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The Lotus ReaderLiterary Magazine |
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Previous Issue Posted June 27, 2007 Fiction Long Hell of the Old Saints By T.R. Healy One of Heather's friends called Luke the other evening to let him know she had found the ring she had told him about at the service and wanted to give it to him. An overseas flight attendant, Catherine said she had a two hour layover Wednesday afternoon and wondered if they could get together at the airport observation lounge. He said that would be fine, and they agreed to meet at two o'clock. After she hung up, he realized he didn't remember what she looked like, he had met so many of his daughter's friends at the service, but he figured she would probably remember him. Or at least discern some resemblance of Heather in his craggy face.
"Hello, Mr. Norgaard." He looked up from the newspaper article he was half reading and saw the pert young flight attendant in her charcoal black uniform and smiled in recognition. "Catherine, how are you?" "Fine, thanks. May I sit down?" "Of course," he said, clearing away the sections of the newspaper spread across the small corner table near the back of the lounge. She slung the strap of her handbag over the arm of the chair she pulled out while a silver-blue passenger plane rumbled past one of the huge plate-glass windows. "May I get you something to drink?" "It's not too early for a whiskey sour, is it?" she asked, grinning palely. "I don't think so." "Neither do I." Promptly he waved over the waitress who had served him and ordered the drink along with another beer for himself. "Here's what we're here for," she declared, sliding across the table a violet handkerchief folded into a small square. "The ring?" She nodded. "Please open it." Carefully he unfolded the handkerchief until he saw the thin gold band. On it was a silver-winged angel. "Then she never saw it?" Catherine shook her head as the waitress served their drinks. "So I figured you might like to have it, as a memento maybe." "Absolutely," he said, slipping the ring on the tip of his index finger and examining it more closely in the lamplight. "It's lovely." "Good. I'm glad that you like it." Another plane, taxiing onto the runway, thundered past the window. "Even though it's been almost three months since the accident, I still find it hard to believe that I'm not going to see her again." "So do I, Mr. Norgaard," she replied, gently squeezing his left wrist. "It seems like we just spoke on the phone the other week." "I catch myself all the time thinking she's still with us. As if the accident never happened." Catherine lowered her head, not wanting him to see the tears that rimmed her eyes. "I've gone over that night on Cougar Mountain Road a thousand times I bet and I still don't know what actually happened. I wasn't drinking. But I was pretty tired after all the hiking Heather and I had done on the mountain that day and all I can figure is my eyelids got a little heavy and I dozed off. And then, before I knew it, the car had turned over on its side and Heather was crushed to death." A few weeks ago, he might have started to choke up but not anymore. His friends naturally assumed he had begun to cope with the loss but that wasn't the case at all. He felt as terrible as ever but he tried not to let others see the extent of his remorse. "You can't blame yourself for what happened, Mr. Norgaard," she said after an awkward silence. "Who can I blame then?" "Some things just happen for which we'll never have satisfactory explanations." "I was the one driving the car. There's no one else to blame but me. Believe me, dear, I wish there was but there isn't and I'm going to have to live with that for the rest of my life." "Maybe there was something on the road you struck that caused the car to roll over---a possum or a tire or a fallen tree limb?" "That's what I was hoping, too, at first. That way I'd know why I lost control of the car. But, as I told you, I just have to figure I fell asleep at the wheel." "But you don't know that for sure?" "No, and I probably never will." "If I were you then, I'd just act as if I'd hit something and assume that was what caused your car to lose control and turn over on its side." "I have no reason to believe there was anything on the road that night." "You don't know there wasn't, either, so assume there was and maybe that'll help you deal with Heather's death." He sighed, idly twisting the friendship ring around the tip of his finger. "People always say you'll get over things. Even something as horrible as losing a child. But you never do. You hope that you do but you won't. A piece of your heart has been taken away from you forever." "Maybe so, but you don't have to assume you're to blame for what happened." "If only I'd been the one the car rolled over on, and not her," he said dejectedly. "Then I'd probably be having a similar conversation with Heather. Because I know she'd feel every bit as guilty as you do now." Frowning, he leaned back in his chair, slowly sipping his glass of beer, and watched another passenger plane take off into the drizzling gray sky. For the next couple of minutes he and Catherine sat in silence, staring out the gigantic windows, then she got up and said she had to be on her way and thanked him for agreeing to see her. "Well, thank you for the ring," he said, slipping it off his finger and into his coat pocket. "My please, Mr. Norgaard." "Oh, there's one last thing I wonder if you could do for me." "Certainly." "Would you dance for me?" She looked at him quizzically. "Excuse me?" "You know, pretend someone is in your arms and spin around the table a couple of times," he explained, smiling faintly. "When Heather was little she'd stand on the toes of my shoes and we'd dance around the kitchen table after dinner." Setting down her handbag, she closed her arms around herself and awkwardly moved around the small oval table while he watched her, imagining she was his daughter back on the toes of his shoes. A Normal Life By Wayne Scheer Atlanta, GA.
Will Squires sat at his desk trying to write a story about a modern day cowboy threatened more by computers than cattle rustlers. Instead, he kept hearing Carol's voice.
"Rick, wake up! Don't leave me! Wake up! Rick! Rick!" Will and Bonnie had spent the morning at the hospital visiting a friend dying of cancer. As they entered Rick's room, they heard his wife's cries. Standing at the door, they watched Carol cradling her husband's face in her hands and screaming, "Wake up!" Backing away out of Carol's sight, they ran to the nurse's station for help.
A nurse calmly put her hand over the telephone receiver she was holding, "We know. I just called the emergency team. Please wait in the visitor's lounge." She pointed to a small, open area with snack machines, a water fountain and an overstuffed couch and chair.
Just then, a team of nurses, pulling a cart filled with medical equipment, and a young doctor, white coat and stethoscope flying, rushed past them and into Rick's room. A few minutes later, the team left. Carol walked into the hallway, her face red, her hands shaking. Although she was an attractive woman not yet forty, the lines under her eyes made her look much older. When she saw Bonnie, she collapsed into her arms.
"We almost lost him," Carol sobbed. "I thought he was gone." Gasping for air, she explained it was a reaction to the increased morphine the doctor had given him. "His eyes rolled back and I couldn't wake him." After a long pause, she continued. "They put something into his IV drip and he came to. He opened his eyes and fell back to sleep. His vital signs are normal again." Just a dress rehearsal, Will thought, daring not to speak aloud. He wanted to say something consoling, but he felt he had nothing but clichés to offer. He brought Carol a cup of water as Bonnie guided her to the couch. She cried again, this time on Will's shoulder.
Will hadn't seen Carol like this since before she had met Rick. A large, strong man, he had an almost feminine tenderness about him. Will remembered Carol once talking about her son and her first husband who had died years earlier in an automobile accident. Tears streamed down her face. Rick had just begun dating Carol, but he wrapped his big arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder, tears falling from his own eyes.
Will wished he could cry like that for his friend. Carol and Bonnie wept while he awkwardly patted Carol's shoulder.
Her sobs subsided and she seemed to relax. Speaking in careful, over-articulated phrases and clutching each word like they were preservers, she said. "Rick and I had the strangest exchange just before all this happened. You know Rick isn't religious, but he told me he was praying. When I told him I was, too, he asked if I was praying he'd live or die." She took another swallow of water, this time with painstaking deliberateness. "He didn't let me answer. He just reached out for my hand." Will looked at Bonnie. Her face was wet with tears. Later that afternoon Will tried returning to his comic novel about an aging cowboy named Lonnie Cisco. He was working on the section where Lonnie had to learn how to use a computer to keep track of the herd for which he was responsible.
But Will was haunted by the skeletal image of Rick in his hospital bed attached by tubes to blinking machines, looking more like a Halloween marionette than a hiker and mountain climber who listened to opera on his headphones. Before moving to Atlanta, Rick had been a lawyer in New York. That was before his divorce and supposed nervous breakdown. He said he always liked getting his hands dirty, so he apprenticed with a construction worker friend in Atlanta until he learned the job. Will and Bonnie met him as part of a crew building an addition onto their home.
One day, when the workers had left for lunch, Rick asked if he could stick around and look at their books. "Books say a lot about people. Not just what they read, but what they choose to keep. Each book has a story." Will walked with Rick as he read book titles, not sure if he should leave him alone. "Like this one, 'The Letters and Poetry of Charles Lamb.' When are you ever going to reread this, but yet you keep it."
"That's Bonnie's," Will told him. "It's from a course she took back in college. She was going to drop it but got an 'A' instead." "See? That tells me a lot about her and both of you for not trading it at a used book store long ago." "To tell you the truth," Will said, a smile on his face. "No bookstore would take it." Will and Rick became friends, spending a good deal of time in local pubs. As a writer, Rick fascinated Will, especially when he learned that Rick had season tickets to both the Atlanta Ballet and the Braves. "I like watching people live their fantasies," he explained. Rick spoke openly about his "previous life," as he called it. "My father was a lawyer and my grandfather a judge. But I was miserable. And I became more miserable with every case I won. I poisoned my marriage by cheating on my wife. I even tried sabotaging my career by doing a closing argument dead drunk. I kept referring to my client by the wrong name." Will laughed, but Rick interrupted. "It's not funny. The man was a jerk, but he was worth a fortune to the firm. Closing drunk is one thing, but losing a rich client is unforgivable." He emptied his glass. "You want to hear the worst part? I won the case."
Laughing aloud, they ordered another round. When the drinks came, Rick continued. "During the divorce, I committed another unforgivable sin. I told my wife's attorney exactly how much money I had, including my share of investments in my father's name. I told my wife to take what she thought was fair. I just asked for enough to start a new life." He held up his glass. "My dad tried declaring me mentally incompetent."
Will hadn't had a close male friend since college and at first he felt awkward hanging out with Rick. He had gotten used to being part of a couple, and he relied on Bonnie to start conversation. Will also feared he was using Rick to gain material for his stories. But he eventually relaxed and spoke freely about himself and his life. He never spoke so openly with anyone other than Bonnie. One day, he told Rick about his dream to reduce his teaching load at the college so he could concentrate more on his fiction writing. "Do it, man. Do it now. But don't reduce your teaching load. Quit altogether." "I can't," Will said. "I have a family. What example would that be for the kids, if I just up and quit?"
"You'd be teaching them to follow their dream." When Will spoke with Bonnie, she reminded him that with her public relations firm doing so well they needed a full-time nanny. "So you working at home would be a blessing."
Will decided on a compromise: a one-year sabbatical. That was three years ago, and Will had never felt so happy. He had a number of stories published and was working on a novel.
Meanwhile, Bonnie introduced Rick to her best friend, Carol, who had lost her son and husband in an automobile accident. Carol impressed Bonnie with her intelligence and offered her a job with her new business. When Rick and Carol married, Will jokingly proposed expanding the company into matchmaking.
They met for dinner once a week and often went to plays or jazz clubs together. Then Rick was diagnosed with colon cancer. Though his colon was removed, the cancer had spread to his liver and the decision was made to forgo chemotherapy and enjoy the time he had left. The doctors told them Rick had one good year before the cancer would ravish his body and make even walking from his bed to the toilet a task.
Rick lived not like a man trying to cram a lifetime into one year, but like a man appreciating each moment he had. He couldn't work construction anymore, so he worked at home instead. He built an elaborate brick flowerbed along the front of their house and added a fireplace to the living room. He cooked and shopped. He'd call Will in the middle of the day to tell him about a shipment of peaches the Farmer's Market just got from South Georgia "They're so sweet, man. You can't imagine. I have a recipe for a peach glaze over duck I'm going to try tonight."
Rick and Carol didn't travel as Will thought they might. For Rick, there was no need for a vacation. "My everyday life," he'd say, "is too precious to put it aside for a couple of weeks. I'm not interested in a vacation. I want to live my normal life now while I can."
"Before the cancer diagnosis," Carol told Bonnie, "we were trying to get pregnant. I didn't think I'd ever want a child again, but Rick needed a family. He wanted us to be normal. That's the way he put it." Will remembered how she managed a smile. "We were normal, too. For a while." #
Will wiped the tears from his eyes to focus on his story. He was describing Lonnie's tough-as-cowhide right index finger poking at the computer keyboard, making each letter appearing on the monitor seem to cry out in pain. Will usually enjoyed writing this kind of description, often shouting "yes!" when he strung together words that he felt captured what he was imagining.
This time he lost interest.
He knew what he should do: put the novel aside and write about Rick and Carol. After all, write about what you know, was the standard advice. But he had been avoiding writing a story about a dying friend and his traumatized wife. He felt like a vulture even contemplating picking at his friends' tragedy. Although he had known Carol for a long time, he felt proud never having exploited her pain in one of his stories. And Rick, he understood, was a fiction writer's dream character. But they were friends.
Will stared at his computer. He knew an agent who wanted to read the Lonnie Cisco novel, but for the first time since he started writing full-time, it seemed trivial and meaningless to make up silly little stories. What good was writing a novel when he couldn't even help his friend? Bonnie called from the kitchen. "Honey, you want to eat something? I'm making lunch for the kids."
Perfect excuse, Will thought, turning off his computer. In the kitchen, Bonnie arranged turkey, ham and Swiss cheese on a platter along with lettuce and tomato while Amanda and Phillip plopped mayonnaise and mustard into small glass bowls. The silverware was already arranged at each setting.
"We're eating fancy today, Daddy," Amanda, the nine year-old, said. "Mommy says we need to be normal."
"For a change," Phillip said with a straight face. At twelve, he had already mastered the art of the sarcastic quip. Bonnie held Will responsible. Will felt proud.
As they ate, Phillip talked about how the Braves needed to trade for a pitcher while Amanda, mayonnaise dripping from her lip, pretended she was a queen and they were her loyal subjects. Will smiled at Bonnie as he reflected on how much he loved his normal life.
He knew instantly that after lunch he'd return to the Lonnie Cisco novel, not because it was an important work of art, but because creating it made him feel alive.
He also wanted to finish the book so he could dedicate it to his friend: "To Rick Kommer, 1962-2006 For teaching me to be brave enough To live."
Big Jim, the Mormon, and Hitler's Grandson By Quincey Burkhalter Roswell,NM Note: This piece is the third section of a longer piece, which chapters appear in previous and will appear in later issues of The Lotus Reader Three days later I had gotten used to the cooler and started to like the hard work and free Jim Beam. I worked every night with Craig. When I did, it was me in the cooler and him up front using the same damn line on every girl that came in. I tried to talk to Craig when I could, tried to get a clue, some sort of incriminating evidence. I asked him how old he was. He wouldn't tell me. I asked where his last name, Brown, came from. He said, ‘Charlie Brown.' I asked what he'd meant by ‘meaner than my grandfather.' He said he didn't have a grandfather. No question phased him. He was made of stone.
Adam By Robert James Sherrah St.Thomas, ON Canada Someone once told me "The only comfort in being lonely is the sole consolation of always having yourself still to talk to. Yet if you did get tired of talking to yourself, you could always just go on being lonely. " Mmh, words to live by I guess, the strange thing is, I never really actually met the man who said them to me, even though I thought I knew every possible thing, there ever was to know about him. Isn't that about the most peculiar thing you ' d ever heard?
Adam Franklin Bonivich was a seventy-eight year old Polish immigrant. He had no wife, no kids, no known living relatives and absolutely no real friends to speak of. He took his coffee black, ate his tuna on toast and would drive himself to the market once a week on Sunday. Even though he hadn ' t possessed a valid New York state drivers license for over thirty-nine years. Just a few of the shared secrets from a man I'd never met, yet had grown to know so well. Once, he accidentally locked himself inside his lower East Side apartment bathroom for four days, having to overflow the sink out of pure frustration, just to be discovered. And all the poor man had to say after, "Got to get me one of those new fangled cordless phones. " Having never ventured to the toilet without one since, he had never felt less, than just a phone call away.
Mr. Bonivich or Adam once told me " That if I liked Gershwin, I should come on over, not now, but when it arrived. Bring my gal and we'd dance the night away. " He said "He'd play it all night long. No, matter what they'd say up stairs! My Fair Lady, Baby, Kickin' the Clouds Away, and Tell Me More. " He said, "If you like Gershwin, oh you'll like me. We'll have a grand time, you'll see. Just come on over and remember, don't forget to bring your gal." "Don't forget to bring my gal. " All this from a man, whom had never met my wife, sat at my kitchen table, or even once pronounced my first name properly. Adam was definitely, a most remarkable lonely man. Besides, who else in this world said things, like "Born in Nineteen, Nineteen, Poland's greatest export, that's me?" That was his answer the first time I asked him his age and the last time "Poland's greatest export" can you imagine that, seventy-eight years old and still as modest as the first day he was born. I'd say to him "Adam, this isn't Poland, this is New York City. You know, the Big C, The Big Apple, Broadway and all that jazz. People here, are used to absurdity, in fact some people love it. But that isn't to say that they're ready to reach out and shake hands with it everyday." Thinking back now, that was probably a risky thing to have said to him. Nevertheless, I truly believed in my heart, I was doing him a favor, that is, until I picked up my phone and spoke to him for the very last time.
They say everyone has a story to tell, but I'll tell you, Adam Franklin Bonivich was a story unto himself. So hold on to your hat and sit back in your chair, because what I'm about to tell you, may prove to get a little maddening. It all started on the Monday before last, on one of the coldest New York mornings on record. The kind of morning that's so cold there's never enough blankets to go around. However, of course, Adam didn't have that problem. He was to busy dreaming, as he so often did about a starlight romantic dance with Ginger Rogers, staring deeply into her dreamy blue eyes as he dipped her down, under a soft glowing silvery moon. Her in a shimmering gorgeous gown and he in his white satin tux, whisking her around to the melting rhythm of Rogers and Hammer stein's "Some Enchanted Evening." And that's when his phone began to ring.
"Mmh, huh, what, yes I'm coming, I'm coming. If God wanted me there faster he would have gave me wings. Where are my teeth? I need my teeth to talk. Yes, hello, yes it is he, ah ha, what did you say? Today, here! Gracious me. Oh, I understand. Oh I'll be here, but… nine o'clock sharp, you bet, with bells on! Thank -you, thank-you so much, you too, bye for now!" The phone lay dead in Adam's hand for what seemed, like a silent eternity. Turning suddenly Adam burst into an ecstatic dance of joy, jumping up down, spinning from room to room, shouting from the top of his lungs. "I've won, I've won, I've actually really won. I can't believe for the life of me, I've actually really won...!" Climbing up on to a mountain of boxes, yelling into the ceiling, banging on it vigorously with an old wooden cane, announcing to his neighbors above that he had won. "What do you say about that up there now, hey? I won...! No longer being able to contain himself, he tore out of his apartment filled with the exhilaration. The exhilaration of a child left in an unlocked candy store. Dressed in red and white flannel pajamas, dashing down the hall, pounding on every door, hoping to find someone to share in his elation Adam began to wave his cordless phone in one hand and an old wooden cane in the other, parading back and forth singing gleefully out of tune as he announced to the world that he had won. This time banging again, even harder on his neighbors door across the hall, shouting even louder to get her attention. "Do you hear me? Do you hear me in there Mrs. Krackapee, I've won, I've won...!" Mrs. Krackapee's door slowly began to open, but just a pinch. Beyond the door stood the shadow of a woman who looked every bit her age. The past forty years of her life, widdled away, ever faster, by the constant care of a crippled husband daily needs. "Everybody's heard you Adam. The whole world has heard you. But you don't hear them! Nobody wants to leave his or her bed. Not this morning, now please, please, go away." Adam looking back into her soft worn eyes, seemingly stunned by her disapproval, spoke more timidly now. As though in a broken whisper he replied "But Mrs. Krackapee, didn't you hear me, I've won." Coming from the hall beyond the door, a deep congested cough bellowed out, causing her to look back anxiously, before turning around again and saying " Yes I heard you, you won, now please leave us be." Mrs.Krackapee once again, looked back towards the hall of her apartment. Adam sensing her discomfort franticly began to plead, "No, Anna you don't..." However, before he could speak another word, the door had tightly slammed shut. Alone and hanging on his last thought, Adam exhaled and slowly breathed out the word, "Understand." Left standing in the cold hall, he then began to stare, at yet another unopened carton of milk lying left untouched at the side of her door. And couldn't help but wonder why, why would a world with so little joy, seem so hesitant to share in his?
However before being able to ponder another moment on the thought, something began to beep. Beep unlike any sound Adam had heard before, a fascinating squeaky little high pitched beep. Looking down towards his hand, he realized it was his brand new digital quartz twenty-four hour, luminescent, genuine wristwatch, the same one that he had been so unsuccessful in setting the alarm on, for the last two weeks prior. Adam was elated. "It works, the dam thing works, yippee..." yelling from the top of his lungs, once again grinning from ear to ear, looking like a boy poised to be first out the door on the last day of elementary school. Doubly enthused by his newfound fortune, he broke into a sudden waltz, as though its steps had been orchestrated and rehearsed a thousand times before, carefully guiding his enchanted inspiration gallantly around the hall as not to bump her into the cold cracking plaster ready to fall from either side. Adam imagining beautiful music filling his ears, he let back his head, lapsing into such a euphoric state of whimsical bliss, the hall became that of a ballroom. All the while embracing his wooden cane ever tighter, twirling it around and around. Believing in his mind it was that of his Mother, enrapturing his soul with soft subtle words, filled with long sought after answers from unfulfilled promises made years ago.
"It's your turn Adam, your ship has sailed in. Just like I said it would, in the songs I used to sing. "Practice and practice and all will be yours... in a land called America, on far away shores... You can be anything that you want to be... a Singer, a Writer or a Dancer for me...."
Like a quartet of angels, disbanded into sudden darkness. The same sweet harmonious sound of strings, that had only moments before soothed his fragile mind, began to transform into those of roaring piercing sirens, awakening Adam into a cold frenzied state. Racing back to his apartment, he slammed the door shut behind him. Once inside, leaning up against it, he collapsed down to his knees, beginning to sob, every tear, a stinging reminder of the sirens still blazing in the back of his mind. For him, they were like the unforgettable taste of soured milk, once swallowed, never forgotten, and familiar as the rain. Screaming aloud, he rose frantically to his feet, tearing clear a pathway to his bathroom. Kicking over on his way, dozens of empty parcels, lying stacked amidst a cluttered floor. Each one stamped bearing the same slogan, as the one before the last. Throwing opening his medicine chest, he accidentally dropped his cordless phone to the ground, stopping only momentarily to glance at it, before starting to toss pill bottle after pill bottle down into a clogged stanching sink, desperately seeking the vial that had many times previously lulled him away to a more forgiving place. "Where is it, where are they...?" Suddenly remembering he had last taken his pills while wearing his robe the night before. He reached over and grasps the bathroom door, hoping to find them in the pockets of the coat hanging up on the other side. While pulling the door back towards him, he awkwardly lost his balance, slipping on the wet, soiled rug beneath his feet. The door, than swinging back shut, collided with his forehead, causing him to fall back, striking his neck on the base of the tub. Half dazed and with blurring eyes he managed to sit up, still being able to distinguish that of one familiar sound, the lock on the bathroom door, engaging forward, jamming once again. "No, no. Not today, not now. " Saying over and over, as he scoured blindly across the discolored floor, probing its filthy corners, fumbling around with his hands until at last finding his cordless phone. Picking it up, he than began to key in the numbers, as though they had been engraved in the wall before him, carved in his memory like the sound of shattered glass. "Sloan's New and Used Collectibles, Jacque speaking, how may I help you?" "Jack, its Adam, Adam Bonivich" "Hey Adam, how's the watch working, still having problems?" "No, no listen, Jack, I'm in big trouble. You got to help me; you got to help me before they come!"
Before whom comes Adam? Adam replied "The people from the dance company. I won a contest. I won an audition. An audition Jack! Oh no, it's too late, too late, I think I here somebody knocking. Please, no time to explain. Call Mrs. Krackapee, Anna Krackapee, 555-4211. Tell her to go to the hallway. Tell her I'm locked in. Hurry Jack, she'll listen to you. " And with that, his phone fell silent.
Moment's later Adam's apartment door began to creek open. The sound of soft elegant footsteps could be heard rendering slowly across the hardwood floor. Excited, he began to shout "Anna, Anna is that you? Tell them I'm here; tell them I'm locked in." However, nobody answered. "Who's out there? Why don't you say something?" Yelling as he heard the sound of more and more foot steps, trudging briskly, in and out from his door. "That's it, no more games, no more nonsense, I'm calling the police!" "The police, now you're willing to call to the police?" A soft voice said as it answered back from the other side of the door. "Anna, is that you? What are you saying? What have you done?" "He was only twenty six Adam, ranked number one in the state. He lived for but one reason, one dream, to dance. To dance Adam and you ask me, what I have done! Why? How could you? "It was raining Anna!" "You knew he'd be there Adam!." "I didn't see him Anna!" "You didn't want to see him Adam!" "But, I loved you Anna!" "Loved me, loved me, you imprisoned me you bastard, you imprisoned me and for that, not one day has gone by in my life where the steal bedpan in my hand has not reminded me of the coldness I have for you inside my broken heart. I hate you Adam, don't you understand? I hate you!" Angered, Adam began to shout back. Not realizing what he was about to say, would bring closed a wound, bleeding deep with in the heart of a woman, whom he'd never be able to torment again. "Every morning, on my milk route I'd watch you, frolicking with him, practicing in the street, staring at him as though he were a God. I knew then, he'd be able to carry you places I knew nothing of and for that, I hated him! I hated him with every breath I took. He deserved his fate!"
"What Fate Adam? The fate of a wounded dog, run down by a drunken milkman left for dead in the middle of the street!" "No, Anna the fate of a living cripple ran down by a sober man who would have shown a dog more mercy!" Adam's phone dropped to the floor breaking into several pieces, his entire body began to shake violently. While holding one hand up to his bloodied forehead, he reached out with the other, as though trying desperately to lunge at the last fading voice he would ever hear. "Anna I'm bleeding, I'm bleeding badly, please Anna I'm begging you please open the door." "Bleed Adam, you don't know how to bleed" Before quietly leaving Adams apartment Anna engaged Adams phonograph so it would be heard playing over and over again, fittingly enough she played Gershwin, not to loud to awaken the neighbors, however just loud enough to muffle any of Adams last attempts to call out for help before he would eventually drift off to sleep forever. Anna Krackapee had fulfilled her promise made years ago and was free from the man who stole away her only dream. To dance with her husband and live a life of freedom in a land called America on far away shores... where you can be anything that you want to be... a Singer, a Writer or a Dancer for me...." Nonfiction
THE END NON FICTION The Suffering of Job Nathan Hudson How Does the Suffering of Job show the Nature and Activity of God? “The truly righteous man attains life, but he who pursues evil goes to his deathâ€: -Proverbs 11:19. This is the essence in which “Job†has become one of the most debatable topics within the Old Testament. As a devoted follower of God, Job is tested almost beyond human capabilities, leading us to question God’s objectives for man. Generally, God has been depicted as a provider, teacher and an intrinsically good force, but with the subjection of Job to Satan, and with Proverbs 11:19 in mind, we are left to question the true nature and activity of God. Before we discuss the nature and activity of God we must first understand “Jobâ€, the text, and Job, the man. Firstly, “Job†is a book in which a broad coverage of human experiences is covered, with all the intensity of emotion and complexities of life. “Job†offers an in-depth theological understanding through happiness and suffering and, in this “Job†is unique fundamentally in its method of teaching. For a Christian the book of “Job†is of an intense importance firstly, in the recognition of the longing for a mediator to teach the right way of life, and attain euphoria on earth and in heaven. Also, it is significant in recognising the desperate hope for salvation that man holds, and through “Job†we can see this hope is fulfilled in God and ultimately through Jesus, the Messiah, promoting the Christian teachings of today. Nothing is known of Job apart from what is present in the text. We do not know who wrote “Jobâ€, or where Job lived, if indeed he lived at all. All that is known is his sheer daily devotion to God (1:1), his great wealth (1:2), and ultimately his lack of understanding of what the nature and activity of God truly is. Job as a man represents Christians worldwide who undoubtedly love their God, but yet do not understand why God allows good people to suffer. The importance of the text and the symbolism of his character all highlight the difficulty of understanding God, and, through Job, we can begin to understand God’s true nature and activity. To comprehend how the suffering of Job shows the nature and activity of God, we can differentiate the different ways in which Job suffers. Satan attacks Job physically, mentally and spiritually and by each of these different aspects of Job’s life coming under attack, God shows different aspects of his nature and activity. The first example of physical suffering that Job endures takes form in bodily harm. Satan states “…stretch out your hand and strike his flesh and bones, and he will surely curse you to your face†(2:5). God allows this and “painful sores from the soles of his feet to the top of his head†(2:7) follow. Job later states, “my body is clothed with worms and scabs, my skin is broken and festering†(7:5), showing the gory extent to which Job suffers physically. This physical pain that Job endures shows the most blatant form of suffering that man fears. Man is consciously fearful of physical harm and by attacking Job’s body he is truly tested. This idea of physical pain inflicted on man by the word of God is also shown in Deuteronomy 28:35: “The Lord will afflict painful boils that cannot be cured, spreading from the soles of your feet to the top of your head†and also in Revelation16:11: “…and cursed the God of heaven because of their pains and their sores, but they refused to repent of what they had done.â€.[1] D.J. Wiseman suggests “There is far less reference to Job’s physical suffering than has been previously assumed. Job is primarily concerned with the treatment of his relationsâ€. This criticism therefore suggests that the physical pain in which Job suffers is not at its most affective, until it affects the ones he loves rather than himself. This is shown “…when suddenly a mighty wind swept from the desert, struck the four corners of the house. It collapsed on them and they are dead…†(1:19) and, also when “…Job took a piece of broken pottery and scraped himself with it as he sat among the ashes†(2:8), as an act of grief, due to the suffering that God allowed Satan to bring upon him. All the physical bodily pain that Job undergoes, directly or indirectly, shows God’s nature and activity as the Creator. God made life and God, has the power to damage, or even take, life. God’s nature is shown as omnipotent and, for that reason, his activity as God, the Creator, assumes all possible powers over man, with his ability to test when he sees fit. In God having the ability to test man, and being able to give or take what man has according to His judgement, we can relate this to the theology of Holocaust; and consequently raise the question, why does God let man suffer? [2]Dan Cohn-Sherbok questioned where was God when six million people died and argues that the reality of suffering is dubious under a loving, kind God. Cohn-Sherbot states as in Job the Holocaust occurred in a particular sequence; “God wills, that is enough. God takes, And God gives back. God breaks, And God consoles. That is enough.†This reinforces the idea of God’s superiority over man yet fails to highlight the reasons behind God’s nature and activity. Physical suffering not only affects Job through his body but also in the physical objects he owns. We learn “the oxen were ploughing and the donkeys were grazing nearby, and the Saebeans attacked and carried them off†(1:14-15) as well as, “the fire of God fell from the sky and burned up the sheep and the servants…†(1:16), which directly blames God for the physical suffering that Job endures. God is blamed, and Job grieves for his loss but, as a devout follower of the Old Testament, Job seems to forget 1 Samuel 2:7: “The Lord sends poverty and wealth; he humbles and he exaltsâ€. Here, God’s nature and activity, as expressed all through out the Bible, is to create the balance of man and to deter him from greed. This is still apparent in the New Covenant in Luke 6:20: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of Godâ€, and this activity is shown to Job but, unlike in the past it seems unjustified, therefore leading Job to question God. As Job questions God’s nature and activity, scholars such as [3] Matthew Henry state “How much better is it to get wisdom than gold! How much easier, and safer! Yet gold is sought for, but grace neglected… They were taken away when he had most need of them to comfort him under other losses†which highlights Job’s almost impossible dilemma. We can see God’s nature and activity is dubious to Job but as the audience we can have a more insightful opinion, knowing Satan is the one testing Job in this way. The intention of Satan is to make Job suffer as much as he can to make him curse God, although, through Satan we can observe God is giving Job the chance to prove his love. God’s nature and activity is not to punish Job but to bring Job to a higher place where he can truly appreciate what the love of God is, in a place without material comfort but with a greater relationship with God. Therefore we can see concerning Job’s physical suffering, the nature and activity of God is not one of punishment but one of opportunity. God has power over man so he allows Satan to test Job physically, giving him the chance to prove himself. God allows Satan to attack his body, his family and his possessions in order to humble him to the pure relationship of just man and God. Material loss also affects Job mentally, which leads us onto the next concept of suffering. Job suffers mentally in his loss of all he possesses, and with reference to Matthew Henry’s previous quote we can see all the physical comfort Job once had is gone: I have nothing but my skin and bones, I have escaped only by the skin of my teeth†(19:20). This is also true with the comfort of his family (1:18-19), where Job is left alone to grieve. This activity of the complete annihilation of all Job loved is not purely to prove Satan wrong, as this method was used in the past by God to educate man; 1 Kings 15:29 states “…he killed Jeroboam’s whole family…all according to the word of the Lord†and also, in the New Testament we see reference to God teaching man of the humbleness of having nothing in Mark 4:9: “the deceitfulness of wealth and the desires for other things come in and choke the word, making it untruthfulâ€. These references thus show that through Job’s mental anguish God is teaching him, in the same way he did in the past, to once again, give Job the chance to truly obtain atonement with God. Mental suffering is also impinged on Job in the arrival of Eliphaz, Zophar and Bildad. The abuse that Job endures whilst conversing with his “friends†all show the conflict and obstacles that Job has in order to prove himself under the tests of God. “…my acquaintances are completely estranged from me†(19:13) and “…miserable comforters are you all!†(16:2) are examples of the ways in which Job is forced to suffer alone, and we can speculate that the actions of Eliphaz and Zophar, in particular, are moulded by the wishes of Satan. [4]Matthew Henry states “Eliphaz charges Job with self-conceit†demonstrating not only is Job suffering with the idea that God has abandoned him but he is also in turmoil in being opposed when he defends his God. The apparent abandonment that Job experiences directly contradicts Old Testament scriptures that Job is committed to: …he [God] will not abandon you or destroy you or forget you†(Deuteronomy 4:31). [5]Francis L. Anderson comments on Job’s reactions in, “…[Job] suffers mentally in his struggle to understand God’s actionsâ€, consequently showing the activity of God is not a simple concept, and indeed it seems, it is not in God’s plan for man to understand all his actions but, ultimately, become wiser in the experiences that destiny holds. Therefore, we can see through Job’s mental suffering the nature and activity of God is to teach. Job is tested to the extreme in being left to grieve in the ashes, which was once his life, as well as being consoled by those who denounce him, all done so under the wishes of the God he has devoted his life to. Through this unimaginable agony that Job suffers God teaches him to not base life on material comfort, or indeed the comfort of human love. Through Job we learn that to love God is to accept all that happens in life is under the jurisdiction and discretion of the most benign, devoted father. The sense of abandonment from God that Job feels can also link to the spiritual suffering that Job endures. “God does not listen to their empty plea; the Almighty pays no attention†(35:13), is an example of the isolation that Job feels and through this we can learn much about God’s nature and activity. Judges 6:13 tells of the suspected abandonment of the Israelites “into the hands of the Midian†but, it is revealed, just as in Job, that God does not abandon his people, he tests them and he judges them accordingly. [6] Christine Gorman stated “Maybe we, like Job, have suffered appalling grief and tribulation. Whatever the case, God is there, speaking out of the whirlwind. Sometimes the words are comforting. Often they are infuriating. But God doesn’t let goâ€, showing that Job, the same as the Israelites, is being judged and the reward for Job’s dedication will be eternal happiness. As well as the sense of God not being with him, Job also questions why the unprovoked testing has been brought upon him: “…let God judge me with honest scales and he will know that I am blameless†(31:6).[7] Wiesel, like Job, is bewildered by God’s apparent indifference, and he castigates Him for His lack of interest in the fate of His faithful servants. With reference to other Biblical passages, we can see man is not just tested through committing sin, but also judged to have the chance to, once again, become closer to God, and as result we can see God is not just blindly inflicting pain on man. This honest judgement is shown in Luke 4, with the Temptation of Jesus. Jesus committed no sin but God, as he is all-powerful and consequently controls the actions of Satan as well as man, witnessed Jesus being tempted in order to prove his commitment to God, and this same concept can be applied to Job. [8]Robert Davidson states “God is the judge and he is testing Job through Satan, under his witnessâ€, showing a clear criticism on God’s nature and activity in that He will subject man to evil and temptation under his careful watch and, God is aware man may succumb to this temptation and possibly reject Him. Nevertheless, just like in “Jobâ€, God does not forget man but God does judge us on our actions and give us the splendour of heaven, or the flames of hell, accordingly. Therefore, through Job’s spiritual suffering we can see God’s nature and activity is to judge man. God judges Job for being a devout follower, not for sinning and, God makes Job feel as if He has abandoned him in order to judge him in his faith. Religion and spirituality is a concept completely based on faith and by testing this, God pushes Job almost beyond human capability. Physical and mental harm to Job is of course devastating but, because Job is so pious spiritual harm is more than likely the most affective way to test him, which is why the activity of God is so affective. In conclusion, we can see through the suffering of Job the nature and activity of God is to hold judgement, to test, to humble and to hold power over mankind. By testing Job, God shows mankind that our love for God is stronger than the discomfort we feel in life. “Job†shows us that our adversaries can never truly harm us with the love of God behind us and, that we must be humble in that we may never fully understand God. [9] Stephen J. Lawson states “(Job) does not explain the mystery of suffering or "justify" the ways of God with human beings, but it does probe the depths of faith in the midst of suffering†which is extremely true, but it does teach man a lesson of the nature and activity of God. In the words of [10] Kenneth Thaking, we must “Be careful not to accuse God of bringing trials, temptations, and tribulation upon you. That's the devil's modus operandi (method of operation), because he wants you to fall from salvation. He wants you to blame God for all the terrible and stressful things that happen in your life to cause physical, emotional and spiritual traumaâ€, and in God allowing Satan to do so, through Job we learn the nature and activity of God in Him ultimately being the Redeemer of man from evil. 7 “The trial of Godâ€, Random House 1977 8 “The Courage to Doubt: Exploring an Old Testament Themeâ€, Fortress press 1983 9 “Holman Old Testament Commentary: Jobâ€, Broadman and Holman Publishers 2005 [1]0 http://www.wordofhope.org/Page3.html [1] “Tyndale Old Testament Commentariesâ€: Inter-Varsity Press, 1976 [2] “Holocaust Theologyâ€, [3] http://www.biblegateway.com/resources/commentaries [4] http://www.biblegateway.com/resources/commentaries [5] “Job, An Introduction and Commentaryâ€, Inter-Varsity Press, 1977 [6] A sermon preached at Rutgers Presbyterian Church, Oct 19 2003 [7] “The trial of Godâ€, Random House 1977 [8] “The Courage to Doubt: Exploring an Old Testament Themeâ€, Fortress press 1983 The Economics of Economics Everette Wheeler Economics is one of the sole professions that argues against itself. The deep, resounding core of economics states that all choice is made based on costs and benefits. No actions are committed if the benefits don’t outweigh the cost. Either can consist of anything from monetary to emotion gain or loss. And so it is highly ironic that the costs of using economics outweigh the benefits of using economics. Microeconomics comes to the conclusion that a society is the most efficient in a purely free market scenario. In this, all firms are completely competitive. The only function of a government is to protect private property. Society and government values limiting the free sale of goods and services do not exist. The result is a completely efficient society, where no deadweight losses are incurred, and every good is adjusted to the price people are willing to pay for it so that their benefits outweigh their cost. But in addition to this result, there are some other consequences- the main one being that the given society would fall into economically efficient disarray. For one thing, a perfectly competitive market indicates that there are no barriers to entry. That means that lawyers, teachers, and even doctors can self proclaim themselves professional and begin treatment without entering the first grade. School, by the way, would likely be heavily decreased, as only those who could afford schooling would receive it. The labor worth of every American would decrease, as there would be no legalities surrounding immigration. The fact that immigrants are actively trying to enter the United States means that a given hour of entry level labor is paid at a higher wage here than in other countries. With the influx of immigrants, everyone else’s wages will decrease. Not to mention that the family unit will probably cease to exist. Since children give very few benefits to their parents when young, the parents will not bother to give them food or shelter. Nor will the children help their parents, once grown. This leads to both danger from our environment and emotional distress from our genetics. Also, disease will likely increase with parent induced orphans roaming the streets without shelter, not to mention the influx of unqualified doctors. Our society, if followed purely free market, economic values, would cease to exist. Thus the society in a state of pure economics has very few benefits, but a large amount of opportunity costs- namely, all the benefits of equality and family and health care and education that would have existed in a less that free market society. As mentioned before, having fewer benefits than costs makes a decision a non economic one. Being economic is not economic. Mentality Induced Definitions Anonymous Why do people feel a need to define themselves? It is understandable that we define ourselves positively. Considering ourselves to be kind, intelligent, or successful gives us a sense of permanent security. But we give ourselves negative definitions too. We consider ourselves to be useless, waste of life, depressed. It is rather a questionable state of mental health, causing all types of results determined by the extent we live up to our own definitions. Our labels are not limited to temporary moods- in fact; they are rarely ever anything but a permanent state. They are more than part of us, they are all of us. The human mind finds it necessary to understand everything. The key to understanding is organization. If we do not fully understand something- ourselves, life after death, philosophy- we put these things into little boxes in our minds, with some basic labels so we at least know what they are, even without fully understanding them. An academic subject one doesn’t wish to wrap his or her mind around is “undoableâ€. Life after death is “religion†and unknown to us, so must be assumed to be correct by those who do know- namely priests, rabbis, or others with a strong belief in their opinion. With that label set, we can set our minds at ease and go on to the next subject. Hardly anyone really understands him/herself. So we set vague labels, such as “Athletic†or “Sadistic†or “Unluckyâ€. Single words can never describe the totality of a person, so we redefine ourselves to fit the labels, make them better understandable. Most any person has aspects of smarts and stupidity, strength and weakness, leader and follower. We rarely describe ourselves using two opposites, so we choose one opposite and try to mold the rest of our personality to fit. But the only importances of this are the results it leads to. Internal labeling certainly limits abilities. But it forces us to specialize. Specialization- being constantly good at one specific task- could be useful to society. Where would we be if everyone was both a leader and a follower, and acted so? That question was not rhetorical. Would the world fall apart, without strict leadership and workers? Or would it thrive better, with everyone able to do everything to a certain extent? In times of crisis, it is not uncommon for people to find they can acquire traits they did not have before, all through necessity. A follower can find the required leadership skills. The reality is, the person was never a follower after all- merely a mix of leader and follower, labeled by themselves to be a follower, but of course not incapable of taking on the other characteristic. Perhaps this is a benefit, or more of a secret weapon of humanity- we specialize for the sake of efficiency and run of society, but in times of need we can shred off self-induced labels and become what is necessary. Faith in History By Liana Estres Religion has been used as both justification and condemnation for at least the last 5000 years. By the 18th century, American thinkers were fed up with the problems caused by faith, most specifically the injustices created due to religion. In an attempt to solve this age old difficulty, the Founding Fathers passed the Bill of Rights, which declares freedom of religion (The Bill of Rights). Religious freedom is necessary to society because it guards against inequalities, but the religious freedom outlined in the Bill of Rights fails to be sufficiently specific to fully achieve its goal. Historically speaking, religion has frequently presented itself as a source of concern, a notion notably expressed in the Wars of Religion. These were a series of military battles committed in France between the Huguenots and Catholics of France from 1562-1598 (Thompson). They began as a result of hostility permeating between Catholics and Protestants due to the Huguenot desire for equality in the Catholic nation of France. This hostility was given excuse to transform into action with the Massacre at Wassy-sur-Blaise (Holt). For the next thirty to forty years, fighting occurred between both French civilians and militarists. During the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre alone, an estimated 110,000 people were killed (Holt). These wars were accepted to have ended with the Edict of Nantes in 1598, leaving France in a state of disparity. By the 18th century, the Wars of Religion stood out to our Founding Fathers as a bloody mistake, one that would have to be corrected in the formation of the United States of America. Many of the Founding Fathers’ principles were based off of observations of other societies. The French Wars of Religion were proof of the necessity of equality between religions, if only to avoid conflict. But merely avoiding conflict was not the sole incentive to ensure religious freedom. Representation of minorities was also a governing principle in the law. It must be taken into account that many of those living in 18th century English colony of what is now the United States of America were descendants of the Puritans. The Puritans were a religious group who immigrated to the American continent from England on the conviction that they could not practice their religion in England (Gale). This immigration occurred largely from the 1620’s to 1640’s, at which point the English Civil War cut off immigration to the colonies (Thayer). The Puritans are seen at least in part as some of the early founders of the United States of America civilization, and no doubt much of their culture and values were imparted well into the 18th century and beyond. The fact that a group had first come to the American continent to attain religious freedom made all more essential the right of religious freedom to the Founding Fathers. Religious freedom, then, was not merely a method to avoid conflict, but a moral obligation to the newly formed American government. The Founding Fathers considered religious freedom to be necessary in the Bill of Rights due to principals attained from historical observation. They clearly valued freedom, a standpoint likely influenced by the adverse effects of totalitarian rule in the past. England sought after complete control of its colonies, but the early Americans fought against English rule. They believed in a freedom from the monarchy. In addition, the coming of the Puritans to America was a direct result of the desire for freedom of religion (Gale). The principle of freedom was complimented by the right of representation by minorities. After all, the American slogan “No taxation without representation†(Krawczynksi) articulated the need to have the American colonies represented. At that time, the colonies were minority groups in the whole of Great Britain. In the 18th century, the Founding Fathers recognized smaller religious groups as minorities, which reflected the larger struggle of the minority colonies against the British Empire. To be consistent and uphold their own morals, the Founding Fathers were obliged to grant smaller religious groups the same rights they desired in the face of the British Empire: freedom to exist as they pleased. Through the principles of freedom and representation of minorities, the Founding Fathers found religious freedom to be a necessity. On a similar note, the Founding Fathers wanted to be certain that citizens would not fear their government due to religious association, as the Huguenots had feared the Catholics, and the Puritans had feared the Protestants. It was not uncommon in Europe for a government of one religion to persecute those of another religion through restrictions, punishments, or even death. Examples of this existed throughout history, as was seen during the Crusades, a series of military actions directed against non Christians (Abate). The English government too had long persecuted Catholics. In order to create a country superior to the one they had separated from, the early Americans would have to avoid the faults of England and historical Europe. Avoiding government bias to religion was seen a desirable trait for the new, American state. In today’s world, religious freedom is both beneficial and harmful to society. With religious freedom, the principles of freedom and representation by minorities are fulfilled. In addition, different groups of people are able to have self expression. This allows both the people and government of The United States of America to fully consider ideas from different perspectives, and to better live and work with citizens to everyone’s benefit. Society as a whole becomes more independent, and people are able to practice, or not practice religion as they choose. This independent thinking is a fundamental key in the vitality of this country, for it allows us to be more self sufficient, and often more considerate of other people and ideas. However, religious freedom has its faults. The idea of full religious freedom assumes that people of different religions can always peacefully coexist. Given the example of the Huguenots and Catholics in France, this is not always the case. Allowing any religion to be practiced will almost invariably lead to disagreements between religions. Since it entitles all religious groups to do as they wish, some religious practices may infringe upon the boundaries of others. In Angola for example, anti-witchcraft religious groups have accused children of committing witchcraft. On occasion, these accusations have led to abuse or even deaths (US Embassy). As long as a group performs, or claims they perform actions through religion, they have a limitless licence to commit all sorts of crimes. Furthermore, different religions fraction off the national community, making us less of a unified front than a mixture of quibbling individuals. Religious independence comes at a price. It is possible that when founding democracy, early Americans could not have envisioned all the detriments of their newly created laws. It is likewise apparent that they recognized potential risks of this factor, given that they allowed Americans to amend the constitution by a two-thirds vote of a quorum or national convention (Constitution of the United States). When first creating religious freedom laws, the boundaries of the laws appeared to be very clear, meaning that no law impeded on another, and only one interpretation existed for a law. As years went on, these qualities seemed to evaporate. The Founding Fathers intended freedom of religion to signify that none should be persecuted for religious beliefs. But since the creation of these laws, people have used religion to breach upon the rights of others. Different religions disagree, and the nation was, and still is, fairly divided between faiths. It is evident that to amend these problems, greater specifity in laws or interpretation of laws is crucial. The ideas of the Founding Fathers reflected the principles of representation of minorities, general freedom, and freedom from fear. Religious disagreements of the past encouraged the early Americans to make religious freedom a right of all citizens. However, the principal of religious freedom lacks precision to a point where it can be abused. The benefits of religious freedom outweigh the costs, but the costs must still be countered with stricter specifity to uphold the rights of all Americans. My Fish By I.E. Eskin My fourth grade teacher separated us into pairs and gave us each a mosquito fish. It was green and gray. The sparkles of its watery home fell upon the miniscule scales of Dotty, as we called her. Tiny grains of dusty nutrition served as food. A week later, we gave Dotty a mate. Scrawny creature he was, but he managed to father twelve children. Dotty and the others hid amongst the plastic seaweed. Weeks passed. There were fewer and fewer children; mosquito fish eat their young. The mate grew scrawnier until it was only bones, not even a strand of skin. Our teacher held in his hand salt and fertilizer. They were poisonous, he said. We would have to choose, me and my partner, which to put in the tank. How would we take Dotty away to the bottom of the sea, where she was born more alive than she would return? Our teacher us we had to pick the method. That night, the heat malfunctioned in the school. All the fish were frozen dead, like the rich and poor on the Titanic. I was relieved. Note: The author wishes it noted that ‘My Fish’ is intended as both a poetry and non-fiction piece. Poetry
STATE PROPERTY
By Bryon D. Howell New Haven, Connecticut
My life has not been mine for twenty years. I gave it up through malice, scorn and rage. It took mere moments break through all the fears - to just give up at eighteen years of age. Since then, I've been a ward of this great state. They tell me what to do, just how, and when. If I refuse, I'll know a grimmer fate. There's eight more years above my head, my friend. So now I struggle like some Superman - the one they still insist that I can be. Can't even make a suicidal plan - I wouldn't dare deface State property! Remorse still wreaks its havoc through and through. If I'm all theirs -why wont they take that, too? In the Blue Room By Sandy Sue Benitez Cheyenne, WY heavy, indigo drapes frame the window to nowhere. Violins fiddle without fingers, their haunting voices painting unfinished dreams onto the walls.
I thought I saw the sky, pale blue, crying behind a flock of clouds. But it was only my imagination dripping words into oceans. Deep water always frightened me. I never learned to swim. Boats make me seasick.
In the middle of the room, an abandoned isle calls out to me. Offers solace in a lei of stars but only if I can reach him. The moon yawns, searching for his missing eyes.
Once, I built a bridge from wasted time. Piled and nailed each hour into days that transformed into years, leading me to where I am now. Alone, with fear scratching my back.
And I wonder if drowning is as painful. What Remains Was Always There By Michelle Reale Rydal, PA Now that I’ve become intimate With transitory Comings and goings And the laughter which seems A mere memory Before it has escaped the dusty mouth Entering into the mind A spirit held hostage I turn and cast an eye on the only tangibles: My feet pressed into the ground Solid, Solid. And I feel the footing beneath me This is real This is what remains after all else Has grown weary of he dull finish That was once a glow But never a shine, A gleam if not a sparkle. So be it. My feet on the ground Real and tangible. It is all I ever really needed. Anything else is just a dream Without the benefit of sleep. E MAIL TO DAMNISO LOPEZ(The journal) By Duane Locke The Journal I keep in longhand I call The Mourning Dove By E. Powell Bey Houston, TX No rescuing breezes pass by The musty odor sweeps into my nostrils— I breathe from my mouth though I yearn for the heady smell of jasmine that drenched smooth, flawless skin, natural like pebbles washed by the ocean is now smattered with open and crusty scarlet freckles—escape hatches for crawling subterranean bugs she frantically scratches
I want to run I want amnesia I pray for deliverance
a step behind the beat I motion my hand for her to stop and she does—she knows the limit Her tongue spins with a thousand excuses like a roller on a player piano Fine ivory keys behind cracked lips —teeth—what used to be her teeth are small, black watermelon seeds
the ugliness—I make her disappear and find fixed objects over her shoulder; the man selling papers on the corner Today, it is a bird sitting on a tree branch delicate with deer-colored plumage I am not sure if it is a mourning dove that I hear out of my window during twilight cooing, that is often mistaken for a hoot owl but it is far more interesting than she
a little hit…something to get me straight…" and I want to hit her, over and over again to rid her of demons Her eyes, dark as onyx do not catch any glint from the sun, the dullness unaffected by the glee on her face of getting over on me one more time— glee that flashes and dies quickly because she is soulless Grasping the wad of dollar bills in tight fisted hands, she zigzags away from me I curse myself—accosted as I open my car door but I cannot be late to work again
She trips on a crack in the pavement nearly falling, mashing moss back into the ground that grew undisturbed The tawny bird sparked by her clumsiness flies overhead, its tail widespread in the shape of minarets bordering the Taj Mahal The wings and tail edged in white reminds me of the long train on her wedding gown that she tripped over—yes, as I recall she was a little clumsy
I wonder what her day will be like the swooning, short stay in oblivion bathed by shadowy fog that is burned off by the sun then off to scrounge for money —chlorophyll she injects into her veins The object of her life is mining for minerals, milky moonstones—her diamonds Something I could never give her. Why the Makers of Clorox Will Never Go Out of Business"
just to get to the feathers. to see if I could feel a difference. yet I couldn't be ruthless enough. and wait |
