Category: 2014 — 7.1 (Fall)

By: Bluefin Jones

…then she left in an emotional outburst but with no words to express it; just an enraged look about her. When she returned, Fredrich realized tonight would be the last night of his life. She finally snapped and got out the butterfly knife he gave her on their ten-year anniversary. She walked towards him with a hint of madness shining from her glazed eyes. As the crazed woman advanced, she only said six words over and over again in a fury of speed.

The same six words he told her 41 seconds ago as a means of separation; the same six words cried out while peeling his flesh to ribbons; the same six words that sliced into her heart, and now into his.

“I gotta cut you loose now.”

 

Bio: In a time different from this, on a distant sea, Bluefin Jones, while riding his domesticated Dinoshark, spoke to another man simply named Redwing Smith, who was held by the claw-hooves of a giant flying Pot-bellied pig, about the quality of peanut butter in this timeline’s supermarkets. Bluefin chose the leading market brand name while Redwing chose the generic brand, and promptly so, they entered an epic battle of wits, loud noises, scoffing, and theories of the sandwich crafting. They went their separate ways and never spoke again, but Bluefin still thinks about that fateful encounter and adjusts his sleeping schedule for 20-minute crying fits of frustration. Bluefin Jones seeks an outlet from the separation and found that his creative outlet is best expressed through the written word.

 

 

By: Danielle Dean

I’m dozens of feet up in the air, suspended inside of a clear plastic box that is dangling by one thick, metal wire. With each shift and nudge of the wind, the box moves; swaying back and forth like a pendulum with no purpose. The holes, which have been cut craftily at the top of the box for breathing purposes, allows me to hear the excited, anxious chatter of the crowd that has collected so far below. I hear one man exclaim that I’ll never make it…and I fear he may be right.

Glancing down at the scene before me, fear ripples through my body; my anxiety at being trapped so high in the sky pools in my stomach, and then cools and hardens into a dull, throbbing ache. Petrified of the wire holding me snapping in half, I lean forward and press my sticky palms up against the cool plastic of my prison; I can feel my pulse throbbing and thudding erratically within the palms of my hands. My fear is a tangible thing—real and raw—and it’s threatening to swallow me whole; to devour me until not a single shred of my sanity remains.

In a sense, it almost feels like I’m drowning; the air is forced out of my lungs and lodged in my throat, igniting a fire in my chest that spreads to the tips of my fingers and curls my toes. My body aches for the sort of relief that it cannot possibly obtain; relief from this all-consuming, soul-gnawing fear. It defines me; it shapes and molds me into a disfigured being that threatens to break apart at the seams. And as I squeeze my eyes shut in a vain attempt to block out my senses, I almost feel myself stretching thin as my anxiety overwhelms me. If I could shut down the height, shut down the drowning, shut down the fear…if I could just shut down it all, I’d be okay. I murmur these inane words of comfort to myself over and over again, hoping and praying that something—anything—could save me from the feeling of those clear plastic walls closing in around me; smothering and taunting me with the promise of falling.

But I don’t fall; I never fall. Instead, I dangle precariously, as though I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff or close to toppling off the side of a mountain. Breathe in, breathe out; it’s all I can do, trapped between falling and drowning, and the simple task of inhaling and exhaling becomes my anchor. Steady, reassuring, concrete.

I open my eyes…and find myself wrapped up in my own embrace, hugging a blanket to my chest and threatening to shove my fist down my throat.

“It’s okay,” a woman’s voice tells me, and as I blink rapidly and glance up at the familiar face of my mother, my body and mind comes careening back to reality.

“It’s okay,” she repeats. “Your panic attack is over.”

 

Bio: My name’s Danielle Dean–I’m an English major with a passion for creative writing of all genres and platforms; I’ve always viewed writing as one of the greatest ways for people to express themselves, and I hope to continue on with it for the rest of my life.​

 

By: Megan Finsel

 

18 Long Meadow Rd.

12:35pm Monday, 2014

 

I was terrified to die, but the day I did I was surprisingly calm. It was an average day; I took the kettle off the stove, called my mother, lit a cigarette. But I was putting the wash on the line when I saw it coming toward us from high in the sky.

My cell phone rang. I answered.

“Do you see it?” My husband demanded in a panic.

I nodded, although he couldn’t see. “Yeah.”

“This is it, Vikki, this is it.”

I swallowed. Yeah.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in the backyard.”

It was hurtling through the mid-summer clouds; a bird, a rocket, a nightmare.

“Vikki?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He was at the office; he wouldn’t make it home in time. This was goodbye. I exhaled a cloud of smoke and, briefly, the sky was hidden from me.

“I love you too.”

Those were my last words.

#

16 Long Meadow Rd.

12:36pm Monday, 2014

 

It’s finally happening, he thought, grabbing cans off the pantry shelves and dumping them into a laundry basket. “Lizzie, get my gun. Philip, grab as many blankets as you can.”

The TV on the counter was shouting the newsreel. The four-year-old came down the hallway, dragging a teddy bear. He quickly picked her up and hugged her tight. “Come on everyone, into the bunker.”

“Is this another drill, Dad?” Philip asked from behind an armload of blankets.

“No, this is real.”

They ran outside, across the backyard to the bunker. They called me crazy for building this. Now look whose laughing, he thought, ushering his family inside. Maybe it wasn’t zombies like he predicted, but at least his efforts weren’t a complete waste.

He glanced at the sky and saw it burning the clouds, coming right for them. He shut the door and bolted it securely.

 

#

14 Long Meadow Rd.

12:37pm Monday, 2014

 

“Don’t leave me!”

“I have to get out there…”

“There’s nothing you can do, Arthur please stay with me!”

His fingers slipped through hers as he ran for the door. She lunged to catch his arm but he was too fast. Flinging the door open, she stumbled out into the hazy light. The sky was on fire, the air crackled, the cul-de-sac was rippling in heat waves.

He stopped in the yard and turned to look back at her.

“Arthur!”

It was upon them.

#

12 Long Meadow Rd.

12:38pm Monday, 2014

 

He burst through the front door, his tie crooked and his shirt rumpled. He’d left work in a hurry. She met him in the foyer and flung her arms around his neck.

“Hurry, downstairs. Into the basement.” he said. She followed without a word, clinging to him. The cat ran by between their legs; he scooped it up, tucking it under his arm.

They rushed downstairs as the rumbling got louder and it got closer and they could hear the china rattling in the cabinet. This is it, he thought, this is what we’ve all been waiting for… They hadn’t gotten down the stairs when the world exploded around them.

She screamed and hugged him tight.

The cat hid between them.

He buried his face in his wife’s shoulder and shut his eyes.

But there was no other place he would rather die.

 

#

10 Long Meadow Rd.

12:39pm Monday, 2014

 

She sat in her rocking chair watching through the bedroom window as the clouds caught on fire. The ceiling cracked and the walls shuddered. She knew it was all over the news and people were panicking.

Would anything be left? She thought about her neighbors; Vikki and her husband, the single father and his three little kids, Arthur and his wife, and the newlywed couple who just moved in next door. So young, they are all so young.

She felt ready to die, but their lives had barely begun. She had lived her life, but they had so much more to come. Such a pity, she thought, such a shame.

There was a bright flash of light. She closed her eyes. The Earth convulsed as it struck, the world went dark………………..… and that was how it ended.

 

Bio: I’m a Special Education major with a love for books. Writing is my passion; it is how I connect with the world and share my thoughts and emotions. To get to know me more you need to read my stories because I put a piece of my heart into each one. My goal is to inspire at least one person through my work; then I know I’ve done my job. ​

 

By: Megan Finsel

 

The beep of the heart rate monitors were as reassuring as her heartbeat in his ear, which he pressed to her chest. He focused on that.

“Colby?”

“Yeah?”

“I wish I could fly.” Her voice was barely a whisper. He pulled away and looked up at her pale face.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, I wish I could just fly away from here.”

His eyes gravitated down her arm to her hand, the IV taped to her skin and her fingers entwined in his. He hugged her closer. “You would want to leave me?”

The oxygen tank sighed. “No,” she said, “I would take you with me, of course.”

“Of course,” He pulled the blanket up and tucked it tighter around her body. Never had he seen her so thin before. He kissed her brow. She sank into his embrace; her head cradled between his shoulder and chest as she pressed her face to his neck.

“When someone dies…” Her voice was so soft that it didn’t even startle him.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think they get a pair of wings in Heaven?”

His throat was clogged with tears and he almost couldn’t answer. “I think so.” He felt her cheek on his collarbone; it was moist.

“Maybe if I die, I’ll be able to fly.”

Don’t say that, he wanted to scream, don’t you dare say that! Every fiber of his being wanted to get up and do something to save her. Instead, he held her tighter, as if he could protect her from the disease raging within her body, slowly stealing her life.

“If we could fly,” she continued, “anywhere in the world, where would we go?”

“I would take you far, far away from here.” He said. Back home to our apartment, back in our own bed, with your kitten between us. He closed his eyes to shut out the medical equipment, to hide from the truth of where there circumstances were taking them. Maybe if he couldn’t see it, it wasn’t happening. A tear slipped down his cheek.

She tipped her head back and looked up at him. “Hey.”

He met her large, brown eyes. “Yeah?”

She reached up and wiped away the tear, her hand chilly on his unshaven cheek. “Don’t worry. I’m not flying off yet.”

He tried to smile but his lips were trembling, so he just pulled her closer to him. She felt small and fragile in his arms.

“Wren?”

There was a long moment where she didn’t answer him, and her head was heavy upon his arm. For a moment he couldn’t wake her. Then, her eyelids fluttered open and she looked at him. “Yeah?”

“I love you.” he said.

She gave him her little smile. “I love you, too.”

They tried to get some sleep and he dozed off to the sound of her heart beating.

He woke with a start and couldn’t understand why, until he realized that he lay alone in the bed. Her IV, monitor wires and oxygen tubes lay useless on the mattress beside him.

That was when he saw a little, brown songbird standing on the bed railing. It looked at him with soulful eyes, and he felt his heart constrict.

“I see you got your wings after all.”

She blinked at him, aren’t you coming?

“Yeah.”

With that she took off across the room and out the window he had not realized was open.

 

Bio: I’m a Special Education major with a love for books. Writing is my passion; it is how I connect with the world and share my thoughts and emotions. To get to know me more you need to read my stories because I put a piece of my heart into each one. My goal is to inspire at least one person through my work; then I know I’ve done my job. ​

 

By: Megan Finsel

 

The sun beat heavily upon her shoulders as she walked to the end of the driveway, but she didn’t see him. A stray breeze whispered through her light cotton skirt, brushing her knees. She stopped at the mailbox, long blades of grass poking up between her toes as she opened the little door with a creak.

Inside was the yellowed envelope, just where she knew it would be.

She sat down with her back against the wooden post and her legs crossed at the ankles. Opening the envelope carefully, she pulled out the piece of creased stationary and unfolded the letter. Long, masculine script unrolled before her eyes like ripples in the pond down in their south pasture. She smiled at his familiar handwriting. The letter read:

 

My love,

Not a day goes by that I do not think of you or what we had, and I want you to know I still love you as I did on the day we said “I do”. I am sorry I left you so soon; it was never my intention. But I am with you every day. Never doubt that I am watching over you still, that I am here with you. I love you, Rachel; even though death did we part.

Sincerely yours,

Thomas

She blushed, tucking a stray curl behind an ear. As she held the letter to her heart, she felt tears nipping the backs of her eyelids, so she shut her eyes against the sunlight.

“I miss you,” she whispered.

#

 

He stood there at the end of the driveway, watching as she walked toward him. She was just as beautiful as when she walked through the Church dressed in white. But her expression was worried, like when she had adjusted the collar of his uniform. He could see the sadness in her eyes, much as when they said goodbye in the doorway on the last day they were together.

He watched as she went to the mailbox, as she did every morning, and removed the letter he had written to her.

When she sat down, he went and knelt beside her. A curl of hair fell into her face, as it used to when they were dating. He resisted the urge to reach out and push it behind her ear, aware that he could do no such thing. He saw her eyes filling with tears, as she hugged the letter to her heart, and he swallowed past the tightness in his throat.

Sitting down with his back to the mailbox post, he could hear her breathing, her heart beating, and remembered what it felt like to hold her in his arms.

He looked at her from over his shoulder and replied, “I miss you, too.”

 

Bio: I’m a Special Education major with a love for books. Writing is my passion; it is how I connect with the world and share my thoughts and emotions. To get to know me more you need to read my stories because I put a piece of my heart into each one. My goal is to inspire at least one person through my work; then I know I’ve done my job. ​

 

By: Megan Finsel

 

“So what’re you gonna do with the gun?”

Her voice startled him. He had run into her as they both came around the corner, and he had turned away to hurry past. Now he stood staring down into her face.

“What gun?” he tried to keep his voice from shaking, but the nerves were finally getting to him. Her smirk said she saw right through him.

She gazed across the intersection. “It’s a bad idea, you know.” she said.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Yeah,” she popped a bubble with her gum, “it kinda is.”

He looked at her, from her powder-blue pixie cut, to her red converse sneakers. Never before had he seen a skinnier young lady, and never before had he seen such wildness shining in someone’s eyes. He thought she could fight lions and win.

“Go home,” she said, “you know this is wrong.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know more than you think.” she said. “This is not gonna make your situation better.”

Later on he wondered why he hadn’t just pushed past her. Why he kept talking to her, while the streetlights changed color and the wind bullied the papers in the nearby newsstand. Why hadn’t he continued with his original plan? But he stood there, hands in his pockets, one wrapped tightly around his gun.

“You don’t know anything about my situation.”

She crossed her arms and stared at him. “You need the money for the engagement ring you want.” Her Marilyn Monroe T-shirt slipped off a shoulder. “But it doesn’t matter, because her parents don’t like you.”

He gaped. “How…?”

She licked her lips and the diamond stud in her tongue gleamed. “You have a stack of bills on your coffee table you’ve put off paying for weeks. You haven’t had work for months. You’ve been dating her for two years, and you’re scared you can’t support her.” She grinned.

He started to back away from her. “How do you…?”

“You can’t marry her from a jail cell, Walter.” she said. “Take the gun, go home.”

He looked across the street at the Wells Fargo, and his throat tightened with dread.

“Do you want to continue this relationship with her?”

“More than anything…”

“Then just go home.”

His palm was sweating. The girl reclined her head to look up at him, the sunlight catching in her hazel eyes. “Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

“Then love will find a way.” She brushed past him and he saw the little bow-and-arrow tattoo tucked behind her ear.

“Wait, how do you know?”

“I know a lot about love.” She gave him a wink. “Who said Cupid was a little boy in a diaper?” Then she walked away and disappeared around the corner.

He stood there a long minute, thinking of what she had said. It took him a while to realize that his fist was clenched around, not the barrel of his gun, but something else. When he pulled his hand out, he realized it was a diamond ring.

 

Bio: I’m a Special Education major with a love for books. Writing is my passion; it is how I connect with the world and share my thoughts and emotions. To get to know me more you need to read my stories because I put a piece of my heart into each one. My goal is to inspire at least one person through my work; then I know I’ve done my job. ​