Archive for the ‘2015 — 8.1 (Fall)’ Category

A Golden Sunset


07 Dec

005Matthew Farrow

Under the Boardwalk


07 Dec

003Matthew Farrow

Issue 8.1- Fall 2015


07 Dec

Fiction:

You Did by Lydia

Going Down? by Riley Quinn

The Third Law by Beatrice

Thirteen Axes Minus One by Lexxa

Disjointed Reaction To A Scream by Brandie Hyde

Ultimate Ultimatum by Brandon Henry

Candelabra by Megan Finsel

Lies by Megan Finsel

Stains by Megan Finsel

The Ghost In the Bedroom by Megan Finsel

Today As I Walked by Annette Kinship

Poetry:

Earth Rewrites by Dr. Woody McCree

Anniversary Massacre by Lexxa

Cat and Mouse by Wesley Strall

Oh Jupiter by Brandon Henry

Scars by Megan Finsel

The Fragile Lake by Annette Kinship

Visual Arts:

A Bridges Bones by Matthew Farrow

Under the Boardwalk by Matthew Farrow

A Golden Sunset by Matthew Farrow

Staff Page

Earth Rewrites


07 Dec

by Dr. Woody McCree


You have been bombarded, my friend,
Like the moon and mars, which bear the scars
Of asteroids pounding 4 billion years past.
But you, unlike these wounded giants, bear few such visible scars.

You are alive, ever in motion, always healing,
Ever reinventing yourself.
You are always under revision.

Anniversary Massacre.


07 Dec

by Lexxa

Roses are bloody
Violets are gutty
Stabbing at your flesh
Slicing off your parts
Happy Anniversary
You little slut.

The Ultimate Ultimatum


07 Dec

By Brandon Henry

On an ordinary day, Bickford would have been already deep into the bowels of the Clearwell mine. He has now worked in that bloody mine for over fifteen years. Like most families in England, times were tough. Bick only makes five quids a day, barely making ends meet. The Great War has been ravaging Europe for years now. Workers of all types were required to work longer hours in support of the war efforts. Before the war had broken out, Bick had met his wife whom was studying at Oxford University. A beautiful, fair skinned woman, who had fancied Bick since they met at a local tavern while she was on holiday. They wed six months later, and started a family together claiming home to the suburbs of Gloucester.

Bickford would work until the wee hours of the night, eat dinner with Dorothy and his two beautiful children Alice and Peter. He was a picture perfect father, always there to tuck the children into bed with a good story. All of that had changed. The war had forced Bick to practically live in the mines. Some workers have gone on unofficial strikes, claiming they could not afford to feed their families. Which was another reason Bick was forced to pick up more work hours. This inconvenience had placed a lot of strain on Dorothy and Bickford’s marriage. He was only home long enough to shower and sleep never seeing his children awake. He was also never drafted, the doctors told Bick he had early stages of “The Black Lung.” He wasn’t opposed to joining, he actually liked the idea of throwing a spanner in the works on those Jerry’s.

Several hours after Dorothy had readied the children for bed, Bick stumbled in the door after a grueling thirteen hour shift, black as the night sky; he headed straight to the washroom to have a shower. Quietly Dorothy says “Bick, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what Dorothy?” Bick said.

“We never see you, your children, they don’t ever get to see you. They need their father, and I need my husband. You need to leave that mine, it will kill you too, just like your father!”
Bick replied, “How do you plan to live? I cannot just stop work, I have to make money! How would we bloody live then?”
As the tensions rose, Bick stormed upstairs, wondering how she could be such a selfish twat. He thought what can I do? After all he has grown rather zonked of the mine. He finished washing up, and proceeded downstairs to confront Dorothy. As he walked down the staircase, he could here Dorothy whimpering over the creaks and groans of his footsteps on the old wooden floor boards.

Dorothy continued to argue with Bick, telling him to find another job. She stressed that her and the children needed Bick. She gave him an ultimatum, change jobs to be with the family, or they – her and the children – must leave for her parents in London.

“That stonking mine Bick, it has nicked you from us!” Dorothy said.

“Have you gone barmy? If I leave the mine, where will I make money? I Love you Dorothy, but I can’t just sit on me arse!” Bick said.

“What if we leave? We can pack up and go across the pond, at least until the war is over.”

“Yeah Dorothy, that would be cheap as chips! Sod off! You’re mad!
The arguing continued until the early hours of the morning. Bick had finally fallen asleep on the couch, while Dorothy had claimed their bedroom.

Bick had been woken up by the sounds of planes flying overhead accompanied by thunderous booms in the distance, one after another. It sent shockwaves that shook the entire house, it resembled the shocks while in the mine. The sunlight had pierced through the raggedy curtains, shinning onto Bick’s face. He realized he was late for work. The sound of the planes and booming was all too familiar. He sprung up off the couch and ran to gather his things for work. As he rushed out the door onto the front porch, he could see plumes of black smoke, the blackest of black he has ever seen. Blacker than the soot that caked his entire body after a hard day’s work. Overhead were Nazi bombers. Not knowing if there would be more attacks, Bick drove to the mine. As he reached them, he could see police officers and Tommy’s blocking off all roads leading to the area.

“Blimey!” Bick said, He had finally realized that they had bombed the mine. The Germans have occasionally bombed areas which aided the war with coal and iron. Bick decided to stay, and see if there was anything he could do. Perhaps now, Bick won’t have to argue the toss about the ultimatum Dorothy laid down.

Meanwhile, Dorothy had risen and started her day while listening to the BBC on her wireless. There were lots of dishes to be done and other choirs around the house. She also figured she needed to pack later to be off to London by dinner time. She thought it was obvious what Bick had decided to do. “How could he choose that mine over his family,” she thought? On the broadcast, Tord Lidell was talking about some bombings that had happened in Britain today. “…And in Gloucester, the Clearwell mine, which is a major supplier of our naval ships, had been destroyed just after 7:00 am this morning. Casualties are unknown at this time, it doesn’t seem likely any inside have survived.” The plate Dorothy had been washing crashed to the floor, shattering at the same time her heart did. “Bick…” she thought, “Bick was to be at work,” she did not see his truck outside. Panic had set in, knowing her husband is buried alive. Her stomach began to knot, she felt weak and nauseous knowing the last thing said to one another was not “I love you,” but was her threatening to leave him.

After the police had shooed Bick away as if he was a curious child in a restricted area, he headed for home. The thought of him missing work brought all kinds of emotions to him. He felt overwhelmed with a flood of guilt, sadness, and even joy. He kept thinking of his friends, crushed below the surface. He thought of how Dorothy last night yelled and pushed him to leave the mine. He reached the front entry and frantically shoved the door in, almost removing it from the rusted hinges that supported it. There, he saw Dorothy and the children weeping huddled together on the couch, as if striving to stay alive out in the blistering cold of winter. As if seeing a ghost, they hesitated. For a brief second, time seemed to be at a standstill. Dorothy lunged off the couch and embraced Bick, the children followed frantically. “I thought you were dead!” Dorothy cried, “I’m sorry Bick, I Love you!”

“I love you too Dorothy, I am sorry I haven’t been here for you and the children.” Bick replied with a broken voice. Overwhelmed with emotions they all began to cry, and for a moment, forgot about the tragedy at the mine. Without any other words spoken, they knew they were a family again.

Bickford had been so furious with Dorothy this morning over last night’s event. He now knew that if that argument never had happened, he would have been in the mine. It would have become his final resting place, a tomb. One in which would not suitable for any man. His marriage had been endangered, but without that threat, he would never even had a chance to decide about the stipulation which was thrown at him.

The following day, Bickford had given it a lot of thought, perhaps going to America was the best choice. They packed their things and sold the house, and left for America. Since that dreadful day, their affection for one another had flourished, it grew greater than when they first fell in love. Bickford started working for General Motors, assembling tanks. As for Alice and Peter, they couldn’t be happier to have their father back. No longer would Bick live in a world of utter darkness such as that mine. Even with the war continuing, he at least had his family and they were safe in America. A job can always be replaced, but a family cannot be.

Stains


07 Dec

By Megan Finsel

“It won’t come out,” she said, and I could hear panic in her voice.

“Just scrub harder.”

From the sound of the splashing liquid hitting the tile, I could imagine she was slapping it against the side of the tub.

“What do I do if it’s permanent?”

I rolled my eyes. “You wear it just like everyone else does.”

“But what will they think of me?”

Humans, you’re so insecure; you always let the opinions of others define you. “No one will notice unless they truly know you,” I said, “and then they won’t care.”

She was crying; I could hear her sobs from under the bathroom door. I sighed. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Not that bad?” The door swung open and she stood there, bearing before her the shimmering piece of herself. I could recognize her soul even though it had a very red, very obvious, stain in the middle.

“It’s still there!” Her voice quivered. “I ran out of good deeds to wash it with.” Behind her, I saw the bathroom was a mess; iridescent bubbles floated on the floor. “What do I do?”

I shook my head. “This is a part of life. We make mistakes, and souls stain. Sometimes we can wash them out, sometimes we can’t. Go iron it, it’ll be fine.”

Cat and Mouse


07 Dec

by Wesley Strall

I have these thoughts.
Magnificent words.
A symphony in my head.
Endorphins release.
Pleasure takes root.
Then they are gone.
I can’t remember them.
As hard as I try.
They stay hidden in my mind.
Only to return when I unlock another.
Shortly after, they leave me again.
An eternal game of cat and mouse.
I grow so very tired of chasing.
There is but only one way to end this pitiful game.
By forcing these thoughts out with a piece of lead.

Bio: My name is Wesley Strall, I was born in Sarasota, Florida and I am 19 years old. Cheers.

Oh Jupiter.


07 Dec

by Brandon Henry

Gargantuan gassy globe,
Like a Cyclopes,
Ever staring into the
Deep vast expanse of the universe.

With a large red eye,
Containing
Violent anticyclonic storms,
Churning the atmosphere
Like butter for at least 400 years.

I get a glimpse of you and your
Four largest children,
Lo, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto,
Appearing as an olive on a tooth pick,
Bathing in a martini.

While gazing through his larger
Eye,
Galileo discovered you,
From your light,
But Simon named you.

Shining brighter than the nearest star,
365 million miles away,
Makes you seem not so far.

Come next year,
Juno
Will be paying you a visit.

Once she is gone,
You will remain alone.
Forever soaking in the black void

You will stay there,
But I will continue
To watch you from here!

The Fragile Lake


07 Dec

by Annette Kinship

My moments of fear

Are fragile like a lake

Carefully I tread

Into the dark of the sight

Remembering the pain

On the other side

Tremulous woes

‘board my ship

They move about

Tipping and longing

To suck me in.

Moments of fear

As a thief

Into the depth

Of the dark.

No candle, no star

No flicker of lightning bug

As I tiptoe

Fear

Under my feet,

My heart knowing

I could freeze

If a crackle

Beneath defeat.

I tenderly

As if walking on air

Steel my thoughts

Searching for

The memory of light.

A feather if dropped

With the cold night air

Could shift the thin

Frozen sheet of water,

I must stay my mind

Or the chill air

Will become my fate.

I walk with all grace

I lift my weight to God

I tend to my soul

With the strength

Of Love.

My ship does not tip

My feet do not sink

The thief cannot steal

Darkness loosed.