Is This Real Life

mlieber2

by: Max Lieberman

 

When you think of a literary magazine, you may think of fiction; you may think of different poems and stories but nonfiction writing is also a large section of these magazines. There are magazines like Brevity that are strictly for non-fiction writing. So what do you write? What do you say? Well, you can use your life experiences to teach others how to overcome obstacles and or help teach a moral. Another thing you can do is write reviews and or interviews. Just from that short list there are already many things you can write about, but the one that might seem daunting is using life experiences to teach others.

When attempting this style of nonfiction writing, you first need to think of what you want to show or teach. Do you want to teach about determination and perseverance or about courage to come out and say something. For example, things I could write about are how playing team based video games have helped my communication with others or I could do something more serious with how coming out gave me a different perspective on people and on the world. Those two topics are totally different and teach totally different things, but they help show different sides of people that usually we do not get to see. So when thinking about a topic think about something that is going to stick with people, something they will remember.

Now when writing for these topics you want to be descriptive but also concise. You don’t want to be rambling about Aunt Sally for a whole paragraph. You want your readers to easily go through and understand everything that is needed for the time and situation. Let’s use the video game topic as an example. I am not going to explain every little detail about a game. I am going to give you just enough information, if any, to give you context for the story.

The last thing you need to look out for is also in the execution. You want to make sure your message gets across without actually stating it. It looks and reads nicer if you let the reader take what they want from your experience, because many people can get different things from writing. So even if it isn’t what you exactly wanted, but it is in the same vane or still a good thing, don’t sweat it. Also do not forget with practice comes perfection. So with these simple things, you will be a pro when it comes to nonfiction writing for literary magazines.

Easy as Pie

Miranda Olsen

The Short Story

Miranda Olsen

Most people have probably read a short story in their lifetime. Whether it was for school, in a book, or possibly even a magazine, the idea of writing a short story, which some see as a “mini-novel”, can appear daunting and difficult, the reality is-it’s easy as pie. Here are five easy tips to help you get started.

#1 Start With A Bang. Have your story start in the middle of a chase, during a storm, during a verbal or physical fight. This is called a “hook.” Having such a scene will literally hook your reader in. If you start with a hook, it will draw your reader in and make them more inclined to read more and find out what happens. Use good imagery and detail to make it feel real. Example: “Jack kept restarting his boat engine, occasionally looking up at the storm clouds above him. Lightning and thunder were inching closer to him. The waves began to grow. Jack was with his sister Sarah, who looked just as afraid as he did. They were only sixteen years old, and immediately regretted stealing the boat. What was supposed to be a nice day on the water had suddenly turned into a nightmare. Lightning began to strike closer now. The oars in the boat were old and rotten, yet Jack tried his best to use them. He used all his might to propel the boat forward but the growing waves would not allow it. The seas were angry. Jack did not know why. Worst of all, he did not know how to soothe them. The boat was beginning to tip and the two children looked to each other for guidance, but found only fear and confusion. A large swell washed over the boat, soaking them both to the bone.”

#2 Don’t Forget Dialogue. For a short story to be fast paced, exciting, and well flushed out, it needs dialogue. What is dialogue? It’s speech between characters. Dialogue can easily become too fake sounding or too boring. To better help write dialogue that mimics real speech, eavesdrop on some conversations. What do the people say? Do they use slang? Here’s an example of simple dialogue:

Jack looked at Sarah and sighed.

“The engine isn’t working,” Jack said.

“Well. fix it!” She replied.

“I can’t! It’s broken!”

“I don’t want to die out here,” Sarah said, sobbing.

#3 Keep It Short. The shorter your story, the more punch it will pack. Keep your writing under 5,000. Anything more than that is sort of rambling on. Keep your story fast paced and exciting, and you can’t really do that if your story is going over 5,000 words. Despite it’s short length, it needs to have certain elements that make it work. Have a hook to draw your reader in, have rising action to build to a climax, have falling action to lead to a resolution, and have a good ending. Try not to kill off your characters if you can help it, but feel free to end with a plot twist or some sort of mystery.

#4 Give Your Characters Some Backstory. What do your characters look like? Does Jack have a small build, or a big build? Hair and eye color? Is Sarah beautiful or plain? Do your characters have any distinguishable features like scars or moles? Flush out your characters and give them a good backstory. What is their home life like? Why are they the way that they are? Keep your cast of characters small, two to three should keep the story on track. Jack and Sarah are stuck out at sea, which makes a great scenario. A man and a woman. “Adam and Eve.” It’s a great scenario for you, as an author, to flush out those two characters. Use dialogue to increase or decrease tension, maybe throw in some romance? Two people, especially a man and a woman make for a great short story.

#5 Practice, Practice, Practice. Your first draft is not going to be perfect. It will have flaws-but that’s okay. Go back and read it out loud. Does the dialogue sound natural? Is the story fast paced enough? Is the story too plain, or too complicated? Does it sound like a real situation or is it meant to be far fetched? Your story won’t be final until your second or third draft. And if you don’t like it after all that work-write a new one! Write different stories about different topics. Have fun and be bold. The possibilities with writing are endless, that’s the magic of it. With pen and paper or a laptop or tablet, you can create new worlds, new characters, and new legends. But if you want to write a story that really moves someone, that’s interesting and fresh, that’s easy to understand yet complex , you need to practice, practice, practice!

 

The Powers of Proofreading

Olivia Murphy

By Olivia Murphy

Are you the kind of person that picks  apart your writing so much that it  lowers your self-esteem?  Do you have a hard time believing in yourself? Well instead of picking apart all of what you think you’re doing wrong, focus on what your strengths are.  Go line by line and pick out the strongest points of your paper then think of ways to expand. When you are trying to prove a thesis the more examples the better. One of the most common errors a writer can make this having too many spaces and having  run on sentences. In Addition to these setbacks people often write more  just to get to word  count try not to just keep writing in adding unnecessary sentences just to get to word count.

iI is important to focus on what the point of your paper is  rather  than  focusing on the fact that you haven’t   gotten  to word count. The words will come to you if you take a break.  If you have more than one person read over your paper before turning it in it can be very  beneficial. Sometimes other people notice small errors that we wouldn’t notice ourselves, having an extra pair of eyes helps. I suggest going the writing center after you’ve proofread it yourself.  They can be extremely helpful in any stage your writing.  I also would recommend using Grammarly it is a program that helps you edit your paper.

Additionally, if you have a friend in your class you can also proofread and edit each other’s papers.  when you are proofreading your own paper try to  keep  the negative thoughts out of your head such as “I’m going to get a bad grade on this and “there is no way I’m going to finish this. In the long run, the hard work pays off  and if you  put your mind to it you can  write an “A” paper.

Autocorrect vs. The Word…World!

Matthew Wheeler

By: Matthew Wheeler

Through the early years of smartphones and thanks to Apple, auto correct has been either a life saver or a relationship killer depending on what situation you’re in. Throughout the past decades of heart break, hook ups, friendships and quick hello’s, something is bound to happen. Your text conversations go VIRAL. Volunteering for a cat shelter can auto-correct to say that you’ve “punched” instead of “touched” a cat, a cookout can go from frying up the patties to frying up the panties. It really does cause the embarrassment of one another and just wish it never did happen in the first place. Sometimes depending on the type of friend you have, websites like “Damn You Auto correct” can make a big “you-know-what” out of you.

But it’s all not bad with auto correct. You always need auto correct in times of love and admiration, whether your using up all the data to send your girlfriend that very, deep and sensational text message that you’d rather give to her right then and there and not in real life. It keeps you and her happy, and makes you think of her in rough times when you aren’t side by side. Auto correct also helps when you just have that one perfect story right on the tip of your tongue, and needs to get jotted down as soon as possible. Auto correct easily fixes up your mistakes and with just a quick rundown of your story, your good to go for future reference.

Autocorrect has since gone though updates and completely new words, like YOLO to yo-yo, or swag to bag. It also has spread to every single smartphone known to man, and no matter what smartphone you do use, you can always force your auto correct to shut it self of completely, or just change one word to a random, completely out of the ordinary word, just so you can get a laugh making your parents wonder “Why is this one word coming up with this other word”?! Don’t worry, something will confuse us millennials son. See?!

Friday’s Films: The Greatest Showman

Miranda Olsen

The Greatest Showman

Miranda Olsen

“The Greatest Showman” is a 2017 musical film based on the life of P.T Barnum, directed by Michael Gracey, starring Hugh Jackman, Zac Efron, Michelle Williams, Rebecca Ferguson, Zendaya, and more. Original musicals are notoriously difficult to green light, and the project was announced years ago in 2009. The Award winning songwriting duo Pasek and Paul were chosen for the film (having previously worked on La La Land). The film features the story of P.T Barnum, the son of a tailor, who has big dreams. He meets a young socialite named Charity, and falls in love. Their class differences get in the way, however, they keep in touch through letters. Phineas, P.T, refuses to give up on their relationship. Years pass, and he ends up marrying Charity, despite her father’s disapproval, and they move to New York City.

 

Life is no cherry pie, though. Phineas loses his job, and is forced to find a new one. He cheats the bank out of real collateral, and gets a loan to open a Museum of oddities. Even in Victorian times, however, morbid curiosities are still only appealing to a niche audience. Barnum’s children suggest he sell tickets to see something alive. Barnum realizes he still wants to show oddities-just living oddities. He gathers giants, dwarfs, tattooed men, albino’s, and more. He renames his museum Barnum’s Circus. Despite bad reviews and violent protestors, Barnum and his performers triumph, and even though their Circus building burns down, they switch to tents, and continue to perform for the masses. The film is visually stunning, with an extremely talented cast who had backgrounds in music, such as Jackman, Efron, Williams, and Zendaya. With a mere budget of $84 million, the film has now grossed over $400 million, and is officially the highest grossing live-action musical of all time. As someone who writes screenplays, I noticed the clever dialogue and the smooth transitions into song. Transitioning from speaking to singing is notoriously difficult to blend in a way that’s not awkward or cheesy. The Greatest Showman does a fantastic job. The writers for the film were Jenny Bicks and Bill Condon. Bicks wrote much of the hit show Sex In The City, but Condon worked on The Twilight series and the live action Beauty And The Beast. It is his work with Disney that allowed such magic on the screen of The Greatest Showman. This film is magical, musical, and without a doubt-worth a watch.

Quote and Gloat

Aleksandra Yefremova

By: Aleksandra Yefremova

Writing is not easy, even for professional writers. Describing events and expressing dialogue can be a challenge for anybody. A common problem most people experience while writing is overthinking. Luckily, this obstacle can be easily overcome with a few simple-to-follow tips.

To start, a good first tip in writing proficiently is to write daily. It is important to remind yourself to write every day. It does not have to be anything specific or even interesting, it can be anything in general. Writing does not mean creating an essay consisting of over one thousand words, it can be something simple and painless such as a short poem or a lyric. Write what comes to mind.

In addition, a second tip is to not overthink your sentence phrasing, sentence structure, and terminology until you revise your writing. Create a simple straight to the point sentence that can be easily understood. Furthermore, it is also important to let words flow naturally onto the page and not stress yourself over constructing the ideal or perfect line. This is important because letting your own words fly on to the page is the base of your writing. Once you have the base it becomes so much easier to revise and reconstruct what you have written.

Equally as important, a third step is to re-read what you have written out loud. It is a good idea to re-read your writing and remove some of the boring or dull phrases and spice them up with a more impressive synonym. This might sound strange. However, it is efficient in composing an acceptable or even an exceptional story, essay, or poem. To add, another good way to expand your wring is to let other people read what you have written and ask them for criticism. Strangely enough, criticism is a good way to view what strengths your writing holds and what weaknesses.

Given these points, writing is difficult and stressing. Yet with these few simple tips writing can be fun, easy, and most importantly effortless in constructing.

Constructing Confidence

Mikala Dawson

by: Mikala Dawson

Many writers and artists struggle with confidence. It is intimidating to publish your work for others to see. The internet and social media allow anyone and everyone to see what you’ve created and either “fan girl” over it or subject it to the harshest of criticisms. The aim of this editorial is to share some confidence boosting tips I’ve gathered over the years and hopefully encourage you to submit to our magazine.

Developing the confidence to publish or submit your writing can be a challenge, but if you’re willing to put in the time you will see results. There are two BIG ways you can boost your confidence in your writing. The first solution is edit and re-write. The more time you spend writing something, the more ideas you develop on the subject. Always go back and re-read what you’ve written and look for improvement in your writing. The second solution, get a second opinion. I know sharing your work with others may seem daunting, but a fresh pair of eyes will see mistakes your eyes have been missing. If you don’t feel comfortable with that, a popular alternative is copying and pasting your writing into Google Translate and pressing play. Google will read out your writing and you can hear the more obvious mistakes you made out loud. One of the best ways I’ve found to help my confidence is editing and re-writing over and over again. I’m so insecure with my writing I often don’t want to share it with anyone for a second opinion.

Building confidence in your art work can be a bit tricky. It’s important to understand that no one will understand your art the same way you do. Criticism form others should be taken with a grain of salt. A solution to dwindling confidence in your art is to always practice new art styles. Getting out of your comfort zone and working with new styles and materials helps you build as an artist. This expansion in your abilities will naturally lead to more confidence in your art. I feel the best solution is remembering to always compare yourself to yourself. This way, you always win.

Confidence is important in everyday life. Without it, you cannot hope to achieve your goals. Magazines like Elektraphrog rely on submissions from writers and artist to create a catalog of new ideas that help inspire others. Without you there isn’t a magazine. So, take a chance and submit something, you may surprise yourself.

Things to Ponder While Writing

Alysa Curley

by: Alysa Curley

Have you ever had a wonderful idea for a character, the story, or a message that you wanted to share? This then is for you, as it helps for you, the writer to have a some clear plot goals while developing your work.

To begin with, you the writers, should have the idea that the Goals in the story define the plot, meaning that what your characters are striving for lead the story into the plot. After all plotting is a verb, and in general it is showing the cause and effect that your characters choices are or aren’t leading to.

First, figure out the character traits that your protagonist possesses at the beginning of the story.

Let’s say that your protagonist is a boy. In fact a young man who has just started college would work fine. What kind of characteristics would he have? Is he smart, naive, athletic, curious? For this example let’s say that the young man named Josh is:

  • Attending college on an academic scholarship
  • Looking for a part time job

The next step is for you, the writer to determine what kind of genre this story is going to be. Do you like more Science Fiction, Thriller, Mystery, or perhaps Crime genres? The genre you choose will then determine the overall goal of the protagonist.

For science-fiction, maybe the job he interviews for, involves highly advanced technology. For thriller maybe he sees a a mysterious figure around the campus. I am sure you understand the idea.
For my example Josh is staring in a story about crime.

Now that you know what kind of character you have and the genre of story that you are writing the last step in developing your plot is to determine 2 things.

What is your character’s long term goal?
While your character is in the story are they looking to go against a physical antagonist. Such as the general bad guy/organization that is preventing the goal from being meet or completed. Or is the characters main struggle internal in nature. A story in which they are trying to overcome a certain fear or moral dilemma. Good stories tend to have their antagonist going through both as it depends plot and character development.

Focus on your character transitions.
With this I mean that in your plot the last thing you have to consider is how the challenges in the story are going to change your character or inlighten your character to the fact that they will not change. Meaning that it leads to a realization, for your character and audience, of how going against the antagonist changed the characters ideas or morals or rather how no matter hard they try cannot change no matter how hard they try.

After you have all of this figured out, you have all the plot goals for the story you are writing. Express your dreams, aspirations, and knowledge to your readers in a way that makes that makes you both happy and proud for what you have done.

Cherry Paws and Afghan Echoes

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by: Sydney Haines

It’s been six months since Sierra returned from Afghanistan. She spent most of her time patrolling the city streets, even making friends with some of the locals. There hadn’t been much activity where she was stationed her first few months; the worst, a small car bomb detonating a few blocks down from the forward operating base. No one was injured, and Sierra had been thankful for the lack of combat those few months in Afghanistan. She of course had the training, and she enlisted knowing the risks. But seeing it for herself, trudging through the heat, automatic rifle in her hands; she wasn’t so sure she was ready for the responsibility the dusky camouflage and metal in her grip placed upon her.

The laid back atmosphere, low level danger and lack of the horrors Sierra had imagined when she enlisted soon became a distant memory. As her unit got word of the Islamic State presence in Afghanistan, they learned they were to be sent to aid those already deployed and help stop the spread of ISIL’s control while retrieving foreign hostages; often innocent journalists whose brutal ends were filmed on camera. Large, unforgiving blades embedded in guiltless throats. Sierra had seen a lot of horror in Afghanistan, but those images replayed as frequently in her subconscious as the trauma she endured and witnessed firsthand.

-)(-

Sierra had lived, for three years, in a moderately sized two-bedroom nestled above the waters of Lake Michigan. She had just turned 18 and left her parents’, and was admittedly nervous being on her own. For the first several months, she only watched her favorite horror movies during the day. She kept her bedroom door locked at night, her deadbolt on the front door locked, as well as the lock on the slider doors. A few low nightlights were spread about the house. Sierra eased into her new independence slowly, but a full year after moving out then moving into her small place by the lake, it began to feel like home. Two years after that, she was shipped to Pakistan, and her deployment lasted fourteen months; she was given an honorable discharge, and she returned to the small cottage.

It became clear, after a few days, that the house didn’t belong to Sierra anymore. It belonged to the echoes of gunshots and IEDs, shouts of comrades on her side or terrorists and the bombs strapped to their chests. No longer did the twenty-two year old leave nightlights on- she left the entire house pitch black, because she had gotten used to seeing in the dark. The horror movies she used to love gathered dust on her bookshelf, because she saw bloodshed behind her eyelids every time she blinked and didn’t need to see anymore. She was trapped in the confines of terrifying flashbacks, taking place in the cottage she used to call home; blasting music to drown out the wails of dying Marines and the roar of convoy vehicles that thundered and boomed- deafening- like a snarling, vicious hybrid of a freight train and deranged wolf whose breath pounded hot against her ear.

-)(-

The air is warmer today as Sierra scrapes the aluminum shovel across the asphalt of her driveway, nudging snow and sleet in small borders along her yard. Her ears catch every crisp rustle of leaves; her heart lurches at every screech of a hawk and squealing whistle of wind. The woman’s senses are sharpened to the point of exhaustion- her eyes scan every visible surface when she enters a room, and again every few minutes, then again when a new sound reverberates within hearing distance. But her hyperarousal goes both ways: being on constant high alert, those senses can dull and grow sluggish. So, when she fails to catch the crunch, crunch of snow flattening under booted feet, the shovel falls from her grasp.

Sierra whips around toward the intruder, one hand digging her trust switchblade from her pocket and the other reaching for her belt- only to discover her gun missing. Her muscles relax, if only the slightest of a fraction, as she recognizes the faces of the figures approaching. She has to remind herself: I’m not in Afghanistan. I’m home. I’m in Michigan. I trust this guy- I think. She throws a quick glance around her. Instead of the harsh, unforgiving heat of Middle Eastern weather and the mirages often visible in all directions, she sees nearly melted snow; far off in the distance, the waters of Lake Michigan grey in the wintry afternoon. Desert sand soaked with blood is nowhere in sight.

The oncoming figure approaches, friendly smile in place and a small beagle at his side- Cherry. Sierra remembers the dog’s name first, and a passing thought wonders if it’s the fact that Cherry was less likely to toss a grenade at her feet.

“Hey,” Sierra’s voice is automatic; monotone. She kneels to scratch Cherry on the ear, and the hound dog licks her cheek in greeting.

Micah, the dog’s owner- and her neighbor- puts a hand on her shoulder. “How have you been?”

Sierra jerks back on reflex and rises to her feet, meeting Micah’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he explains, “I just haven’t seen you out in a while.” She wants to wipe that look of pity off of his face with the butt of an M-16.

“Haven’t felt like going out,” Sierra replies, her voice neutral. Micah was a friend before she’d been deployed, but now she looks at him like an enemy. She knows everyone is an enemy now.

She avoids the look of concern, returning to task. It’s quiet for a long moment; the scrape of the metal on concrete, a few bird’s calls in the air, before Micah speaks again.

“Hey, would you happen to know anyone who wants a dog?”

Sierra looks back at him, obvious question in her glance. She just shakes her head no.

Her neighbor sighs. “That’s too bad,” he says, reaching down to pat Cherry on her head. “Valerie and I are moving- can’t take Cherry with us. Gotta find someone to leave her with. I’d hate to drop her at the pound or hand her over to someone I didn’t trust.”

The quiet returns, and Sierra ponders offering to take the dog herself. Probably end up shooting her during a flashback, she thinks to herself.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Sierra responds. Micah gives her another few seconds of speculation before nodding.

“Well, alright,” he says. “I’d better get back to helping pack up the house. You need anything, just holler, ok?”

A mumbled “sure” as Sierra dumps a shovelful of snow on the growing pile.

“Take care, Sierra.”

She doesn’t know if Micah hears her snort of laughter, because he’s jogging off toward his place again with Cherry in tow.

Yeah, right.

­-)(-

Sierra watches out her window as Micah and Valerie load the last of their belongings in a moving truck, then glances at Cherry roaming the fenced-in back yard. They didn’t find anyone who would take her? She wonders, but shakes her head, deciding to forget any concern regarding the dog. She plops down on the couch, grabbing her television remote to mindlessly flicker through channels once again.

Maybe ten minutes pass when there’s a knock at Sierra’s door. She jumps to her feet, the switchblade she keeps in her back pocket already gripped in one hand as she approaches the door.

A glance through the peephole reveals Micah, and she retracts her blade, stuffing it back into her pocket before unlocking several of the deadbolts on her door. When she opens it, she’s greeted with a shape darting past her- in the form of a short, round Beagle- and into her living room.

She looks back at Micah.

“Sorry, I, uh…” he hesitates for a moment. “Do you want to hold onto Cherry for a little while?”

Sierra blanches at this question, opening her mouth to speak but finding no ready answer for him.

So Micah continues: “It’s just, I’m still sifting through possible new homes for her, and I can do that from Illinois, you know?” He explains nervously. “But I’ve got nowhere else to take her. I know you could use a friend right now.”

Sierra watches Cherry sniff around her house, a flicker of unrecognizable emotion rising inside her. She turns back to Micah.

“I’m-“ her voice is hoarse. “I don’t know that I’d take care of her very well.”

But Micah shakes his head. “I know you will.” He holds up a bag- Sierra can see a dog food bowl and leash sticking out of the top. “What do you say?”

Sierra hesitates, but sees no way to react besides a nod. Micah thanks her, gives her his cell phone number, then says his goodbyes. She shuts her front door, slipping the locks back in place, and turns to the beagle now laying sprawled across the carpet, one of her slippers in his mouth.

She realizes, watching Cherry rip stuffing out of the left foot of the only pair of slippers she has, that any elation or joy of this turn of events was shadowed under hints of doubt and anxiety. It’s been a long time since Sierra had a pet. The boa constrictor she owned in college needed a small rabbit and a clean sweep of its aquarium once a month, as well as a full water bowl. That was about it.

That was less concerning than Sierra’s thoughts that she’d hurt Cherry; two years ago, she’d never think twice about that. But considering the amount of personal items she’d have to replace since she returned from duty- mirrors, dinnerware, as well as the holes in the walls from the time she unloaded her handgun onto the drywall- she wasn’t so sure an animal was the best idea.

But that other feeling, the one hidden by her personal doubts, was a feeling not unlike hope.

-)(-

“So, Sierra. What brings you here today?”

The psychiatrist, Angela something- Sierra didn’t even attempt to pronounce her last name- was met with silence. The veteran before her kept a tense posture, looking around the room and seeming to consider answering before sighing in relent.

“I’m here for help,” Sierra says, avoiding Angela’s gaze. The latter waits for more explanation, then after a few seconds begins to scan the medical documents in her lap.

“You were diagnosed with severe post-traumatic stress while you were in Afghanistan, is that correct?”

“Well, that’s what my file says, isn’t it?”

Angela knows her client’s demeanor is one of her lines of defense, so she doesn’t push it.

“You never got treatment until now- it’s been over half a year.” Angela straightens the papers of Sierra’s file and lays them neatly on her desk, leaning forward onto her knees. “So why now?”

Sierra doesn’t reply for a few short minutes, but Angela is more than patient. The darker-haired woman is familiar with PTSD as well as the walls those with the disorder will build as a defense mechanism.

Angela is almost startled when Sierra does speak. “My fuckin’ neighbor gave me his dog the other day,” she says.

Waiting a few seconds for her to continue, Angela responds: “You don’t seem to be happy about that.”

Sierra just sighs, shaking her head. “No, I am- I mean,” she runs a hand through dirty blonde hair, “I’ve known him, his wife and dog for a few years. I’ve always loved his dog.”

“But?”

Again, there’s a few moments of silence before Sierra speaks.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna hurt her.”

“The dog?” Angela inquires, and Sierra nods a response.

“I haven’t exactly been known for handling the flashbacks well,” Sierra explains hesitantly, “which is one of the reasons I was discharged.”

Sierra goes quiet again, and she doesn’t care how long she has to sit in here- she’s not planning on talking about that. Nor thinking about it.

Thankfully, Angela doesn’t ask.

-)(-

It’s been two months. Sierra gives a look of disgust at the medications in front of her: Inderal in the morning, Buspar and Prozac mid-day and Trazodone for sleep. Xanax when she’s feeling particularly anxious. She won’t deny that they’ve helped, but she’ll never be comfortable being on so many medications at any given time. She’s taking them as prescribed, but Angela had warned her that sometimes, the flashbacks and nightmares could be stronger than the pills.

Tonight happens to be one of those nights.

Sierra had nodded out while writing a research paper for her History class. She’d been particularly stressed over the assignment, figured a Xanax wouldn’t hurt; later, when she calls Angela to tell her about the incident, she wonders if that was the cause.

She’s dreaming of her friend, Michelle. Sierra sees, along the filmreel playing in her head, the way Michelle would joke with or tease her. She relives late nights looking up at the stars, having strange conversations about universal energy and vibrations. She remembers Michelle kissing her under those same stars.

Then she remembers the barrage of bullets that hit the operating base, and the impact of her commanding officer’s body against hers as he tackled them both to the ground to take cover. Sierra can see her hands fumbling to grab her rifle and an extra set of ammo. She smells smoke, hears the deafening boom of IEDs and grenades, the shouting commands of her unit as well as similar toned voices in another language. Some of the shouts turn into cries of pain, and Sierra does everything she can to focus on setting up defense.

It isn’t until she stumbles over Michelle’s body, sprayed so abundantly with bullets that Sierra has to do a double take, that she finally wakes up.

She screams awake, and hardly notices Cherry’s yelp of surprise as her feet accidentally kick into the beagle under her desk. She darts to the floor, sliding across the carpet to grab the pistol under her mattress. Sierra cocks her weapon, shuts and locks her bedroom door; then she heaves her work desk across the shag carpeting- the difficulty of the task doesn’t slow her down.

With a loud thud, the desk is overturned and shoved hard against the closed door. Sierra crouches at the door, the gun cocked, as she listens for sounds of enemy soldiers.

Cherry trots up beside her, placing a paw on Sierra’s knee, and looks up at her with questioning irises as if to say, “Mommy? What’s wrong?”

Sierra jerks slightly, looking down into large, innocent eyes. She hesitates for a moment, then curls an arm around Cherry’s chest, pulling her close.

“It’s okay, Cherry,” Sierra says. “I won’t let them hurt you, okay baby?”

Cherry gives a quick, sloppy kiss to the wrist holding onto her tightly. The images of blood and smoke, of Michelle’s injuries as she lay dead in the sand, her fellow soldiers darting off in different directions to take cover- they all begin to fade as Sierra watches the small animal in her arms. She still hears gunfire, and her head continues to pound from the echoes of IEDs blasting in her eardrums.

But she lowers her gun, clicking the safety latch and setting it to the floor, before pulling Cherry into her arms. Sierra can’t decide if her tears are of grief, terror and despair, or if they’re tears of relief. The pops of bullets begin to fade, Cherry moves to lick clean Sierra’s tears, and the blonde smiles- a real, genuine smile that she hasn’t felt on her features in a very long time.

 

 

 

Bio: I’m a 24 year old female student at SCF. I am studying for a degree in English and Library Sciences; I plan on studying many more topics and may work on getting other degrees. I currently work as a Student Assistant at the SCF library, and in my free time I enjoy writing, drawing, jewelry making and crochet, playing guitar, and reading.

Click

masuccm

by: Megan Finsel

She smiled back at me from the photo I had just taken. I was standing alone on the street corner outside what was now my apartment. Yet here she was, in the black and white image I held.

She looked very young, maybe nine or ten. She was standing with her back to the lamppost, her hair in pigtails and a bandage across her right knee. Her face was round, and her eyes were innocent.

I’d found this Polaroid camera in the attic this morning. I held it up again, focusing on the lamppost across the street.

Click.

I shook the photo carefully, watching as two figures slowly appeared. Same girl, she looked taller, and she was holding hands with a young man.

Click.

She was older now, more mature, and her husband stood with her in the doorway. The sunlight glinted off my own engagement ring.  I stared at it for a moment, my heart pounding.

Click.

Even older now, she looked exhausted. Three kids played around her in the yard. I could swear she could see me, judging by the glare on her face, and the warning in her eyes.

Click.

Her face was sadder, her hair was stringy. She sat in a wheelchair, hugging her body with willowy arms. Age had stolen most of her vigor, and her smile. She looked defeated. I could only stare into her eyes, as she stared back into mine.

I knew her, and she knew me. We were the same person; the same life transcending time to be captured on film.

I raised the camera one more time, but stopped. I knew what would come next. I was prepared, but I couldn’t bring myself to press the button. I gazed up at the lamppost, standing lonely on the street corner. The wind slowly pulled the photos from between my fingers and I let them go, watching them whirl away down the sidewalk.

 

 

Bio: Writing is my passion. It’s how I connect with the world, and how I share my thoughts, ideas, and feelings. If you want to truly know me more, you need to read my stories because I put a piece of my heart into each one.