Archive for the ‘2013 — 6.1 (Fall)’ Category

Staff — Fall 2013


04 Dec

Editorial Council

Kaitlyn Beck

 

Chloe Churchill

Chloe E. Churchill is a student at the State College of Florida in Venice since 2012. She is currently working towards her associates degree, and hope to graduate from the University of Central Florida with a bachelor’s in British Literature. She writes fantasy and historical fiction short stories, and strives to one day publish novels in those genres. She is particularly interested in culture studies and their effect on literature. She has a role in the campus’ creative writing club, Swamp Scribes, as well as co-heading an independent writer’s workshop. She worked as an editor of the Elektraphrog magazine and helped organize submissions. She is originally from Surrey,UK.

 

Marla Cooper

Marla is 20 year old hard worker just trying to get by until life can really begin. She hopes to study journalism at USF and loves to sing, play guitar, and relax with her loved ones.

 

Timothy Kujawa
Tim does the rejections. So blame him.
 

Austin Saupe
Does not write bios. But he has a cool name. It’s pronounced “soap.”
 

Rachel Surette

Rachel Surette is a dual enrolled student at SCF and Riverview High School. She plans on attending FSU or UF in the future. She still doesn’t know what she wants to make her occupation, but it will probably fall somewhere in between communications, journalism, or music. Her passions including reading, singing, playing the guitar and piano, being with her family and friends, and sleeping.

 

 

 

Beauty Nature in SCF Venice


04 Dec

by Yeung Tat Sing

 

Bio: I’m a full time SCF student pursuing A-A General Degree. I saw this content on my Humanity class. This picture I took while driving out of SCF venice campus, I found this very beautiful and I don’t think many people really realize how people our campus actually is.

 

Phugs


04 Dec

By ReNieka

 

 

Bio: My name is ReNieka Clark, I am a freshman attending the State College of Florida. Art has been a passion since I was a child and I am looking forward to participating in events that require artwork. During High school I have taken 3 college art courses and I have learned a lot from them and I wish to apply what I have learned to my career. I was accepted to the Ringling College of Art and Design and I plan to attend when I recieve my A.A. at SCF.

 

Hide & Seek


04 Dec
By Douglas Kolakowski

 

It always ended up that way, her on the floor and my fists being the cause of it. I never predicted I’d be this kind of person, or that we would
have this kind of marriage and though we were once united with love, we fought often. Our issues by morning would be “resolved” and nothing would have
appeared to have happened, but her face would still show the truth. Every day our marriage would fall a tiny bit more and by the end of each night we’d be
back in the same place, the only hope for a happy life was just an image to appease our son: Daren.

Ten years old, strong and healthy– Daren was certainly a daddy’s boy, always wanting to go on adventures, take naps and come to work with me. He
was certainly the perfect son and certainly my pride and joy.

The night had started off bland. I had returned home from work, sat myself down on the couch and went about my evening. My son, sitting in the
front of me; It wasn’t until my wife entered the room that I could sense something was wrong.

“Honey, Daren decided to go through our closet again– not only that but I saw him near your office! I don’t want him anywhere near there! Where you keep all your police officer crap!” her voice bringing an uproar to my ears.

“Listen, when I’m not home, all I can do is lock the doo–”

“That’s not good enough!”

Anger filled me and within moms I was up, standing in front of her and she was on the floor. Her voice was quieted and my rage was powering
through my every pore and pounding through my veins, but then I stood, looked around and my eyes met my sons. I hated how this was for him, he didn’t need to be subjected to my anger or my irresponsibility.

“Son, it’s time for bed…” was all I could mutter out as I picked him up and carried him to his room. Tucking him in, kissing his forehead and walking out was all this failure of a father could do.

The next few days were quiet, my wife and I held no conversation and Daren’s attention was primarily focused on the television.

“Son, I think it’s time we went out.”

The smile across his face was the only response I needed before scooping him up and taking him to the car. Driving for a few minutes under an
uncomfortable silence was new to the two of us, often he was tinkering with the radio or I was lecturing, but now, it was just unsettlingly quiet.

I, so, wanted to bring to his attention that nothing was his fault, that our failing family was primarily my issue and nothing more– but
bringing that to the attention of a child could be no easy feat and I wasn’t completely sure he could handle it.

“Daren, I need you to listen– this whole thing at home, it has nothing to do with yo–”

My sentence was cut short by his words.

“Daddy, what’s it like to kill someone?”

I stopped speaking, shocked and overwhelmed to the point where I pulled over. I turned towards him with a nervous smile.

“Well, I haven’t really killed anyo–”

“You shot that robber and he died that one time, Daddy.”

“Well, that’s true Daren, but he was a bad man. He was only bringing bad things. I guess, the point is, killing someone is wrong and shouldn’t be done, unless absolutely necessary… He tried to kill Daddy… so Daddy killed him.”

My eyes never left his and in return the same smile he always had never left his face.

That evening I found myself contemplating the earlier conversation I had with him. He was a happy child, but lately he seemed distant. There were
no games to be played, there was just Daren, his t.v and the fights that would sometimes overpower it. I wasn’t even paying enough attention to realize my boy had grown and changed. My mind wandered and before the night was over, he and my wife were asleep in their rooms and I was resting on the couch.

Sleep took me slowly, my thoughts pulled me into an abyss that could only be shown as true relaxation in my current stage of life, all at this time, finally felt right.

That’s when I heard the bang.

My eyes opened quickly, fear hit me as the blood rushed to my head from the quick motion of jumping off the couch.

It was a gunshot.

I ran down the hall towards the sound heading in the direction of the room my wife slept in; only to find her on the bed and my son standing
beside it.

The smell of gunpowder and shellings were still in the air as I noticed the bloodily and broken cranium that was once my wifes face. Her torso
was twisted in such a way that could only be part of some hellish nightmare and the tool and person responsible for this was– my gun and Daren.

I ran to her side ignoring the cause of her death as I tried to revive her from the state she had quickly and unknowingly been thrown into, my
full concentration was on her, my wife– the mother of my child. It was his laugh that snapped me out of my state.

“Oh Daddy, silly, silly Daddy. You just don’t get it do you?” my face was filled with horror as I saw his cute smile twist into a grin I had never seen bestowed on him.

“She was a bad guy, Daddy. She was in the way, always was and always would’ve been– but now she’s
gone, Daddy! She’s gone!”

Anger filled me as I ran over to him, grabbing his shoulder and shaking, his face surprised and for a moment scared.

“No! No Daren! You can’t just– You can’t just kill people! When I killed that man, he was bad! Your mother wasn’t bad! She was your mother! Your fucking mother!” I let him go dropping to my knees as my own pride and joy had taken our problems into his own hands.

“We can live happily ever after without her… We can! We can! We can!” a tantorum coming into place as he swung his arms, the gun going off firing into the ceiling.

“I did this for you, you ungrateful bastard! I did this for us! We can be happy!” his words of pent up aggression thrust into me like the venom of a snake. As tears filled my eyes, the only thing I could think of was her. I stood up and rushed towards the bed again, bringing my arms around the limp broken corpse.

“You still pick that deranged bitch over me!? How could you!? You think you’d appreciate it! This is so unfair! Unfair! Unfair! Un–” His speech stopped as he took a step towards the bed, anger aside and a grin forming on his face yet again.

“Everyone knew of your fighting, Daddy. They all knew how you and Mommy didn’t get along. They would never know it was me– they could think that you killed Mommy and then yourself!” the moment those words hit my ears I turned to face him, my lip quivered, my mind raced and in that moment, I knew that anything I did was futile.

“I’d be the victim, Daddy. The victim of a crazed man and a mean woman– I’d be the little boy who got away.” The end of his sentence was influenced by a slight laugh.

I was a failure to my wife, a failure of a Police officer and as the father of this young boy, an even bigger failure. My own child, my son, he
had changed and been affected by me, his own father, this whole time and what could I had done to stop him? Probably nothing. My fate had been sealed and my love for him unconditional as he lifted the cold barrelled weapon that I had respectively used to enforce the law towards my head and pulled the trigger.

Love Bites


04 Dec

By Raine Inozori

 

Her eyelashes curled like African grass blowing in the wind.

He had been sitting in a restaurant while he waited for her, and the wait had been well worth it. The creature that now sat before him was the most beautiful he had ever seen. She had full, red lips, an angular face, and eyes that shone like emeralds. Her platinum blond hair fell down her back in gentle waves.

A woman such as her didn’t belong on this shabby date, with such an average man like him. She didn’t belong in this gilded restaurant that made onlookers think it was fancy until they walked inside. She deserved a handsome, successful man who could take her to the Ritz every two weeks.

He had a slim face, high cheekbones, short cut brown hair, and blue eyes. He wasn’t exactly unattractive, but seeing her walk into the room, he felt unattractive.

“Samuel?” She asked him across the table. He must have looked funny, just staring at her and not saying a word.

“Oh! Um… Sam. You can call me Sam. Everybody does.” He told her with a nervous smile.

She smiled back. he had been expecting a wide, brilliant smile. But it wasn’t. It was small, shy, even demure.

“Ok, then. I’ll call you Sam. I’m Victoria.”

A beautiful name to match a beautiful lady. He wanted to say that to her, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. It would be weird.

He never should have let Kevin talk him into this blind date thing. Sam had known it would go bad. But, it was the strangest thing: She didn’t seem put off by him at all, even though he was probably sweating buckets, and all he seemed to be doing was gawking at her. He was all too aware of the people around them, casting glances in their direction every now and again. They were probably wondering how a loser like him, managed to hook a girl like her

But he hadn’t. It was just a blind date.

A few more minutes of awkward, clipped conversation ensued before a waiter came by to take their orders.

“Ladies first.” The waiter said, with a wink to Victoria. She gave him one of those shy smiles of hers.

“I’ll have the steak. Rare, please.”

The waiter nodded. “And you, Sir?” He asked Sam.

“I’ll just get the same as her.” The waiter nodded again before heading off. He must have been good at his job, because Sam hadn’t seen an order pad or
anything.

It seemed like an eternity of even more awkward conversation before the waiter came back with both of their plates. Sam was pretty hungry by now, so he picked up his knife and fork, and started cutting. As he ate, he would occasionally glance up at Victoria.

She would cut up a piece of steak, nice and small, put it in her mouth, and suck on it before taking out the now grey piece of meat, and setting it off to the side on her plate.

Sam was significantly confused. Why order a steak if you weren’t going to eat it? The strangest part was, she was doing it like it was completely normal. She
showed no signs of being embarrassed at all. In fact, when she looked up and saw him staring, she met his eyes and smiled. Smiled! it was baffling.

Of course, from that point forward the entire date was even more awkward. What was he supposed to say about that? However from this point forward Victoria was a lot more talkative.

“I’ve always found it fascinating how people act in groups.”

“Did you know that when it rains, Turkeys will stare at the sky with their beaks open until they drown?”

“My grandmother used to make the best chocolate chip cookies.”

No matter how uninteresting her words, Sam couldn’t help but be entranced. And it seemed like she never stopped talking. Sam was vaguely aware of the waiter taking their plates.

It was around midnight when she stopped talking. And as if someone released him from some sort of spell, he became aware of his surroundings again.

The restaurant was empty.

Where had everybody gone? Surely there was another couple out this late, right? This was the city after all. There had to be more people out.

When he looked back to Victoria, he found she was gone. Where had she gone now? What was going on? Suddenly, he felt a strong hand grip him by the back of the neck, and slam his face into the table in front of him. Sam struggled against his unknown assailant, but the person didn’t relent. At one point, he thought he felt an arm buckle, but he still couldn’t get away. Then he heard a voice in his ear:

“Just relax, Sam. it will be over soon.”

It was Victoria’s voice.

This made his stop struggling, mostly out of confusion. There was no way she was this strong. Then he felt something at his neck that made him gasp. It was a sharp pain, like she had stabbed him with something, but it also came with warmth. He wasn’t sure what she was doing, but he felt himself growing weaker and weaker with each passing moment. He stared at the analogue clock on the wall until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, and he felt himself slip away into the dark.

Lady Lindy’s Landing


04 Dec

By Megan Finsel

 

They found the first message scribbled on the underside of one of the many shards of metal. This was probably from the nosecone, they assumed. But the wreckage was scattered across the beach, and each piece was a puzzle that slowly explained the unexplainable. The first note sounded as shocked as to be expected. It read:

We have crash landed. Fred hit his head and I tried to save him, but there was too much blood. Unfortunately, he died a few hours ago. There is very little left of our plane and from what I can tell we’ve landed on some island, in the middle of the Pacific. I think we’re off course. It is almost sundown and this will be my first night sleepingoutdoors. But I refuse fear. She signed it A.E., and that was all.

They pictured her as she emerged from the twin-engine Lockheed Model 10 Electra, blinking in the evening sunlight and clouds of smoke. Had the palm
forest anticipated the crash? Had their fronds seen the craft coming, smoke boiling from its engines as it fell from the Heavens? Had the seas stirred when
the plane met the shore, scattering seashells, foam and sand?

The second note was scrawled on the back of the only half of the propeller which was to be found. They could imagine her sitting there besides
the campfire she had made, writing the message with the only pen she could find in her meager supplies.

I buried Fred’s body today as well as I could, she wrote. There was sadness in her handwriting, and they could feel her pain. This was my first full day here. There was nothing else written.

The next note they found was on the left aileron; they couldn’t find the right one. It read: I slept in the plane last night, or what was left of it that hadn’t burned. It was not comfortable but bearable. It’s hotter here than I thought it would be. In my imagination I always assumed it would be romantic to be stranded on a deserted island, but it is growing lonesome. Today is day two.

Another message was found on the right wing flap and the handwriting was excited, or frightened, or most likely a little of both.

I decided to leave the plane today, it read, and it was productive. I found some fruit. Four coconuts, a few bananas and what I think is a mango. They could imagine her wandering the sandy shores, the surf lapping at her ankles, the sun glistening through her hair. Perhaps this island isn’t all bad, but I will need to find fresh water soon. Salt water, I discovered, is undrinkable. This
is day three…

I’m getting sunburned, my skin is pealing, my eyes hurt and I am always hot. There is no relief. I ate the last banana today and now I’m unbelievably thirsty. I keep thinking of Fred and how he died. This is my fault. And you, George, I think of you. I miss your voice and your eyes; all the little things I never imagined I could miss so much. This is day four… no wait, five… I can’t remember…

Then they found several messages written on the fuselage in short, panicky handwriting which was beginning to fade either from a drying pen or the remorseless sun. They were both frightening and disturbing messages; something to be concerned of.

I don’t think I am alone here on this island. At night I hear strange noises, like voices, but it could be the wind in the palmettos. And there is what sounds like drumming in the distance. Or it could be thunder. I can’t tell anymore, and I’ve lost count of the days….

They pictured her huddled within the wreckage, scrawling these messages while peeking through the broken windows out at the night with wary eyes.

…I went on my walk this morning and there was more rustling in the brush today; I think I was being followed. I definitely hear the voices tonight. They’re singing or chanting or something.  I need to protect myself… somehow…

Then the messages began to fade and cut off, as if she were unable to finish her sentences.

The rustling was louder tonight, and when I came back from my walk I found footprints around the wreckage… I might be in danger… I don’t think I’m aloneall I have is a little piece of metal I sharpened… I think I heard something…

The one they found on the fin was the most alarming yet; it was more a scribble than a cohesive message and they could imagine her kneeling in the sweltering noontime sun, writing it out in a panic.

This is for anyone who finds these messages… I am definitely not alone on this island. I don’t know who or what they are, but I’m sure I saw eyes in the dark of the woods, and I know they know I’m here. I have to hide…

The last one was written in brown, possibly dried blood, on a tiny piece of the rudder, and it was smudged almost beyond legibility. They could only make out three little words, and they decided they had enough evidence to put to rest the mystery of her disappearance and provide closure for her husband. It was tragic to end a legacy like hers in this way, yet history would remember her for the heroine she truly was. Abruptly upon reading it, they packed up and left the island. The message read:

They’ve found me.

 

Bio: Writing is my passion; it’s my way to share with the world how I see, and help people see and feel things they might not otherwise. To me, words contain great power, and I want to use that power to change feelings, to make smiles, and to create new perspectives. If I’ve made even one person feel better through my writing, then my job is complete. I’m working on my A.A degree and hope to someday become a Special Education teacher. Ultimately, I just want to inspire others 🙂

What’s the Song?


04 Dec

By Tim Kujawa

 

How do you differentiate your best friend from shape shifting androids who have a copy of said friend’s memories? That’s the inconvenient question Sawyer had to answer as he held his gun at two Geoff’s, only one was his friend.  He had to think of a question to ask them that just having his friend’s memories alone couldn’t answer.

Both Geoffs looked nervous. These androids were good at simulating emotion, though they never actually understood it. The only way to know for sure someone’s one of them is by killing them and see if the corpse combusted into flames. Sawyer’s hands were jittery, he kept his finger, the one on the hand with the tattoo that said ‘Elizabeth’ off the trigger, for now.

“What’s the song?” Sawyer asked. The two Geoffs simultaneously cocked their head to the right, typical Geoff reaction.

“What?” asked Geoff 1

“What is, the song?” Sawyer said.

Geoffs went deep into their memory. The fake one, was applying algorithms to all the songs the two friends listened together. The vagueness of the riddle perplexed it but numbers would prevail. Logically the one they listened together the most would be the answer. The real one was just remembering. Before the techno uprising, before these two scholars became soldiers. He remembered his friend come up to him one afternoon.

#

“There was this girl, we met at the checkout line at Target. We were both really disgusted at the song ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ playing in the store. Then, I dunno
we got coffee and talked for hours. She had to go but we exchanged numbers.” Sawyer paced in front of Geoff.

“So what’s the problem?” Geoff asked.

“I don’t know what to say to her when I call back. I mean she’s just so beautiful, and smart, and funny. How the hell could I have any kind of shot with her?”

“Just call her, she liked you enough to give you her number so that has to mean something.”

#

‘Achy Breaky Heart? No, look further.’ Thought the real Geoff.

#

“Amazing first date!” said Sawyer as they sat at their bar. “I took her out for dinner then she took me to this karaoke bar and we actually got up and sang ‘Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto.’ It was a great night.”  Sawyer took another drink from his glass. Geoff took note in the gleam in his friend’s eye.

“She’s gotta be something to get you up on a stage and attempt the robot.” Said Geoff.

“She is man, I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

#

‘Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto’? No, further, much further.  Geoff started to sweat as did his counterpart, the android was doing its job at imitating well.

#

The two friends were dressed in tuxedos holding their scotch and puffing on their cigars.

“Hell of a toast you made Geoff.” Sawyer tapped his glass to Geoff’s as they watched everyone having a great time at the reception.

“I should write a book ‘how to give a kick ass best man’s toast.’”

“Has a nice ring to it.”

“Nah, Mrs. Rachel Sawyer has a nice ring to it.” Said Geoff. Sawyer put down his drink.

“Here comes our song.” Sawyer walked over to his new wife and they danced to the song ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’ by Elvis.

#

‘‘Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’? No, more powerful.’ Thought Geoff.

#

Geoff let himself into the house and stomped the snow off his boots.

“Hi Geoff. Come in here and get warm.” Said Rachel from the other room. Geoff walked into the living room where Sawyer and Rachel sat on their couch between the Christmas tree and fireplace.

“Hey buddy. I bet having a fireplace in front of you is a nice change from a computer screen.” Said Sawyer.

“I promised myself no work for the rest of the year.” Geoff sat in a chair.

“As much as I like the idea of downloading memories of our wedding night into a hard drive the world will have to wait a little longer.”

“How’s the peanut?” asked Geoff

“Kicking like crazy. Must know Uncle Geoff came in.” said Rachel rubbing her bulging tummy.

“Can’t wait to spoil the crap out of that kid. I’m going to load it up with sugar and toss it back to you.”

“Yeah, you just lost any supervision over it.” Said Sawyer then laughed. Rachel gently rubbed her belly and began singing.

“Silent night, Holy night, All is calm…”

#

In spite of his dire straits Geoff grinned. That Christmas was one of his happiest memories. But that wasn’t the song. No, the song that will forever stay imprinted in his mind, and Sawyers, the song he had wished he never heard, was two years later.

#

Geoff and Sawyer walked into the E.R and saw Rachel sitting in a chair next to a hospital bed. On the bed laid a little girl with brown hair that went down to her shoulders. Her eyes were closed and her little chest slowly going up and down.

“How is she?” asked Sawyer.

“She’s stable for now. But her fever won’t go down.” Said Rachel. Sawyer rubbed Rachel’s back and kissed her head.

“Why don’t you go get some coffee sweetheart, I’ll be right here.” Rachel nodded and got up, gave Geoff a hug then left the room. Sawyer sat in the chair Rachel was in.

“Hey Lizzy girl, Daddy’s here.” Sawyer put her little hand into his and rubbed it with his thumb. His other hand lightly stroked her hair as he began singing
softly. “Baaaby mine, don’t you cry…”

#

“’Baby Mine’.” Said Geoff 2.

“What?” said Sawyer. The other Geoff looked at Geoff 2 surprisingly. Tears weld up in Geoff 2’s eyes.

“The last song you ever sang to your daughter, was ‘Baby Mine’.” Geoff 1 looked between Geoff 2 and Sawyer.

BANG Sawyer turned his gun to Geoff 1 and shot him. Geoff 1’s body fell, seconds later the body on the ground combusted into flames. Sawyer dropped to his knees and looked at the tattoo on his hand, tears rolling down his cheek. He held on tightly to a hand full of grass. Geoff went up to his friend and massaged his shoulder.

“You have to let go. We have to move forward.” Sawyer’s fingers slowly loosened. His right hand went up to his face as ‘Elizabeth’ wiped the tears. Geoff helped up his friend once again and they moved on.

 

The Calm Serenity of Knowing


04 Dec

By William Hugel

 

Come and get it while it’s hot,

Come and get it while it’s hot

The orange bottles that will sink

you into the blissful

“I don’t give a fuck, let me be”

drudgery of what is to be

your high school career

 

Listen little boy

Listen little boy

I’ve got the solution for you

the solution that will set you free

from the crickets mumbling in your brain

when you sit in the classroom

and can’t look away from the

sunlight sinking in through window pane

that touches the stain on the carpet

where your teacher’s voice bounces off of

telling you to “pay attention Mr. Little Boy”

 

Don’t worry my man

Don’t worry, I’ve played this game before

And I know what’s best for you

A little brown pill for now, a little blue pill

for later until we move you up to the little white pill

that will put everything into persepctive for you

just remember to take this one in the morning

and this one at night and I promise you

I promise you that by the end of tonight

you will feel the calm serenity of knowing

what the hell you’re actually supposed to be

doing at that desk all day.

 

Trust me friend

Trust me, I know what you’re going through

and these little pills will help you

through the day and I know it’s going

to make it difficult for you to brave

the ocean of faces you’ll be surrounded by

every single day, but you must remember that

I know what’s best for you, better than anybody

 

Don’t listen to them

Don’t listen to the teachers

telling you to adjust your behavioral

patterns. Just take the little pill

and it will clear your brain of

the constant wind blowing leaf

blades and pinecones and crickets

mumbling across the way.

Take the pill to make it all go away.

 

Just listen to me

Just listen to what I say.

I’m your psychiatrist

I’ve got a degree in medicine and psychology

and I know that I don’t know what

you’re thinking because I’m not a mind reader,

but you know that I’ve got a degree that

lets me know your mind better than anybody, even you.

So just take the pill. Come back tomorrow.

I’ll be here for you. As long as you pay.

 

Bio: William Hugel is a student studying literature and creative writing. He has studied fantastic literature at State College of Florida as well as been involved in the creative writing club called Swamp Scribes, performing in public readings at the school and helping to organize creative writing events. He aspires to continue his studies in literature and creative writing at the graduate level as well as enter publication in fantastic fiction.

My Son and I


04 Dec

By Rebekah Sanders

 


 
Bio: My name is Rebekah Sanders. I enjoy drawing, however I do not typically have the time to do it.  I am a single mother, currently working on achieving my degree to pursue nursing. I am eager to start my career. I don’t have much time for hobbies, but I will someday not too far away.

Figment Memory


04 Dec

by: Brandie Hyde

My little feet dangle
as it’s terribly difficult to sit still when one is so young, and packed with
energy.  Our booth is situated against
the large pane glass window with lettering on it that was backwards and
forgettable, yet unobtrusive as it did not interfere with my view of the
sidewalk, nor street, nor cars or anything else opposite of our position.  The distance between where the bench seat
ended and the edge of the sparkled table top began is barely breached by lunging
forward with folded arms against the shiny metal rimming to protect by lip and
chin from injury.  The balancing act in
trying not to fall off of the seating, yet still reach the plate of
five-and-dime diner fries with the puddle of ketchup on the small white yet
scratched grey plain saucer.  We, my
mother and I, arrived by way of Greyhound Bus, from someplace far away where
the family disapproved of her going and in an attempt to foil the plan, refused
to baby sit me and thus I accompanied my mother on this particular adventure.  As we leave, and taking my small hand in
hers, she instructs me “this never happened.”

 

Bio:  The past two years have been, to put it politely, challenging.  Essentially the end of life as I previously knew it.  The return to college life following more than a decade hiatus has been, well… let’s call it colorful.  I managed to complete the requirements to receive my AA this December.  With one goal down, another looms on the horizon as I begin the baccalaureate program here at SCF for Public Safety Administration in the Spring.