Prose
Misplaced Admiration
--Alexis Vanderwill
I watched as the kids pushed each other into the glass. Their eyes sparkled with curiosity and admiration for the huge sharks in front of them. I watched as they chased and pretended to bite each other.
If only they knew.
Sharks are strong, much stronger than any of us. Being caught by a shark can leave you in pieces. I still remembered when my shark caught me. He was strong and there wasn’t much I could do as he tore my clothes off me. Much like a shark taking an arm or a leg, I felt sure that what had been taken from me that day could never be replaced or repaired. Sharks only know hunger; they don’t stop to think about the consequences of taking food that doesn’t belong to them. Even though no pieces of my body were missing, a piece of me was.
If only those kids knew the horrors that those sharks were capable of.
If only they knew the horrors the things they admire were capable of.
If only they knew the horrors the people they admire were capable of.
Then, maybe they wouldn’t admire them any more, and maybe, just maybe, they’d stop pretending to be them, pretending to chase and bite as if it’s just a harmless game.
Maybe, just maybe, if only they knew.
My First Friend
--Jessi Giles
Golden State
--Joshua Frederico
Golden State Takes Calculated Step Towards Public Health, Safety
Joshua Frederico
The great state of California is once again pioneering the path toward ensuring the overall health and well-being of society, to which they have already contributed above and beyond what we ever expected. After establishing laws that are guaranteed to keep guns away from outlaws, and lowering residents’ monthly expenses by simply turning off their electricity indefinitely, Californian officials have directed their attention to solving the next great threat facing our nation: plastic straws.
“We knew it would come to this eventually,” said Nanci Pelosi, one of California’s representatives in congress, “although we’re also trying to address other real-life issues like the president’s efforts to prioritize America and law-abiding American citizens over those poor illegal immigrants, we just had to make time to solve this problem too.”
Known for their bold, calculated decisions, Californian lawmakers have bravely banned plastic straws from their great state in an effort to out-flank the severe damages to the public consistently linked to the material.
Gavin Newsom, the current governor of California, said this should have been done much sooner, and apologized for not recognizing the need before it caused so much hurt.
“Paper straws will be so much better,” claimed the governor, licking the chocolate that was left on the inside of the plastic lid to his plastic Starbucks cup, which he responsibly threw away in a plastic trash can lined with a plastic bag. “We’re so relieved to enforce this solution on the public, and now that we have there’s finally time to help people avoid losing their homes and lives to wildfires, and we might even get around to figuring out why we don’t have much water anymore. We’ll see though, one thing at a time.”
When asked about any of the side benefits of this new policy, the recently-elected Californian ambassador to the U.S. said “Well we just thought it would be a great idea to start making everyday decisions for people,” he said, “I mean, we’ve already done a great job running the government, why not run people’s lives too? Just look at San Francisco — you don’t even have to find a restroom anymore, everywhere is available to you! Anyway, what do people think this is, 1776 or something? lol! So just do what you’re told, and everything will keep getting better.”
In a focused effort to educate the next generation of Californians, the state government will soon require public schools to distribute educational flyers around their campuses, warning readers of the danger of using straws made of plastic. The intent, according to multiple sources, will be to help inform students about the importance of these sort of life choices, encouraging them to “just say ‘no’ to plastic straws”.
Another high-level government official, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, reportedly clarified just how important this matter is to the Golden State, saying “People have no reason to use plastic straws — none. If you’re caught using a plastic straw, you will be met with the full force of the law.”
In the event of being caught, plastic straw cartels will reportedly be held accountable for a separate offense for each individual straw found in their possession.
One shop in Los Angelos has already been raided by the local SWAT team on reports that “plastic-like smells” had been emanating from the building. Upon entering, the team found it was only an innocent recreational-marijuana retailer, and to their relief found nothing that could possibly do a disservice to the public. Slightly concerned the harmless product was being used in a dangerous straw-smuggling scheme, every bag of pot was carefully searched for hidden plastic straws but, again, nothing was found. Roughly 45 minutes later, the law enforcement team left in high spirits.
“The safety of our people and our environment is really important to us,” claimed another anonymous official, “that’s why we take these things so seriously. If you feel like your baby might jeopardize your well-being, then you should have every right to kill that baby. If a plastic straw might hurt a poor little baby turtle,” he said, fighting back tears, “well, then we should do everything in our power to eradicate plastic straws from society. That’s the Californian way.”
Eyeballs and Omens
--Rachel Bruntz
I walk up the stairs from the basement to the living room at 9:00 a.m. on Saturday and saw three people doing what they always did on the weekend. The TV was on, and Lifetime Movie Network was playing some guilty pleasure about murder, sex, and betrayal. They were loving every minute of it.
"This budget Leonardo DiCaprio is doing it for me. I want to be in front of him, or underneath him. Basically anything he wants," said Diana, my older sister, as she sipped on her third mimosa of the day.
"To tell you the truth, I'd rather be watching Thor, but I'm sucked in. She's just vicious, and he doesn't know." said Mom sucking on a wine cooler.
"I can't do it again this weekend," said Dad as he left the living room for the backyard, beer in hand.
"Morning, Bud. Come sit with us; it's getting good." said Mom
"Nah, I just don't hate myself enough to watch that shit today. Rain check," I said while walking to the garage door across the living room.
"Bud, you can't leave. There's murder!" said Mom.
"Nah." I said. I went to indulge in America's favorite pastime: pretending to eat healthy. I went to the Green Bean Coffee Shop and order a wrap with bacon. Emily Card was making it, and I was sitting at a table three feet away from her kitchen prep station.
"How does it feel to graduate early?" I said.
"It sucks. It burns." she said.
"What are you gonna do now? Grad school?"
"I think I'm just gonna be a broke bitch for the time being."
"Whaddaya mean?"
"I'm going to rent a room in a trailer park, stock up on forties, and let 2016 pass me by."
"Didn't you want to be an accountant?"
"Yeah, but I'm just so fucking tired. I think I lost my motivation sometime in the fourteenth grade. Wish I could just fly away."
"Yeah, Chadron's grinding me down too."
"Here's your wrap. Want spit for 50 cents more?"
"Ha."
After eating the wrap, I decide to wash my car. I was scraping off all the insect entrails with a foam-dispensing brush, and then hosing it off when the foam dried. It works pretty well, but spending $5 in change was a pain. I went back home to do some homework. I park the car in the garage and walk in the house. Diana was attempting to make margaritas. I've only been gone for two hours.
"Mom. Mom! Why won't this fucking blender work!?" said Diana.
"Did you check to see if it’s plugged in!?" yells Mom from the rear bedroom just down the hall from the kitchen.
Diana looks at the power cord, starting from where it connected to the blender, and follows it to the prongs hanging off the edge of the kitchen island.
"Oh! Thanks!" said Diana.
I walk down the stairs to my bedroom and turn on my laptop. I was looking for some lectures on Russian Formalism when my phone rang. I could see it was Kendra, my little sister. The thing is: I don't answer my phone, so she went to voicemail after five rings. Twenty seconds later, my phone dings with a text: "Pls talk to me" followed with a picture of sad Puss in Boots from Shrek. Fine.
"Whaddya want?" I said.
"Geez, what's your problem?" said Kendra.
"You called me."
"Ok."
"So?"
"I need some things sent to me."
"Such as?"
"My study pants and my fuzzy boots and my pink bag."
"Ok, I know those."
"My bf is such a ducking loser."
"Why?"
"He just smokes pot and plays Call of Duty all day while I work to support us. I don't think he's going to be a doctor."
"Well, you picked him."
"I only picked him because when I met him, he had a job, and he was easy on my eyes."
"Now you're realizing that's not worth as much."
"Yes."
"I'll get a package together soon. Can't mail it 'till Monday. Don't get any ideas from Snapped."
"It’s almost worth it at this point.
"Bye."
"Bye."
I kept up on my research until 3:00PM until I'm exhausted with literariness. I close the laptop shut and start putting together an outfit for the evening. An old flame from high school got in touch and asked me to accompany her to the band concert tonight. I said yes at the time because I could always back out later if I had to, but I was simply enraptured at the fact that she came back to me, not vice versa. I couldn't just cross my shoulders in front of my chest and say no. I stuff the suit into a black garment bag and head out.
The State University Music Department spares no expense for their elite musicians, so they put Lana Gibson up in the Iron Ridge Estates, complete with a balcony and living room fireplace. These apartments aren't like the 1970s lemon-yellow pastel buildings I'm accustomed to seeing in Belle Fourche, so I feel out of my element, looking like a hood in a neighborhood. I head up to third floor and knock, bearing a bottle of Smirnoff, a six-pack of Hershey's chocolate bars, and my flat bag of clothes. The door was answered by who was once the most beautiful woman in the whole wide world. She was 5'5" with long brown hair, wearing only a blue bathrobe and a sparkly silver heart pendant. She had a cinnamon tan complexion with a curvy body. What can you say meaningfully after so many years? I just act naturally.
"Hi Christian."
"Hi Lana. I come bearing gifts," I said as I held up the brown paper bag and the chocolates.
"Oh, you shouldn't have. Please, come in."
I step in and I'm taken away with the smell of lemon Pledge and hair burnt by a curling iron. The kitchen looked barely lived in, and the living room was a void with leather furniture just waiting to be lounged in. I just kept smirking and thinking that this is nothing like home.
"Bathroom's yours if you want to get changed. I'm gonna smoke on the balcony." she said. I walk out five minutes later in all black, save for a gray tie. I meet her out on the balcony.
"Whose funeral are we attending, Johnny Cash?" she said.
"You're funny." I said.
She went back inside, and I stayed outside, smoking from the pack of Marlboro Golds she left outside. I stare out into the vastness of wavy, grassy plains and rolling midwestern hills while contemplating the mysteries of my choices while inhaling the mellow tobacco smoke. An hour later, she emerged from the fog of hairspray and perfume to me, and we set off for the State University campus. After the performance, we sat on the living room couch, watching some trash on Netflix, passing Oreos and Smirnoff back and forth to each other. She was gulping down shots and clearing few Oreos while I was halfheartedly sipping and becoming the Cookie Monster with each bite. My mouth feels like chocolate-covered razor blades. I excused myself to the balcony for a cigarette and thought nothing of everything I've seen.
FADED
--Sarah Sonnenshein
Ann Margaret
Stagger into my beat-up trailer house. Catch myself on the splintering doorframe. My son glances. Brat.
“Where’s dad?”
He asks.
Shut up. Shake my head wildly. Gone. Got tired of me. Other women. They’re prettier.
“Not coming.”
Chris tilts his head.
“Why, did he take off again?”
Malice on my face. In my voice. I hiss a reply.
“Doesn’t matter.”
He shrugs. How stupid is he? Always has been. Stupid, I mean. His words only prove it.
“Okay, whatever.”
No more questions! I walk. Back and forth. Back and forth. Floor creaks. What now? Mutter as I pace. Hold my purse tighter. Make sure it’s still there.
“What do I do now?”
Over and over. Back and forth.
Sophie
I stare at my reflection. I hate it. The makeup too. I pick up the washcloth, and scrub until my round face is red. Bright red.
“Makes me look like a panda.”
I whisper. Turning to view my plain, soft profile, I sigh. Why does everyone at school hate me? I hate me too. Isn’t that enough? All I want is a friend. But people know about my mom. It scares everyone who doesn’t bully me off. I sigh loudly and get up.
“Be quiet.”
I order my invasive thoughts in an attempt to control them.
Tugging my door open, I pad across ratty carpet out to the kitchen. Pause. Mom’s here. I didn’t expect her to be back yet. Chris notices when I come in, and he smiles at me. He might be the only person in the world who actually loves me. Mom doesn’t. She paces erratically. So naturally, I go over to Chris.
“Is she drunk again?”
I ask.
Too low for mom to hear. Chris nods, resigned.
“High too.”
We just watch. Hypnotized by her frantic motions.
Chris
I carefully assess mom and try to listen to her garbled words. There’s no reason in them, but something’s different. She has something. In her purse, I would guess. She’s holding it way too tightly. I’ll know soon enough what it is. She’ll pass out in a few minutes. I’ve seen her like this a million times and have gotten pretty good at judging these kinds of things. Not exactly a skill that I wanted to have. I turn to Sophie.
“Have you eaten anything?”
My little sister shakes her head. As I thought. She didn’t eat at school again.
“Eggs?”
We don’t have almost anything in the fridge, and there isn’t much else to offer. Despite my best efforts. I don’t get paid for another week. Sophie’s stomach growls loudly, and I’m on my way across the kitchen before she even replies.
“Yes, please.”
I quickly fix them in our only pan. Sidestepping around mom, I work quietly, so that she doesn’t focus on me. She still glares at me if I step too close for her inebriated liking. When she isn’t under the influence of something, mom’s better at hiding how much she hates me. But that isn’t very often anymore. I slide the scrambled eggs onto a paper plate, and hand them to my sister. She heads to her bedroom again after thanking me. Probably to avoid mom. I don’t blame her. She’s still too young to have to deal with this shit. When no one else is here, we always eat together. I sit at the leaning card table and rest my hand on my chin. I hate the facial hair, which makes me look older. That’s the point. I need to protect my sister, and more people leave us alone if they think that I’m not a teenager.
I return to my book, still keeping an eye on mom. Waiting. Patience is my strong suit.
Ann Margaret
So much money. If I do this right. Where? Where do I go? The wrong people will kill me. Put it in the bank? No, spend it. No one can find out. Why did I do this? Don’t know. Can’t think straight. More drugs. Alcohol. Anything! Need something. Dip fingers into purse. It’s all still there. Heavy. Sweat. Dripping down my face. Moan aloud.
“M’ head hurts!”
Chris only watches silently. Brainless moron that he is. Like his father. Dizzy. I’m REALLY dizzy. Vision clouds. Weird. Can’t see anymore…
Chris
Thud
Mom hits the linoleum floor. Out cold. I kneel beside her and, out of habit, I pick up her limp wrist and check that she still has a pulse. She does, this time. Once or twice she didn’t.
“Took you long enough.”
I mumble, despite the fact that she definitely can’t hear me.
I roll my eyes and turn my attention to the purse that she is still clutching to her chest. I have to physically wrench it from her hands. Unzipping it, I pull out the contents. Stare at what’s in my hands. Money. LOTS of money. Huge bills, rolled into a tight bundle to fit into the purse.
“What the hell?”
What did she do? I breathlessly upend the bag onto the floor to see what else is in it. A Diamond ring. With initials on it. I remember who it belongs to. One of her dealers. One of the more DANGEROUS dealers. I’ve only met him a few times, unwillingly. If I have a choice, I would prefer to never cross paths with him again. And mom just stole from him.
Her phone dings, and I numbly pick it up and check it. Angry messages fill the screen, starting from several hours ago. Mom probably didn’t notice because she was so out of it. I scan them. He knows. They’re going to find her. Probably kill her. Or worse. Breathe. I need to breathe. The police can’t help with this. I know for a fact that the dealers in the area bribe them not to mess with things like this. And they do keep out of it, even though they’re supposed to keep us safe. Bastards. Tears spring unnoticed to my eyes, but don’t fall.
What do I do? They don’t remember me, they barely saw me, and when they did, they thought that I was mom’s boyfriend. I wasn’t going to tell them differently. Better to remain unnoticed with that crowd. They don’t know about Sophie. I made very sure of that. Breathe. I stare at mom. Sophie and I can get out of here. But I’m not strong enough or brave enough to drag mom’s comatose form with us. Bite my lip hard enough to draw blood. In the heap on the tile are the things that mom uses to shoot up. I pick up the kit. Turn it over in my shaking hand. And make a decision.
Sophie
My door creaks open, and Chris comes in. He’s ghostly pale. Something’s wrong. I automatically rise, worried. I’ve never seen him like this before.
“Pack.”
His voice cracks from stress. His expression is serious. I do as Chris says. There’s not much to pack. I have very few objects that I’d want to take with me, so I’m done quickly. I don’t ask questions, but they throb at the back of my mind. As I carry my bag out, I see that mom is stretched out on the floor. That’s normal enough. She’s not breathing though. That’s NOT normal. My breath catches. She’s dead. I feel no shock like I expect to. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve been expecting this. I knew that it would happen eventually. I fiddle with the cheap, dollar store bracelet around my wrist as I look at my mom’s motionless body. Maybe I can have friends now.
“Overdosed.”
My brother explains.
“Oh.”
I don’t feel sad.
Chris
We climb into the car, and I glance over my shoulder to make sure that no one has arrived yet. Time to leave. My plan is to get out of town. Start a new life somewhere else, where Sophie can actually have a life. Where I can actually have a life. A few bills are in my pocket. I had peeled them off of the roll and left the rest. They won’t notice. They’ll think that mom spent them on something. I clench my fist and close my eyes to try and blind myself to my writhing thoughts. I can still feel the syringe heavy in my hand, pushing through skin to administer a lethal dose. I can’t regret it.
“Let’s go.”
Sophie says. My eyes fly open. She’s watching me, and I know that she can read the worry on my face. I nod and smile painfully, attempting to reassure both my sister and myself.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
I change gears, pull onto the crumbling asphalt, and accelerate into the morning