BrillianceBureau

The Creative Journal

Thanks to the EditorsKassie FletcherMolly Flanagan

Jack DoyleJacob ChartrandEduardo Reyes

Special Thanks toBrother George Klawitter

Bill Tourtillotte

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ContourCopyright 2013

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Spyglass Eyes

by Alexis Petersen

A good man to me would be a sparrow to the sea

that never wants its lady left alone.

But beyond my spyglass eyes the wind whispers from the skies:

“a man who’s got his wings will always roam.”

So on the false horizon of trust my heart begins to gather dust,

and I turn my spyglass eyes elsewhere—

To another bird or man or sea, to something else I think I need—to the next false horizon out there.

Lessons From the Past

by Ethan Palmer

When we look at poetry, Think what it can be.

Dickinson, Frost, Poe All as bright as can be.

These great men and women of the past Can show us who comes first,

And what comes last.

One day, We will cease to exist

But our words can remain Always to assist.

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A Trip to the Movies

by Jake Badger

I walked into the old movie theater, instantly struck with a sense of nos-talgia mixed bitterly with popcorn. The Miller Theater suffered from a terrible case of age and mismanagement which, over the course of its eighty-year his-tory, had slowly led to its current state. The building should have been a histori-cal monument, but it was on the bad side of town so the Historical Center never got over to it. The outside of the Miller once had all the outer décor of an opera house, but again time played his part in wearing it down, helped in no small part by various vandals over the years who believed the decorative golden angels that ran along the wall were more than cleverly disguised plaster. The vandals had been sorely disappointed. The inside of the Miller suffered from a conflux of time periods. The various owners who had bought, borrowed, or stolen the Miller had attempted to modernize the interior entryway. The result was that the Miller boasted a ghastly collection of leftovers from every decade since the 30’s: neon signs next to partially wood paneled walls while putrid yellow graffiti “art” had been sprayed over fake baroque cherub paintings. The result was an assault on the eyes of everyone but the blind popcorn vendor who had stood guard since the building first opened. However it was not the flaws of the Miller’s interior design that brought me through its doors. During the changing hands of ownership and fashionable trends most of the theaters had been altered extensively—most were as unfortu-nate as the entryway. Except for theatre number three, which had remained com-pletely unaltered since first being opened. True it had hardly ever been repaired either, but it still emanated a sense of grace and opulence that doesn’t seem to exist in the world today. I felt a strong sense of kinship with that theatre. It’s the only reason I’ll drive forty minutes through less than benign looking streets, park my car in a lot lovingly referred to as “car jack valley,” and cross an unlit alley just to see a movie. It hardly mattered what I was seeing. Every movie just seemed better when I was sitting in Theatre Three. Even as I stood in line to receive a ticket, I had no idea what would be showing. I just wanted to leave the world for a while. I have always used books and movies as a way of leaving the obliga-tions and stress of the real world behind for a few moments. Escaping is too soft a word for what I do. A better description would be “assimilating.” Assimilating myself into a whole different world where I don’t really exist, where problems are grander but far simpler to solve. Today had been especially difficult; I didn’t want to have to deal with real problems for a while. Waiting in line, I began to hope a comedy would be playing; I really needed a laugh. When it was my turn, I stepped forward to address Abe, a kid only a few years younger than I. He worked at the

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worked at the Miller as a way of funding his band “The Saucy Sods.” He gave me a smile when he saw me, and I returned a weak grin that ended at the ends of my mouth. “Well, if it isn’t the connoisseur. Back to see what cinematic adventures the Miller has to offer?” I kept up the pleasantries to avoid further questioning, not that I really needed to. Abe and the other employees had seen me around enough to know I had a certain ritual in my trips to the Miller. “One ticket to whatever trash they’re playing in Theatre Three?” he asked. “You know, sometimes I think that the manager purposely puts the worst stock in Three just because he doesn’t like you being here more often than he is. Of course an easy remedy for that would be for him to show up to work and not calling in sick four days out of the week.” I agreed with him about the manager and asked for a ticket for number Three. “Well, I’ll ruin the surprise and tell you we’re showing some rom-com about falling in love despite the circumstances. Spoiler alert: the couple ends up together but the truck driver bites it.” I rolled my eyes enough to let him know I didn’t appreciate his comments, but I wasn’t really that upset about it. The movie wasn’t important. The real magic was in Theatre Three. The faded leather seat cushions and chipped mahogany wooden seats sat perfectly for all body types and made every occupant feel like an emperor. In the old days when movie theatres were designed to look like opera houses, the Miller had each of the six theaters designed with a different theme. Theatre Three was set to look like the old world. Although age had washed out most of its original splendor, Theatre Three still managed to look beautiful to me. The walls were covered in frescoes with detailed vague images that could be considered classical. The arch where the screen hung down was gothic and ended in large columns. Several large gar-goyles still clung to the support beams along the wall watching over the patrons and making sure that no one disrupted the film. I took my seat, center row but three places from the left of center stage. It was the best seat in the house. Unlike all the other chairs in Theatre Three, this one was made with brass parts on the armrests making it shine when a picture came on the screen. My guess is that it had broken at some point and a quick repair had been done with whatever had been lying around. It was quite clear that the armrests were a flagpole with a door knob screwed onto the end to make a handgrip. The result was only slightly uncomfortable but extremely empower-ing. The movie was set to start in ten minutes so I checked my phone. There were no messages, which did not surprise me. I turned my phone off, taking a long look at Theatre Three. Other than the gargoyles I was the only person in the theatre. I loved when that happened. It wasn’t a bother to have other people watching with me, but it was so much easier if I didn’t have to worry about a crying child or a frisky teenager attempting the always classy popcorn trick. Escaping was just easier when I knew I was alone. About five minutes before the trailers started, a woman walked in.

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She took a long time picking a seat and ended up settling on the direct center, three seats down from me. I didn’t usually watch people when I was in the theatre; they distracted me from my purpose of being here, but this time I kept glancing over at her. Maybe because she was the only person here, I found my eyes taking a quick glimpse every few seconds. She was at least fifteen years older than I and dressed like a teacher. All frump with haphazardly placed pen-cils keeping her hair up, exuding distress with her movements. Before the trail-ers started playing, she checked her phone seven or eight times. I won’t pretend that I didn’t think she was pretty. The woman had soft features that made her figure flow together. By the time the trailers had finished, it was clear we were the only ones there. When the opening credits started, I began my usual process of im-mersion. The opening of a movie is like wading into a pool. It should be done slowly until you are completely submerged. I let everything burn off my worries, my pain, everything I was getting away from fell into the darkness of the theatre. The screen became my world. The male lead, our hero, was at a crisis in his life. He was engaged to a beautiful girl, but he woke up one morning to discover he did not love her. The hero wanted to go but felt compelled to stay, which led to various comical scenarios.Then about half an hour into the movie I heard a slight sob. It wasn’t a great big cry or a long snivel. It was just a single soft sob that pulled me from the film. The crying isn’t what caught me. I’ve heard plenty of soft-hearted women bawl their eyes out during a romance tragedy. This was different. As soon as it came out, she stifled the noise. Without turning my head, I could see her covering her mouth with a handkerchief. Her body tensed up shaking for a single moment of anguish. After a few seconds passed, she stopped. Lowering her hand she looked back up at the screen. I pushed the incident from my mind and let the film absorb me again. The hero had met another woman. She was clearly better than his fian-cée, but the hero didn’t want to hurt his fiancée. The other woman and the hero began to have an affair which became more complicated and humorous as their friends began to find out. I heard the sob again. It was stronger this time and lasted only an instant longer before it was silenced by a forced hand. I am not a person easily moved by the emotions of others. I never have been. It’s a lack of compassion, not of empathy. Such is my condition that it affects matters of feeling to this day. Still that little cry sounded very small and fragile, the noise snow would make if it knew it was melting. It reminded me of my own misfortune that had sent me to seek refuge in a movie theatre. Without really understanding why, I turned my body toward her and for the first time truly looked at her. She was focused firmly on the screen, but the light of it only made her tears shine brighter, illuminating their trail along her face and into the black-ness of the theatre. Her face was wavering, desperately trying not to let her pain resurface.

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It seemed like any moment she would break and be unable to hold back. She sat there, her face faltering. She clutched an old handkerchief unable to do anything for fear she might make an outburst and disrupt society. She seemed so earth shatteringly sad it made my chest hurt. I resolved to go over to her. I didn’t know what I would do when I got there, but that’s what I decided to do. Walking with unsure footsteps and using the chairs as a hand rest, I moved over two seats and sat down next to her. She turned her head and looked at me. Her gaze became unwavering as she tried to sum up my inten-tions. I said without speaking that everything would be all right. With my eyes I told her I understood. After a few tense moments she turned her head back to the screen, and we watched the rest of the movie next to each other. When it ended, we did not speak. We sat watching the last of the credits roll and the reel end. Even when the projector turned off we did not move. We simply sat. It was not until the next movie began to play that she spoke. She asked in a soft nervous tone “Would you like to watch the next one?” “I would love to.”

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The Idea of Order at Grand Isle, Louisiana

by John Raymer

Everything is in place now: Those fat blobs thaty shimmer

The slicks catching the nest wave. The end of so much at its beginning

Frogs and their spawn; herons at their hatching;

protozoans choking. All is just as it was meant to be

If all in the world was going wrong. Voltaire was right: sometimes the garden seems

the only place to be, The place for harmony and musing while the oil—

or its many equivalents—gushes on. In his times; In ours: let’s hide. Forget about it. I’m outta here.

Can’t take it no more. Look at the iris and then beam up.

Beep. Beep. BP. Overload achieved.

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Clichéd Way of Life

by Michael Karason

Back to square one, breaking the ice, Except it’s all Greek to me.

Well, can’t cry over spilt milk, or a piece of cake. I’ll cut to the chase.

Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.That drives me nuts.

It’s not brain surgery, it’s not rocket science Unless you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed.

Elvis, the elephant in the room, has left the building. Maybe he’s on the ropes, or on cloud nine,

The short end of the stick, or under my nose. Well, time to throw in the towel.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, The glass is always half full.

If you have lemons, make lemonade. You have apples, then make apple pie.

Yada Yada, time to come back down to Earth. The jig is up, I’m getting long in the tooth.

Remember: keep your shirt on and keep on truckin’. Money may not grow on trees,

But you’re a dime a dozen.

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Waiting for Ash

by Michael Karason

Silently, one waiting with hands folded, Passerbys scurrying, pairing up with loved ones.

Sounds echo down the platform, Ears sealed shut with agonizing thoughts.

Eyes staring down, quickly darting forward Before restlessly lowering.

The pale metal floor worn From pacing of countless frantic men and women. Aromas of pasta and pastry swim through the air

Dancing in the nostrils, but they do not sway. One hand slowly reaching into a poorly sowed pocket,

Revealing a mangled pocket-watch Rusted and tired.

Early dawn slips into dusk. Few shadows remain, unrecognizable.

Suddenly, a rumble of bells and whistles, Melting together.

Rocketing through, steel boxes welded together screech to a stand-still.

Doors sliding open, unsheathed.

A man colored in bright red wanders out, A look of anguish stains his face.

Knees creek with her every shuffled step. The man uncovers a small ebony box and offers it.

A gentle peek confirms ash as expected.Tears begin streaming down her cracked face.

Small whimpers accompany softly.

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She’s a Weightlifter

by Molly Wilder

Most teachers are a dime a dozen. They are awkward to see in public, and they more than likely hide in a basement somewhere plotting and planning during the summer how to make their new students miserable. However that was not the case of one chemistry teacher. Dianne Dithers, the wench of the science department, was known for many things like her ability to not only teach A.P. Chem, but also to be involved in almost every after school sport and committee. The students don’t have the highest opinion of her any more. I guess that’s kinda my fault. One day in my science class the teacher Mr. Symthe needed me to go and get a weight from the weight room for an experiment he was demonstrating in class. He tossed me the keys. On my way down to the weight room, I looked down at my black and white pumas as I walked past Dithers’ room—that way if she happened to be looking out I wouldn’t have to make eye contact or say hi. I pushed open doors, and they seemed to declare years of abuse and bullying. But I was more concerned about taking the long way down. After a detour around classrooms and the elementary school unit, I came up to the weight room. I played with the keys and after trying two or three, I found the right one and unlocked the first door. I walked down the small sour smelling hallway and came up to the second door. The light seemed to be on. I used the same key and the door gave off a familiar whine. I went to reach for the light switch and realized that I didn’t have to. And there she was—the pride and joy of the science department of West Carrie Area Schools, the woman who takes stats for half of the sports teams, with the special education teacher. Mrs. Dithers, mother of two, with Mr. Jones’s hand up her kelly green button up shirt, lips on lips, pants at the ankles. More like cankles. I’m pretty sure that my jaw dropped to the floor, but I do remember just turning around and not even trying to grab a weight. I just left and walked back up to the classroom. I felt bad for her—Carrie is a small town and I could’t keep my mouth shut about that. Who doesn’t wouldn’t want dirt on miss goody two shoes? So I told everyone. She doesn’t do much now. She dropped her volunteering with the sports teams and the special ed fundraisers. However she is still teaching chem like Hitler resurrected and will not look me in the eye or help me in class. I’m pretty sure she just passes me along, but heck I’ll take it.

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Island

by Michael Tarala

As the footing under your feet changes From pavement to gritty sand.

A seagull squawks in the distance As it approaches dry land.

Beads of sweat welcome the wind Which carves delicate ripples in the sea.

All of your worries float away As you stare off, under the shade of a bending palm tree.

The sound of children laughing Mixes with the sloshing of the tide. Water stretches as far as the horizon Where the setting sun yearns to hide.

As the sun sinks lower into the sky And dusk paints the world black,

All you can think about and wonder Is about the next time you will go back.

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Eagles

By Michael Johnson

A nest lies in the tallest tree The climb is far too high for me

‘Tis the mighty eagle in the nest above Eagles are the birds I most love

They fly through the air with speed and grace Their eyes can see the most faraway place To the eagle, no other bird may compare

Eagles brave things other birds wouldn’t dare The eagle’s power is almost too great to convey

They can fly off with the largest prey Parents teach their young to survive

How to hunt, build a nest, and pull out of a dive When the eaglets are grown, they leave to find their own tree

New eagles fly high, new eagles fly free

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JASON

The banks that docked Argoof its precious ovine cargo—

the Golden Fleeceof Ancient Greece—

Now vaulted by Wells Fargo.

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Rival to the Nile Queenthe Dynasty of an Angeline—

O, cheek bones brown,Gold and purple crown—

A bust to glare through glass unseen.

HOCKEY

Keeper’s mask next to King Tut’s…Foot-worn knives and plumbing ruts.

HAIKU

The voice in my headPulls his hair, screaming:

“You’re just an apparition!”

MOSS

Unfurled upon a plinth:Midas plucked a hyacinth.

Eons she’ll standwith foot in hand

Narcissus has his nympho nymph.

ROBIN HOOD

Not quite a burning candle, instead I’m like a match:In frozen pauper’s handle, my light’s a warming scratch.

But those who palms beleaguer must beware where I am tossed.My blaze is far from meager, learned poor princes, darkness lost.

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I see the Lord, and He’s not just in the Temple

by Catherine Ficker

There is no way to tell the world how it is shining like the sun.We are made in his image & likeness

we can imitate him,even without knowing so.

You can call it kindness, thoughtfulness or uncommon excellence- butI see the grandeur of GOD in you.

Yes, in you there, you who do not call yourself a Christian.I see the Lord in you.

You of little faith, who do not boast in the Lord, behold, I see you shining like the sun!

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If I fall

by Taylor Laskowski

If I fall will you turn your back Will you treat me as if I never existed Shut me out as you would a murderer

Ignore my problems as they are too big of a burden Pretend I’ve left a minimal impact, despite the immensity

Trudge along and move forward Dismiss our treasured past

Or will you welcome the sea of liabilities that I have left before you

Take on the negatives and have confidence for a better tomorrow

Remain with meSide by side

Till the end of timeIf I fall will you catch me

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Collision

by Jack Doyle

As I dangle upside down, held in place by my seatbelt, I can’t help but think back on what brought me here. Today began like any other day. I woke up, ate a bowl of cheerios, watched the morning news, then brushed my teeth, got dressed, and was out the door of my two bedroom apartment. I had just hit the freeway when Karen called. “I know it isn’t your week, but you need to pick up Grace,” she said, “Tony surprised me with a trip to Miami!” “Wait, who the hell is Tony,” I asked, “And you are aware that it’s Wednesday, right? Who goes on vacation on a Wednesday?” “Tony is my new fiancé, Nick. And it’s called being romantic, not that you would know anything about that,” she growled.Every part of me wanted to scream and yell at her, but I knew that it would be futile. I groaned and got off at the next exit.

When I pulled up to Karen’s apartment building, I knew there was going to be a fight. The look on her face said that I was the one inconvenienc-ing her. Beside her stood a bald ape that could only be Tony. His tan was far too dark to be natural (in a Detroit winter nonetheless) and his front tooth was chipped. His Tap-Out shirt struggled against his barrel chest, and I couldn’t help but think that the money spent on the Ray-Bans perched on his forehead could have been put toward proper dental work. Needless to say, I hated the guy before I had even met him. At his hip stood my little girl. She was the only reason I had stayed in the area. I had gotten job offers in other parts of the country, but I couldn’t leave Gracie. I’d be damned if I was going to let some beef jerky skinned asshole and my shrew of an ex-wife raise my daughter. The bullshit started before the car door closed.

“You’re late!” Karen said, wearing a scowl that would put Dirty Harry to shame. “You never gave me a time, Karen,” I said, struggling to keep my cool for Gracie’s sake, “You called me while I was on my way to work. I had to get off at the Beck Road exit and turn back around. Off course I wasn’t here the moment you called, I’m no Superman.” “You’re right, Nick, you aren’t,” she said, stroking her fiancé’s chest, “That’s why I have Tony.”I knew she was trying to coax me into blowing up on her, but I wouldn’t take the bait. I wasn’t going to start yelling and screaming in front of Gracie. Instead, I used my greatest God given talent: I acted like an obnoxious, offensive smart ass. “I imagine his kryptonite is early onset melanoma and big words,” I

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said, smirking. “Just get the hell out of here.” Karen said, mortified. The puzzled look on Tony’s face said that he knew he had been insulted, but didn’t understand said insult. Like I said, “big words”. “You’re lucky I’m on parole, boy, or I would break you like a board… or something.” he growled, taking a drag from a Pall Mall. “It knows how to speak!” I said, taking Gracie by the hand and helping her into the car, “Next thing you know he’ll be learning shapes and colors! You really caught yourself a winner, Karen! An ex-con is obviously a great guy to keep around our daughter. I bet he smokes around her all the time too. Well done, Karen, really, you’ve outdone yourself this time. When are you moving into the trailer park?” Before she could reply, I closed the car door and turned the ignition. As I drove away, I saw Tony gesticulating wildly, and his face seemed to have somehow become redder. I grinned.

Karen was the biggest mistake I had ever made. We met a few years back, in college. I like to blame it on the drugs, because we were both in a daze for most of those for years, but deep down, I knew what I was getting into. At the same time, I couldn’t resist her. I still remember that first night vividly. I had come to some shit-hole bar with a couple of buddies. Not our usual place, but someone had suggested we needed a change of pace. I saw her standing there the moment we walked in. Her sandy hair was dyed black, and her t-shirt and torn-up jeans hung loosely from her wiry frame. The thing that really grabbed me though were her eyes. They were a shade of gray usually reserved for storm clouds. They were so deep and consuming, they could almost make you forget about the track marks on her arms. Almost. Her eyes were an omen of what was to come. Karen truly was a storm in herself. She was the epitome of emotionally imbalanced girls. At one moment, we’d be laughing and having a good time, and the next she would be sobbing and accusing me of being just like her father (who I still have yet to meet). The real tragedy is that she probably wasn’t like that before the drugs. In the time I’ve met her, I’ve seen what personality she had left slip away. Now she’s just a shell of the woman I fell in love with. The last straw was the night I caught her cheating on me. We were going through a rough patch, so I decided to come home early from work and take her out for dinner. I even stopped at a flower stand and bought her a single red rose. I came home to find her sleeping with some guy we met at her Lamaze class. I walked right in on them. I still remember that rose, lying on the hardwood floor with a snapped neck. It broke my heart to divorce her, but the Karen I knew is dead.

“Daddy?” Gracie said from the back seat, bringing me back to reality. “Yes, sweetie?” “Did you hit Mommy?” “What? No! Of course not! What would make you say that?”

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“I heard Mommy telling Mister Tony about it. She said you were a drunk. What’s a drunk?”I was fuming. That manipulative bitch was lying through her teeth to try to garner sympathy. It did explain why he was so hostile when I picked Gracie up. I wondered what else she had told him. “A drunk is a person that has too many mommy-daddy drinks all the time.” “Are you a drunk, Daddy?” “No Gracie, I’m not a drunk.” “But if you aren’t a drunk, then mommy was fibbing. Why would she do that?” “Well, Gracie, sometimes Mommy gets angry at Daddy and decides that it will make her feel better if she says mean things about him.” “Like when you called her a junkie bitch?” “Gracie! Don’t say that word!” “But you said it!” “No, I said, um, funky fish!” “You think Mommy is a funky fish? Why?” “Sure, let’s go with that. Just don’t say that other word.” Jeez. Parenting becomes way harder when your ex-wife spends half of her time trying to convince everyone that you’re the Anti-Christ. In the past few weeks, exchanges like this had become more and more common. I would try harder to strengthen my relationship with Gracie and then Karen would make up more bullshit about me. Sure, I had a little alcohol problem, but at least I wasn’t stoned out of my mind anymore. I never drank when Gracie was around. As if Coke-head Karen had any room to talk about addiction anyway. Hell, if not for her, I probably wouldn’t have ever been addicted to anything. I hoped she wasn’t snorting blow anymore. I couldn’t tell for sure. I tried not to think about it. What really pissed me off though was that she tried to paint me as some sort of abu-sive psycho. I’d only hit her once. It’s haunted me ever since.

Suddenly, my cell phone rang. I picked it up to see that it was Karen. I pushed “ignore” so hard I thought the phone would break. After what I had just heard, there was no way in hell that I’d be answering any calls from her. If that bitch had something to say, she could say it to my voicemail. I was in no condi-tion to answer the phone anyway. I’d probably end up in a shouting match with her, and that wasn’t the type of thing I’d want to do in front of Gracie, especially after this recent revelation. I was still struggling to contain my fury as we pulled up to Gracie’s school. With the click of the doors unlocking, she started to exit the car. “Gracie.”“Yes, Daddy?”“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

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“Our prayer!”Gracie and I had a tradition of praying every morning before she went into school. Between the child support checks (which obviously weren’t going to Gracie’s benefit) and my own personal expenses, I couldn’t send her to private school. I decided years when she was young that despite this hurdle, I would make sure she still had Christ in her day to day life. So now, every morning, we said an “Our Father” and a “Hail Mary”. These days, Gracie knows both prayers by heart. “Good bye, Daddy, I love you!” she said as we finished. “I love you too, sweetie, have a great day!” I sat in the carport until I saw her enter the school. After I got back on the road, I decided to find out what Karen wanted. I picked up my phone and hit voicemail, and what I heard next changed everything. I knew something was wrong from the beginning, because Karen was audibly holding back sobs. “H-hi, Nick. I didn’t think you’d answer... It’s probably better this way.” I heard her take a deep breath. “Tony and I... We messed up. I messed up. Not just with you, but with other stuff too. We owe money to the wrong people. I gambled too much, Nick. You know me. Once an addict, always an addict, I guess. I just switched poisons throughout the years. Look, I - I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m not looking for forgiveness, because really, I don’t deserve it. I guess what I’m trying to say is, take care of Grace. Tell her I lo-” Then I heard shouting in the background. “Oh God, they’re here. Tell Grace I love her. Tell her that her mommy loves her.” Then I heard a loud crash, accompanied by the pops of gunshots. The pedal was pushed to the floor before I had hung up. I was in shock. My mind was racing. Looking back, I should have parked, pulled myself together, collected my thoughts, and calmed the fuck down before driving again. That... that’s where I went wrong. I opened the glove box and grabbed my old pack of cigarettes, Marlboro 72s. Shaking, I put one in my mouth and with the spark of my black Bic, scorched the end. I weaved in and out of the lanes, passing the other cars with speed and precision. Soon I came to a red light at an intersection. The thought of hitting the brakes never crossed my mind. I was beyond rules. I was beyond laws. I wasn’t going to stop. The world could stop. I was a man on a mission. I was an idiot. I ran that red light going about seventy in a fifty zone. I imagine the other guy was going about fifty-five, maybe sixty. He had a green light. It seemed like the whole thing was happening in slow-mo-tion. I looked to my right when I heard his horn. We made eye contact for a few dragging moments. His eyes gave a pleading apology, because we both knew what would come next. As my jaw dropped, my cigarette fell out of my mouth, twisting and twirling as it fell to my lap. My face curled into a wince as I turned my head away and rose my arm in defense, as if that stick of flesh and

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bone could protect me from the wall of hot steel barreling toward me. Finally, contact. The truck hit the front passenger door with a sickening crunch, sending glass and debris at me like a shotgun blast. For a short second, I thought that that was it, and I felt an overwhelming false sense of security. This notion was quickly disproven when I felt the passenger side begin to lift off of the ground. The car flipped through the air, over and over, compacting around me with each bouncing roll. Finally, the car came to a halt upside down on the outskirts of the woods adjacent to the road. Now, I’m here, hanging upside down. I’m not quite sure where I’m bleeding from, but I know that I’ve lost quite a bit of blood. I’m not in any pain though. I think that means that I’m going into shock. I can hear sirens in the distance like an echo. Red and blue light is flashing across my eyes. It’s getting dark now. I have to stay awake. I have to. For Gracie.

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Scars

by Roderick Hunt

I know all you feel right now is fear and This gun barrel in your mouth, but the brand You left me with your cigarettes still stings,

As well as the scars that your drunk nights bring. I’ve thought of running away but I know

It won’t stop you. Mom is too scared to go And Lisa has some sick attachment to

You. If mom only knew what you always do— I watched as she fought the first night you snuck

Into our room and into her bed, Buck. I pretended to sleep but her screams from

That night have haunted my dreams and it’s dumb—It’s dumb that I’ve given you this power

Over us. I’m a man now—this hour Your brains will paint our walls and your blood will Stain our floors. You know things can’t be right ‘til You’re gone—can’t believe my tears have run dry

Guess you beat the last out—now I can’t cry. The hundreds of times I practiced saying

This to you, I thought you’d see, but paying Attention to your children has never

Been one of your strengths. So now you won’t ever Get another chance. Don’t feign tears now, Buck.

I’m not going to stop. Mom’s in the truck. I know you don’t love us—you never did. You could have pretended—I am your kid.

Never mind—it’s too late now—say goodbye. It’s our turn to live and your turn to die.

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Fairytale Wishes

by Haleigh VanderVinne

She sat on an old carpeted couch in the small living room of the new townhouse her husband picked out for them. The new townhouse felt small when she’d been picturing a castle with knights surrounding her safety. Her hus-band walked down the white staircase with a cardboard box in his arms. He was having some difficulty because his beer belly was getting in the way. She looked at him with agony. His appearance wasn’t the best: spaces between small teeth, eyes colored boring blue, greasy blond hair, and of course the beer belly. Why did she marry him? She always wondered to herself. “Last moving box,” he said through huffs of breath and dropped the box on the floor bending over to rest his hands on his knees. “The bedroom is open and ready, your highness.” A smile formed on his face when he looked at her beauty. His sarcastic comment cringed a smirk on her flawless white skin. She turned her head away from him looking at the window behind the couch. She didn’t want to give him hope of the possible humor he may have. The dark crept in as silence filled the air. Blackness blanketed the sky to show all the stars. The brightest star, just above the horizon, grabbed her at-tention. She had a wish to make now that she lived with him. She glanced away from the window and stared at her husband. Once he caught his breath, he walked up the stairs to sleep. She fol-lowed shortly after feeling tired of the useless day moving. When she got up to the master bedroom, white walls and an unmade bed were the only thing in the room. She got in her pajamas and headed to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth looking through the window out past the road and into the sky, searching for that one star. She closed her eyes and made her wish. She spit out the toothpaste and rinsed her mouth with minty mouth-wash. A final look in the mirror determined what a day she had. Her green eyes showed weariness, her brown hair in a messy knot on top of her head. Her straight teeth sparkled with a minty smell. Her shoulders held strong but were thin, making her body wilt with the aches and pains of marriage. When she returned to the bedroom, her husband was sound asleep facing away from her. It was going to be a long night, she thought as he snored loudly. She was surprised that he didn’t wake himself up with the snore being so loud. She quietly placed herself under the covers and faced away from him. Closing her eyes, she fell into a deep sleep. A lovely young lady’s voice filled her imagination. The blackness behind her eyes turned to a green wooded forest. The voice wasn’t talking but singing a song she knew, a song she heard from a Disney movie. A young lady wore a

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dark brown shawl covering the back of her head. She was wearing a conser-vative schoolgirl’s outfit, a light grayish green shirt with a black corset and a high-waist light gray skirt. The wife followed the singing young girl for she was mesmerized in finding out what movie she was in. The young lady stopped and many furry animals—rabbits, squirrels, and birds—came to her side. Singing to the animals, she took off her shawl and blonde hair waved down to the middle of her back. It clicked. The wife was in the movie Sleeping Beauty: Aurora meets her true love. The wife almost gagged, but her heart ached to be like Aurora. To find true love in such a magical way sounded absurd, but she was in a movie, a sappy romantic child’s movie. Aurora turned to the wife. She asked in her innocent voice, “Oh, were you following me?” “No. I mean, yes, I was.” The wife had no other answer. She didn’t quite understand what was going on let alone how she got into a child’s movie. The only reason she was following Aurora was she had nowhere else to go nor did she know where to go. Aurora looked the wife up and down but lingered on her left hand showing a diamond ring on the second to last finger. Aurora’s face lit up and she walked with sway and poise to the wife grabbing her hands in hers. She began to sing again. “I know you; I’ve walked with you once upon a dream.” “Okay, stop,” the wife interrupted before Aurora began twirling her. “I only know you from a movie that I am in right now, I think.” Aurora’s face turned serious but she kept the wife’s hands in hers. “But you’re from my dream.” “No, I am not. Your true love is from your dream. He will come by and dance with you because your animal friends stole his clothes. That is how your true love met you and vice versa.” “Do you dream about your true love?” The wife shook her head in shame. She was talking to a girl from a movie about falling in love, a love that she was forced to feel for her husband. Their parents arranged the marriage at a young age because they played together in the sand box down the street. Her mother, a single mother, did not want the wife to die alone. She seized the first little boy she saw that her daughter was in-teracting with and snatched him to be the daughter’s love. His mother happened to be single too and felt the same way. With such luck, the wife was surprised not to fall in love at first sight. Instead, she ended up not falling in love at all. Aurora looked at her with concern when she saw a glimpse of a tear forming. The wife pulled her hands away and turned her back to hide her watery eyes. She thought Aurora was going to be persistent so she took a few steps forward away from the scene. She looked over her shoulder to see if she could continue or turn back. Aurora went back to the furry animals where they continued down their path to find the prince’s clothes. The wife turned around and attempted to follow Aurora. She considered taking a new path but that would lead her who knows. She

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She kept her eyes to her feet and let her thoughts wander. After a few minutes of daydreaming, she looked up to see no one ahead. Trees with paper thick leaves filled the atmosphere. The wife turned in a circle hoping to see Aurora just a few trees away but there was no sign of her. She stood still for a moment, listening. She could hear water flowing nearby. She whipped right, running. She was alone in the woods with no one else. Just to make sure there was no one else following her with a chainsaw, she looked over her shoulder once more just to be sure when she ran into someone. “I am so sorry,” she said without even looking at whom she ran into. “That’s quite all right,” said a boyish voice. “Fortunately, I didn’t fall.” Tall, brown hair and brown eyes with a comforting smile got her dis-tracted. He took her hand in his and bowed to kiss the top. “My name is Prince Phillip. What might yours be, maiden?” He let go of her hand. “Carrie,” she gulped. “You’re not a princess?” “No.” “Oh,” he said looking down at his feet. “Have we met before?” he asked as his eyebrow furrowed. “Not face to face, no.” “I don’t understand.” Carrie sighed since she’d have to explain the story again. “I am in a child’s movie. So I have met you but you haven’t met me.” “So you are stalking me?” He flashed a smile at her. Carrie almost melted when he gave her a white smirk; she loved Phillip even more now that he has humor. She always thought he was incredibly handsome and brave to fight a dragon, but having humor added a whole new meaning to Phillip. For a brief moment, she wished she could take him home. “No,” she said, but in her mind she wanted to say she wishes. “Are you lost?” “Yes, sorta. I was following someone but I lost her.” She used her hands as silly gestures as she looked around again to see if she could find Aurora once more. “She? Is she a princess?” He stepped closer to her reaching his arm out to her. “Yes.” “Maybe that is whom I am looking for.” He snapped his outreached hand. “You had a dream?” “Yes, how did you know?” “I’m in a movie I’ve already seen before,” she said with a wink. He laughed a humble laugh. He turned away kneeling down at the stream. “How do you know you’re in love?” She asked when he splashed crys-tal water on his tan perfect face.

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“You should know because you’ve watched this movie a few times,” he answered, smiling again as water droplets dripped from his face. “Well let’s say it’s been a few years and I’ve never fallen in love.” “How is that so when you are married?” He looked at her left hand. She sighed. “Long story short. It was an arranged marriage.” He nodded in understanding as he stood up to face her again. “You help me find my betrothed and I’ll help you find yours.” She looked into his brown eyes and saw he was serious. She had to help him find Aurora and he could find her a true love. Her heart leapt to her thought for she was speechless. A big smile formed on her full pink lips. She put his face in her hands and leaned him in. She stood tall on her tip toes and planted a kiss on the prince’s lips. His lips actually felt real. They weren’t paper or computer tasting, so a real human’s lips were touching hers. When she pulled away and her eyes opened, the prince and the green forest were no longer there. Instead her husband’s face was against hers. She pushed him off and sat up straight. He didn’t look happy but she didn’t care. She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt. “I’m sorry,” she said pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. He shrugged and turned on his side away from her. Outside was still dark and the clock was saying four. She sat there in dark silence until he spoke. “What’s so wrong?” Her face turned towards him. Her eyebrows furrowed. “What?” “What’s wrong with me?” She swallowed the snort and looked straight ahead, aimlessly staring. He turned on his back to stare at the ceiling. “Why isn’t this marriage working?” he asked. She could name plenty of reasons but she decided to give only one. “This is an arranged marriage. Are they supposed to work?” “We were friends all through high school.” She smirked. “College is when you changed, Jake.” “Because I don’t look like the captain of the football team or the prom king everyone voted for, is that why you don’t look at me the same?” She didn’t want to say any more. She wanted to fall back into her sleep to find her true love with Prince Phillip. Age treated her well she thought but she felt bad that it didn’t treat him the same. They were after all best friends in high school, inseparable. The marriage in their minds never stopped them from being friends. She even had had a crush on him for those last few months. That changed when she got accepted to Stanford. The move cost their friendship dearly. He could never visit her and she never wanted to go home. Their friend-ship turned to mere acquaintance. She came back because her mom called in a panic. She never would have but her mom frantically called her from loneliness. When Carrie came back

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to Chicago, streets filled with horns and clouds tainted gray, her mom jumped on the opportunity. Her mom hit menopause and never wanted Carrie to be alone. She blindly had Carrie and Jake go on a first date again. He took her to a cheap diner for breakfast. Even though the breakfast was the best she ever had, Carrie didn’t want to admit it. “I wasted my life on beer and work. I was mourning for your return and you never visited home. I wanted to stay friends. You were the only one I actu-ally cared for,” he said. He touched her arm and moved his hand up and down softly. He soothed the transition from the past to present for her. She didn’t pull away but instead looked down into his eyes. She saw the deep blue in his eyes and even though she loved brown eyes, she still got lost. She looked away and lay back down away from him. She knew it was the cold shoulder but that was all she could think to do. It was too much to take in especially with Phillip so close at mind. She closed her eyes and pictured Phillip and the river where they met, hoping to go back to the dream she came from. She felt Jake move when her mind turned to blackness. The world was now singing with birds and humming with song. The paper grass underneath her, she looked up into the white crafted clouds and the painted blue sky. “Are you all right, maiden?” said a voice. Her mind was still focusing up above. She wanted dramatics when she saw Phillip again. He leaned over her view of the sky. “You fell from above.” She looked at his face and it seemed to be Phillip but his appearance changed. He had blonde short messy hair now. “Phillip?” “Prince Phillip. You have to help me find your princess.” He held out a hand to her and pulled her to her feet. “How long was I gone?” she said, wiping the nonexistent grass off her red pj pants. “A few moments.” He tended to his horse again. “Oh.” He climbed onto his saddle and trotted over to her. Taking her hand in his, he pulled her up behind her on the saddle. She grabbed his waste and held on mesmerizing the moment where she felt like an actual princess. “Go up stream,” she said. He nudged the horse into a walk and she rested her head on his shoulder. The horse walked for a good mile or so when there was song in the wind. Carrie touched the Prince’s shoulder. “There she is.” “That is your princess?” he asked. “Yes.” In the woods there was a glimpse of blond hair moving around in a flowing motion. A sudden pull back to the reins, they saw the girl dancing with animals. The Prince excitedly got off his horse and walked closer to the danc-ing girl. Carrie clumsily got off the horse to follow him trying to catch up. Once Carrie caught up, he went further than she wanted so she pulled him down behind a bush. They hid behind a bush as he whispered to her, “That is she?” “Are you disappointed?” she asked.

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He crooked his neck over the bush to get another look. Without turn-ing his head back to Carrie, he said, “Not at all. She’s beautiful.” A pause sat between them as Carrie looked at Phillip’s eyes being so curious and in love. “I need to go talk to her,” he said quickly. “No, you need to go dance with her.” “I know this song.” “I know,” she smiled and nudged him out of the bush to join the other woman. Carrie stayed behind the bush to watch from a far. Trying not to be spotted, she saw Phillip ease into Aurora’s movements singing along to the same song she was singing. Aurora looked away and just like in the movie, Phillip explained how she was the woman of his dreams. Phillip glanced behind his shoulder to look at Carrie who didn’t want to come out. She wanted to stay behind the bush just wishing on her own. “Carrie!” he called to her. Carrie cautiously walked out of the bush and walked over to talk to her new-possibly-imaginary friends. “Hello,” she said finishing a gulp. “Carrie, is this true that you know my beloved prince?” Aurora asked touching Carrie’s arm. “Yes.” “Did you help him find his way to me?” “Yes.” Aurora let go of Phillips hand and wrapped her arms around Carrie. Carrie, startled, took a few seconds to wrap her arms around the young lady. With the sound of a clearing of the throat from Phillip, the women released each other. Aurora stepping away, Phillip came closer. Gently grabbing her hand up to his full kissing lips, he kissed her hand. Tears so near, she smiled a smile with full white glistening teeth showing and her cheeks squinting her eyes to make a few tears collapse. “Now your wish,” said Prince Phillip. “What wish?” Carrie asked. “The wish on the star,” Aurora joined in. “You guys know my wish?” They both nodded their perfect heads in unison. In an instant, Prince Phillip was no longer Prince Phillip. His hair was messy blonde, his eyes a deep blue, and his smile was now small teeth with braces. Prince Phillip was posing as an updated Jake, the Jake she knew back in high school, the one she fell for. “Jake?” The comfortable world turned to blackness. Carrie sat straight up in the bed panting. She wasn’t afraid, but rather relieved, excited, and renewed. Her wish had come true. The morning sun was shining on the ruffled blanketed side next to her. It was late morning. She looked over at the clock screening a solid ten.

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She got up and quickly ran through the house searching. She didn’t find what she was looking for but on the box Jake had lifted down from the bedroom there was a note on top. It read: I’m doing this for you. I love you and have loved you since the day we met. I’m going to be your prom king again. Jake Did she want the old Jake back or did she want to meet the new one? She sat down on the couch rereading the note a few more times. Everything was running through her mind. The first time they met, the first date, prom, even the day she left, how her mom told her he was crying. What made her feel better is that she was crying too. The door opened from the outside to show a new Jake, with short messy clean hair, braces and shopping bags from fashionable places. Carrie’s mouth dropped. “I see you got my note,” he said slightly moving a shopping bag toward her. Carrie just nodded her head. “I see you went shopping.” She smiled. “I did this for you.” He put down the shopping bags and held up a little card. She went over to him and read the gym card with his name on it. “I even have my own personal trainer.” He smiled with his silver braces. She laughed, getting closer to him. “My wish didn’t need to come true. I love you.” Hugging his loveable beer belly, she poked his chest where his heart beat.

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Un Sogno de Roma

by Leo Langlois

Dusty cobble stones appear in, heavy smog in the air from traffic.

Sun spreading heat on the dense crowd.

Some moving fast, others slow, dressed for places to be.

Rats the size of dogs rise from the river, passing the homeless under the bridge.

Cold cup of pistachio gelato in my hands, I marvel at the Piazza Navona.

Hotel California comes to life from guitarists, and bubbles from machines dance in the breeze

with the sprinkling of water from a fountain.The Egyptian obelisk stands tall in the center,

young lovers kiss in warmth, birds swim in a blue ocean up above.

Ambulances racing the afternoon away

as I roll my unfiltered cigarette.In the Pantheon,

with marbles from Egypt to Asia.

Everything turns to gray, the building crumbles.

The dream ends. Blackness.

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Circus

by Leo Langlois

Snow flurries stiffening my leather jacket,I’m treading through slush.

Among a crowd that matches the sky, a gray weathered building stands ahead.

Yellow, pale face figures with red noses greet me, with their invisible dog.

I enter the darkness and find my seat, glow sticks and chatter surround the stage.

A loud and powerful voice commands people to silence, music and flashing lights float in the air.

Exotic animals appear through heavy mists while dark skinned acrobatics flip in the center ring.

Old lions and tigers like the circus, jump through flaming rings.

Dogs and llamas circle middle stage. fiery knives put me in a trance.

Intermission, temporarily blinding lights, a wave of children swarm the stage.

A elephant and camel give ridesand paint begins to cover faces.

The smell of roasting almonds levitate me, fluffy pink-and-blue candy catching my eye.

Butterfly faces surrounding me, I return to my seat. The lights die out.

Oriental music begins and orange ribbons fall,glistening in light allowing a woman to fly in the air.

Colorful hoops circling around multiple limbs, men jumping at great heights to low drums.

The show comes to a close. I feel like a child again.

Bringing color to wash away the gray.

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I Like it That Way

by Kayla Michael

I do not have a home.I’ve never had a home.Lurking in the shadows,

never any peace here.

Restlessly pacing, no soul safe.They fear me.

I like it that way.

I am the ominous whisper in barren branches.Slithering through every facet of your soul.

Forever alone in my dark solitude.One step ahead of you, but always behind.

With every nervous glance over your shoulder,I am always there, watching, waiting.

I do not have a home,I’ve never had a home.Lurking in the shadows,

never any peace here.

That is my story.Nothing more.

I like it that way.

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Contributors

Jake Badger, a sophomore at Holy Cross College, comes from Zionsville, Indiana. He read his short story at the April Arts Forum.

Jacob Chartrand is

Roderick Hunt, a sophomore at Holy Cross, plays with the Notre Dame march-ing band.

Michael Johnson is a Holy Cross College freshman from South Bend, Indiana.

Michael Karason, a graduating senior, is a Business major at Holy Cross College.

Leo Langlois, a Liberal Arts major, is a graduating senior. One of his poems was inspired by his study abroad in Italy.

Taylor Laskowski is in her first year at Holy Cross College.

Kayla Michael is a freshman at Holy Cross College.

Ethan Palmer, a sophomore at Holy Cross College, comes from South Bend. He plays varsity hockey for Holy Cross.

Alexis Petersen is a Holy Cross College freshman from South Bend, Indiana. She is an English Literature major and read her poetry at the April Arts Forum.

Dr. John Raymer has taught in the Holy Cross College English Department for almost thirty years.

Eduardo Reyes is a Holy Cross third year student from South Bend.He like cheese and has recently lost his Zombie.

Michael Tarala, a sophomore English major at Holy Cross College, plays on the varsity baseball team.

Haleigh VanderVinne is a freshman at Holy Cross College.

Molly Wilder, from Wisconsin, is a freshman at Holy Cross College.

contributors: Art work