cough syrup for the soul cough syrup for the soul · 2015. 4. 22. · cough syrup can be described...
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Editor’s Note Thank you for choosing to read the literary magazine, Cough Syrup For The Soul. You may have come here by accident or you may have come here with a designated purpose. Regardless of which, I guarantee you that you will not regret turning the first page- or we shall say clicking the first page. Cough Syrup For The Soul was made with the goal to explore the dark, gloomy, and often dismal world of mankind. Mixed with subtle humor and provocative themes, Cough Syrup For The Soul strives to push boundaries and serves as a creative outlet. Just as
cough syrup can be described as having a bitter and abominable taste, Cough Syrup For The Soul will be feature tales that have depressing and perhaps even uncomfortable themes; yet, just as cough syrup acts as a remedy that cures our illness, this e-book strives to be thought provoking, stimulating, and therapeutic. This e-book hopes to bring awareness to various issues. Furthermore, our most important goal is to engage readers. So be bold, go ahead and turn the page. Do it. We dare you to enter our world. Enjoy!
1. Family Trip Bryan Kim
“Are you sure this a good idea?” I was scared, I had never robbed a bank before. It was usually only grocery stores, small clothing departments, but a bank was totally different. “Listen, just stick to the plan and stop being a bitch.” Dad was always on edge before our jobs. He was nervous, but a true bad-ass. We had done a couple of lines before we got out the van, it amped us up, gave us confidence to do whatever it took to make the big bucks. We slipped on our ski masks, along with our bullet-proof vests and picked up our carbine M-16’s (which were actually props). Our family was in the middle of rural Pennsylvania. The plan was to be in and be out before the local police could make it up the windy mountain roads. I felt sweat starting to build up on my finger pads as I clutched the fake, but heavy movie prop, ready to beat anyone who tried to be a hero.
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We kicked open the glass doors. “GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND, AND DON’T TRY AND BE A HERO, WE DON’T WANT TO KILL ANYONE.” Dad was always a persuasive dude. In a calm manner he jogged over to the front desk and spoke softly, “Sir, please open the safe and put the money in these bags and I will spare you your life. The clerk cooperated and obediently did as he was told. Everything was running smoothly, the bags were being filled with green, Big bro and I were watching the civilians while Mom was in the van ready to drive us away. The clerk was oddly starting to taking his time, slowing the process down.. “HURRY THE FUCK UP!” Dad raised his “gun” and pointed it at the man’s face. The clerk picked up the pace. Everyone was getting antsy, the civilians were starting to question our authority. One middle-aged man tried to get up, but before he could, I forcefully rammed the butt of my rifle into his stomach. He grabbed his abdomen in pain while people shrieked and cried as he fell to the ground. I hated hitting people, but it was something I had to do. Whenever I’m on a job with my family, I always thought about how unlucky these victims are, all innocent people witnessing a crime that would scar their lives for quite some time. But it’s what my world has come to, what I have to do in order to survive. Maybe I don’t have to, but I am tied down by my abusive family who gave me no choice; ever since I was young, they forcefully instilled the idea of “power through force” into my mind. I was snapped out of my thoughts when I heard something in the distance. Sirens.
Some Planet Called “Earth” Bryan Kim
Sprinting towards our vehicle, we threw the valuables in our bags. Jeeze. I haven’t ran in lightyears.
“We gotta make it to the doors!” He said. “I KNOW! THANKS CAPTAIN OBVIOUS.” (I love human humor.) The so called
“sand” was slowing us down. I hate this planet.
The doors were just a few kilosteps away. A2 was in front of me, he had just installed the latest locomotive limbs.
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That lucky bastard made it before I did. We were running away but these humans wouldn’t see us anyway.. All they’ll see is a shooting star.
A2 and I were late for a meeting, which explains the rush. Every now and then we come to the-so-called planet “Earth” to harvest beautiful cacti.
We cruised by about 482 years ago and scanned useful plants like the
cactus.
In our world, A2 and I manipulate the unique genetic make-up of the cactus
to create energy to power our machines.
See, these stupid humans are so caught up in superficial problems like
politics and wars. They kill for resources, money, and power.
They thinking the whole universe revolves around them. If they worked together, maybe they would discover the uses of such simple plants like the cactus.
We have noticed this stupidity in similar species on many other planets. Maybe this planet’s beings will succeed in discovering other worlds.
Or maybe they will continue to fight over trivial ideas like “religion”, and if they do, they will fight until they destroy themselves, without discovering what is really out there.
Back to Normal Subbashini Neelam
My father rinses off the peeled potatoes with warm water before slowly placing them in a pot full of boiling water. The water splashes angrily and I shout, louder than necessary or intended, "You're spilling everything!" The silence in the kitchen is heavy and the air is thick with tension. Maybe I'm angry because we've been cooking since eight in the morning and it's well past one in the afternoon. Maybe this stifling feeling is just in my head. Maybe. But I know better.
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I sigh slowly. "I'm sorry about that," I mumble. My father only smiles softly. It's been hard around here- for everyone. I should know better than to lash out like this- sometimes it's too hard to control. Times have been rough after my father lost his job a year ago. I can't remember the last time my whole family has gone out for dinner in a nice restaurant. It seems like every day is macaroni and cheese. I know money is tight but it doesn't seem fair. My grandma always used to say that. I don't think I ever understood the full meaning behind that quote until a year ago.
My father asks, "What do you want, Sarah?" I open my mouth to answer before closing it shortly after. I want things to go back to normal. I want my old life back. I want my carefree childhood before I was plagued with constant worries about money, school, or the divorce. However, I know that can't happen. I reply curtly, "Just hand me the
potatoes, Dad." I'm sorry Dad, I think silently.
Flashbacks Subbashini Neelam Toddler Subbashini sat squirming in her high chair, squealing at the sight of her mother. Toddler
Subbashini waddled around the kitchen stumbling over her two feet. Toddler
Subbashini climbed the kitchen counter top and headed toward the orange moving
mystery. Subbashini was entranced. Subbashini was so close. Toddler
Subbashini reached her hand out. Someone shrieked. Subbashini's mother moved
swiftly. Toddler Subbashini was swooped up before she could reach the orange
moving mystery. Toddler Subbashini was saved.
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Water splashing everywhere, Subbashini floating. Branches of trees reaching out, scratching at Subbashini. Sloppy mud marked the trail. A firm hand reached out to Subbashini. Subbashini grabs it
and manages not to slip. The sunlight beamed through the hat on Subbashini's face. It disrupted Subbashini's nap. The cool water flows around her, rocks unknowingly massaging her. The tide
became stronger and Subbashini struggled to gain control of the boat. Five harsh minutes later, the water was clear again and Subbashini became relaxed once more.
With small white flurries carefully coating her, Subbashini struggled to lock her apartment. Two minutes and a whole lot of struggle later, Subbashini managed to swiftly began walking to her class.
Subbashini’s stomach growled with hunger. Subbashini had woken up late as usual. Subbashini trekked through the snow and began her journey to her class. Moments later, Subbashini entered her
Creative Writing class.
Digitzer Obsessiveness Zach Mandell I wake up and crave it. My world is different without it. I am hungry thinking about it.
I look at it and squint. It has no scent, and it has no emotion until I exploit it.
I wake up and make coffee. I’m so tired with out coffee. Coffee makes me hungry.I look at it and smile. It smells better than it tastes. When I exploit it I feel happy.
I look and it keeps me up. I automatically become engaged and constantly wanting to look at it. I depend on it for my success. There’s no better alternative and I don’t want to look
anywhere else.
I think about how much I’ve learned from being so digitzed.I think my brain needs to be digitized to learn anything.
I ask myself, “Was I always this dependent on information? How important was information to my ancestors?”
I read the information and think about it, then I want to explore my thoughts.I search my thoughts through the digitizer.
My answers become what the digitzer tells me, should I accept this lifestyle?
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I make assumptions about the digitzer; this is too exaggerated, this is advertising, this is made-up, this is too basic, this is too hard, this is not interesting, this is too long to read.
Were my ancestors able to assess the quality of information like I can?
I continue reading information from the digitizer, sometimes I understand what I see.When I don’t understand I usually don’t stop reading if it’s not important to me.
When I don’t understand and it is important, I will stop reading and search the digitzer.The digitzer tells me all the answers,
the digitizer tells me what to believe.
My thoughts become intertwined with what’s on the digitzer and my
creativity. When I like to think creatively as I
use the digitzer, I will listen to music.
I find the music on the digitizer and the digitzer tells me what I
will like to listen to.
The act of looking at a screen that swallows my attention scares me,
but I do it anyway. The comments below the text are so diverse and appealing. People
from all over the planet have something to say, have a voice to be heard, and can clearly express
beliefs.
The positive and negative interactions probably end up cancelling each other out, I think to myself. Then again I think, more people are probably giving bad reviews than good ones.
The process to read the given text is usually interesting at first, just because of the text. Then I am easily and frequently detracted from the text by my thoughts or visuals.
I wonder so much about what I read, my thoughts become consumed in accommodating to my wonders that I find myself infinitely digitzed.
Goon Dog Zach Mandell Eh this will be easy. Food, toys, leash, and tag included with the $1800 mutt. The happy couple already paid up front, they’ll be shipping north for $400 more. All I got to do is feed it
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till Tuesday. Finally, I’ll be dog free for the Cirst in 7 years. All thanks to the newly wed couple who just spent $100,000 on decorations.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like marriage, not even sure why people go for that garbage. I don’t mind who gets the dog, I’m just glad it’s my last. A wolf may just be the bet for me. Wolf. Every time I thought about it, I knew I could train a wild one. Dead on, true. Wolves were domesticated by humans 13,000 years ago. Sometimes there wasn’t proper techniques or tools to train a newborn. Just lots of blood. Lots of disabled newborns. Lots of dead chickens. Just blood.
I didn’t want to think too much cause I would laugh. How dumb were those noblemen with wigs? Did they think they could train a wild animal? Did they realize they cant train an animal by shooting it? What if they couldn’t ever train it, just gave the wolf to townsmen that people hated?
I needed to relax, watch some animal planet on the loudest it can go or maybe I’d throw this mutt to the curb. The happy couple would come. And then I would have to return the cash I already spend.
I started looking online for a wolf breeder. 40 miles from Berlin. I think German people have a thing about them. Not the accent, smell, or skin. The way they engage with strangers is the same. Most of them.
Berlin breeders, vicious? As I think about it I was ready for a challenge. I sent an urgent email. ‘You have any young wolves?’
The breeders name was Hobbs. Hobbs replies, ‘of course wolf pen full of newborns, great for killing vermin.’ Hobbs left me his number and said to call anytime.
Walking outside with the mutt, it was windy. First time on a big hill, few dogs I have taken this height. I brought some stale cheddar, for the mutt. A bad hill to roam alone as a young little mutt. Big birds are above.
I called up Hobbs. ‘Who runs the operation?’ I asked.
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Hobbs replied, ‘ a frail women who served in parliament, thinks she’s strong but I handle most work. Cheapest business owner I know, wont sell any for a bargain. I can offer you a Goon wolf, are you interested?’
I wouldn’t turn down a bargain, though I want a wolf to be proud of. I knew little about a goon one, when we’d be hunting without a leash, but until that happened, ‘I am interested.’
Sometimes I would get embarrassed. All the couples, families , and old people I’ve sold mutts to. Lots of them were good people, even the fat ones. I didn’t mean to cause any issues, didn’t want a bad dog. Hated when people called me up on my wrongs.
Hobbs called and said real loudly ‘ I got a delicate and real nice good wolf, she don’t do well with the bigger ones!’
Just my luck.
I thought he wanted my to offer something back. Something of value. He was quiet.
So I goes, ‘ oh that must be a modern wolf, do you have a Cierce goon?’
Hobbs went all calm, stopped talking so loudly. I felt the mutt on my leg, it was looking at me and I got scared it would piss on me so I kicked it lightly. The mutt scuttered away. Hobbs replied ‘ let me call you later’.
I was an expert negotiator.
After 4 hours of animal planet I Cinally lowered the volume to under 30%.
My night was over.
Loving animals, lonely animals, Cierce animals, friendly animals, furry animals, dark creepy animals, orange living animals, blue birds. Morning skies.
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All of a sudden it was Sunday, like it had passed in a minute.
I wanted me life to be better, I wanted to be happy and free with a Cierce wolf. Of them of folks I sold mutts to.
I didn’t know what to do what to think. I punched the wall and it was all cracked. My Cist was bleeding, all bits of skin and wall was loose. My face was wet with blood. The only thing that cared to stand by me was the dumb mutt. The only thing that made me even half smile.
I said to myself,’ he’s not yours’.
Left with nothing but self, like always.
I went outside. The sun is high in the sky, I feel alive.
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