stabbed him right in the belly. It was a death wound.

“I don’t want to die,” the white-walker cried. “I don’t… please…”

Balbo looked down at the white-walker and felt a terribly heavy sadness creep into his heart. He sliced the white-walker’s throat open with a quick motion and his cries turned into gurgles. Balbo looked into his night sky eyes and watched the life slowly leave them forever.

Balbo was still sitting next to the cold body when Huyt, the one who had given him the signal, arrived.

“Balbo,” Huyt said. “What’s wrong? Why haven’t you done the ceremony?”

Balbo looked at Huyt and then back at the white-walker. He stared at the body. Then, using careful motions, he began to strip the white-walker of his clothing. He treated the corpse gingerly, as if it had been not an enemy, but a lover who had died. Balbo placed a hand on the white-walker’s face and looked him in his dead eyes as he made a slow slice down the pale, freckled chest. He dipped his fingers inside and with white-walker’s blood, he began to draw the ceremonial patterns.

“With your death, I am a man,” Balbo recited, shakily. His fingers trembled as he painted the lines on his skin. “May you live in my skin and protect me from my enemies’ blows. Your spirit is free to walk with me. Together, we are one.”

Huyt nodded in approval. “Well done.”

Balbo stood up quickly and his vision grew dark. He threw out an arm and leaned against a tree. He felt sick.

“What is it?” Huyt said. He looked worried.

Balbo sucked in air through his mouth. He didn’t think he could breathe in the scent of death right now. “He begged me for his life.”

Huyt looked at him with a face of stone. Then he began to take notice of Balbo’s injuries. “He fought you? He resisted?”

Balbo nodded.

“We must tell Chief Elder,” Huyt said.

#

The Chief Elder was a big man. Beyond the air of authority that he carried around like a cloak, he was a man of fearful stature. Before he had been named Chief Elder, he had earned the nickname Bear based solely on his ability to bat men away with his giant hands. One looked up to the Chief Elder in more ways than one.

He stared down at Balbo now and it made him feel like a tiny gnat.

“Huyt tells me that your man-making went slightly awry,” said Chief Elder. “Is that right?”

“Yes, Chief Elder,” Balbo said. He felt shame in the way that the Chief Elder said this, like it had been Balbo’s fault. He couldn’t stop thinking about the white-walker’s eyes and how sad they had looked as he died.

The Chief Elder rubbed his beard and continued to stare at Balbo. It made Balbo feel like his skin was too small for his body.

“You are a man now, Balbo. That entitles you to certain truths,” he said. The Chief Elder looked Balbo in the eye. “If you are ready to hear them.”

Balbo nodded solemnly. “I am, Chief Elder.”

“Very well,” said Chief Elder. He sat down across from Balbo and lit his pipe. He took a few puffs before beginning. “The white-walkers are from a neighboring tribe, we have always told you this,” he said. “But they do not live in the forest.”

“Then where do they come from?” Balbo asked.

The Chief Elder’s lips quirked up in a small smile. “I don’t think you would understand even if I explained it to you. In simple terms, let us say that the white-walkers make a journey to this place as a sort of… final pilgrimage, we could say.”

“Is that why they are usually old?” asked Balbo.

“Yes,” Chief Elder nodded. “That is part of it. We came to name them white-walkers because of the whiteness of their skin and hair.”

Balbo nodded. He was following so far. “But why are they usually so large?”

“That has something to do with the nature of the pilgrimage,” Chief Elder said. “They come to the forest for one of two reasons. The first is to try and reconnect with their own selves. They hope that by being near the forest they can regain control of their bodies.”

“And the second?”

The Chief Elder laughed. “Why, to die, of course. And that’s what we help with, Balbo. We send them to the Mother,” The Chief Elder paused to puff on his pipe. “Now, your white-walker may not have wandered into the forest in search of his own death, but the Mother decided it was his time. Do not regret it, Balbo. It was what the Mother wanted.”

“Thank you, Chief Elder,” said Balbo.

“Go enjoy the feast now son,” he said. “Your kill may have been small, but there is still plenty of meat!”

Balbo thanked the Chief Elder again as he left his tent. He knew that he should feel better, but he still felt that heavy sadness around his heart. The village was gathered around the fire eating his kill, and Balbo knew he should go join them, that he would be expected soon. But he couldn’t face his friends and pretend that he was proud of what he had done tonight. So, he began to run. The forest was soft under his feet as Balbo ran and ran and kept on running.

His feet carried him there without thinking. The ground was still dark with his white-walker’s blood and his clothes were still folded in a pile next to the tree. Balbo placed his knife between his teeth and started to climb the tree. The bark was rough under his hands, but he took every splinter as penance. When he reached his branch, he straddled it and craned his head to look into the moonless sky. His white-walker was up there now. He was somebody’s son and Balbo had sent him there.

As the wind howled in his ears, Balbo began to cry. He couldn’t be sure, but with each howl it sounded like a mother frantically calling out her child’s name over and over again.

My Little Empty Nest

By: K. V. Orr


My Little Empty Nest


My name’s Karen Johnson, there’s nothing special about me. I have a husband, Jim, and a daughter, Kaitlyn. She just left for college a few weeks ago. I miss her a lot, but I know she’s doing well. I mean, I’m a little hurt that she didn’t take any time between senior year and college to spend time with her mom; I took time off to spend time with her when she was born. It only seems fair. But it’s her choice. While dealing with my empty nest I’ve started selling Komfy Kitchen products, overpriced blenders and knives, the usual. I’m more focused on recruiting other women to work for me and sell my products for me. The woman that signed me up says it’s not a pyramid scheme, but it is. Today I am going over to Kaitlyn’s friends house, her mother, Jill, is going through her own empty nest syndrome and I think it’s a good time to give her something to do, that being selling my kitchen supplies.

I walk the two blocks to her house, KK magazine in hand, and knock on the door. She invites me in and asks if I’ve heard from the girls, her daughter tagged along with Kaitlyn and they’re in the same dorm. I catch her up and then ask “Jill, the real reason I’m here is to ask you if you’re happy with the supplies in your kitchen? Or are you finding that you have too much time on your hands without your daughter here?” Then I asked if she’d want to sell with me. She was smiling at something else.

“No, I won’t have too much extra time on my hands, Eric and I are finally announcing that we’re expecting again!” She giggled.

That bitch. She said we were supposed to deal with our empty nests together, and now she’s starting over. I bet she did this one on purpose, just like she did in high school. “Oh my, well that’s some news.” slowly making my way back to the door. Well, I guess I’ll bring over some baby catalogs for you then.

#

It’s been five months and I’ve only sold a few products, and haven’t been able to sign anyone up for Komfy Kitchen to work for me. It’s okay, it’s supposed to be slow at first, that’s what I hear anyways. What I’m really upset about is that Jill signed up to sell KK with someone else. It makes no sense; she and I are so much closer. She draws people in with her pregnancy and they sympathize with her, being so old and knocked up, and they buy all her stuff instead of mine. It’s a cheap gimmick, but she’s ready to burst, then her cash cow and free time will be gone and I’ll be the one on the top of the pyramid.

I stopped over at Jill’s house again, it’s pretty late. I know she said Eric was out of town on business so I thought it would be nice to, um, to keep her company. I sneak in through the window of what will be the new nursery. It’s all neutral colors; they don’t want to know the sex until it’s born. Jill’s in bed already, which is perfect. I sneak up on her and cover her mouth with a rag I drenched with chloroform, she panicked when I put it over her face but slowly she faded out. I slide her pants down to her ankles and take out my rubbing alcohol and my scalpel. I start the incision at her bellybutton and go all the way down. I reach in and pull out my prize, a new baby boy.

Hot Nights in East L.A.

By: William Smith


Hot Nights in East L.A.


The hot summer seems never-ending, sun beating down on the roof of Melinda’s small one bedroom rental. The air conditioner’s been broken for two weeks and heaven only know what will go wrong next. A small box fans rhythmic sound, the blades hitting against its frame, blows a warm breeze over Melinda’s boady. She lies on her tattered couch thinking, (what am I going to do now, my job is gone and today I get my last unemployment check.) She drifts back into a half sleep, remembering how things were so long ago. How Carlos her boyfriend and Angel his best childhood friend, went from friends to rivals since Angel moved ten blocks away and into a whole new world. That’s when Angel joined the Southside Boys, the local gang that run the streets in that area. He grew from a sweet child into a member of East L.A.’s most vicious gang; he went from Angel to become known only as “Reaper,” the angel of death. Who could have imagined that Carlo’s childhood friend would end up his killer? Carlos was shot two days before Christmas; just another drug deal gone badly is how the papers read.

Melinda wakes up to the same warm breeze, slowly makes her way into the bathroom and throws some cold water over her face. She looks at herself in the bathroom mirror; she is twenty eight years old but looks much older, all the worries and the trauma of losing Carlos is taking its toll. Opening the bathroom cabinet seeing her sleeping pills, she thinks “I don’t know what to do; maybe eating all of these pills is my only way out, no more suffering, no more crying, no more painful thoughts. Just a bottle of pills, fall back to sleep, and it’s over.”

Suddenly, Melinda hears a knock at her front door which jars her back to reality once more. She takes a big sigh, wipes away the tears from the corners of her eyes, and runs to answer the knocking. When she opens the door to her amazement it’s Chico, Carlos’s younger brother the only Chicano in Carlos’s family to get out of East L.A. Chico was an Honor Student in high school and received a full scholarship to Stanford University near San Francisco, to pursue his dream of becoming a Doctor of Philosophy. He’ll raise his brothers and sisters out of the ideology of the ghetto gang bangers. “We have so many brilliant minds in our own community and I’m going to show them all the way out,” he would always say.

“Hi Melinda,” he says as their eyes first meet.

“Chico! How happy I’m to see you,” she gives him a big hug and pulls him into the house. “Don’t want any trouble, they are still warring and I’m right on the boundary. What’re you doing? You know how dangerous it is here?”

“Melinda, I’m here to see my Mom and most of all you. I’m not worried about those Southside Boys; I’m ready for their shit.” He lifts his silk tank top and in his belt is a “45 Auto” loaded and anxious for revenge.

Melinda looks into his eyes, remembering how much Chico looks like Carlos. “Chico please, I can’t bear to lose another loved one. You need to go back to school, not tomorrow, but now before they know you are home”.

“I have no bones with those gang bangers, but if I see Angel, I’m going to make sure he doesn’t place anymore of those “teardrop tats” on his cheeks.”

“Chico, don’t say that! You’re scaring me. Nobody has seen him since the shooting or you know he would already be dead.”

“He’s been seen around lately, but not to worry, I’m only here for the weekend. I’m going to show you the town, check this out,” he pulls out a wad of cash folded and held together with a rubber band. “We are going to paint the town. You put on your best party dress and I’ll pick you up and 8:00 sharp,” he says with a smile.

“I don’t know Chico; it’s been so long since I’ve been out.”

“Just be ready, no questions asked.” He grabs her giving her a short kiss, “I’ve got to go, don’t forget 8:00”, and out the door he goes.

It’s 6:00 p.m.; Melinda looks through her closet trying to figure out what to wear. After looking through her small wardrobe she decides on her white pullover mini that makes her look so sexy. As she is putting on her makeup, she notices the bottle of pills sitting there but forces the negative thoughts out of her mind. I’m going to have fun with a handsome young man, tomorrow will be soon enough for worrying.

What a great evening, dinner at “Rob’s on the Strip,” rubbing elbows with the Hollywood celebs. Then down to the “Whiskey Ago-go,” for some dancing and plenty of drinks, although Melinda notices that Chico isn’t really drinking that much.

They arrive back at Melinda’s around midnight. Chico parks his car across the street from her house, he jumps out, rushes around the car stumbling a little and they both start laughing. Opening the door he graciously lifts her up to her feet, places his arm around her, and walks her to the front door.

As they reach the porch, Chico turns Melinda towards him, pulls her close and gives her a long and passionate kiss. He says, “I’ve wanted to do that ever since I was ten years old.” She throws her arms around him and gives him another passionate kiss.

“Chico, will you stay with me tonight? I want you to hold me tight. I haven’t felt safe in the arms of a man in a long time.” She looks at him seductively.

“Nothing would please me more, but not tonight.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the wad of cash held together with a rubber band and hands it to her. “Here take this and hold on to it,” he places the money firmly into her hand.

“Chico, what is going on? Is there something wrong?”

“It’ll be fine, do as I say,” he kisses her again and leads her through the door. “Now I want you to stay in the house tonight, don’t come out no matter what happens.”

“What?” Melinda is starting to feel a little queasy from the drinks, “Chico what is going on?”

“Melinda please, it’ll be fine and hopefully I’ll see you soon.”

She watches as he reaches his car. Starting to feel a little sick, she staggers over to her tattered couch, sits down and throws the wad of bills onto the coffee table. She pulls off the rubber band, opens the fold, and out drops a key. “Well what is this?” she thinks to herself, “Chico must have forgotten about his key, I will give it to him tomorrow. Twenty four C-notes, $2400 at least I know he will be back.” She lies down, finally realizing how damn hot it is.

As she falls into her dreams, she remembers how Chico always seemed infatuated with her. He and his little friends would sit on the porch, waited to watch her strut by, and of course she would always give them that little extra wiggle. How when she and Carlos were split up for six months, he would be hanging around all the time. They even had that night when she got a little too drunk, made love with him, then made him promise never to tell.

Suddenly, Melinda awakens to the screeching of tires, the sound of gunfire, rapid gunfire exploding in the quiet night. Melinda jumps to her feet, runs to the window and sees Chico’s car. It is still sitting across the street, all the side windows are shot out, and there is a figure slumped over the steering wheel. “Oh My God,” she thinks, “They have killed Chico!”

Hearing a load crash, Melinda looks to the right and sees a black SUV has crashed into the parked cars along the street. Three hooded men step out from the darkness between the houses and open fire on the SUV, automatic weapons fire echoes through the silence once more.

One man stumbles from the SUV, pistol in hand, trying to return fire, when unexpectedly Chico runs out of the darkness between the houses. He looks the stumbling man in the eyes and says, “No more teardrops for you,” firing four shots into the stumbling man. The man falls to the ground like a sack of bricks.

Melinda in a state of panic, runs out of the house and over to Chico’s car. Her heart franticly beating, tear streaming down her face, she sees the figure slumped over the steering wheel. She pulls back the figure, finds that it is a stuffed dummy dressed up to look like Chico, realizing with relief that Chico must be alright. Down the street she sees the man lying there dead. When she walks closer, she can see that it’s Angel, “Reaper,” lying motionless in a pool of his own blood.

She can hear the sirens wailing in the background. Running back into the house, she grabs the money and the key, hurries out the back door and jumps into her old Pontiac. Looking down at her lap she notices that the key has stamped into it L.A. International Airport, locker #23, “well I’m only 10 miles from the airport, I have to go check this out.”

Walking through the airport she asks the security guard where the lockers are. Pointing his finger, he directs her to the second floor. She thanks the man, anxiously runs up the stairs to where the lockers are. Looking around she notices a young girl with two little children, sitting in the seats across from the lockers, crying. Melinda looks around and sees that the place is absolutely empty. After all it is 4:30 A.M. She asks the girl, “What’s wrong?”

“My father was supposed to pick us up here but has been in an accident, now me and my two girls are stuck with no way to get to my parents house,” She tells Melinda.

“That’s a shame,” Melinda says, “let me take care of something and then maybe I can help.”

She walks over to the locker, places the key into the lock turning it a quarter turn to the right. It comes swinging open. There in the locker is a small familiar gym bag. Reaching in she pulls it out seeing Carlos written on the side and remembers that this is Carlos’s old gym bag. She sits in a seat across from the lockers and opens the bag. Inside she finds twelve banded stacks of $100 bills with $10,000 stamped on each band.

“Oh My God!” she says to herself, looks back down into the bag and notices an envelope. Opening the envelope she finds an airplane ticket and a note. The note reads:

Melinda;

If you are reading this, all I want to say is that Carlos was ready to leave East L.A. with you last Christmas. The money in the bag is yours. You are now a free bird; you can go anywhere you wish, but it is my wish that you will take the one way ticket to San Francisco and come stay with me.

Hoping I’ll see you soon.

Chico

Melinda sits there for a few moments collecting her thoughts; this is too good to be true. Looking over at the young girl, she starts to think about what she should do. Getting up she walks over to the girl and says, “Hey why don’t you come with me? I think I can help you.” And they all get up and leave returning to Melinda’s old Pontiac.

“Do you know how to drive?” Melinda asks the young girl.

“Sure I know how to drive,” says the young girl.

“Good, get in the driver’s seat and you kids get into the back.”

Melinda jumps into the passenger’s seat, opens the glove box, where she finds the title to the car. She reaches into the bag, pulls out half of one of the bundled stacks of money, and slips it between the folded title. Looking at the young girl she hands the bills to her along with the title telling her, “these are for you, I have run into a little bit of good luck and I want you to have these, now you can go to your parents and see if your father is all right.”

“What, Are you sure? What about you, what are you going to do?” she exclaims.

“Well you can let me out here at the front door, I have a Plane to catch,” she smiles, gives the young girl a hung and jumps out, ready to catch the next plane to San Francisco.