THE MARI
ST COLLEGE
LIT
ERAR
Y
MAGAZ
I
NE
THE MOSA
I
C
Spring 1982
Editor-in-Chief
Kevin
D
. Hancock
A
ssistant
Ed
itor
Kate S. Hedges
Ed
i
t
orial Advisory Board
P
ho
tos and Drawings
M
e
g Ad
amski
Linda
C
urra
n
Lynn
Gr
e
g
orski
Chri
s
H
a
r
rison
J
o
hn Kra
us
Pat
r
i
ci
a
S
era
t
h
Santa Za
cc
he
o
Ellen Z
i
m
me
rm
an
Cove
r
A
r
t
Debbie Hyer
F
ac
u
lty Advisor
D
r.
M
ilton
T
eichman
Ann
a Angell-Young
And
r
e
w Sherman Evans II
Carol
i
ne
K
retz
Kevin Slppe
rl
e
y
Ted Waters
Pres
i
d
en
t
,
M
arlst College Literary Society
M
ary
B
eth Kearney
Art is the st
o
r
ed
h
oney of
t
he human so
ul
,
Gather
e
d
o
n
wings of misery and travail.
Th
eodore Dreise
r
..
























EDITO
R
'
S NOTE
Permit
me,
please, to comment
briefly on
behalf of
THE MOSAIC and
its
parent
organization, The Marist
Colleg
e Literary
Society:
Two
years
ago, The Marist
College
Lite
rary Society was functioning
without
a literary magazine.
The
Society
was,
at the time, simply
a
"fraterna
l" o
r
ganization which
brought
toget
her
,
under
the
guidance of
Dr
.
Milton T
eichman, a number of
intelligen
t and
dedicated students w
hose
collective
interest lay in the field
of litera
ture. The
magazine
had
ceased
to
be
published
because literary
and artis
tic
co
ntributions from students,
were
not forthcoming.
Howeve
r, in apparent opposition
to
what
is
commonly called stude
nt
apathy
and
after
The
Literary
Society
itse
l
f
demanded a
re
issue
,
THE
MOSAIC
was reborn and consequentl
y hit
the stands in
the Spring
of
'81.
G
enerally,
student reaction
was favo
rable; unfortuna
te
ly,
because of
publicity
and distribution problems,
not
enough
students
were aware
that
the
magazine was
again a functional
o
rgan
of
communication.
Well
, we believe we have
solved
both
the above-mentione
d problems
.
We,
meaning
my editorial staff
and
I,
further
believe that
we have
made the
magazine
into a reputable top-notc
h
co
llege publication
.
We base our
belief
not
only on the massive
numbers
of sub
missions
which
we
received
this
year,
but also on the incredible
numb
ers
of
student
inquiries
related to
the
publication
date which we
answere
d. We remain con
fident
that
THE
MOSAIC
will continue to flourish
in the com
ing years.
I
would
like to take this opportu
nity to
thank
all
those
intelligent, sen-
sitive,
and
dedicated students
who
helped
me put together this year's
magazine.
I
include, of course,
the cont
ributors:
those whose works were
publish
ed as well as those whose
works
were not published.
It
is a
pure
and unending
delight for us at
THE
MOSAIC
to
know
that
a real and sub
-
stantial
cultural liaison composed
of
students
c
an and does exist on
campus
.
I
wou
ld also like to thank the
members
of my staff
for their unswervi
n
g
devotion
to the cause. Especially,
I
wish to
thank my
assistant editor,
Kate
Hedges
,
for
the indefatigable
manner
in
wh
ich
she
attended to the
·
responsib
ilities entrusted her
as an integr
al part of
the staff.
I
wish
also
to
thank Mary
Beth Kearney for the
patie
nce she showed
me as we
worked
together
to meet a deadline. Lastly,
I
wish
to thank
Dr. Milton
Teichman
whose
confidence in Man's creative
poten
tial
helped
make this endeavor
wholly
successful.
I
hope
you, the reader and the studen
t, enjoy
the
magazi
ne
.
ii
Kevin D. Hancock
Editor-in-Chief

















CONTENTS
Preface
Table of Contents
"
La Vie
":
Karryann Guerin
"
To Mr
.
Lewis"
:
Thomas We
i
ssenberger
"
A Flight Di
l
emma
":
Den
i
se Ded
l
o
Untitled
Poem
:
Karen
E
.
Lund
Untitled Poem
:
Jennifer
Langner
Untitled Photograph: Ke
v
in Sipperle
y
"
Trees
In
Winter": John Russe
l
l
WHAT ARE
DOLLS
FOR
,
ANYWAY
?:
Ell
e
n Zimmerman
"
A
Starlit
Journey"
:
Denise
Ded
io
"
Winter Day"
:
Joanna R
o
sato
"
Cat"
:
KSRH
"In Memory of WSH (1890
-
1958
):
HDJ
DELUSIONS
:
Marshall Wo
o
d
"Was
It Good For You
?":
Bil
l
Herr
on
Untitled
Poem
:
Chris
Barne
s
Untitled Photograph: Ted Waters
"
This Morning
":
BIii Herron
Untitled Poem
:
Chr
i
s
Barnes
"
A Conversation"
:
Kevin D
.
Han
coc
k
THE SIX SHOOTER: Guy F
l
ore
Untitled
Photograph
:
Ke
v
in Sipper
ley
"
Delivery Room
":
J
i
m Slat
e
r
B/W
Ink Drawing, The
Corp
s
e
:
Andrew Sherman Ev
a
n
s
II
"
The Corp
s
e
"
: Andrew Sherman E
v
ans II
Untitled B/W Ink Drawing
:
Andrew Sherman Evans II
"The Sea
":
Andrew Sherman E
v
an
s
II
"
SIient Sentinels
"
: Theresa
Pear
ce
Unt
i
tled Sketch
:
Renee
C.
Martin
Un
ti
t
l
ed P
o
em
:
R
ic
k O
'Co
nn
ell
"
James Douglous Morris
o
n
":
Gu
y
Fl
o
re
"
Elne
Fakete Der
Lebenwelt
"
: Anna Angell
-
Y
o
ung
SPERM ON TRIAL
:
Anna Ang
e
ll
-
Y
ou
ng
"
Portrait"
:
Karen J
o
hnson
Untitled Photograph
:
Ted Waters
Untitled
Pencil
Drawing
:
Caroline K
r
et
z
"
Ballerina
":
J
o
hn Ru
s
sell
CAMARADERIE
:
Mar
i
a Argan
o
ONE
MAN
'
S
JOURNEY THROUGH
DESPAIR
:
Ther
esa
Pear
c
e
"
Buffalo Station
":
Jim S
l
ate
r
Untitle
d
B/W In
k
Drawing
:
A
nna
A
ngell-Young
"
October Sun
":
John Krau
s
Untitled
Poem
:
Jennifer Langner
Untitled
Poem
:
W
.
Lew
i
s
iii
II
Il
l
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
19
20
21
22
2
3
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
33
34
35
36






LAVIE
Of seed and sun
I have grown
branches
,
shoots.
Leaves are home now
for birds
.
Nesting warm
beneath the green.
Sturdy
,
brown.
Chairs are made now
for man
.
In lightning
'
s wrath
I have feared
broken limbs
.
Smitten by one
who is greater
.
Redwood
,
Oak, we are one
.
Stretching bare babes
to the light
on winter's morning.
One hundred years
I have worked
splitting earth.
Men have died here,
hung
.
But again
I give them birth
.
Sal
v
ation
,
hope.
Christ died upon
my cross
.
Kerryann Guerin
1
TO MR. LEWIS
A herd of books
gallops through my brain:
mustangs and pintos
from the Apache range.
I lasso one before the class,
calm it and look into the
blood-rushed eyes
,
nostrils flaring:
a sleek Melville or a stubborn Twain
refusing to come to pastu
r
e
,
letting us pet them
for 75 minutes
;
then cha
r
ging the gate
and galloping away
...
Thomas Weissenberger








A FLIGHT DILEMMA
A bird is well adapted
For a life in open space
,
For searching
,
For flight...
Scanning lightly white capped blue waters
Displaying merely consumed freedom;
Breathing
and swallowing time.
An ecstasy of eagles in flight...
Gliding across even the ruggedest blue waves
Performing an artful exhibit;
Endlessly forward, never looking aft,
Fulfilling
dreams, preserving
keepsakes.
Circling through the parched blue air
Lingering frequently;
Re
l
uctance to over
l
ook t
h
e past.
A solitary eagle in flight ...
Floating
on blue mists of reflecting coral
Reminiscing concea
l
ed thoughts;
Hesitation
becomes completely inherent.
Searching for dreams
,
extending
keepsakes.
Viewing the broken blue line of the horizon
Sustaining barely;
Memories are blocking time.
A solitary eagle
.
.
.
Searching until the blueness becomes a
thickened
grey
Wading in the overcast;
Confronting a time dependency.
Oblivious to
dreams
,
seeking keepsakes.
Feeling
finally
Sparkling
blue
raindrops
Compelling the past
To be chilled
A freebird in flight
Fulfilling
his dreams ...
2
Denise
Dedio







Poets
call
upon the muse
,
swiftly
the spirit
brings
lines and rhymes
to
the artist.
No artist I, no poet.
My
voice
is strange
and foreign to the
muse
,
laughter its
only
answer
.
Bring message from my madness?
Sense and lyric from
my
mind?
God called order out
of
chaos,
light from the darkness
;
from a
silly
piece of dust came beauty.
I
,
that mindless piece of clay.
Karen E
.
Lund
3
The Frost
,
From
fragile petals
falling
...
In
crystal slivers
and silver shards.
The Rose,
Trembling in anguished
ecstasy ...
Her
soul exposed.
Lifting her silken
head
As if
in
prayer
,
the
Fl
ower
turns
.
..
Seeking the Sunbeam's source,
and finds
You there.
Jennifer
Langner








Photo b
y
Ke
vi
n
Sippe
r
ley
TREES IN WINTER
They stand naked against the sky,
Bleached branches are like bones
Of undernourished arms extending
,
P
leading to receive mercy.
A c
h
ange in weather caused
t
heir leaves to fa
l
l
,
Like those defeated in a political c
l
imat
e
That has shifted
:
One
c
annot li
ve
When one gets too c
o
ld
.
Broken bark has become black
;
M
any are cut down
,
are thrown on the fire
,
turned t
o
ashe
s
,
are scattered by the wind
,
and
c
over th
e fac
e
of the earth.
John Russell
4









WHAT ARE DOLLS
FOR,
ANYWAY?
When
I
was younger
,
dolls were soft
,
embraceable toys that resembled
real
babies. My playmates and I used our imaginations to give them life; we
imagined
cries, coos, gurgles
,
and burps
,
and soothed them
in
fancies of
motherhood. But
now
has
come The Age of the Labor-Saving
Device,
of
games
and musical instruments that come dangerously close to playing
themselves
.
Dolls
have
not
escaped the onslaught. The floppy, huggable
cloth body
has
been
phased
out in favor of hard plastic
,
a plastic that
encases the
mechanical components, wh
i
ch leave a child's imagination
unexercised
.
I recently
saw an advertisement for a doll with "velvety-soft skin just
like
a
real
baby."
Little girls
no longer have to make
-
believe that pink cloth
cheeks are kissable
baby-smooth
ones. But the doll falls short of the ad•
vertisement; its face
is
covered with a peach-colored
fuzz
that wears off in
scattered
patches
when subjected to childish caresses.
It's
very
realistic,
you
know. I'm
sure that somewhe
r
e there are
real
babies with razor stubble
because Mommy
forgot
the
morning shave.
Of
course
,.
it is
easier for a little girl to pretend her
"
baby
" i
s real
if it
performs those bodily
functions for which newborns are notorious
.
The
more ambitious little mother
can purchase
"
Baby Alive."
The
doll comes
whh
her
own multicolored food gel which is spooned in at one end
and
dei:,
?sited at the other.
The
little mother then can change the genu
i
nely
soill
1
diaper
,
and no
longer has
to be satisfied with inadequate
imag 1ation. But
again,
I
think the doll misses its mark. A truly
realistic
doll
shouh not
eliminate waste
in
assorted
pastels
.
·
Ever
.
one knows that babies are not always healthy and happy.
So, to
take
care of this problem
,
we have
"
Baby Wet and
Care
."
The
child
plops
two pink tablets
into a little
bottle
of water
,
then "feeds" the doll.
The
concoction
travels
through
the
doll
'
s body a
n
d colors special
bright red
spots
on
the little posterior
.
bright
red.
Voila
-
diaper
rash! The toy
company did
sacrifice
the
true-to-
l
ife quality of the doll
,
though, when
they
made it possible to
wipe away the spots w
i
th
a treated cloth. Why did they
do
this?
After all,
they could
have
rnade a mint on
"
Baby
Wet and
Care
Ointment."
As
little girls get older, they become curious about the
growing-up
process. Every little
girl owns
a
"
Barbie
"
doll
,
which
is
,
to put
it
discretely,
fully developed. Now, to help
little girls
understand
adolescence without
bothering Mommy with a
lot of silly questions
,
we have
"
Growing Up
Skipper," Barbie's
younger sister.
The
doll looks like your
ave
r
age eleven
year
old kid
,
until
you raise
her
left arm
.
Then
,
she blooms from a
28A to a
26C
.
Quite amazing, really,
that such a complex and emotionally
difficult
period in a
girl's life can be so cleverly simplified
,
reduced
to
one
movement
of
the
arm.
How will
children learn about other life events such as divorce or aging?
Pehaps
the
toy
companies will pick up where they
left
off and bring
us
"The
Barbie and Ken Marriage
and
Divorce
Kit,
"
complete with a
reusable judge.
A
"Barbie
Gives Birth
"
doll is a good idea
.
She cou
l
d dispense with labor in
one
arm
movement
just as "Skipper
"
breezes through puberty.
How
about
"Barbie
Golden Years
,"
with sagging skin
,
arthrit
i
s, and a Social Security
Check? The possibilities
are
endless
,
and the children are wa
i
t
i
ng.
Ellen
Zimmerman
5










A STARLIT J
O
URNEY
Pur
s
u
ing the path
o
f a shimmering star
,
O
n
e
tha
t reflects on the h
i
ghest mounta
i
n
W
i
t
h
soft flickers tha
t
l
igh
t
up the darkness
,
R
eviving the mystery
o
f the journey
.
B
ound to a search
fo
r an answer
,
See
m
ingly disguised
i
n the path.
T
ru
s
t
i
n
g the viewed sensation
A p
a
th
of light heedfully la
c
ed to the mounta
i
nto
p
W
ith
snow-bound trees that penetrate the
mi
s
t
,
In
sp
ir
ing the asset of strength
.
·
Commi
tt
ed for a password
,
Hi
dden
in
t
h
e perception o
f
beauty.
Fo
c
u
s
i
ng on the unexp
l
ored
One
small ridge of melting snow
With th
e magnitude of one perfect snowf
la
ke,
A
n
i
ma
t
in
g a passage of the undiscovere
d
.
An
i
ndi
cation not yet in sight
,
A l
ate
n
t dimension of hope.
F
ollowing, yet still
,
the odyssey.
Spri
g
h
t
l
y rus
h
ing form
W
ith
a
b
rook as the setting
o
f a s
i
mple birth,
C
apturi
n
g the novelty
o
f innocence.
Th
e conception of a sear
c
h
,
Uni
ntentionally dissemb
l
ed
.
L
ea
d
ing
t
he path far down
Sh
a
d
ed ba
n
ks thrive from adamant
t
ur
b
ulence
With
the star
'
s dimming light crysta
l
lizing o
n t
h
e b
roo
k
,
Pronoun
ci
n
g the vibrance of life
,
Th
e reveali
n
g of a response
,
Ne
ve
r
guara
n
teeing where the sea
r
ch will
l
ea
d
.
R
e
a
c
h
i
n
g
f
inal
l
y the light
-
dimmed desce
n
t
Guide
d
t
o a flourishing meadow
With
murmuring flowers growing in the pro
f
usion
,
Allu
r
i
ng t
h
e revelat
i
on of nature.
Th
e a
n
swer distant
l
y bound
,
I
n
t
he path of twinkling sta
r
.
6
De
n
is
e D
e
di
o












WINTER DAY
Nothing
could compare with the sight of you,
dark curling hair swept about on that
snowy day.
It
seemed as if you were made to be walking
amidst a background of white, cheeks
ruddy
on top of coffee
.
and cream skin, the expanse
of your shoulders squared in your
bulky coat.
If I
were to
describe
the reason for my feelings,
it would have to be the look of you in winter,
as
you smile upon me
,
the reflecti.on of
snowflakes
in your deep
,
sparkling brown eyes.
Joanna
Rosato
CAT
The
cat
comes
quiet to my
room
,
Looks
right
and left
,
from
light to gloom.
Sits
on
the
sill,
And never will
Allow me
close
to
his cocoon.
K
.
S
.
R.H
.
In Memory
of WSH (1890-1958)
October is
my
fa
vorite
month,
The
month
that
I
was
born.
And everytime my
birthday comes,
I get up
just at
dawn.
7
My mother
bakes me cakes and
things,
And boy
,
don
'
t
they taste
good
!
But she won't
make me anymore,
If I don't bring in
the
wo
od.
HOJ










DELUSIONS
It
was a warm, haz
y
Ju
l
y morn
i
ng that was
threatening
to get
hot. Half
dozing
,
I
sat
r
ec
li
ned on a sof
t
seat looking at
my
boss as
he
talked
about
the
day
'
s oncoming
job
.
"Some of these
Pollacks
l
o
ok like someone put a monkey with
an
ink
bottle
in front of the canvas and then shot three thousand volts through its
body," he
exclaimed.
My
boss
has a way w
i
th words
.
But I
wasn
'
t really thinking about moving the world renowned
Jackson
Pollack paintings.
So I
j
ust
r
ol
l
ed the back of
my
head over the
head rest
and
smiled indifferently
.
More asleep tha
n
awake, I was listening
to
the
steady hum
of the large truck engine
I
had come
-
to
know
so well.
Riding in
this monstrous
vehicle, I thought
,
makes me feel
like
a king on
his
throne
who
,
every
once in a great wh
i
le, looks down on his subjects. 'Big
Easy
',
as
it is
called
by
the employees
,
is a f
i
ne truck
with
one of
the best bodies in
the art transporting
business
.
Its
~arnished interior
is
satiny to
the
touch.
The
exterior is encased in tough, white aluminum
.
Just before
I
f~II asleep,
I
realized
that
I
was a part
o
f this truck
;
I
was
the
vital
human organ that
helped
keep it alive.
I
was suddenly awakened by a sha
r
p jolt, but
I did
not open
my eyes; my
instincts
told me we had stopped.
There
were only two
reasons for this to
happen. Either
we had reached the museum
,
which did
not
seem
possible
given
the time factor, or the
rush
hou
r
traffic had slowed
us down.
My
curiosity was short lived
.
as
the
cacophony of a hundred
-
different
cat horns
boxed
my ears.
Then
,
as if Aeolus
'
anger had
been
provoked
,
came
a
dry,
hot, blasting
wind wh
i
ch c
r
owded its way
i
n
side the truck through my
boss'
open
window
.
It
whipped and scorched my face
,
stealing
away
what was
left
of
my
sleepy
,
plac
i
d expression
.
I
sat
up,
viewed the situatio
n,
rolled down my window
,
and observed in
disgust a
legion of cars
,
bumper to bumper three lanes wide
.
This
meant
we would be trapped in this torturous
Hades
for
at
least a
half an hour.
Son-of
-
a bitch
,"
my boss e
x
claimed
,
"The
Modern is e
x
pecting
us
in an
hour.
"
He
than began to co
m
plain about
the
roadworkers cleaning
the Long
Island Expressway
in t
h
e daytime when the job could be done at
night. I did
not
respond;
I
was not now in a mock
i
ng mood
.
Maybe
in ten
minutes
,
but
not now,
I
thought. I
just felt
l
ike
looking
.
Noticing
something to the right of the truck
,
on which side
I
was,
I
glanced down
and
espied
a b
l
ack
Me
rc
edes sportscar.
Behind
the
wheel
sat a
lone
female driver
.
She was
a
bout twenty
-
five
,
blonde
and
beautiful.
Out
of
boredom,
she placed her
feet
on the dashboard. As she
did this
,
her
light purple dress
sl
i
d down
,
exposing
her
downy
,
Hampton-tanned legs.
The
chick
was
obv
i
ously anno
y
ed with the who
l
e situation.
I think
she
began
to get the idea that she was being watched
,
as she slowly
turned her
head
towards me a
n
d
we
made eye contact. I threw
her
one of
my
'
Baby,
where
have
you been all my
life
?'
glances. Apparently
,
she wasn't
too
pleased
as her quaint little smi
l
e seemed forced.
Then
,
as
if
she
were
an
automaton,
she
qui
c
k
l
y turned her head
i
n
its
original direction.
Her
feet
returned
to the pedals
,
and she was gone w
i
th t
h
e
t
raffic.
The
truck,
also,
began
to move
,
and my employer had a slight grin on
his
face as he
looked
ahead
and began fo
l
low
i
ng the l
o
ng chain of cars and tru
c
ks
.
He
knew
.
Suddenly
,
his mask changed to a look of seriousness
.
"We
just
might make the Modern by ten o
'
clock," he said with the sound
of
hope.
,
"
Remember
,"
h
e
added prophetical
l
y
, "
the opera's
n
ot
over
'
til
the
fat lady
sings
."
Marshall
Wood
8












WAS IT GOOD
FOR YOU?
1. Bar of hot iron
Butts hard on belly.
2.
Musical perfume
fills
and overfills my
head.
Rays out my
eyes
in
rainbow
Flows out my
mouth and into you.
St
i
ll
,
the low dam
holds
,'-'
And the brute
sea builds.
3.
Can
'
t get enough
air
in
my chest
.
Can't get enough
air out.
Arms ache
to
hold
Ham to
be held, and pulled
To that swoln
bud, that eden rose.
4.
The long teasing
roll beg
i
nning regular
little pokes; easy,
all tenderness in variety; quick lo
n
g sl
i
des
Build the voltage,
the spark cries without sound to leap t
h
e
ga
p
In the middle
of moans and pan
t
ing gasps
Uhn Uhn Archaic
images of gorgons grinning batter my eyes
Until
I break
Until
I'm
through Until you break
.. .'til
we're thro
u
g
h
5.
We touch down on
your spinning quil
t
Roll apart
And as
I
focus,
some part of me wonders again
If all this isn't
too much like work.
T
wo
Overeasy,
Lorraine,
(
F
rench)
And Benedict,
(A good
egg)
-He
Each morning
Makes her
Cook
Three minutes
,
Her
sunny side up
Then
Bill
H
erron
They scramble
downstairs
For breakfast.
Chris
Barnes
9











This morning
I
open
the
men
'
s room door
And E
.
(black
,
my height
,
the janitor)
I
s
standin
'
there
.
It's like
looking
in
a mirror
,
And
I
j
ump
.
Then I
realize
who it
rea
lly(?)
is
,
And the world
snaps back into place
.
Who
did
I meet
th
i
s morning
,
E. or Me?
At
7
in the morning
,
I'm
not adamant on matters of identity
.
Bill
Herron
10
P
hoto by
Ted
Waters















People
on streets
I read
Without names
Names
On Wal
ls
I read
Without
people
Or not Known
To me t
o
gether
As I pass by
Reading
How many peopl
e
I've passed
Whose names I
've read
On walls
And names
also
I
'
ve passed
Whose peop
le
I've
read
on streets
.
Chris
B
arnes
A
CONVERSATION
A dark and bitte
r young man with a sunken
forehead
and graceless
.
features walks casual
ly
into
a dilap
id
ated
,
paint-peeled five-and
-
dime sto
re
with the intent
of buying a pack
of filterless cigarettes. The ciga
r
ettes
are
stacked neatly in
.
vertical rows behind
the purchasing counte~; they
are
stacked each acc
o
rding
to the
brand
.
The young man approaches the
counter
;
slowly
,
but
wi
thout
hesitation. There
is a young blonde girl with
regular features behind
the
counter; she wears a dull blue work smock
and
dull blue double
knit work slacks; the
smock has pinned to it a tag with
no
name
.
The young
man
smiles formally and asks for a pack of filte
rle
ss
cigarettes. The young
girl steps back
,
deliberately, turns and reaches
for
the pack. She
returns to
he
r
or
ig
inal position and hands
·
the
pack of
filterless
cigarettes to
the
yo
ung
man
.
The
young girl quotes a
price. The
young man hands
a bill to
the young girl
,
and requests change
.
The
young
girl complies
and entreats
the young man to
.
come again. There
is a
moment
of
detached
silence
as
the young man p
l
aces the change in
his
pocket. He
smiles.a
f
ormal smile and retreats.
Kevin D.
Hancock
11










THE SIX SHOOTER
Chris Whitman scu
r
ried quickly down the stairs into the den and turned
on the TV
.
He was about to start looking for his glasses when he realized he
was wearing them, so he plopped himself down in the big brown recliner in
the corner and stared at the face in the TV.
"Good evening
,
" it said,
"
and welcome to the Sunday evening news. Our
top story tonight -
an eighteen
-
year
-
old Br.onx man was indicted today for
the shooting death of his forty-one-year
.
old mother a
n
d his six-year-old
sister
.
The man
,
police say
,
was found sleeping
i
n his Bronx apartment
shortly after the victims
'
bodies were found in the boile
r
room. Police, as of
yet, have not determined the motive, but the man was described t
o
reporters as a 'heavy drug user
.' "
Chris got up and shut off the TV
.
He thought about the newscast
;
he
pictured himself as the murderer
.
"
O
.
K
.
mom
,"
he said to himself pointing at the wa
l
l.
"
Boom! Boom! Ha!
"
The doo
r
at the top of the steps squeaked open and a shadow appeared
in the stairwell and on the wall.
"Hey Chris
,
you down there?
"
"Whaddaya want?
"
Chris asked.
The shadow on the wall got shorter and shorter as a figure came hustling
.
down the sta
i
rs
.
It was Bill Whitman, Chris
'
brother, younger by one year
but taller and more filled out. He was frequently m
i
staken as Chris
'
older
brother.
"Listen bro, the guys and me are gonna hit up some bea
c
hes on the
island. You think you could lend me a ten spot till Friday?"
"Nope
.
Sorry.
"
"C
'
mon man, I
'
d do it for you
.
What are brothers for anyway?
"
"I don
'
't got it.
"
"You got ten bucks
,
" Bill insisted, "why can
'
t cha lend it to me?
"
"Look
,
" said Chris, "I told ya I don
'
t have it
,
and even if I did I wouldn
'
t
lend it to ya
'
cause I don
'
t trus
t
ya!"
"You're a weasel, Chris, ya know what I mean? A real schmuck!"
"I'll beat yer ass
,
wuss
,
" Chris retorted.
"Any day
,
weasel, an-ny day
."
With this Chris turned around and cuffed
his brother in the cheek
,
but Bill came back, grabbing Chris in a headlock
and wrestling him to the ground
.
"You little weasel! I
'
ll kill you!" screamed Bill as he slammed his
clenched fist into the back of his brother's head
, "
I'll break every bone in
your wimpy body!
"
The upstairs door swung open, and the high-pitched
, n
agging voice of a
middle-aged woman confirmed it to be the boys
'
mother
.
"What the hell is goin
'
on down here?"
,
she screeched as she hastened
down the stairs
.
By then Chris had wriggled his way out of his brother
'
s awesome
headlock, and was defending himself from the powerful
,
hardhitting blows
.
Bill got up and
r
an up the stairs
.
"You creepy 'fffrle wimp
-
f
'
' he screamed from the top of the stairs. Mrs
.
Whitman watched the younger boy flee
,
then turned around to face Chris
.
"What the hell's the matter with you? You're SUPPOSED to be older than
he is; why don
'
t you start acting your age?
"
"
But Ma
,"
argued Chris
, "
he came down here and started with ME!
"
"
Oh, yer so full of
i
t! You
'
re always starting with him
,
the poor kid
.''
Chris picked up his glasses
,
which had gone sailing across the room
,
and put them back on.
12








"I don't believe this!" he bellowed.
"Well you better believe it
,
mister
.
And you better believe that when you
turn eighteen next year you best have a place to stay,
'
cause you're NOT
STAYIN' IN MY
HOUSE!"
She turned and started to walk up the stairs
.
Halfway up she stopped and
added,
"
And don't bother comin
'
ta dinner tonight unless that room of
yours is cleaned up! It's a pigsty!"
She continued up the stairs and slammed the doo
r
behind her
.
He could
hear her curs
i
ng herself for having 'a kid like that.
'
Chris dropped down on the floor into a crossed-leg position. He looked
around the room
.
The couch
,
the TV
,
the bar
,
the dumb recliner. I'm sick of
all this shit, he thought. I can
'
t wait to go and be rid of It all, including this
family
,
- for good!
He fixed his eyes on his father
'
s gun collection, which was hanging on a
rack above the couch. He could never understand how a man
.
like his father
,
an old fashioned man and a pushover as a car salesman, could have such a
passion for guns and hunting. But he figured that it was just his old man's
way of releasing himself from the pressures of his wife
.
He got up from the floor and walked over to the assembly of guns. Below
the three shotguns on the rack was a series of four pistols
.
He picked up
the one farthest to the left, a .38 calibe
r '
Saturday Night Special.' He liked
that name, and he liked the power he felt behind the gun
.
He spun the
chamber around. He knew his father never kept any of the guns loaded, but
he had heard of a lot of people blowing themselves up when they 'thought
'
their guns weren't loaded
,
and he didn't want to take any chances
.
He
pointed the gun towards the top of the stairs
.
·
"
Boom! Boom!
"
he pretended
.
He drew the pistol back and ran his fingers over the barrel. So smooth
and shiny, he thought. Sure is a good feeling
.
He returned the gun to the
rack and looked at his watch. To hell with dinner, he figured. It's already
six-thirty
.
He sauntered o
v
er to the phone on his father
'
s business desk,
and he dialed
.
"Hello?" asked a voice on the other end
.
"Who's this?" asked Chris.
"
Who's this?" asked the voice.
"This is Chris
.
Is Pauline there?
"
There was a pause
.
"Just a second
,
I
'
ll see
."
One second later
,
Pauline got on the line
.
She
sounded bored.
"Hi Chris. What's up?"
"
Who was that?
"
Chris demanded
.
"
Who was who?" she asked dumbly
.
"That guy that answered the phone!
"
"Oh him
,
" she said
,
"that's just my neighbor Jack
;
he just came over for"
a beer.
"
"
You wanna do somethin' t'night?" he a
s
ked uneasily.
"Oh, I don't think so Chris, I'm beat.
"
"You're the one always beggin
'
me to take you somewhere
.
Now when I
ask you, you don
'
t want to go!"
"Gawd
,"
she said
, "
why are YOU in such a bad mood?"
"
Well whaddaya want
,
ya know?
"
"
I'll tell ya what Chris
,
" she resolved,
"
why don't we talk in school
tomorrow when you're more rational. Maybe I'll come over or
... "
"I
'
m rational now!" he broke in
.
"Well," she sighed
, "
I gotta go
.
I
'
ll see ya tamorra, alright
?"
"Good-bye!
"
he screamed
,
slamming down the phone
.
13












His mind
became filled w
ith j
ealousy as
he thought of his
girlfrien
d
.
Obviousl
y,
she
was alone w
i
t
h he
r neighbor,
for her parents
would nev
e
r
allow her friend
s to drink in
t
he
h
o
us
e. She's
only sixteen. He
thoug
h
t
of
the
man
'
s
v
oi
c
e
.
I
t was deep
and
raspy and
definitely much
older th
a
n
seventeen. It was
more the
vo
i
ce
of a man than
that of a teenager.
I
t'll
be
hard to compe
t
e with a
guy
l
ik
e tha
t, he thought.
It's even hard competi
ng
with guy
s
m
y o
wn ag
e
.
.
Chris cou
l
dn
'
t
s
t
o
p t
hi
n
king
abou
t i
t
so
he
decided
to take a
drive do
w
n
to
the lakef
r
ont a
n
d
ca
t
c
h
a qu
ick b
uzz. It was
a good day for a
drive.
The
late-spring aftern
oo
n r
ai
n
had
st
o
p
ped and
had thus produced
a
wa
r
m,
damp
evening; the kin
d of night
you
'd want
to spend with your
girlfriend,
he
thought.
He che
c
ked his p
ockets: k
eys
,
sm
okes, pot
and pipe, all there.
Goo
d. He
raced out the adjoi
n
in
g door
to
t
h
e garage,
squeezed past his
moth
er
'
s
Buick
,
and opened
the garage d
o
o
r
.
In the driveway
sat his little
green V
W
Hatchback
,
still dripp
i
ng
mudd
y wa
ter from the
rain. He
pulled out his
ke
y
s
,
unlocked
the door
, a
nd
climbe
d
i
n
. The
stale air trapped inside
al
w
ay
s
made
the
ca
r
smell
l
ik
e a trash
ca
n, so he
rolled down the window
b
efore
starting
up the car
,
ju
st
i
n time t
o cat
ch his mother's
screams.
"
I
'
m
.
not cleaning up
t
h
at
r
oom
!
"
sh
e said as he
backed out.
"
Fuck
You
,"
he
s
aid
casual
l
y
u
n
d
e
r his breath.
He
rolled up the
w
ind
ow as h
e got
under way,
and the little wagon
rat
t
l
ed
down the puddl
e
d r
o
ad
toward th
e pet
cock of his
problems, the lakefron
t.
II
It was beginni
n
g
to get dark
whe
n he pulled
into the lake's parking
lot.
The
lot was empt
y
,
except
f
o
r a
n
old man
whom Chris frequently
sa
w
strolling along the
la
ke
. T
h
e ma
n ha
d
a long, grey
beard,
and a hunch
ed
back.
He
carr
i
ed
a
br
ass cane a
n
d
wore an
overcoat; he wore
the sa
me
overcoat every da
y
.
C
hr
is, as u
s
u
al
, p
a
id no attention to
the stray
man.
Instead
, h
e backed
into
t
h
e
f
a
r
t
hest space
on the left, next
to a h
uge
boulder which
lay
un
d
e
r a big
,
shady
elm tree. He
cut
the engine an
d
s
a
t
silently in
t
he dark
, thinking that
he
should have
got some dinner
be
fo
r
e he
came. Out of his p
ocket
,
he
p
r
oduced
his
wooden, handmade
pipe a
nd a
bag of pot.
H
e
unr
o
lled
the b
ag a
nd c
h
ecked
out the weed.
Lots of se
e
d
s,
he thought. What a
b
u
mm
e
r. He
l
o
w
e
red the bowl
into the bag,
scooping
up
seeds and pot. He
packed it
i
n wi
t
h hi
s thumb.
Then, he rolled
up the
bag
and placed it in his p
ocket. The
s
e
ed
s began
popping as he lit the
bowl wi
t
h
his butane ligh
t
er an
d proc
e
eded
to g
et
high.
When it was finall
y
p
layed, he t
appe
d out the remaining
seeds
and a
shed
into the ashtray and li
t up a smo
k
e
.
H
e took a
long, deep drag
from the but
t
,
leaned
his head back
on t
h
e sea
t a
s if he
were exhausted, and
slow
l
y
b
l
ew
the used smoke
o
ut.hi
s
n
ose and
m
out
h
.
Stoned as hell
,
h
e t
h
ough
t
a
gai
n about
that newscast. I'll
tell you t
he
motive
,
he sa
i
d
to
h
imse
l
f
.
Th
e
·
gu
y's old
lady hated him and
she
was
probably a nag
l
i
k
e
mine
.
He ha
d e
very right
in the world to kill
her.
Th
e
thought stuc
k
in hi
s mi
n
d
. I
c
ould
do it, he thought.
I hate my
fam
i
ly so
much
;
I COULD D
O
IT
!
H
e s
ta
rt
ed
the engine.
Man, he thought,
I gotta g
et
some tunes in th
is
t
hin
g
.
Ill
All the
o
utside
li
g
hts were
o
ff
when he
pulled into his driveway.
He
tripped on the
st
e
ps of the p
o
r
ch
,
fa
lling on his
knees into a puddle.
"
Shit!
"
14
f











He
looked
in through the
picture
window.
His mother
was in
the
dining
room
,
vacuuming
,
as usual. He entered the fro
n
t
door,
and he hadn't
taken
more
than
two steps when she dropped the
vacuum
and rushed over in a
mad
fury to
stop him.
"Get those god damn muddy boots off
my
car
pet! Don
't
you have any
consideration?
Can't you see I just cleaned
this shit
up?" Chris said
nothing
and began walking back out to go around
through
the garage.
"
Go
see your father," added his mother cynic
ally
,
"He's
got a surprise
for
you."
He
flashed her a look of hatred and
took off ou
t
the door.
H
e
entere
d the den through the garage and
found
his
fa
ther
sitting at
his
desk
in
the far corner.
"Ma
sai
d you wanted
to
see me?"
"Yes I did
,"
said
Mr.
Whitman,
"Sit
down
."
Oh
no,
Chris thought, another
lecture.
"
Now
look
son, I put up with a
lot
of shit
from you; you
r
grades, your
freeload
ing here, and even that girlfriend of yo
urs
."
H
e reac
hed into his
pocket
and
pulled out a joint rolled in straw
berry-red rolling paper. Chris
recognized
it as
one that he himself had rolled.
"
Your
mother
found this in your room today
when she
was
cleanin
g.
Now
I know
why
you act like you do all the time. You'
re
a pothead
.
"
"
It's
only
one joint, Dad," Chris explained.
"
Look here
young
man! I will not tolerate the
use
of
drugs in my
house.
Do
you understand?
"
"
D
ad
- "
"DO YOU
UND
ERSTAND?!"
"Yeah. Yeah,
I understand alright."
"You
'
re
seventeen years old, Chris. Why
don'
t
you
do us all a
favor
,
especially yourself
,
and change your attitude.
I
t STINKS!"
"Why don't
you change your attitude?" snap
ped
C
hri
s.
"
Becau
se I
don't
live in your house! You live
in
mine. And as
long
as you
live
in
-
my house
you will live by my
rules. I'm
not the type of man
to
threaten
his kids
,
but
if I ever catch you smokin
g pot
wh
ile
you're living
in
my
house, so
help me God, I'll kick your
butt up and
down this street!
Tha
t's all!"
Chri
s sat
in
the chair, leaning forward
with his hands crossed
between
hi
s
k
n
ees
,
and his eyes
fixed on the collection of
guns
above
the
co
uch.
"Ar
e
you listening to me boy?"
"
I
heard
you." said Chris getting up.
He was about to
go upstairs
w
hen
the phone rang. He
spun around to the
desk
and grabbed the receiver
befo
re
his father
could
get
to it.
"
He
llo?"
"
He
y dude. This
is
Dave. You don't sound too
good
.
What's
a
mat
ter?"
"Old
man
just scammed on one a my bones."
"
H
e smoked
'
em?"
"
Noo
o,
man.
I
'll
explain it to ya later."
"Alright.
Hey
dude, the reason why
I'm
callin' -
are you
pickin
'
me
up for
school
tomorra?"
"Yeah,
I
guess so."
"O.K. dude
.
That
's
all I wanted to know. I'll catch
ya tomo
rra.
"
"
Yup.
"
Chris
hu
ng up the telephone and trucked
up
the
sta
ir
s to his
bedroom.
Just
as he had
expected, his mother had cleaned,
vacuumed,
and
dusted it.
He
took
off his
boots and lay on his bed.
He
sta
rte
d think
ing
about
t
he
day
's
events and
soon drifted
into
a deep, well-worn
sleep.
The
next
morning came all too soon. Ch
r
is
had slept
soundly all night in
his
clothes, and at
six he awoke to
face
the
new day.
By
seven,
he had
showered
,
grabbed
his lunch money from the co
unter, and was on
his way
to
Dave
's
house.
15












Dave li
v
ed on Sunset Street
,
in the mos
t
sec
lu
d
e
d house in town. Chris
loved
t
he house. When he
reached
it, he sto
p
ped
in
fr
o
n
t
of
the driveway
and beeped
the
horn.
Dave
came trampling out the fr
o
n
t
door
,
half dressed
and half awake.
"What's
up
dude?"
he
asked as he climbed in
.
"
How
'
s it goin'
Dave?"
"
I got us an
E.M.B.
,
dude.
"
"
A what?
"
"
A
n
early morning bone, man
."
Dave
stu
c
k
a
perfectly rolled pin-joint in
his m
o
uth and lit it up.
"
This is
good shit
,
" he
c
aut
i
oned
.
"
You a
l
ways say that
,
" Chris
reminded
h
i
m.
"Just drive
,
wise-ass, you'll see.
"
They
tumbled down the road toward the scho
ol
a
n
d pu
l
led into the "7-11"
across the street from
their
destination
.
Chris broke
o
u
t hi
s lunch
money.
"How 'bout running
in
and
gettin
'
my butts for me
?"
"What am I, your slave?"
"C
'
mon,
Dave."
"
Get out!"
Chris ran in for
his
smokes and was out of the
st
ore
i
n a flash.
He
opened
the pa
c
k of smokes and lit up one before putt
i
ng
t
he
c
ar back in
gear and
gliding over to the school.
He
parked not
i
n t
h
e
cl
osest spot
but
in
a
practical one on the grass, and the two boy
s
g
o
t
out.
"
You know Chris,
"
said
Dave
, "
this
.
car reflec
ts yo
ur p
er
sonality."
"
What do you mean, hoser?
"
"
Very plain, dull
,
and
no
class.
"
"
Oh
,
you suck
,
Dave.
"
"
You better be nice to me
,
dude
.
If
it
was
n'
t for me
, y
ou wouldn
'
t
have
any friends.
"
Chris was about to say something
,
but stopped himself
because he
knew
what
Dave
said to be
true.
"I got an eight o
'
clock class
,
" said
Da
v
e, "How
'
bout you?
"
"Nope.
I
'
m gonna see if
Paulina's
here yet. You need a r
i
de at ten
,
right?"
"Yup
."
"
O.K.
I
'
ll
meet you right out front.
"
"Sounds cool
,
dude."
"
Later
,
Dave.
"
"
Yup.
"
Dave walked in the
front
door
,
while Chris walked ar
o
und to
the side
where
crowds of students were passing around bowls and
doing up
E
.
M.B.'s. He
spotted
Pau
l
ine
seated against the wall w
i
th another
girl tha
t
Chris
recognized
as
Ann Pazanowski
,
a girl who spent more time
wi
th
Pauline
than he did.
Both girls
were wearing faded blue jeans and matching
jean
jackets.
Pau
l
ine was wearing
a
bandana around her head
and she had
a button above
her
breast
pocket
that read
, "
SM
I
LE IF YOU
'
RE STONED."
"How
'
s
i
t goin
'
?"
Chris asked
as he sat down
,
fa
ci
ng
t
he two girls.
He never kissed her
in school. He
didn
'
t know what her rect
i
on would
be,
and he always 'bugged out' when
he
was that h
i
gh a
n
d thought
everyone
was looking at him
.
The
two girls casually said hi and continu
e
d on w
i
t
h
their conversation
about something 'Jack' had
done.
Ann listened
i
ntently as
Pauline ex-
plained.
"
...
and all of a sudden
he
grabbed the wheel from me and swerve
.
d
out
of
the way
.
We came about six inches from hitting that othe
r
car!
"
Still talking to Ann, she turned
toward
Chris and said
, "
Chris would
never
have been able to do that.
He
can't even
s
tay on h
i
s s
i
de o
f
the road
when
HE's behind
the
whee
..
.
"
"Oh I could
just
imagine
Chris
in that si
t
uatio
n
,"
said Ann
,
"especia
ll
y
w
i
th THAT car!
"
16









The
two gir
l
s laughed. So Jack had
taken
her
out
driving too! Goddamn,
he
thought, what
the hell
'
s goin' on
here?
Fi
nally
Pauline
decided to aim the conversation
at Chris.
"So
Chris,
you gonna take me out tonight?"
"Well I don
'
t know.
I
'
m such a bad
driver, how
do you know I won
'
t kill
ya?
"
"Fine,"
she replied, matter-of-factly, "We
won't go out."
Chris was really
beginn
ing to feel ins
i
de all
the
abuse
he was
taking.
"What did
you want to do?
"
he
asked weakly.
"
I
don't
know.
"
"W
hy
don't
ya come over to my house?"
he
suggested
.
"
Pick m
e
up at
six-thirty. If you're
late
,
d
on't
expect me to b~ home."
"
I
'll
be on
time," he promised. "By
the way,
I
'm
not goin' to any classes
today
.
I
feel
kinda sick. I think
I'm gonna split for
home
."
"Ooohhh. Pooooor baaaaabby!"
"
Yeah. I
'll see ya tonight."
"
By
-ye."
IV
Chris got
into his car
and headed towards town.
He was angry and
frustrated,
and
practically screaming
at himself
as
he
drove down the
highway
.
·
"W
h
y
me?!
Why does everyone
hate me?
I wish I
was never
born. These
fuckin
'
people;
they make it so
goddamn
i
mpossible for me to live my life
."
He
pulled up to a red
light
and
was
still yelling at himself
when a girl in a
light blue Mus
tang
pulled
up next
to
him.
"Fuck
'em,"
he
said
,
"I'll show
'em."
He turne
d
to
the car next to
his and found the
girl shaking her head and
laughing
at him as
the light
turned green and she
pulled out. Must be pretty
funny
,
he
thought, to see someone
talking to themselves.
Something to
gossip about
to
her
friends.
The bitch.
His mind
was
made up
.
No one was
gonna
make a
fool out of
Chris
Whit
man anymore. There was serious
business
to take
care of,
but first he had to get
stoned.
He
cruised
through town
and pulled
into a Friendly
'
s Ice Cream parking
lot. He
parked the
car in a
corner
spot
and
went through the ritual of toking
a bowl
;
only this time,
he smoked
two bowls.
When he made sure that he
was
finally and thoroughly wasted, he
hea
ded back to his house
,
and as
he
expected,
found
it dese
rted. He
headed
straight for the den. Tears
streamed
down
his
face
as he l
i
fted
the
.38
off
the
rack.
"I
gotta
do
it!" he
cried. "I can't
take this shit
ANYMORE!"
He ope
ned
the
box of
ammunition and loaded
six rounds into the pistol.
Then, he
closed
t
he chamber
and secured
the
safety
latch. He looked at his
watch
:
nine forty-five. Time
to
pick up
Dave
.
Good
,
get that out of the way,
he thought.
He
stuck
the
.38
into his jeans and covered
the stock with his
exposed flannel
shirttail.
It's worth
it,
he thought,
it's gonna be worth it!
Chris had
been
waiting
,
w
ith
the
engine running, in
front of the school for
about
fifteen
mi
nu
tes when
Dave
finally c
ame strutting out of the main
entrance
.
"
It
'
s
about
time," said Chris as
Dave got
in
the car.
"I was talkin'
to
Ellen Karp.
Besides, it
was only you
waitin
',"
joked
Dave
.
"
What
the
hell is that
supposed
to mean?"
"
Nothin
'.
I
was ONLY kiddin',
dude. Cool out.
Wanna do some bowls
,
dude?"
"
Wher
e?"
17











"My
place. My paren
ts
are
at my cousin
'
s
wedding in Cold Springs.
They
won
'
t be back
till after midnight!
"
"Let's do it,"
Chris agreed.
Once again
,
they came
to the old
house at
the
end of Sunset
Street. Chris parked on the road, and the two
boys
crossed
the driveway to the front
door of the
house
.
Dave's
room
was in the
attic, so
they
climbed
the two flight
s of
narrow
steps
and
the
ladder that led through
the
ceiling.
Dave turned
on
the s
tere
o.
J
ohnny
Winter's
"
E Z Rider
"
was
playing
,
so he
cranked up the volume. He turned
t
owa
rds
Chris.
"This is a good
-
YO,
MAN
,
don't
po
i
nt
that thing at me. Suppose
it
's
loaded!" Chris had
the weapon
o
ut
, aiming
it
five
feet
from
Dave's head.
"Dave,
you're
using
me. When you
had
a
car
you
never
even thought
about calling me.
You only
call
when you need a ride
,
or
when
you
want to
get stoned. We been
gettin' high at
least
once a day for
a
long time,
and
that little
pin joint
you
had this morning
was
the
first
time
in
two weeks
that
we
smoked
YOUR
pot!"
Dave still thought the
gun
a hoax.
"Yeah,
but that
's
no reas
on to
kill
me
,
"
he joked.
"C'mo
n
,
dude, put
the
thing
away and let's
get..
.
"
Boom! The
shot
was f
i
red
and Dave
fell back
wa
rds.
Seconds
later
,
blood
began
oozing
out
of the hole in his
forehead.
Chris stood there,
not
knowing how to react.
"
I did it,
"
he
said, as if
he
were in a trance.
"
I
KILLED HIM!
"
It was done
.
Time
to
mo
ve.
He
fled down
the stairs and
in a heartbeat
was in his car
and on
h
is
way to the lakefront.
The
gun, now
with
one
vacant chamber, was shoved back down the pants and
re
-cov
ered by the
shirttail.
He
reached the
la
kefr
ont, parked under
the
big
elm
,
got out,
and
lit
a butt before
stretching out on
the
huge rock.
He w
ould
wait until
everyone
was home for dinner befo
re
making his
next
move.
V
He left the
remaining five
rounds in the chamber
when he put the
gun in
its rightful
spot on the shelf
.
He sat down
in the
big
rec
liner
and waited.
Just as he
was
about
to doze
off
,
the
stairwell door
squeaked open, and
the
high-pitched, nagging
voice
that he
hated
so much
roused him
.
"Chris?
If
you're gonna eat
tonight, then you're gonna
sit
down and eat
with the family
."
"Alright
Mom
,
I
'm
coming."
He
lifted the pistol from
the rack
and eased
it
back
down to
its
homemade holster
.
He heard
his
father talking
to his brother
about
school.
He never talks
to me
abou
t school
,
he thought. Come to
thin
k
of it
,
he
never
talks to me about anythi
ng.
He made his
way up the stairs
and entered the
k
itc
hen. H
is
mother was
filling
plates for
the
other two
men at the table.
"
I got a
call
fr
om
the school today
,
Christopher. You
just decided
you
didn't
want
to
go,
huh?
"
"I
had better
things to do," he
said coolly
.
He turned
away
fr
om the
table,
and drew out the pis
tol. He
spun around
and pointed
the weapon directly
at
his mother
'
s fo
rehead
.
Before
any
of
them could react,
he
f
ired
three
shots
.
The
brief
look
of
ho
rro
r
on their
faces made him
smile.
"I
had bette
r
things to do, MOTHA!
"
For the
first
ti
me
ic his
life he was in control of
his family
.
He
felt
so
powerful and
so
free.
But
it wasn
'
t o
v
er yet.
There
was
still one more
problem to
take
care of
.
18














V
I
He arrived at Pauline
'
s house tw
e
nt
y m
in
u
tes early
.
She
had just finished
eating
when
he
knocked
on the d
oo
r
.
"Hi!
I
'
ll be ready in a
second
,
" s
he
said wi
th a
smile.
She was always
nice
to
him
in front of her fam
i
ly
.
She grabbed her brown
suede jac
k
e
t from
the
coat closet, the
jacket she
always wore to his house to
give h
is p
ar
ents a
good impres
sion.
"I
won
'
t
be
in
too late
,"
she yelled
on the
way out,
"
Bye
Mom."
"
I told
ya
I'd be on time,"
Chris s
a
id a
s t
h
e
y neared
the car.
"Let's
go
to
the lakefront
and bl
o
w
a
f
ew
bones fi
rst," Chris suggested
good-naturedly
.
"
Sure,
"
Pauline
replied.
Chris pulled the
car into the par
ki
ng
lot
,
a
nd as usual
, parked it under the
elm
.
Once again the lot was
empty
,
e
xc
e
p
t
for the old haggard
man.
The two
got
out of the car
and Pauline
edged h
er wa
y to the top
of the
big rock, as
Chris
closely
followed
her.
"
How come
you're
always
such a qu
iet th
ing around
me in school?"
she
asked
.
As
she climbed,
Chris drew
the pis
t
o
l and h
eld it to
the back
of her head.
Without a word he pulled the
trigger an
d ki
l
le
d off the
last of his pains. He
jumped
from the
rock and
faced th
e c
ar
.
T
he
o
l
d man
was
circling the tot as
he had done so many times
in
the
pas
t. Chri
s put the pis
tol to his ear and
too
·
k a deep breath
.
He pulled the
t
rig
ger a
nd his body
fell
flat across the
hood
of
the little car
.
The
old man
sto
pp
e
d
for a second
and
strained to see
what was going on
.
With
the help of t
he b
rass cane
,
he
turned slowly
around, and began walking t
o
ward
th
e
lake
.
Guy
Flo
r
e
Photo
by
Kevin Sipperley
19












Monumental Moment
Delivery Room
Nine Month Moment
I sit
at her shoulder
she
draped in green
doctor, nurses
walls, floor, me
in green little peter pan slippers
.
metal and glass and masks
bright
the mirror as round
as the image of your head
·
in the apex of the Y of her legs
the reflection
bright
metal and glass and masks and breathe
says nurse
don't touch anything green
and
I
,
green,
try
to separate from me
we
closer than nine months ago
she
an almost mother
we
almost three
me
cheering like a leader
comeonkidyoucandoitkidcomeonkidcomeonkid
green
·
mask on her face, what for?
oxygen, baby's heartbeat weak
says nurse
bitchy robot in green with soul of shrub
bright
light reflection from
metal and
.
glass and masks on us all
come on kid
little blood, it's okay
reds ot.,1t of place
metal and glass and green
and mirror
you
'
re growing longer at the apex
come on kid
come on kid it
'
s 3:05
metal and glass and masks and green
are gone
sight
submits
to another sense
my daughter, your
first breath
The loudest sound I've ever heard
Jim Slater
20

































-
<
-----
-
_-:._
-=_=.:.::::
::-::
::
~_-
-
:::-=-=-=--~
-=====
=--_:--
--
-
-
....--
-
----
-
-
.
.
--
-----
- ~
-
=::::. __ _
-
----
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
~
21






The Corpse
The bleak emptiness of some dusty as
t
eroid
,
In the blackly, vast galaxy
,
The c
r
ackling sensations of skulls
,
As maidens in a row
...
In my God damned cemetery
!
The iced
,
briny liquid flows from my
Forehead, dead. buried
,
soiled
.
The agony of damned sou
l
s
,
As Hell
'
s fires born.
Rotting flesh,
Rotting blood
,
Rotting guts,
Stinking
,
rotting cadaverous masses
.
That shriek of the insane'
,
As the coldly
,
black bird howls .
.
.
Echoing,
Through the empty graves.
Alas! the loneliness
,
the death
,
As Satan dances above the sinewy mound,
The dogs lick the scum
,
Vomiting, crawling upon the poo
r
damned.
God help them,
Help them from the worms
.
Help them from the soil
,
The demons
,
the wormy dogs, the puke.
Liberate them from their caskets
.
Give them Apolloness
,
Strength
,
Glowing and Clean
.
..
Ashes to ashes
,
Dust to fucking dust.
Flesh
,
To crawling flesh!
The corpses lay
.
Andrew Sherman Evans II
22












THE SEA
In tatt
e
red
c
l
ot
h
es,
a wrin
k
led man
sat up
o
n a ro
c
k
that looked ov
e
r t
he sea
C
lasping hi
s c
h
in with bony knuckles
,
he though
t.
Thoughts pi
erced the waves.
Floating
o
ut
to sea,
Mingling with
th
e
music
of passing
w
h
ales
.
Singing
,
As a choru
s of one.
He smiles
as the wave
s caress
his feet
l
i
ke an
a
tt
entive mother.
He
l
ook
s
into the sett
i
n
g sun,
as it wa
r
mly
loo
k
s back
like a la
r
gely
godly eye.
He thinks
...
men are fool
s.
Andre
w Sherman Evans II
SILENT S
E
N
T
I
NEL
S
s;
:
ent sentinels line
Darkened days
Lonely lifting limbs,
Deep despair
Desperate dreams of
Kinder days
Bittersweet bastions
Satan's slaves
Wasted wombs
r
ipped apart
Perished pawns
Chosen children guard gates
To hell
Murdered memories
,
Umbilical hell
Surgical suicide
,
Doctored death
Mangled mothe
r
s mourn
Shattered shells
Haunted hearts, certain hell
Cherished child
Weeping wounds upon a cross.
Theresa Pearce
When the shadows gre
w
ta
ller
un
til they d
i
sappeared
,
and the moon threw shafts of
du
s
t
y light
through the trees, she kne
w
it w
as time to r
i
se. Crawling closely to the ground, she eme
r
ged from
her hid
i
ng space
.
The
r
e
w
a
s e
l
ectr
i
city in the ai
r
;
in each tiny particle in the light shafts around
h
er. The energy entered her as
s
he
move
d
through the night. She stopped, her huge eyes peered
through the darkness
.
Wh
e
n
s
h
e w
a
s still
,
no sound could be heard. But with every adva
n
cing
s
tep
,
the sounds of smal
l fo
r
est anim
a
ls fleeing reached her e
a
rs; a squirrel scurr
i
ed to the safety
o
f a hollowed log
,
the
s
leep
y
bi
rds awakened and flocked to the he
i
ghts of distant trees
.
As s
h
e
rose
a
nd
s
tretched to her f
eet, she knew that she wanted food. The fear that hung in the darkness
a
nd th
e
dampness inten
s
ifi
ed h
e
r hunger. She crouched suddenly and moved swiftly and silently
thro
u
gh the forest. She st
o
p
pe
d
.
R
eaching quickly to her right
,
she pu
l
led a rabbit from behind a
tree.
S
he could feel the rapi
d beat of the animal's heart as she brought it to her teet
h
. It squirmed
furiousl
y.
Ripping at the sof
t fu
r
, she devoured the a
n
imal voracious
l
y.
Renee C. Martin
24









Dry and pumping
into
the
night.
Holding back
and pulling t
i
ghter.
Blood rushes forth
awaiting the channels
to grow stiff.
The dam is broken
and a
burst
of fear
,
rushes
forth
.
Red covers
all
,
death is on its way.
Dry
,
but still pump
i
ng.
The night grows old
and the day begins
an end
to life
as
i
t was before.
Bursting
through the
valve
in a gush
rather than spurts.
As the center of life
shuts down
and pushes out
the red cells of love.
The roots grow hard.
It's
gone
.
I
li
s
ten
...
Nothing.
Rick
O
'
Donnell
EINE
FA
K
ETE DER LEBENWELT
Man is king of the cockroaches,
JAME
S DO
U
GLOUS MO
RR
ISON
Mere
words
;
Philosophically
generated
into
aberrant coherence
.
One radical
soul
;
E
nticed by the boundless
entities
of poetry.
Why
such a penchant
to
drown your
intellect recklessly,
and
intoxicate your sanity with repressants?
D
angling from the
transepts;
R
egarding mortality
itself
as
the
ultimate limitation.
Only
to
lastly fall
.
Fall from
the outskirts
,
The
Big
Sleep
.
Just merited
,
With the
since
r
e gratitude
,
OF
the lives
you changed
.
Into
Guy Fiore
Everyone
knows, he has c
r
owned himself
so.
The king hides
his bread from his
subjects,
assured
this decision is wise.
Yet the wordly pests
,
neither knowing nor
caring
nibble
away at
His Majesty
'
s sustenance.
Anna
Angell
-
Young
25









SPERM ON TRIAL
The gavel strikes to open
the
235th
U.S
.
Congress.
The
i
ssue
a
t hand i
s
the
t
otal e
li
mination of birth control.
Males
have been us
i
ng proph
yl
a
c
ti
cs
to hold back their sperm, and today
The
Congress
i
s convened to de
cid
e
the fate
o
f conception
.
The first speaker
is
a man
.
He
states
:
"Your
Honor
,
I believe th
is
a
n is
s
ue
for men alone t
o
decide
.
We
contributed our genetic heritage t
o
our
children and their lives
depend
on our
lives
.
We
have dedi
c
ated our li
v
e
s to
raise and teach these children
,
and we have helped
to form all the young
minds which inhabit the Children's Cities
.
We
sacrifice f
o
r them
,
and we
gladly offer to them those opportunities
we have missed
so that they may
more
f
ully develop their own
unique
qualities.
But
we mu
s
t be all
o
wed
to
determine, for ourselves,
how many
children we can capably handle at one
t
i
me. We are overpopulated now!
A
child should
be
able to grow free from
want and with dignity of
purpose
.
Quality
of life
is the
sole issue
."
The
c
hairwoman replies
:
"Certainly
we recognize
the contributi
o
ns o
f
men
.
Were it not for them
,
Philosophy
,
Religion
,
and
Psycholog
y
w
o
u
l
d n
o
t
have become
Reality,
and progress
would have
come to a halt with the
nuclear fam
il
y
.
But
the question
is
the
preservation
of
life
for
a
ll i
n-
dividuals
,
and
The
Congress
must put
aside
personal fee
li
ng and intere
s
t
when it determ
i
nes the
rights
of
those
children too weak to speak
for
themselves
."
Another man speaks
:
"But
Your Honor
,
God gave me this body
.
I
t'
s m
y
penis and my sperm.
I
suggest that
this
is
not a matter
for the
legis
l
atu
r
e
or
the courts to decide
,
but
one
instead that
should
be
ruled by our own God
-
gi
v
en
c
onsciences.
I resent
having
my
sperm sent to bank
s
where w
o
me
n
are free to
c
hoose the type of
child they desire. Surely the
unborn ind
i
vidual
sh
o
uld be considered
,
but I
'
m
an
individual
too!
I think that
I
sh
o
u
l
d be ab
le
to determine
my
own fate
,
and that I
should
be able
to share in t
h
e li
v
e
s
and
dest
i
n
i
es of my own children
.
"
The
c
hairwoman
heaves
a
dolorous
sigh
under
the weight
o
f Tru
t
h and
e
xc
laims
:
"There
i
s
Truth
In
what
you speak of, my son
.
But
do you n
o
t see
h
o
w God
,
with
Her Divine
Wisdom
and Omniscience,
just as Sh
e
has gi
v
en
you di
v
ine conscience
,
has
naturally aborted those
children who would
have been
an
abomination
to mankind had they
survived. One cann
o
t pla
c
e
one
'
s self above
God
in
determining who
should and should not
live
.
A zea
l
ous Congresswoman stands in
defense
of
the
state
.
She di
s
pla
ys
glossy photos of
magnified sperm
cells, and she defies the crowd t
o
d
is
pute that these
gametes are
alive
.
She
advocates and e
l
ucidate
s
the
cloning process
in a brilliant manner
of
discourse,
and she favors the
important part that sperm plays in
producing
workers for
The
State
.
He
r
arguments elicit a favorable
response in the
chamber
;
for eloquen
c
e i
s
of
t
en m
i
staken
for Truth
.
·
Her final comments are as follows
: "
Think long and
ha
rd
G
oo
d W
o
me
n
,
what holding back sperm
means. It means that
these children will never
laugh
,
never love
.
Holding
back
sperm
is
murder!
"
Applause erupts
The gavel
s
trikes aga
i
n
.
The
Chairwoman issues
advice
to
the assembly
: "
Beware
o
f s
en
-
sationalism
.
We are not engaged in a circus
.
The Destiny
o
f our
c
h
i
ld
r
en
re
s
ts on our
decision
today.
"
Bef
o
re the vote is cast
,
a
caution
is
issued
by The
Speaker
: "
Ea
ch
of u
s
stands alone in the
universe
,
and
we must
answer
to a h
i
gher f
o
r
ce t
han
26












this
court for
the
choices
we
m
ake in o
u
r lives. We cannot begin
to com-
prehend the
Divine P
l
an
.
For It is Absolute, and we are but mere mortals
.
Ali
we
c
an hope to
do is to seek the God within ourselves,
and with com-
passion strive for
an understandi
n
g of what
constitutes our neighbor
'
s
belief
about
a right to life."
The
vote
is
cast.
The men have
won by a narrow margin.
The sperm
banks will be
closed.
C
l
oning without
State authorization will be permitted no
longer
.
Paternity becomes a matter of c
h
oice, a
n
d by law, the pract
i
ce of
birth
control
,
an "inalienable
right."
Democracy
prevails.
It is
a
great
day
in
Herstory!
Anna Angell-Young
Portrait
Happiness
cap
t
ured in i
nn
ocent eyes;
Hidden within, fortunes of soldier's
strife
In
illegal
gold trapped deep behind
bars
.
In
flight she
is free
,
her treasure chest
far.
Her
wings
as
she soa
r
s
,
sculptured hands tell tales
Waving
in
tune
with the ebb of the breeze
.
Her hair hiding among the
clouds
of time
daring,
t
easing the edge of my canvas.
Her beauty testified in he
r
portrait;
My
paintbrush
is dripping
with sharp
,
quick strokes
of lips
tiny
creases,
laughter
etching
the eyes
that glis
t
en
i
n t
h
e smiling sun
.
Reflections
mirrored in her pale
,
white skin
radiate forth in
herald
of
her death.
Karen John
s
on
27





Photo by Ted Waters
28



29















BALLERINA
One moment she is poised upon
the
poi
n
t of
her
toe
,
Her eyes are unblinking as she concent
rates
;
the slow
Movement of her arm drifts down as t
he
pia
no
notes
Ripple
through th
e
twilight of the room,
then she floats
To the floor with her head gently bent
to
h
e
r
c
hest.
Suddenly she
s
pri
ng
s
l
ike a faun in a
forest:
Frightened b
y
the footsteps of a hun
t
er
in
t
h
e
wood.
She leaps through the air from the place
where she stood;
Like
a diver that anticipates t~e work
ing
of a
muscle
,
There
is
no hesitation in her turning; in
the subtle
Creases
in her shoes
:
they barely
touch the floor.
She lifts her head h
i
gh
,
like a b
i
rd s
he
w
ill
soar
As the crescendo rises
,
then tumbles
down the walls.
Slowly
,
she
s
pins in a circ
l
e on
the balls
Of
her
feet
,
then she
sof
tly folds
her
ar
m
s
to
her
bosom.
As if before the presence of a
deity
from
A mystical kingdom
,
she kneels quietly
,
with her eyes half-closed
Sitting in repose like a lotus on a lake.
CAMARADERIE
'
Twas
a day in late October, I was feeling
far
from
sober, while
I
w
as carrying
my
load with
manly
pride
.
When my knees began to stutter,
I
lay down
in
the
gutter and a little
pig
came
and
la
y
beside
me
.
As we were
lying
there togethe
r
,
like
two
.
'
friends
in stormy weather
,
a lady
passing
b
y
was
heard to say:
"
You can tell a
man who
boozes
by
the company he ch
o
oses
."
So the
little pig got up
and walked away
.
Anonymous
John Ru
sse
ll
I left
Frisco
in February
'
32
.
Lost my job
in
the
grape
fields
i
n
'31, when
the
drought
set
in.
Things were
lookin
'
bad
since '
28
,
but they held
on
to me
as
long as
possible
.
Bein
'
that
I
was a good wo
rker
,
the
boss, Jed
,
liked me.
But
times was so bad he just had
to
let go of
me.
No
t
knowin' where
to go
,
or what to do next, I decided to head east.
Had
some
savings,
but nothin
'
much
.
You know, not havin
'
a woman or kinfolk of
any kind,
I
didn't
figure I
needed to save mu
c
h
.
In the fields
,
the guys
always
find
ways to squander
money
on gamb
l
in'
,
d
r
inkin
',
or women. Now
don't
get
me
wrong,
I didn
'
t
mind
that kinda life at al
l.
When you
'
re
'
round those guys
all the time
you
gotta
do like them if you want them
to
like you.
No
t
that I
'
m braggin
'
or
nothin
',
but
those
guys used to
love
havin
'
me
'rou
nd.
But
all those guys were g
o
ne by now.
Each
one
havin
'
gone his
own
separate
way
.
I
heard Larry went up to Oregon
and Joe to
Montana
.
In fact,
one day
Sam
and me was talkin
'
and he told
me Bill
had packed up long ago
30







and was now workin
'
a freighter ship outta Anaheim. He told me Bill got
hitched through a brother
.
That
'
s what they call nepotism or somethin' like
that. I know I wouldn
'
t have got the job.
Anyways, I was talkin
'
real deep to Sam and I asked him what he was up
to
.
He didn
'
t know
,
just like none of us didn't know. But he said h!:l'd been
wandering up and down the coast lookin' for work, but never could find
nothin
'
. So when I asked him if he wanted to head east with me, why
,
he
become as anxious as a penned up buckin
'
billygoat. Course
,
lookin
'
as he
was desperate as me
,
he couldn't no how refuse
.
We didn
'
t have no serious
di
r
ection or plan
,
so we figured to take it slow across the states and see if
we'd find anythin
'
a
l
ong the way.
We decided instead to go south, 'cause the weather was warmer and we
could bring less clothes and things that way. Come the beginning of
March
,
we hitched a ride on an orange truck headed for Tijuana
.
All we did
the first few weeks was reminisce about the old days in Frisco
.
Course
,
me and Sam was never too tight back then, in the old days that
is
.
But
,
hell, we had a mutual respect for each other. Maybe that was 'cause
he was a big guy
,
like me. He had thick
,
red hair that looked sorta bushy
,
sorta like the negras wear their hair
.
He had big arms and a big chest
,
stood
about six three and weighed
,
God almighty
,
two forty
.
I was pretty much his
size, so between me and him
,
we was a pretty pair to behold.
Well, we went to New Mexico and Texas and we worked odd Jobs here
and there, but things weren
'
t lookin' any better
.
Man, even if you did get
hired before all the other guys standin
'
in line, even if you did work like an
ox
,
they
'
d let you go once they run outta money. Besides, they didn't need
no man in particular
,
not in those times. Why
,
I
'
member goin to a ranch
down San
'
Tonia way. There was openin
'
s for five men. There was two
hundred fifty men stand in
'
in line! That alone could make a man not want ta
bother anyhow
.
I don
'
t know if you know what it
'
s like bein' strong, healthy,
young, and wantin
'
real bad to work and not bein' able to find a man who
could use your services
.
Even to shine shoes or milk cows! Damn
degradin
'
, it is. Certain it don
'
t help the morale of the individual. Makes him
kinda feel worthless and cheap like. E
'
en the hardest man likes to know
he's gotta job doin
'
and a reason for livin
'.
Sam and me talked about this all
the time we was on the road. In fact, it seemed like we was talkin
'
over a
bottle of whiskey or bourbon about life and sort of philosophizin
'
about our
condition more than we was workin
'
or e'en lookin' for work.
I
'
member by July neither of us had worked a job since April. And we
wasn't lookin' no more either
.
We was, if I
'
member correctly, in New
Orleans, and the town was full of men just like us. We'd get our bottles,
meet in the park, and just plain share the company and liquor. By that time,
Sam and me was closer than I ever thought rightly possible for two real
men to be. It wasn't like we was funny or nothin
'.
We'd just share everythin'
,
from our smallest thoughts, to the last swig of the bottle.
He seemed to be changin'
,
Sam did, though I couldn
'
t guess what was
wrong
,
but he was just clammin' up on me
.
I couldn't get him to tell me
nothin
'
.
I started to really worry 'bout him. Like maybe his mind was goin' or
somethin
'
. He started wandering off my himself a lot. I didn
'
t ask too many
questions and he didn
'
t no consolin' talk
.
I hardly saw him in September
and October
.
He
'
d come
'
round once every two weeks or three weeks for a
day or two. I missed him a lot, and I meant to tell him so
.
But whenever he'd
come 'round, he
'
d be real distant. I didn't want ta seem pushy or nothin' so
I
'
d just look at him real inquirin
'
like. Only, he'd ignore my stares and study
me. Seemed like the only reason he came by was to intrude on my private
thoughts. He
'
d stare and watch everythin
'
real intently, but he
'
d never make
a comment about nothin
'
. Now
,
like I said, a man gotta have comfort from
his friends
,
in times such as these were. But Sam didn't want no comfort
,
not e
'
en from the bottle.
.
31








H
e ca
m
e
b
y
in late O
c
t
o
ber.
St
a
yed for a whole weeK. Act1n
·
real str
ange
t
oo.
A
c
t
i
n
'
as if nothin
'
e
v
er h
appen
e
d. I took him in again
,
just like any
pa
l
would d
o
. I didn't do nothin
' s
u
spic
i
ous neither. I thought he'd t
e
ll me wh
at
was happenin' in due time
.
He did
too, s
u
re enough
.
That last da
y
of the
we
ek
,
h
e approached me and said
, "
Ned,
"
'c
ause
tha
t'
s my name,
"
this is
t
he la
s
t
time yo
u
'll ever see me. I know you b
een
wonderin
'
what I been
do
in
' t
he
se past
f
ew months
.
And I app
r
eciate yo
ur
not pesterin
'
me about what it w
as.
B
u
t I
didn't wan
t
you discou
ragin
'
me
about what I know I gotta do.
"
My fa
c
e musta turned ash
e
n gr
ey.
I
rea
l
ly thought the guy was o
ut
t
o kill
h
i
mself
.
But I kept my u
s
ual s
o
b
e
r
se
lf
a
n
d liste
n
ed.
"
You and me
,
" he went on,
"we've tal
k
ed about this before, and
I
p
retty
much know how you feel. You
'
d b
e g
l
ad
n
ot to work another day in yo
ur li
f
e
.
You
'
re happy here among all
t
he
se guys who think just
lik
e you t
hink
.
Drinkin
'
your sap and talkin
' a
b
out the things you
'
d
l
ike to do.
H
ow
you
don't like the way the w
o
rld is
,
an
d how you and the guys could c
h
a
ng
e i
t if
yo
u had the chance
.
Settin
'
y
o
u in
destitute and forcin' you on
t
he
bottle,
givin
'
you no choice but to a
c
cep
t
thi
s unproductive life or go mad."
Now I was really gettin
'
worried
. Sam was lookin
'
at me rea
l
cu
r
io
u
s l
i
k
e
and he was turnin
'
a fiery sor
t
of r
ed.
I
thought he was go
n
na jump
at me. I
didn
'
t know what to say. So he ju
st co
n
tinued
,
but in a wilder w
a
y
.
B
y t
his
t
i
me
,
he was wavin
'
hi
s
arm
s, s
t
rikin' out at ai
r
.
Seemed like he wa
s t
ry
in
'
his damnde
st
to make himself c
lear.
"
And I don
'
t like it
,"
he bello
wed, "not at all
,
and I just can
'
t live ltke t
his
no more. I realize if there was
work
n
one of us would be in this
m
es
s.
So
I
did some thinkin
' '
bout how I could li
ve
.
without the necessity of t
h
e
b
o
ttle
,
t
he guys
,
of anyone other
-
tha
n t
h
e natural things for survival. A
nd
that'
s
just what I don
e
. I built me a p
lace far from here
,
in the darkest
,
black
est
,
backest part of the woods
.
And
I'm gonna stay there. I ain't comin'
back
into the world
,
and I hope I never
see anot
h
er man as long as
I
live."
Now
,
I thought, he
'
s hittin
' b
e
low the belt. It
'
s as if o
ur
cama
ra
d
erie
meant a
b
solutely
n
othi
n'
t
o h
im. A
s if
I
didn
'
t e
'
en exist.
T
he g
u
y'
s ob
-
v
iously gone loony
,
I thought. He
seemed to be mockin
'
me, and he s
ti
ll
dug
deepe
r
.
"
Each man would ha
v
e m
e
li
vin' some degenerate life
,
" he ram
ble
d
on
,
"a
n
d
i
f
it ain
'
t on some old be
at u
p
fa
r
m, it's on the bottle
.
Why sho
uld I
w
o
rk
e
ighteen hours a day breaki
n
'
m
y back to make some snarl i
n
'
ra
nc
her
ri
c
h
?!
E
v
en if thing
s
d
o
get better
,
I
wan
t
no part of 'em. This wo
r
l
d
, a
nd
w
e
made it this way
,
ain't fit for n
o h
um
an being who cares about w
h
at
h
a
p
-
pens
t
o it or the peop
l
e in i
t. I
kn
ow w
h
en the day of reckonin' co
mes, I
'
l
l
s
uffer for what I'm sayin
'
and d
o
in
',
b
ut at least I'll know
I
wasn't no w
ork
i
n
'
organism helpin' to quic
k
en the
inevitable out
c
ome of this cr
u
e
l
,
u
se
less
w
o
rld!
"
When he finished
,
I couldn
't
d
o
n
ot
hi
n' but stare at him, my mo
u
t
h
g
aped
wide open
.
I musta looked real du
mb and foolish. But I didn't hav
e
n
othin
'
to sa
y
, right the
r
e and then
.
Well
,
I
coul
d
a told him a few th
i
ngs off th
e t
o
p
of my head. After all, the guy just
c
a
lled me a lousy drunka
r
d.
Bu
t
I
j
u
st
ke
p
t
my m
o
uth
c
losed
,
figurin
'
he kne
w what he wanted better than I
di
d. So
what did I d
o
? I extende
d
m
y
hand
and wished him luck.
I didn
'
t gi
v
e him much tho
u
ght
fo
r
a
l
ong time afterward neithe
r
. I
wa
s
kinda
s
ore at him, with h
is s
udd
en
h
ighfalutin attitude
'
bout
l
ife. Who
'
d
he
thi
n
k he was any
w
ay
,
I thought
,
a d
amn saint?
Mar
i
a Arg
ano
32









October Sun
I face the
o
and
ctober Sun
I
ga~her its warmth
savor
1
t
.
And frame
i
t
In my cooling mind
The
last dro
.
Unti
l
Ap
r
ii. from the glas
s
John K
r
au
s
33











i
They say
the way
to sail uncha
rted seas
is find a con
s
t
ant star.
I chose the
Sun
and yo
u
!
surviving S
t
or
ms
with you
r Remembere
d
Light.
I am a p
ri
va
te person
who cau
t
iousl
y reveals
a secret so
ul.
.
.
Aching for
Freedom,
denying p
ain
,
and straining
at bonds t
hat would
ensnare
me.
Mist and
M
a
elstrom
would belie
Serenity
but for you,
my g
en
t
l
e,
Constant
Star ...
A firefly
adores yo
u
from a d
istance
,
enraptu
r
ed
by your
Light.
Jennifer
Langner
Parfois je se
n
s e
x
i
ster enferm
e
com
me un chie
n.
Je me couche par
terre et ne fais
jamais
rien.
Je decouvres pa
r
h
asard que je
ne suis
pas du tout heure
u
x,
Je me demande p
ourquoi! C
'
est tout
ce que je fais est enn
u
ye
u
x.
II me manque mor
tellement
des
c
hoses d
'
aventure et d
'
amour.
II n'y a rien de bea
u
ni
laid qui
m'entoure.
Je me souviens
m
a
intenant
de bons temps
a
Paris
,
Ou tout etait be
au et
laid
,
et
sans souci.
J
'
y
trouvai une ange
merveilleuse
d'amour
e
'
ternel et passionne.
Mais, ii me faillait
partir
,
je ne
boulais
pas la quitter.
C'est ici, dans le
nouveau
monde
une fois le reve des g
r
ands aventuriers,
D'ou mon amour j
e te regarde
et
t
'atte
nds
,
frustre.
W.
L
ew
i
s
34









ONE
MAN'S
JOURNEY THROUGH
DESPAIR
He raised his
glass in a silent toast to an
empty room as
th
e lonely
silence of another
night
crept stealthily in
,
contemptuously
mocking
h
is
solitude,
depriving
him of any hope of a reprieve.
The
candle
flame
flickered in the
darkened room, beckoning him over
the edges of his sanity,
taunting him, haunting
him, and daring him to forget.
A shudder passe
d
through his
fear-wracked body as the flame did
a
grotesque
dance of death
before his eyes. The Grim Reaper
and a host of satyrs had come
to be paid.
His soul
despaired his memory's regrets just
as
the shadows
In t
h
e ro
om
denied
the
light
of
the
flame
.
Vengeful ghosts from the past
had arrived for
this lasting and final torture. He knew he'd arrived at his own personal
hell.
In the chaotic nightmare
of his
tortured
mind, he
remembered.
In unrelenting detail,
each vision stepped out of the
f
l
ame,
Inflicti
n
g
it
s
pain and branding his
body to the depths of his soul.
At fl'rst,
t
hey we
r
e
shadowed, but as they
stated their claim, the visions
became clearer, an
d
he knew each by
name.
·
O
u
t of the flames
came a
little boy: Tommy, his
classmate
w
h
om he h
ad
hated in school. He had
made sure all
the
other kids
hated him too.
T
ommy
remembered the
time
he
was tripped on the stairs;
he was a visitor of
revenge. The man watched
the bizarre scene
unfold before his ow
n
eyes;
there was an endless
staircase that
he had
to climb.
As he climbed eac
h
stair, he was pushed back
by an incredible weight, and
Tommy
laughed
as
the man
crawled up
the
stairs, one by one. Just as
he'd reached
the final
stair, the visio
n
changed and he
was back in his
chair.
The heartbroken face
of a young girl appeared In
the room and the
sounds
of
her sobs
were
like
the sounds of
doom. The man
covered
his ea
r
s
but the sounds
invaded
his
mind
,
each heart-rending sob
echoing fro
m
the
corners of the
room.
As the
sobbing grew
louder
,
the
m
an's s
ad
ness I
n
-
creased and he
thought
he
would die from the
depths of his despai
r
.
T
he
sounds
started
to
fade and the man
thought
it
was
over,
but the Grim
Reaper laughed in
the corner and said, "It's only
just
started."
The man
sat in
his
chair and stared
straight ahead.
The Grim Reaper
said
,
"You must look into
the
flame
and se
e
your life
pass before
your eyes."
As the man
looked
into
the flame
and
the
flame hypnotized
hi
m, o
ut
stepped al
l
the
people he
had stepped on during
his journey to the
t
o
p
.
There was Harry and Joe
and
Beth
,
and they
'
d waited for this
time to pay
him back for being used
as pawns. To his horror
,
he watched
the three grow
in size, till he was no more
than the size of a toad. They
picked him
u
p a
n
d
p
l
aced him
in
a
cage with a gian
t
spider
.
As the spider stalked
h
im,
h
e ran
straight
Into
its
web and was captured in Its lair
;
he was its pawn. The
spider moved in, ready
for the kill. The man was utterly
helpless and
h
e
screamed fo
r
mercy. The
candle
flickered
and
the
vision
disappeare
d
.
T
he shadows lengthened,
and out of the darkness stepped
his two
children.
He
was so overjoyed
at
seeing them that
he
ran forward to
me
e
t
them. But they
kept moving back
,
away from him, as
he kept pursui
n
g
them. And as he
followed,
they
moved farther
and
farther
away. T
h
ey le
d
him
straight into a labyrinth. Road
upon
road
,
turn
upon turn. Suddenly, his
children
were
gone
,
and he was quite lost. He screamed
after them, but
they were gone;
they had
left
him all alone just as
he had
left
them.
H
e sat
down a
n
d he cried. He
had lost more then his direction.
The
tears
became
flames and
he was back in the room
.
He sat
In
the burnished
chair and watched
the
candle
burn, and he knew
that he had treated
life like melted wax.
He
had
let so many things pass by
him and he
had
used
so many people, and
now
he
was worth no more th
a
n
useless wax. Through
his actions, he had caused
all
the
light to go out of
his life. As
the candle flame flickered and flew away,
and the room was
overwhelmed by total darkness,
the
man finally knew the true dept
h
s o
f
despair.
Theresa Pearc
e
35










Buffalo Stat
i
on
So it b
e
gins
Vast asphalt
abandoned
cr
umbling
Once collector of car
s
Now
collector of one
Few or none
Empty
Over stately doorways
their seldom use
Gothic columns
pillars
Supporting the pallid past
The heralds
o
f hindsight
Beyond the doors
Empt
y
Mosaic monuments to absent
fe
e
t
Cold tile
Buffalo
cold
Bordered
by ticket wind
o
w
s
In
rows like dominoes
Would fall were they not
Above them names
of towns that sound
Empty
Ch
i
cago is hollow
If no
o
ne goes
no one goes
Midwest men
'
s room sign
s
are dusty
here
and there
guarded
by
disuse
and white porcelain sentinels
s
aluting with silver handle
s
facing each other
and the
Empt
y
as the burgundy draperied dinin
g room
waiting for debutantes
with an expectant elegan
c
e
disappeared three decades ag
o
3
6
Empty
bar once big
a
n
d boi
s
terous
with spinn
i
ng
head
s
and laughter
now lo
n
g an
d lonely
spins the spider
empty
the waiting room
the Cathedra
l
sta
i
ne
d
glass
palatial ceilings
and
p
ews
t
o
permit
t
h
e co
n
g
r
eg
ation of St.
Peter
'
s
once
now sits o
n
e
felt hat han
d
s and
n
e
wspaper
won
d
e
r
i
ng wh
a
t t
o
worship
all empty
the rai
l
s beyon
d
miles of m
u
sical me
asures
orchestratin
g
t
h
e
thunder
of
a
t
h
o
u
s
and engines empty
now r
ib
b
on
s
of rust
someo
n
e m
u
s
t
know where they go
no one does
no o
n
e goes
the one
the train
passing this way
is a st
r
ay
the Gateway to th
e W
es
t
rusted shut
the Ga
t
eway to t
h
e
West
rusted shut
so
i
t ends
Jim
Slater


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