The First ChapterJuly 2010

CONTENTS

Cranesby Brian Garrison

Dress Upby Joi Ong

Meganby Andrew Knight

Oh, Lovely!by John Patrick Oliphant

Rememberby Jordan Bell

Sick Fetish or the Black Widow and the Puppetby Arelys Oviedo

Daffodilsby Jocelyn Lui

Abstractby Liz Toth

To Surviveby Zack Smith

[4]

[5]

[6]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[31]

[32]

Dear Reader,

“Some people,” I argued, “have a high need for content consumption.” The room was silent for a few seconds as the person I was having a conversation with looked at me in disbelief. You see, some people have a higher content absorption. These people sit around in cafes, walk around with a pen in hand, paint brush in their bags, or walk around with a slightly covered camera slung over their shoulder ready to find God’s lighting for a picture. Every artist out there has a high need for content consumption because they create like fiends.

In my recent days as an undergraduate I found that my need to create hovered around publishing. Which is why I present to you Enhance. Enhance, is a quarterly literary and art magazine that will try to understand the human’s perception of life through literature and art. Enhance is, I am, interested in publishing new and emerging artists in all genres of short stories, poetry, art.

~Sarai, Sopphey, Oviedo

This issue is a symbol of my promise to you; there will be many-many issues to Enhance and each issue will have so much to read and enjoy that you’ll forget about time altogether. The works in this issue are works that were submitted to On Impression Publishing during the first call for submissions.

Cranes

by Brian Garrison

2amfolding paper squarespulling out tailsneckswingsuntil a flock emerges

a flying carpetworthy of M.C. Eschera perfectheadsinwingsinbodiesbreaking apart in flight

he’d fold something elseif he knew howif he could stopother than when he gets a paper cutand passes outon a bed of pointy birds

[4]

[5]

Dress Up

by Joi Ong

Megan

by Andrew Knight

A story that was never toldOf friendship that has now grown cold

But as my memories unfoldThis one is worth its weight in gold

I

I was so close. High school graduation hung as a dusty old photo on the wall now, dated June third, and by Labor Day, I’d be arranging my dorm room two states away, starting the “rest of my life” as a freshie in college. In the meantime, I worked closing shifts at the Target in Bel Air, Maryland. My job was a nothing job: a nothing wage for nothing but holes in my khakis. The job would end with the summer, anyway, and nothing could convince me to transfer my team membership (that’s what Target called it) to the store in Rochester, even the promotion they offered. I mentally checked out, merely keeping my bank account afloat in the electronics department during this odd hiatus from school and from real responsibility. I almost didn’t care about what I would leave behind. Target sure knew how to get work out of me, though. One-thirty to ten, I wasted time unlocking the video game cabinet four times for some kid who couldn’t

[6]

make up his mind, repackaging all phone boxes because apparently the wall-mounted display models weren’t good enough, and convincing people, “No, you really do need a computer to use an iPod.” I remember arguing with this one lady one time who was convinced her computer didn’t have enough cookies to play one of our cheap-o PC games. Yeah, welcome to incompetence; let me help you find it in the camera aisle. If you’re looking for insanity instead, let me show you our TV wall, which plays the same cloying ads every six and a half minutes. Every night, I had a double-zone stretching from electronics to the seasonal department, way in the building’s back corner. The new exec always gave me crap for the heaps of misplaced merchandise, or “reshop,” in my cart, but I always took care of it as I meticulously straightened products on every single shelf. Zoning and reshopping never accomplished anything, anyway: I’d come in the next night to repeat the same back-bending work because guests would destroy the zone during the day. My one saving grace was age. Store policy stated that, because I was a minor at the time, I had to physically leave the building by ten o’clock sharp so the night crew could use heavy-duty equipment. Otherwise, I’d be there till past midnight. The moon would beam down with the crisp nighttime air as I would leave the building with a sweat-stained red top hanging over my shoulder. My stifled skin loved to soak up the cool air, unlike the paper towels with the gigantic broken jar of mayonnaise at the end of aisle E42.

[7]

If that wasn’t enough, the execs kept sending me new team members to train. With only fifteen... no, fourteen months on the floor, I was probably the most experienced kid in hard lines. That’s pretty sad. Anyways, as soon as the newbies became useful in electronics, they were always taken back to the front lanes. The system was like a cruel game of white elephant. II Saturday brought another New Team Member badge, only this one came with a smiley face sticker covering the “r.” I had to looked upwards a good six inches to ask the bearer for her real name. Megan. She was like any bubbly high school girl looking for a min wage job. We put her on the register first, since, after all, she was hired to be a cashier. I stood over her shoulder (or rather, below and next to it) to teach her how to use the machine, watching her use only her slender index fingers to push buttons one at a time. She’d smile when she hit the right keys, her upper lip lifted just a tad to show her pearly white front teeth, kind of like a bashful chipmunk. “Too bad she’ll be gone in a week,” I thought to myself, “and I’ll be gone in two.” We spent a good amount of time together since I was her unofficial trainer. Megan always had something chipper to talk about. I learned that she was going into tenth grade, but she should’ve been in eleventh. When I asked why, she said, “When I was a little girl, I never

[8]

talked. I would just smile,” giving a shrug and that smile of hers, “and they held me back a year.” She also had a boyfriend whom she just met a few days before. I couldn’t get a straight answer out of her why she agreed to go out with him, other than, “I don’t know. He’s kind of cute, and he keeps calling me.” It seemed foolish to me, but, hey, I’d been too afraid to ask any girl out at this age. In the break room, Megan spent time with one of her friends (Anna, I think her name was), you know, doing the girly girl thing with the purses and the shoes. Come to think of it, Megan did receive frequent compliments on her brown ballerina shoes with the pink polka dots. She wore them all the time, her favorite pair of shoes. Don’t ask me why I remember that. Perhaps it’s just the simple things about her personality that, given the workplace stress, felt so refreshing. We formed a one-two system at the electronics “boat,” our name for the octagonal counter. I’d go fetch a video game from the cabinets for some kid and hand it to her to ring up. Megan would smile brightly to me with an unspoken thanks and set the item down on the black demagnetizer, just like I taught her. Then, as she would look down at the register screen, her long brown hair would fall into her face. I remember her habitual reaction perfectly: her hands would cup her hair around her ears in unison, and her fingers would then curl through the tips of her hair like a brush as she nodded upward to free any knots. The hair behind her ears then pushed her earlobes wider, and she would smile with an adorable expression, button nose in perfect curvature

[9]

with her cheekbone. She’d finish the transaction and offer this chipmunk smile to the guest and then to me. III Megan stayed in the boat for two days before she ventured onto the floor. I brought a cart full of reshop back to electronics and started putting stuff back on the shelves. I presumed Megan would just stand behind her protective fort, but she came to the edge of the cart and asked, “Do you need any help?” Sure thing, I replied; I wouldn’t turn down free help. I took the opportunity to give some impromptu information about each product she picked up. Every item turned into a silly adventure, running back and forth across the floor: “Hey do you know what this does?” Playful eyes. “Nuh-uh, what does it do?” Jumping up and down. “Really?” Big smiles. She remembered most of the info, too. The next day, Megan left the counter area on her own to help a guest choose the correct camera memory card. She then handed the card to me so I could ring it up at the counter. Talk about a reversal of roles. Once Megan became skilled with the register, we let her handle more responsibilities. Anytime she needed help, she bounced onto the walkie, shrugging her shoulders with that cute smile whenever I’d finally appear. We felt she was safe that way, sort of like a ball of string to navigate through the labyrinth. Plus, if she had a walkie, we could trust her with the keys, the iconic status symbol of the few, proud electronics members.

[10]

Her pants were so tight, the black magnetic bar barely fit into her pocket, and you could see the little ridges protruding through the khaki material like little claws, while the keys jingled freely about her hips. We got a good laugh out of that. After taking charge of the keys for only a few minutes, she bounced me on the walkie, asking for help at the video game cabinet. The next thing I knew, I was staring at two jammed glass doors, with the switch in the lock halfway ajar. When I asked her what happened, she just gave her little shrug. She kept trying to twist the key until I intervened. I calmly put my hand over hers and showed her the trick to the lock: push in a little harder, twist it slightly to the right, and finally pull the lock out with the key intact. Carefully guided fingers let her feel the gentle click, lining up my fingertips over her chipped pink nail polish. Yeah, I know, cliché, but cliches are cliches for a reason. I didn’t even realize what I’d done until after we relocked the doors together. She giggled for a while after that, and part of me hoped inside for her to keep smiling for me. That moment clinched our awesome teamwork. IV With only one week left on my calendar, the execs moved Megan back to the front lanes. I knew the time had to come eventually, but by luck, we got to work together once more. When store traffic slowed down near closing time, the execs sent cashiers from the

[11]

front lanes to help the sales floor zone. Megan knew where she wanted to go: she walked directly to the back corner of the store. Her name tag now read “Megan” with a shiny star stuck to it. I remember when somebody asked for her location over the walkie, she said she was “in the back with Andy because he’s cool!” (I couldn’t argue against that.) She definitely seemed more interested in sitting on the floor to talk with me instead of aligning boxes with the diamond holes on the bottom shelves. So, I heeded the mutual vibe. We talked about dreading school, those evil geometry proofs, and a bunch of things I wish I remembered, not caring if we got caught slacking. If that weren’t enough to challenge the execs’ stoic authority, a few other team members also came around to shoot the breeze until our ten o’clock dismissal. Megan’s khakis were covered in dust prints when we finally got up. That night, I held the exit door open for her after she punched out, and we parted ways in the crisp incandescent parking lot lights. She came back to say goodbye on my last day. I can’t ever forget it. She pouted for a split second, with a sort of frustrated jitter, and then, like a triggered mousetrap, she threw her arms around me, catching me off guard. So I hugged her, too, leaning back since she was a few inches taller than me. When I patted her back, I realized how thin she was. After a long few seconds, she broke free and cupped her hair behind her ears again, and then nervously twisted her earring. And for the last time, we shared a sweet, sweet smile.

[12]

V Megan broke up with her boyfriend a few days after I quit, according to one of my buddies. I revisited the store over Thanksgiving break, but she no longer worked there. She’d become a victim, or more likely a proponent, of the rolling tide of turnovers, just like me. We washed away from each other. Since then, we’ve lost all contact. Our conversations piqued interest only for the moments the words escaped our lips, because they immediately fell to the ground, forgotten. Hell, I can’t even recall her last name. I guess that’s the price for hoisting the anchor: you get fed up with waiting at the grimy dock, but once you leave land, you can’t sail back. So, too, standing on the shoreline, waters erode the sand beneath your feet, so you can never retrod the same ground. I wondered for the longest time whether or not there was anything more between Megan and me. I never confirmed if she liked me like that, nor could I confirm such feelings in myself, since I barely knew her. That following winter, when I’d get bored of studying in my dorm, I’d go outside and feel snowflakes fall on me in those crisp Rochester nights, reminiscing how, like each unique flake, Megan spontaneously appeared and, just as quickly, melted away. I missed her. There wasn’t much of a story between us at all, just a good memory. Thank goodness I could appreciate it fully while we shared it, this pearl offered to me, white

[13]

as her smile, without wrenching it from creatures in the wading pool. Small interactions, the little details, felt outrageously more potent. The intrigue was innocent, not greedy, not falsely hopeful. Am I upset about what I lost? Certainly not. I found an invaluable treasure, despite shallow waters, which I keep as I navigate through ever-changing seasons in my life. I can’t buy a happy memory, especially not with min wage. And I can wonder, temporarily, if she ever thinks of me from time to time.

[14]

Oh, Lovely!

by John Patrick Oliphant Nimble trickle argentineThis for moving fingersThis for driving carsIn New YorkMy stateGrizzledAnd bareAm I buried by a graveyard?You are still here, John.She is still there, John.

Fractured form aberrantThis for staging battlesThis for crashing starsIn wonderMy stateAuburnAnd fairAre we hamstrung by a newsreel?She is still there, John.You are still here, John.

Raucous citrus coupThis for making loveHers, forsaking ours

[15]

Remember

by Jordan Bell

[16]

Sick Fetish or the Black Widow and the Puppet

by Arelys Oviedo

I watch in sick fascination as his hands wrap themselves around her throat. Her slightly tanned skin turning pale as the air leaves her lungs. Why is this so fascinating? Maybe because it is done by the person she loves? I try to hide my pleasure by frowning. No one can believe it though, since they all know of my fetish. I cannot hide the fact that I love the way it feels when she struggles for release. But she cannot stop her boyfriend. No one can, for I control his very being. Now it is time for the finale, where the Black Widow destroys her mate. I can already see his blood on the floor, flowing in all directions, Making it impossible to keep track of it. But then what need do I have of that? When I have them to take the blood; the children of the Black Widow and the Puppet.

[17]

Daffodils

by Jocelyn Lui

Clara walked up the path to her front door and noticed the emptiness surrounding it. Her neighbors had bushes and shrubs but she just had soil and dead stems peeking out of it. The October air was crisp and cold. Trying to escape it, Clara threw open her front door. She instantly felt the warmth brush her cheeks as she stepped into her house. Clara pulled off her gloves, hat and scarf right as the telephone rang. She fumbled around, looking for the ringing device. The ringing seemed to taunt her and had a personality of its own: impatiently waiting for her to locate it. Clara finally found it buried under a pile of junk mail. It was her daughter, Amy.

“Hey mom, it’s Amy.”

“Amy, what a nice surprise to be hearing from you.”

“Mom, you really need to spend your time more wisely. All you do is get tea, drive to Dad’s gravestone, and talk to it. You’re not talking to him; you’re talking to a stone! A damn stone and you’re just wasting away. Just look at the house, it’s a mess! Do something else besides grieving. Get over it because Lewis and I have, Mom. He was our Dad too, not just your husband. He was ours too.”

[18]

“What do you expect me to do?” Clara whispered quietly. “You want me to clean my house like every other house-wife until it glimmers and shines? I would be the ‘Cleaning Widow’. I don’t even have a husband anymore! 30 years gone just like that. I wouldn’t even be considered a house wife, Amy.”

“Just start a new hobby or something. Grow a garden, read to kids at the library. Just DO something,” Amy said angrily.

Clara sighed deeply, “I’ll think about it.”

She was tired of arguing with her daughter and waited a few more minutes until the conversation ceased. Todd was gone, and he was not coming back. What was the point of doing anything anymore? Who cared about the house? It was too big for one person—too lonely. It was better to leave the clutter—all mail, nonperishable food still in grocery bags from a week ago, and laundry draped over the armchair, couches and tables. Clara gently placed the phone back into the cradle and looked around at her living room. Maybe Amy was right. Maybe she needed to start something new. A meow came from the living room. Elijah padded towards Clara with a dead mouse in his jaws. He dropped the carcass at her feet and rubbed against her legs.

“Thank you for the gift, Eli. You’re too kind. I guess I will have to add this to the collection,” she said as she bent down to pet him.

[19]

The cat purred and followed his owner as she opened the back door and walked to the garbage can. The Sunday newspaper flew from a car window. She waved and shouted a “thank you” to the paperboy but didn’t get a response. Clara’s mind wandered back to the conversation she had with her daughter.

~

The grocery store was packed with people. Clara hated grocery stores. There were too many distractions—loud food labels screaming the name of their product; they all seemed to say, “BUY ME, PICK ME!” Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas decorations filled the aisles. Clara wondered whether the store was selling decorations or food. She wheeled her squeaky cart around to the refrigerated food aisle when some flower bulb packages caught her eye. Todd had always mentioned that if he had some free time, he would plant a flower garden. Squinting slightly, she walked towards the stand and lifted a bag of daffodil bulbs from it. She thought for a moment and decided to buy two bags. Perhaps Amy was right. Planting flowers would give her something to do. Grabbing a box of vanilla tea bags, a loaf of whole wheat bread, peanut butter and some soup cans, Clara made her way towards the checkout line. There were four registers and about five people waiting in line at each one. She looked at the empty space where the self-checkout lanes used to be.

[20]

~

Clara got out of her car and walked to where her husband lay. The flowers she brought a week ago were now dried up. She set the teacups, napkins and cookies down before going back to her car for the tea. Finally ready, Clara sat down in the grass and poured tea for Todd.

“It’s cold today, isn’t it? Colder than it normally is this time of year. I brewed your favorite this time. I know you love vanilla. I went out to buy some yesterday after Amy called. She’s getting pretty ridiculous these days. Oh, you would laugh if you knew—I forgot to buy some cat food for Elijah. I’m just so forgetful sometimes,” Clara said to her husband’s gravestone. An hour passed and both the tea and cookies were gone.

“See you tomorrow, Todd,” she said and slowly got to her feet.

The walk back to the car was all too familiar. She made that walk everyday since Todd was buried a year ago. Clara thought back to when Amy and Lewis thought she was going to have a breakdown because she visited the cemetery everyday.

“It has been a year, and I’m still sane,” she said bitterly to herself.

[21]

The drive into town was slow. Traffic surged and Clara wished that the streets could expand to fit more lanes. It seemed like time stood still as she waited for the traffic to speed up. It didn’t. It took an hour to get back to her house.

~

Time seemed to fade into nothingness as it passed. Clara often felt as if each day blended into the next and there was no specific break between sunrises and sunsets. She sat on her husband’s wooden rocker as she sipped tea and watched the leaves falling from the trees. The sun just reached its highest point in the sky and the sunlight streaming through the window was comforting. Amy, her husband Andrew, kids Laura and James, Lewis, his wife Serena and son Todd Jr. would be visiting soon. Clara looked at her living room and suddenly felt ashamed to have her children and grandchildren see the house like that. Filled with new determination, she started to sift through the clutter—pulling clothing, papers, magazines and cards from between the cushions on the couch. When the door-bell rang, Clara had already cleared away the couch and part of the coffee table. She went to greet her family.

“Gramma!” Laura and James yelled in unison as they pushed open the door. The cold air was startling as the two children made their way into the house.

[22]

“Oh, how are my favorite grandchildren?” Clara smiled. The kids pulled off their coats and ran to find Elijah.

“Mom, take this, I don’t have enough hands,” Amy said as she used her leg to prop open the door.

Clara shivered as she took the plate from her daughter. Andrew held open the door as his wife went back to the car to retrieve more food.

“Hey mom, how’ve you been?” He asked with a smile

“Oh you know me, Drew. I’ve been getting by,” she replied and patted his arm.

Amy finally finished bringing food into the house and Clara watched carefully as her daughter picked her way through the mass of stuff.

“The couch! Mom, you finally decided to clean up a bit?” Amy asked surprised

“I was thinking about it before you guys came and thought it would be nice to maybe clear a space for everyone to sit down,” Clara replied.

“Lewis should be here soon. He’s late again.”

“Everything doesn’t have to go as planned, Amy. It’s okay that he’s a little late.”

[23]

Amy rolled her eyes—something she’s done since she was a teenager. Clara laughed and lead her daughter to the kitchen to where Andrew and the kids were. Paper plates were soon filled with chicken drumsticks, corn and mashed potatoes as the front door opened. Clara rushed to greet her son and his family,

“Lewis, Serena you both look well. And wow Todd has gotten bigger since I saw him last!”

“Hey mom,” Lewis said happily and kissed his mother on the cheek, “yes it’s been a few months since we last got together.”

Serena gave her mother-in-law a box of cookies and a kiss on the cheek.

“You look worn out, Clara,” she said softly.

Clara smiled, “Don’t worry about me honey. Besides, I have decided to grow some flowers. The yard would look nicer with some color don’t you think?”

Todd wiggled around in his baby carrier and tried to grab at his grandmother’s face as Clara bent down to rub his cheek. In honor of his father, Lewis decided to name his first son Todd. At first Clara was uneasy about the idea but she has embraced it.

[24]

After lunch, Clara announced that she would plant the daffodil bulbs. Eager to help, Laura and James each grabbed shovels from the garage and followed their grandmother to the front yard. The other adults watched in anticipation. They knew how fragile Clara was and hoped that spending time doing something else instead of grieving, would help her heal.

“Now let’s dig up the soil and then we’ll put the bulbs in,” Clara said.

The two young children nodded and began to dig into the hardened ground. Clara took a deep breath and began to dig up the soil like her grandchildren. She thought back to when Todd had helped her garden—it brought tears to her eyes.

She sat up for a second and exhaled—inhale, exhale, inhale, and exhale. She brushed her hair off her face and began digging again. When the holes were to her satisfaction, Clara distributed the bulbs to the children and instructed how to put the bulb in the hole and then gently cover it with soil. After the bulbs were planted, Clara got the hose and allowed Laura and James to water them. She watched as her grandchildren carefully watered the soil—as if they knew how important the flowers were to their grandmother.

[25]

~

After planting the bulbs, Clara felt a sense of renewal. She started to clean her house starting with the living room—gathering everything and putting it into a large trash bag. Elijah watched his owner as she removed the clutter and vacuumed the carpet. Clara tended to the bulbs as she cleaned her house. She made sure to water them a little each day. November, December and January passed by quickly and when her children and grandchildren came to visit again for New Years, they were astounded by the transformation. The house seemed to radiate from the inside; the rooms looked new—spacious and calming.

“Mom, this looks incredible. You painted the walls and even decorated a little,” Amy said, pleased.

“No, they were always this color. I think all the clutter just made everyone focus on the clutter instead of the walls,” Clara laughed happily.

“Come to think of it, you do look better, mom,” Serena chimed in.

“Yeah,” Lewis said, “I see what you mean. I guess we haven’t visited for a while so we weren’t able to see the room. But you seem to glow a little when you’re here. It’s like the action of you cleaning the house…cleaned you too. Does that make sense?”

[26]

Andrew nodded in agreement.

“It’s like you’re in your element,” he said.

Only Amy didn’t contribute to the praise. She just nodded slowly and went to inspect the kitchen.~Amy was silent on the drive back home. Laura and James were both asleep. A Disney song played softly from the portable DVD player on the floor.

“Hey, why so quiet?” Andrew asked.

Amy glanced at her husband for a second and then turned toward the window. She shifted in the passenger seat, crossed her arms and then uncrossed them.

“Amy, what’s wrong?”

Amy shifted position again and faced her husband. He firmly grasped the wheel with both hands and looked at her intently.

“I feel like she’s forgotten Dad,” she said uneasily.

“What do you mean? He was her husband, she won’t just forget about him,” he said, “Besides, just because she isn’t all sad doesn’t mean she doesn’t think of him.”Andrew glanced in the rearview mirror to check on his sleeping children and then averted his eyes back to the

[27]

road. Amy sighed and turned to face the windshield.

“No, I just feel like she went from being miserable to extremely happy. Lewis even said she was glowing. People glow when they’re really happy. Dad died only about a year ago…I just don’t know,” Amy said.

“Don’t worry so much about your mom; she’s a strong woman.”The couple was silent for the rest of the drive home. When they reached their house, they each grabbed a child and carried them to their rooms. After he made sure Laura and James were asleep in their beds, Andrew found his wife sitting on the bed. He went over and sat beside her; he put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. They sat in silence for a while.

“Honey, you’re contradicting yourself,” Andrew said, breaking the silence, “When she was grieving you wanted her to be happy and now she is happy and you accuse her of forgetting your Dad? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I guess you’re right. I should be happy for her,” Amy said quietly.

“This is just the time for her to let go. Maybe not let go, but to make peace. Get what I’m saying?” Andrew asked

Amy nodded and buried her face in her husband’s chest.

[28]

~

The beautiful yellow flowers arrived in March. Clara’s house was completely cleaned by now and only the condolence cards and photos of Todd remained; they were stuck in-between the glass of her coffee table among photos of her children, grandchildren and friends.

A letter arrived in the mail from Amy:

Mom,I know I should have told you sooner, but we were all just in a rush to pack and everything. Andrew, Laura, James and I are fine. We decided to take a vacation in Italy for a week. I could have called, but long-distance calling is so expensive here and I don’t know if any of this would’ve sounded right if I spoke to you. What I want to say is that I’m proud of you. Before when we visited you last, I saw such a transformation. You seemed so happy and so content. I wasn’t sure how to feel because it just seemed like your grieve for Dad just vanished. I couldn’t help but think that you forgot about him. Andrew told me that it was just your way of closure. And I understand that now. I think what you’ve done is so wonderful and I just wanted to apologize. I’m so sorry and I promise I’ll call you when we get back to the States.

Love, Amy

[29]

“How could I forget?” Clara asked aloud after she read her daughter’s letter.

She cried softly and thought about how much her daughter had helped her this past year. Amy was the one who pushed her to look past her husband’s death and experience life again. Clara folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. She went over to the wall with all of her loved ones’ photos and gently touched Amy’s. Smiling, Clara returned to Todd’s rocking chair. Elijah jumped on her lap and purred. She smiled and leaned her head back on the headrest.

~

Clara watched in amazement day by day as the green stems grew, pushing through the black soil, reaching for the sky. When the blossoms finally bloomed, tears leaked from Clara’s eyes. The following day she made a trip to the cemetery and left two daffodils at her husband’s gravestone. This time, she walked away—not with a feeling of emptiness, but with a feeling of warmth, love, and peace.

[30]

Abstract

by Liz Toth

[31]

To Survive

by Zack Smith

I need to live.

I need to eat and drink and breathe the air that will keep my blood pumping and my brain thinking and for making tomorrow another day I can come and conqueror and triumph.

I need protection.

I need to stand on solid ground and be able to be sturdy and strong knowing that if need be I have something that will fend to the death with me as long as the war rages on.

I need to be loved.

I need to be accepted for who I am, my flaws and my talent, and I don’t need someone to kiss me and hold my hand but someone I can look at and know I can say anything comfortably.

I need to feel good.

I need to reach as high as I can and make it as far as possible and be the best I can be so I can be successful and know that I am doing everything that I possibly can.

[32]

I need to know.

I need to be aware of everything around me and the world as it works and I need to be a part of all that interests me as it crosses my path because I know that indeed knowing is half the battle.

I need to be pretty.

I need to look good and if I say I need to lose five pounds or not buy that shirt ‘cause my clothes are better and more comfortable or I don’t associate a history and an emotional attachment to that purchase then so be it. I want to be. I want to exist in a world up in arms over the latest revolution and from time to time be recognized on the passing by a smiling member of the society going to hell in a hand basket.

But I still need to breathe.

[33]

All Original Works Belong to the AuthorsMagazine Design Copyright Sarai Oviedo 2010OO

ON IMPRESSION